Magic Realism

For those cat lovers out there here's a recent photo of my eldest cat, Magic.

The Book of the Duchess

Here is the paper that Viv helped me write last-minute on the topic of: Consider the nature and function of the dream vision as a poetic device in The Book of the Duchess.

Judge for yourself. Please.

Let Your Backbone Slide

Well, the time is fast approaching for the duedate of my first essay of the semester. I consider this one to be the most indecisive and sketchy of my works so far. I've been scrambling these last few days to get my act together and write something worthwhile. Alas! It's been a plague of migraines, digressions, and writer's block. Even though I haven't written one word for this essay I am already jittery.

The question is: Consider the nature and function of the dream vision as a poetic device in The Book of the Duchess. I don't know why I am not getting this. My brain refuses to cooperate. It's lazy. Anyways, I took Vivian's advice and picked the two most important episodes in the poem that I could use to describe the 'nature' and 'function'. Those two scenes are: the Forest episode and the Chess game. Now I need to examine four or five passages in each episode for noteworthy word play, especially since Vivian and I noticed that Chaucer is as fond of puns as seems Shakespeare. In fact, this is perhaps hairbrained but puns seem to be the thing that tie together even two disparate episodes with two different characters like those I selected. Take for instance this key quotation from the Chess episode of the black knight's tale:

But God wolde I had oones or twyes
Ykoude and knowe the jeupardyes
That kowde the Greke Pictagoras!
I shulde have played the bet at ches
And kept my fers the bet thereby. (665-9)

I am amazed I deciphered this passage, especially because the editor admits he cannot fathom why Pythagoras is tied to chess. My amateurish modern translation is this: But God, had I mastered the first and second, and known (solved) the problem (unknown) like Pythagoras! I would've fared better at chess and kept my queen as a result. The obvious reference is 'fers' , a queen chess piece, also a symbol for White (Blanche of Lancaster), his beloved courtly lady being taken away from him in death The rest of the passage is rather simple: the black knight is referring to the Pythagorean theorum. This idea of the hypotenus, I think, ties back in with an earlier part of the text where the black knight says "May nought make my sorwes slyde" (567) [my emphasis] (trans. Nothing can make my sorrow go away). It becomes this complex mathematical metaphor now. Imagine a right angle triangle. If he can solve the base and the height, he reaches a 'slope' which is equated with "going away" or "allaying". Beyond this deciphering, I can't figure out any conclusion. Before this passage he refers to how Fortune checkmated him with a 'poune errante' (mating pawn)--the most shameful and crushing defeat in chess imaginable, I gather.

Obviously the 'chess' game figures as an allegory for the black knight's life, or battle with Fortune and his subsequent defeat. But there has to be more to the Pythagoras reference. It's the segue from Pythagoras to chess, such a complex metaphor or symbol that I can't figure out at the moment.

As You Like It

Thanks to Vivian, I'm back on the straight and narrow path to enlightenment aka comprehending and writing this essay on Chaucer. For the longest while I was lost after straying from the true path (thanks to my own mental carelessness) - but Vivian has set me straight.

For a brief period I thought of blaming others, but I have only my self to blame for veering from the road to truth. I've been idle, much like the protagonists on the dream vision I am studying, who've forgotten how to read the stars, or draped themselves in darkness. But I've waxed poetic long enough.

The reason I am writing a post in the midst of essay brainstorming is that I recalled a amusing tale for those few (regular) readers, Vivian and Jeremy, who I knew would get a chuckle (and a sneer) out of this recent experience. It happened Thursday morning amid breaktime in my Shakespeare tutorial (bright and early from 8:30 to 10:15). We were discussing Romeo and Juliet and I had noted a few passing biblical allusions in the text, one of which I was unsure of. Trustworthy person that I am, I decided to seek the wisdom of my TA - Reginald Khokher - my first mistake. There was a reference to "twenty hundred thousand" in a speech by Friar Laurence (if I am not mistaken) - which I thought could be either 120 000 (I mistook this for the 144 000 servants of God from the 12 Tribes of Israel in Revelation) or just a really big number. So I treked over to the TA before he left the room, planted my book down and asked him to clarify. He looked befuddled, babbled an "I don't know" and then proceeded to note other biblical references I had noted in the margins. He then proceeded to presumptuously state that he didn't think that I was familiar and/or liked postcolonial theory and Shakespeare together based on the fact I've written an essay on biblical allusions in Richard 3 and written my midterm on the subject religion, rhetoric and power. So he presumed that I favoured the biblical over "modern" theory, or was ignorant of postcolonialism (it's not my forte, but I'm not ignorant I just prefer reading the text for what IT IS, not what I can FILTER IT THROUGH).

What a problem, that we should interpret Shakespeare as it was written.

Blizzard Musings, or A Blanche Day

As a result of the blizzard here in Ontario, church has been cancelled, so I sit here trying to figure out productive ways to pass the time. Not content with being only cooped up, my head has decided to have a migraine, too. So I tried working on an essay that is due this Thursday with the hope that it'd be finished well in advance. Naturally this won't happen--the words aren't coming as I stare back at the blank, wordless screen with contempt--as my brain never co-operates when I want it to. It works according to its own schedule, one which is unknown to me, of course.

The question I am attempting to answer in 2000 words is: "Consider the nature and function of the dream vision as a poetic device in The Book of the Duchess." So far I am thinking of focusing on elements of 'fantasy' in the poem, such as the microcosmic tale of Ceyx and Alcyone and the macrocosmic dream vision in relation to the sleepless narrator/dreamer. If I am not mistaken, Chaucer's dream visions tend to work in chronological fashion. Similarly I noticed that in the beginning, Chaucer's dream vision narrators have something on their mind, be it ailments or musings, that needs to be addressed. So the poem moves forward with intent to resolve this issue with "other" literature (usually classic tales, such as by Ovid, Virgil, or Chaucer's "contemporaries"), which is followed by an interlude recollection of the tale. In the case of this poem, the tale is apropos of the narrator's problem. He muses over the tale, usually wishing such fantastic closure for himself, followed by a mystical, fantastic occurence--an insomniac narrator falling asleep, a poet encountering a "fictional" creature, etc. Then the dream vision begins. Here the dreamer is lead across a fantastic/dream landscape laden with allegorical meaning. It is interesting that the dream is awakened by perfect, natural harmony of birdsong to behold two important tales (Virgil and the Romance of the Rose) on the glass inside a house with "white" (parallels later) walls, lead to an imperfect, human hunt for a "hert" (parallels later), then to a harmonious forest (no predators), and in the midst of this forest is a noble Black Knight best by excessive humours (melancholy or despair) after losing his courtly Lady (and herte) to death, whose name is Blanche (white in French). I've left out other important matters, but that's the gist of it.

Unless I am a fool, this poem is densely packed like a Shakespeare play. Nothing is unimportant. Everything has a purpose for being there.

NOTE: This post though jumbled as it is, has helped me find a better structure for organising my essay. I realize that the tale's actual dream vision must be the main subject for my close reading--I can incorporate parallels to earlier in the poem (narrator and the tale of Ceyx and Alcyone) to back up my theoretical stand point. My original plan was backwards, literally, I realize now. I have to start this essay in media res for it to work.

Watch Out For The Medallion

Finally, once in a lifetime I suppose, life has been great this year. It makes me really think that the key to a good year is to start well from square one (not the mall!). New Years Eve, Wayne Brady show @ Casino Rama, Birthday, Farewell Party For Leo @ Work, 2 year 11 month anniversary with Vivian. Life is finally turning out for the better after all these years. I have only one person to thank: Vivian. Ever since I met her I've been inspired to improve my life, beginning late in high school to now. Without her I would not be where I am now, academically. For this I call her "my Sidhe" (sidhe is Irish for Faerie--the land and its inhabitants alike), and now my "Muse". Unfortunately my vixen is rather ill, so I hope these words will uplift her.

I was going to discuss plans for my upcoming essay on Chaucer and The Book of the Duchess, but it's only in outline form. Perhaps after I get the mark for it, I'll post it online for your critical pleasure.

Happy (Early) Birthday To Me!

As some may or may not know, tomorrow, January 20th will be my birthday. Even though it isn't my birthday yet, I already feel as though this is (yes, present tense) is THE best one so far. I partied hardy for New Years (Eve) with my beloved, Vivian, then saw a show at Casino Rama the following Friday (Wayne Brady stand-up) with Vivian, and the preliminary gifts I've received have been delightful. Kudos especially to Vivian for her gift. So far I've amassed $100 bucks and some hand-me-down designer dress clothes from a corporate salesman (it's much better than it sounds!). So two cheers for an early 2-2 birthday!

Deja Vu

In a bizarre twist I've been invited to deliver a lecture in a high school grade 12 Modern Western Civilization history course. It's definitely a twist "of fate" to be invited to teach at my old high school after I received an award at graduation declaring that I was most likely to teach at my high school, Gordon Graydon. While the class won't start until February I have already started considering different topics. The first idea I owe to Vivian who suggested discussing a bit of Caribbean history, an idea I am rather fond of. The teacher who invited me, a member of the church I attend, liked this idea of teaching something that is not offered in their textbook--interestingly it is the same textbook I had to use when I took that class. This specific topic would be a perfect transition from the Enlightenment to the French Revolution and subsequent rise of Napoleon. Another topic that might fit into this time period is the rise and fall of the first modern republic, Corsica, that served as a model to the American colonies and French revolutionaries. I found a great narrative, which I am considering using if I opt for this topic, in John Ralston Saul's book, Voltaire's Bastards. Saul lauds Corsica as the lost and forgotten son of the Enlightenment, a victim of Napoleon's dictatorship.

One point I am tempted to point out to the students is the comparison to modern political events, e.g. George Bush and Iraq or Afghanistan. As I read Saul's narrative I was frightened to discover how identical certain political events in the late eighteenth century were to our times.

For those few who read this blog, I would appreciate any comments or suggestions. I will get more details about this potential stint.

Lady and the Tramp

I couldn't find a photo of just our sole male cat, Peechee (pronounced 'pee-shee'). He was originally my sister's cat, a gift from an ex-boyfriend who happened to be Persian. So in their infinite wisdom they named him 'cat' in a foreign language. The feline is approaching 5 or 6 years old, to be honest I cannot remember when we got him. After my dad paid for a life-saving surgery for the cat, he adopted him as "his" (my dad will always tell you it's HIS cat now) cat. The dog companion would be Lady, our senior Golden Retriever. She is approaching 10 years old now. Her age is easy to gage as we got her when I was in the sixth grade. It's hard to forget when it was my sole responsibility to come home at EVERY lunch from school to feed and walk the puppy.

Shakespeare's Cat

Here is the youngest feline, Cleta. She will be turning 2 this year. Although she resides at this home, she is truly my girlfriend, Vivian's cat. Vivian named her after Cleopatra, the infamous Egyptian Queen. Needless to say the name is befitting.

Where There Is Woman There Is Magic

This is the beginning of a series of posts featuring the animals that live in this zoo of a house. First is Magic, my beloved senior cat. She is the oldest at 18 years old as well as most eccentric and cloistered feline of the pounce. She is still reluctant, if not paranoid of most humans, felines and change. Where I resided was her home for the longest period, she even braved the roadtrip from the basement to the top floor to follow me when I moved upstairs. She lurked in the shadows wherever I went. Only with the sound of my beckoning, coaxing voice would she dare leave her residence. Even as a kitten she would hide in the laundry room, bearing an anxiety against every living thing. I was of a similar sort as a young kid, cloistered, isolated, so we took to one another rather quickly. I would sit down cross-legged in the laundry room still and silent as can be until she came out of her hiding place. She was MY first cat so I spent countless hours with her as a kid. My parents even remark now that there is this mysterious bond between me and Magic. She hides out whenever I am not home, but as soon as she hears my voice she emerges to greet me and to be fed. Sweet memories.

Surprise Surprise

You Are a Golden Retriever Puppy

Tolerant, fun-loving, and patient. You are eager to please - and attached to your frisbee.

What Breed of Puppy Are You?

Empire of Magic

I forget how I came across this book, but I picked up Empire of Magic: Medieval Romance and the Politics of Cultural Fantasy by Geraldine Heng from the York Library today. To be honest it was part fancy, part fortune that brought this book to my attention. I was perusing the York Library Catalogue online for books on Chaucer and other medieval topics originally. As it happens this book is a fresh, new take on medieval literature ala New Historicism (I hope I'm not 'mis-categorising' this book). The reason I raised this issue is, once again, to showcase some ideas/writing that I found amazing. Behold:

If romance did not originate in the Middle Ages--if there never was an "origin" for romance--it had a powerful, distinct moment of re-beginning in early twelfth-century England: a conspicuous moment when a species of magical narrative coalesced in an extraordinary pattern, out of a field of forces in culture and history, to creative an examplar for the romances that followed in the three hundred or more years to come, with an impact that ultimately traveled well beyond the Middle Ages itself. I locate the point at which a narrative shaped itself into the pattern we now recognize as medieval romance in Geoffrey of Monmouth's audacious History of the Kings of Britain (Historia Regum Britannie), created around 1130-39: a moment that also witnesses the first appearance of King Arthur's legend in literary form in the West. (2)

Cultural fantasy does not evade but confronts history, as I show repeatedly throughout the chapters of my book. Fantasy engages with lived event, crisis and trauma, and conditions of exigency in ways that render intelligible to humans the incalculable and the incommensurate. (14)

I realize there are those who do not agree with this approach to literature, but then I've only read the introduction and part of the opening chapter on Geoffrey of Monmouth, so I am not representing the book. If you care to know more, read the book. In later chapters (unread) she focuses on Chretien de Troyes, Richard Coer de Lyon, the Constance group of stories, Mandeville's Travels and the Alliterative Morte Darthure. To my understanding this book also explores the aspects of race (focusing on the Jews and Muslims) that are common to the medieval 'romance' genre.

If only I could learn to stick to school readings then I'd be finished reading Train To Pakistan. It seems I am more interested in medieval genres and their connection to the modern age. Perhaps when I have free time I'll read the copy of the Gormenghast Trilogy that I picked up a few days ago.

That Can't Be Right

I am beginning to doubt the accuracy of this widespread questionnaire. Behold:


Your alter poet is Thomas Stearns Eliot. For you,
life rocks pretty hard!


Who is Your Alter Poet?
brought to you by Quizilla

Nuff said.

Tim Hortons Is Not The Canadian Starbucks

The title for today's posting is compliments of a joke from the Wayne Brady show on Friday at Casino Rama, which I attended with Vivian. It is a skit that harkens back to the American Whose Line Is It Anyways days, when the audience designs a scenario, setting, and has Wayne and his castmates have multiples takes each based on different movie genres. For this performance one of the co-comedians was to come into Tim Hortons and convince Wayne, who was working there, that he needed ass lip-o-suction. Except there was one problem: Wayne and his coterie were all Americans and had no clue what Tim Hortons was. One member of the audience--to the chagrin of the rest of the (Canadian) audience--voluntarily shouted out that it was "the Canadian Starbucks." You can imagine the bombardment of boos that erupted from this hall of caffeinated Canadians.

In other news I'm re-reading Chaucer's House of Fame again. This time around it's starting to make sense especially after I consulted a book called Understanding Chaucer, which helped me grasp the basic 'habits' of Chaucer as a writer (e.g. how he builds up nuances and digressions in the first half of each poem that hint at the main idea but waits until the last half to present it in the flesh). Perhaps this means that down the road I can read his masterpiece Troylus and Criseyda and it'll make sense.

For the upcoming week I have to read Khushwant Singh's Train to Pakistan as well, though it's on hiatus until I finish Chaucer. While I'm only 30 pages in to the book I am looking forward to picking it back up tomorrow.

There isn't much else to report. I worked a short 5 hour shift today that involved returning a whole mess of magazines--a (super) cartful to be precise--as well as a bit of administrative paperwork and newspaper returns. On occasion I had to be a Tiresias and offer cryptic prophecies about the tidings of magazines, not to mention customer holds and inquiries. If I have to be Tiresias again tomorrow it looks as though it'll be in Euripides' Bacchae; with all the fun--the bacchanal, cross-dressing, and bloodshed--bowdlerized for the consumer public.

Night of the Living Dead

Well, tonight I hit the sack early hoping to gain back the sleep I'd lost over the week but awoke a mere two and a half hours later wide-awake, feeling in abeyance of sleep. These words seem a tad coincidental, perhaps ironic--though this has happened before-- in light of discussing Chaucer's Book of the Duchess yesterday. I sympathise with the narrator when he admits: "Purely for defaulte of slepe, / That, by my trouthe, I take no kepe / Of noothinge--how hyt cometh or gooth." That's exactly how I felt when I awoke earlier: in abeyance, in limbo, inbetween. I wish my brain would find easier paths to revelation than addling. But it didn't end here. When I realized that I'd be up for a few hours at least, I picked up Boethius's Consolation of Philosophy hoping to pass the time and learn. But once again I was coddled, if not slapped, by words of startling coincidence. I can't remember the exact passage nevertheless I feel irked whenever literature acts like a smart ass or know-it-all with its blatant insights. Poetic justice for a person who likes to play the role of smart ass too, perhaps? This is a warning for all you readers: reading too much literature WILL come back to haunt you if you are negligent of your body; you WILL be bitchslapped with literature down the road.

That's my insight for today. :)

Quimbey's Son: 'Say Chaucer' (Not Chowder)

Now that school is back in session I find it harder to write a post without either assigned books or whining becoming the main topic. There is no time for me to indulge in books not part of my curriculum without a backlash, so I am trying my hardest not to dilly-dally. In light of my chronic respiratory ailment, I know that I must keep stress at bay. Otherwise, I can look forward to having the acute lung pangs that I experienced last semester, again.

Luckily the only dilemmas I face now are preparing an Art presentation on Futurism and whether to write a 2000 word essay for 'Religious Drama and Visions in the Middle Ages' on the Pearl-poet (Cleanness and Patience) or comparing Chaucer (House of Fame) with Hildegard of Bingen (Scivias). I am tempted to play the wild card and write on the latter topic as a challenge to explore two authours about whom I have basic knowledge. The topic isn't too daunting, luckily:

The House of Fame is as rich and complex in visual detail as Hildegard's visions, but the subject matter is entirely different. Compare the two with regard to the writer's purpose, the vision's source, and the visionary's explanation of her or his experience.

In fact, I think I will stick with this topic. As much as I have enjoyed the Pearl-poet's works in the past, I think it'd be a crying shame to ignore a chance to understand his contemporary, Chaucer, too. The comparison to Hildegard shouldn't be too hard as her text is 'closed' in meaning - the meaning of her vision is rather narrow in scope - since she alleges that God dictated to her its true design.

Well, I have to be up in 5 1/2 hours for an early morning Shakespeare tutorial on Titus Andronicus so I ought to hit the sack now.

ADDENDUM: After today's class I am re-considering my choice of essay topic. I could write on The Book of the Duchess question:

Consider the nature and function of the dream vision as a poetic device in The Book of the Duchess.