First time as tragedy, second time as farce. (General grossness alert.)
Oh, the rapturous higher plane of existence on which the ideal English major…what’s the word, something something, oh, let me just find a reality show to watch because I’m just a grubby economics major, rolling around on my piles of money:
Real reading is reincarnation. There is no other way to put it. It is being born again into a higher form of consciousness than we ourselves possess. When we walk the streets of Manhattan with Walt Whitman or contemplate our hopes for eternity with Emily Dickinson, we are reborn into more ample and generous minds. “Life piled on life / Were all too little,” says Tennyson’s “Ulysses,” and he is right. Given the ragged magnificence of the world, who would wish to live only once? The English major lives many times through the astounding transportive magic of words and the welcoming power of his receptive imagination. The economics major? In all probability he lives but once. If the English major has enough energy and openness of heart, he lives not once but hundreds of times. Not all books are worth being reincarnated into, to be sure—but those that are win Keats’s sweet phrase: “a joy forever.”
I’m guilty of saying I loved economics because it meant using math to explain people, but that was hyperbole. We get to use that, don’t we? The great unwashed?
I hereby summon one Bernardo Aparicio to rebut the claim above, that of one Mark Edmunson. And I don’t wanna hear no sass from any of you TAC types, you with your humanities degrees, and your writing implements, and your Kindles-used-for-books-not-sudoku-or-smut.
Hat tip to Cedar’s Digest, who asks Why Is the “Ideal English Major” uncurious and anti-intellectual?
If we are in the business of sharing the wonder of knowledge, then we need to drop the vague mysticism of “there are readers and there are readers.” Take a small drop of that celebrated imagination supposedly thought to dwell deep in the heart of every English major, and think about why economists might think their field is important. Economics majors do not “live in facts and graphs and diagrams” any more than an English major lives in the alphabet. Economics is the study of human decisions. Someone who studies health economics or the effects of poverty or labor markets doesn’t do it because they enjoy the pretty colors that excel offers. They like finding patterns in human behavior. Sometimes they apply that knowledge so that more English majors can eat. They are not doing this because they are soulless automatons.
Miss Ellen interviews Mr. Matthew … and does crackerjack job of it.
“That was in the reading yesterday. I thought of you.”
We’re also shown the cruel hilarity of writing a comedy of manners in a time and place where manners have eroded: What is the proper etiquette for Nate, Waldman asks, when he’s gone on a few lacklustre dates with a woman and she becomes pregnant? They decide together that an abortion is the only solution (and it becomes clear that Nate feels no spark of romance), he dutifully accompanies her to the clinic and, after keeping her company with movies and takeout that evening, calls only once, to see how she’s doing, but not again. When Nate runs into this woman a year later, and she sputters some furious words at him, how guilty should he feel for behaving more or less straightforwardly? Should he have assumed that a successful woman, with a large social network, really needed his continued attention and ministrations?
With her eye for social folly in the streets and restaurants of New York, Waldman resembles Edith Wharton. But where the manners and hierarchies of Wharton’s world are highly codified (and the scandal in her books is the arrival of someone who tries to break them), Waldman’s characters are set adrift in a world without clear rules, and they torment themselves trying to figure out if they’ve in fact violated some ill-defined conventions of courtship and sexual etiquette.
The New York Times real estate section is currently featuring a Majorcan farm dating to the 13th century. A few of the heartbreaking details about the $5 million property:
“The 8,000-square-foot manor house is the centerpiece of the 40-acre property, which has been owned by the same family since 1790.”
“In a nook off one of the living rooms, right, is a small chapel where Mass has been celebrated weekly for centuries.”
“[A] dwelling, used historically for baking bread, is one of several unrenovated outbuildings included in the sale.”
“An ancient reservoir helps with irrigation.”
She’s coming fast and hard with vengeful spite:
You’d better ready yourself now
As she prepares to sweep
The beaches bare,
The rapey, killy creep
Who dares to scare her brood – and blow,
This mother will, with ever-loving might!
“I heard one of the other people, a young woman who stood in line ahead of me, remark to him that along with Bob Dylan, Percy was her biggest hero. That got him out of his chair to give her a big hug.”
Declining demand for bourbon, which began in the early ’70s and continued into the ’90s, was attributed to various causes, including recreational drug use, the mass marketing of beer, and the rising popularity of gin and vodka among cocktail drinkers.
With the work force at Buffalo Trace shrinking steadily — from 250 when he started in 1949, it would reach a low of 50 in the early 1990s — Mr. Lee and his staff selected their best bourbon whiskey, put it in decanters with attention-getting horse-and-jockey bottle stoppers, and shipped it for retailing at about $30 a bottle, compared with an average price of $10 to $15 for a regular bottle.
The audience gathered slowly. But once it arrived, said Eric Gregory, president of the Kentucky Distillers’ Association, the premium audience was devoted. “We had to have cases and cases of it every Friday, or else,” said Mr. Gregory, who as a University of Kentucky student worked part time in a liquor store in the mid-’80s.
A nod to Kierkegaard and Walker Percy: existentialist tomfoolery, political satire, literary homage, word mongering, a year-round summer reading club, Dylanesque music bits, apocalyptic marianism, poetry, fiction, meta-porn, a prisoner work-release program.
Cosmos the in Lost
Everything that Rises
Good Country People
By Way of Beauty
Charlotte was Both
I Have to Sit Down
From Empty Hands
All Manner of Thing
Gerasene Writers Conference
The Ironic Catholic
Catholic and Enjoying It
Catholic Radio International
Is My Phylactery Showing?
Babes in Babylon
Fort o' Tude
En pocas palabras
William Wilson, Guitarist Extraordinaire
Signposts in a Strange Land
Mr. Bones' Garden