Emotional Wringers

Yesterday I read to page 915 of Clarissa, past the strange elided description of Lovelace's rape of the heroine. It was a culmination of a day's odd set of viewings that each, in their own way, elicited strong emotions from me.

1. Mother India (1957) for the Film Studies class I TA for. A long, three-hour Bollywood epic in which the title character (a new wife) suffers and suffers and suffers, starting with indignities of having to pawn the family's belongings to pay off a mortgage, to her husband losing his arms in a farming accident and then leaving the growing young family, to her mother-in-law dying soon after, to a flood ruining the entire village's crops so that there's nothing to eat, to losing one child in the flood (swept away) and another to hunger after the flood, and then to almost prostituting herself to the villanous moneylender so that her children don't starve. And that's just the first half. The second half is not as intense, but it does end with the heroine shooting her own son, which is shocking.

2. Cowards Bend the Knee (2003), an hour-long movie by Winnipeg avant-garde filmmaker Guy Maddin, which I needed to return to my friend Dave. While totally different in tone and style from Mother India, it's weirdness and dark themes (sex, violence, hands, hockey, murder) and autobiographical undertones (the director's commentary is really personal) stuck with me. It's a fascinating film, and I would recommend Guy Maddin's work to anyone interested in anything off the beaten path.

3. Clarissa. Leading up to the rape, Clarissa manages to escape from the Sinclair house/brothel, but Lovelace finds her in lodgings and through sheer linguistic power, convinces everyone around her that they are actually married (not true), that Clarissa is a jealous, petulant wife (also not true), and that he's a decent guy (no fucking way). He orchestrates events, intercepts letters, and even hires people to play the parts of his noble relatives, all to trick Clarissa back to the Sinclair house. The power imbalance is particularly affecting because Clarissa believes that she's actually free of him, which is patently untrue. The rape itself is (not) detailed in a brief letter Lovelace writes to his best friend: "I can go no farther. The affair is over. Clarissa lives." I read the letters leading up to the rape with dread, despairing over the clear power imbalance. Truth be told, the closer I got, the slower I read.
Clarissa's version of events comes much later, and in the meantime I'm anxious to see if I correctly remembered a key scene as taking place in the dining room, which would really help a nascent argument I'm forming about the unusual function of the dining room in Clarissa.

Note to Self:

Note to self: Fresca tastes like crap. Since when does grapefruit flavour leave a sour-bitter aftertaste?

Tagged

Tagged by Karine:
1. Grab the nearest book
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 3 sentences on your blog along with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.
6. Tag 5 people

Well... the identity of the nearest book should surprise no one.

From Samuel Richardson's Clarissa. 1747-48. Ed. Angus Ross. London: Penguin, 1985. A letter from Clarissa to her mother in which she compares her brother with Mr. Lovelace:
"... Over the one indeed, I have had some little influence, without giving him hitherto any reason to think he has fastened an obligation upon me for it—Over the other, who, madam, has any?
"I am grieved at the heart to be obliged to lay so great a blame at my brother's door, although my reputation and my liberty are both to be sacrificed to his resentment and ambition."

I do kind of wish a different book had been closest. Clarissa isn't exactly quote-worthy.

I tag Nicole, Nat, Daorcey (ha! two tags, one blog!), Christine, and Kris. As if Kris will ever respond.

List: Reasons I hate the movie Pride & Prejudice (2005)

To be specific, I am referring to the 2005 Keira Knightley adaptation of one of the greatest novels of all time, which I recently watched again for purposes academic.

1. Keira Knightley's performance. She rushes her lines, can't emote, and the director insists on shooting her face directly from the front—not her best angle. I can't believe she was nominated for an Oscar for this.
2. Jena Malone's voice. The actress plays Lydia as if she always spoke in falsetto. Perhaps it was the only way the American Malone could deliver the English accent.
3. A tonally different, quiet performance from Donald Sutherland. The man elevates anyone in the same scene as him (ahem, Keira), but his laid back, grave performance doesn't fit with the movie's gigglier tone. It's as if he's on Valium while everyone else is on Prozac.
   
4. The Script. Oh, god, the script. Mixes Austen's sharp dialogue with stupid lines like "For god's sake, leave me alone!" or "Don't judge me, Lizzie! Don't you dare judge me!"
5. The Bonte-fication of the movie in the second half, including Knightley standing at the top of a wind-blown precipice, an outdoor, rain-soaked proposal at what looks to be fake Roman ruins, and a sunrise reconciliation in a foggy field.
   
6. And finally (and most egregiously), the kissy ending. It's just as moronic as I remembered it. Full capitulation to romance conventions. To wit:

There's more, but that's enough for now.

iPost

If there was ever any doubt about how distinctive the Apple aesthetic has become, here's proof. This is from a contest in which participants were to create products that Apple could make, but that already existed, including iToasters, an iWatch, and this awesome iPottie:



Full list here. Entries appear according to rank, so they're not as good the further down you go. There are many more toilets, many of which hint at how much the original clamshell iBooks resembled a toilet seat cover.

Love Between Two Guys

This weekend I accidentally caught the all-musical episode of Scrubs on TV. While it's not quite as good as Buffy's Once More With Feeling, it was still very amusing, including the following requisite love ballad, this time sung as a duet between heterolifemates Turk and J.D. Click here if video doesn't work.



P.S. I just realized that this post is post #100. This post. Not an erudite dissection of virtue and architecture in Clarissa, not a witty list of reasons I refuse to get out of bed before noon on Sundays, not a rant about the people on my block who don't shovel their sidewalks even though there's a snow shovel on their front porch, but this, a YouTube video of the guy from Clueless and the guy from Garden State singing to each other. Happy 100, Excessively Diverted.

Clarissa to pg. 653. Plus, something funny.

In this post: Self-recrimination and a funny Clarissa story.

My progress through the novel has been unacceptably slow. I thought that tracking my progress on this blog would keep me honest and diligent; instead, it's made me less likely to post.

When I last posted, Clarissa was still at home. She has since been tricked away, through a strategem involving a bribed servant, by the rake Lovelace. Her family believes that she left of her own accord and therefore have given her up for ruined. Clarissa still corresponds with her best friend and Lovelace with his; these letters form the bulk of the middle of the novel. After staying a farm house for a week or so, Lovelace finally persuades Clarissa to go to London and stay at what he claims is a reputable house, but in reality is two houses linked by a passage, one facing the street and one facing the back garden. Clarissa takes up residence in the inner house; the outer house is a brothel.

The novel drags in the middle. One Clarissa gets to the Sinclair house, she's completely in Lovelace's control, though she does not know it. Some letters in this section describes events that have no direct relation to the central plot. At this point, Lovelace manages to get at some of Clarissa's letters, so one of his letters is a summary and commentary on her letters. There's even an interesting cross-cutting (to use a film term) of letters at one point in which the "editor" of the entire book interrupts a Lovelace letter to insert Clarissa's point of view of the same incident from one of her letters, and then resumes with Lovelace's original letter. There is much overlap in the events described in both letters (since Lovelace is also staying at the house—albeit in another room), but Richardson keeps it interesting because the two warring factions interpret events differently.

Previously, I had flagged the page where the rape occurs, which is not until the page 800's. I can see that flag while I read, and it's a clear indication of how far I have to go before I get to the most difficult section, and also how little I've actually read.

And now the story: I attended Prof. Bruce Stovel's memorial service on Thursday, where I admit I wept for the first 30 minutes. Many stories were shared, including one that was read out from an e-mail. The former student wrote about taking a novel class with Bruce, in which they were reading Clarissa. One day Bruce realized that the edition that they were reading gives away the ending in the blurb (I have that edition). He was incensed, and at the beginning of class, told his students that those lucky enough to be early and on time for class would get to see something unusual. Bruce then proceeded to punt the heavy book. To everyone's shock, it sailed across the room and landed, appropriately, in the garbage can. When Bruce went to fish it out, the class saw that the book had split in half due to the force of the kick.

I've flung a library book across the room before (angry at Marilyn Butler's blantant misreading of a passage in Emma) but I have never been enraged enough to kick a book for its paratextual failings. I'm going to miss that man.

Giles, is that you?

Shot from an article about the latest TV production of Jane Austen's Persuasion, in which Anthony Stewart Head, late of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, plays the vain, proud Sir Walter Elliot. For the full post on Austenblog (and a link to a PDF of the article), click here.

For my money, it's hard to envision anyone but the incomparable Amanda Root as Anne Elliot, but we shall see how this goes. Alas, I'm not too fond of the ladies' hairstyles—a bit too severe, even with the softening curls around the face.

Space Travel

Spurred by the deadline of an Air Canada seat sale, tonight I booked my research trip to England. I leave Wed., April 25 and return Wed., May 16, which leaves me with a little less than three weeks (excluding flight time and time zone changes and jet lag) to explore everything domestic and interior in England. And also to go to embark on Part II of the Jane Austen Tour of England: Chawton Cottage and Lyme Regis (Nicole--want to come with?). And if there's time, France beckons. Or Wales. Or Scotland. Or Ireland. I'm totally feeling the wanderlust right now.

Currently, my biggest concern is accommodation. I do not plan to stay with Nicole for the entire time, and am hoping to get in touch with friends of friends in London, etc., and perhaps occasionally stay in hostels and B&Bs in the countryside. Too bad Karine's not already overseas doing library school. Sheffield looks pretty close to Chatsworth (country house) and to Derbyshire in general.

In the future, I see more planning: scouring the Rough Guides to England and London, possibly buying a Hostelling International membership, and contacting the Geffrye's museum about their archival collection, which unfortunately is not catalogued online.

I guess that means I'm going to have to write this dissertation after all.

Obsessive much?

Got home from an afternoon Stitch and Bitch knitting session to find an e-mail from my sister linking to a hilarious movie trailer, recut to make Mary Poppins look like a horror movie.

I've actually seen the fake trailer before, which might explain my reaction: I noticed her pretty pink scarf and wondered, "Can I knit that?"

Sad news

Prof. Bruce Stovel, one of my mentors at the U of A, died yesterday morning. He had just retired last year, which would make him around 65 or 66 years old (much too young to die, in my estimation).

Bruce was initially my supervisor when I started at the U of A, when my project was still about Jane Austen and popular culture. He was also my assigned teaching mentor during first year, someone I could go to with any teaching questions. Our pairing was not coincidental; thinking it would be best for me to work with someone I already knew, he'd asked the GTA Supervisor for me since we'd already met a couple of times. Bruce was an active teaching mentor. He voluntarily went through my first set of essays to be sure that my marks were on par with the department's expectations, and was always accessible by e-mail to answer any odd, last-minute questions that came up. He was generous with his time and his experience.

Bruce was also instrumental in my getting published for the first time. He strongly encouraged me to submit my term paper for his Austen seminar to Persuasions for publication, and was thrilled that it got accepted. I know I would have eventually published something at some time, but getting the article in my second year was a big high.

Bruce was well liked and well respected by students and staff alike. He was always encouraging and lovely to chat with. Though he was no longer my supervisor (it was a very amicable and mutual split), he was my first academic mentor in the PhD (and, frankly, in grad school) and I looked forward to sharing news of milestones such as my first job and my first book with him. The last time I saw Bruce was at the Jane Austen conference in Tucson, where I went to his talk and he went to mine. We talked about my paper later and he seemed really taken with the ideas in it. It made me feel more like his colleague than his student.

It seems like I'm too young to have one of mentors die before I've even finished my PhD. As far as I know he wasn't sick. He'd talked about doing a few laps in the hotel pool at the Tucson conference. The news was very sudden and a lot of people were shocked.

I was very very fond of him.

I am going to miss him very much.

List: Babies and the Diss

List inspired by seeing the cute university daycare kids in their snowsuits today. Oh, my uterus.

Ways that my dissertation is like a baby:

1. Long gestation period followed by difficult delivery process
2. Will likely weigh more than 5 lbs at birth/completion
3. Labour-intensive
   
4. Can bring it into department, all shiny and new, to show off to office staff and friends, admiring special details like footnotes/feet and fingers/appendices
   
5. Writing process makes me crave weird foods like beef jerky, cherry Coke, scrambled eggs, and yes, pickles. Expect pregnancy to be equally odd. Hopefully cravings will not include ice cream, as am lactose intolerant
   
6. Will be up late at night trying to put it to bed
7. Can't work on either during Department Council
8. Both will somehow have something to do with Jane Austen
   

Ways that my dissertation is not like a baby:

1. One is organic; the other is inorganic
   
2. One will take up all my time; the other is supposed to take up all my time
3. One will require me to cut back on consumption of caffeine and alcohol; the other will be alleviated and even enabled by consumption of said substances
4. Can't edit baby if unhappy with first version
5. Dissertation won't fit into cute CBC one-sie
   

Blizzard!

Watching a lot of weather news tonight because a big blizzard is supposed to move through Edmonton overnight. Apparently, blizzards are a special kind of winter storm that must fulfill certain requirements (from wikipedia: winds of 40 km/h or more, snow or blowing snow, visibility less than 1 km, a wind chill of less than −25 °C, all of these conditions must last 3 hours or more) to be called a blizzard.

It's so special that Environment Canada even has a special graphic to denote "Blizzard" in its forecast:

Curly wind! Star snow!

And that will be the cutest thing about the weather in the next five days.

Holy Crap! I'm Googlable!

Tonight, while looking up info on some Victorian lit job candidates online (the department's currently hiring), I decided to Google myself (so narcissistic) and entered my full academic name into the search string.

This is what comes up:
The first entry is a link to my most recently published article. I use the middle initial to distinguish me from the other English professor named Mary Chan, whose research interests just brush up against mine. In terms of historical eras, she gets as far as the early eighteenth-century novel, while I focus on the late eighteenth-century novel. Even so, she's published enough that you can see why, academically, the middle initial is a necessity and not an affectation.

More importantly (scarily?), searching for my academic name plus the term "Literature" gave me a bit of a nervous thrill (see second entry):

I am officially on e-notes. I'm not sure why this scares me, but it does. Partly, it has to do with the ease with which anyone can find my writing—and possibly plagiarize it—online. Even though a paid subscription is required to view articles (will desperate students pay for an article?), I do feel a little exposed. Or maybe my unease with the association has to do with the fact that e-notes would never be considered an acceptable secondary source.

On the other hand, when my first article was published in 2005, I kept checking the online MLA bibliography (the main articles database for English literature) for months afterwards to see if it had been listed yet. I guess it's a question of who I want to be exposed to.

Missing and Not Missing

Things I miss about Calgary:

1. Calgary friends and family (and friends from out of town who always come home for Christmas)
2. Not having to cook most of my meals (Thanks, mom!)
3. Electric bill that's not mine
4. Proximity to specialty yarn store
5. Cable TV
6. Fantastic dim sum
7. Ming on 17th Ave (now smoke free!)
   

Things I missed about Edmonton:

1. Edmonton friends
2. High Speed Internet (wheeeeee!)
3. Thermostat control
4. Location close to Whyte Ave, shops, sushi, good coffee
5. Breakfast with friends every other Wednesday
6. My duvet
7. Always knowing where my keys are

Things I wish were missing from Edmonton:

1. The big pile of work I have to do, mainly writing Chapter One (as if I'm even close to starting)
2. The pile of bills that awaited me in my mailbox
   

Happy New Year, everyone!

Photographic Evidence: New Year's Eve

Anna has posted the best of the photos (from both our cameras) from New Year's at Tony's here.

The fine pieces of photographic artwork include:

Ben attacking Daorcey with his party hat (note the faux fire DVD playing in the background—thanks, Daorcey's mom!) and

um, random photo taking and posing.

Also of note is photographic evidence that in addition to bouncing when he walks, Jeff bounces when he juggles:



Ah, good times.

Happy 2007!

What does it say about my caffeine dependency and/or my alcohol tolerance when today I wasn't sure whether my splitting headache was due to coffee withdrawl or a hangover?*

Happy New Year, everyone. Hope you all rang in Y2K7 with as much fun as I did, at Tony's bucket party (where everyone had to bring something in a bucket, be it food or drink).

More photos to come, once Anna and I consolidate everything from both our cameras. In the meantime, here's a photo of Daorcey from the end of the night:
















* after making a coffee run, my headache cleared up. However, I'm sure my sleepiness is hangover related.