Friday's Forgotten Books: Angelica Lost and Found

When Russell Hoban died, I was among those who went first to Riddley Walker in mourning his passing. Somewhat neglected in the encomia was his latest book at the time, Angelica Lost and Found (though now Soonchild is out, too).

Angelica finds its inspiration from Ariosto's Orlando Furioso and from a painting of a key scene from the epic poem. Angelica is the woman chained to the rocks on the beach. The hero Ruggerio flies down on a hippogriff to rescue her from the sea monster, Orca. Girolamo da Carpi captured the scene in oils, now hanging in the Museum of Art in El Paso, Texas.

In Hoban's novel, our hero is the hippogriff who names himself Volatore and seeks out Angelica with whom he has fallen in love. How can an imaginary animal love a woman from a poem? He makes himself real, but finds she has become real, too, far away in San Francisco. Even when they find each other, their joy is momentary because reality just can't bear such dreams being made real. Some bon mots:

"Everything is real, Angelica. Reality is a house of many rooms, and sometimes we can enter more than one. Ariosto's words put real wind under my wings, made me fly. It was not only words on paper--I remember the air rushing past me, remember looking down on plains and forests, mountains and oceans. I lived, I flew over the sea in a painting by Girolamo da Carpi in a time long past."

"Why are you in my dream of reality?" 
"I don't know. Reality is a mystery to me and that's how I like it; an understood reality can only be an illusion." 

"Ok, Liv. If I told you I've had sex with an imaginary animal, what would your reaction be?"
"An imaginary animal?"
"That's right."
"What kind of imaginary animal?"
"A hippogriff."
"A hippogriff!"
"Named Volatore."
"Volatore!"
"Does repeating everything I say in italics help you to take it in?"

What can I say? It's Hoban-esque: playful, intelligent, sexy, irrational, thoughtful, sad, happy and fun. If you like that, you'll like this.

Look for the full list of overlooked books over at Patti Abbott's blog. er, Todd's blog.

Friday's Forgotten Books: Riddley Walker

Russell Hoban was a singular writer; when asked what kind of a writing I do, I have generally offered up Hoban as the "genre" in which I write. Sadly, his name didn't always resonate with people -- and that includes NY Times obit writers; though most memorials mentioned Riddley Walker, too many seemed to be speaking of his masterpiece second hand. While many of Hoban's works deserve the accolade of 'masterpiece' this is the one that resonated most deeply for me. I read Riddley first in high school around the time I also read A Clockwork Orange: these books cemented my love of languages in a fictional context, though when I re-read Riddley as an adult, it was as if I had never read it before. Becoming a medievalist brought a further level of amazement, and visiting Canterbury Cathedral to see the St. Eustace painting was the ultimate pilgrimage for me.

Along with the art of "being friends with your head" Hoban's books taught me to trust in my muse and just write the stories I had to tell and trust that somewhere out there might be readers who would find resonance with them (and that they wouldn't do so if I didn't write them). Fans of Hoban might not be as numerous as those of more popular writers, but my experiences with the Kraken show me they are extraordinary and devoted.

My obsessions with storytelling and ritual feature here. The essay originally appeared in Puppetry International back in 2006, one of the first academic essays of mine to appear in a  non-academic publication that I nonetheless listed on my CV. At the time it seemed a bit radical (is it peer reviewed?!) however since then  I have continued my slide into publishing with abandon wherever my words might be of interest. No regrets there. I suppose I could blame tenure, but I only got that last year, so I suppose it's just my lax attitude. (>_<) I recommend picking up the issue of PI  if you have any interest in puppetry: fascinating publication. I think there's more I have to write about puppets, even more about Punch, but things leak out of my brain at their own pace.

Here's the opening: I've put the rest up on Scribd (restoring my original title which I prefer). Be sure to see Todd's round-up of this week's Forgotten Books (Pattii's taking a break for the holidays).

Future Medieval Space: Performing “Punch” in Riddley Walker

Although he sets his novel Riddley Walker (published in 1980) in a post-apocalyptic future, Russell Hoban makes use of the medieval world to mark this future as a site of the “primitive.” For this stunted society, the most apparent aspect of the Middle Ages is the explicitly medieval legend and wall painting of St. Eustace, which still exists faintly on the wall of Canterbury Cathedral. Perhaps more important is his appropriation of the medieval mystery plays, which illuminate bibilical narratives and are traditionally performed on mobile wagons. As performed in Riddley Walker, the “Eusa Show” (a garbled version of the St. Eustace story) takes on many of the mystery plays’ aspects, transmitting the truths of the culture and entertaining people with education. This modified Punch and Judy show conveys the only narrative that remains after the apocalyptic devastation of English society. The ritual of the puppet show picks up the religious meaning of the mystery plays, but it also takes on a social and governmental function that medieval dramas typically lacked. Just as various dissenters from Lollards to Pelagians threatened the orthodoxy of Christianity in the middle ages, the young protagonist’s discovery of a real Punch puppet sets off a chain of events that destroys the carefully scripted Eusa show. Hoban’s use of Punch history gives this superb novel its authority, while the familiar art of puppetry provides a vivid connection to this bizarre future world for the modern reader...

Goodbye, Russ

Sad news today that Russell Hoban has died. The author of Riddley Walker and so many other wonderful books has left this world without me ever having the chance to say how much I loved his books and how much I learned from them and from him. He taught me to trust being "friends with your head" and believing an audience would find you. If you are unlucky enough to be unfamiliar with him, drop by the Head of Orpheus and find out more. My thoughts go out to his family and to my fellow Krakenites.

I am that astonishment from which you write in those brief moments when you can write.
      —The Head of Orpheus in Russell Hoban's The Medusa Frequency

Friday's Forgotten Books: Kleinzeit

I find it amazing that Russell Hoban's singular book Kleinzeit seems to be out of print in the US. Amazon lists the version on the left as the most recent one (2002) but he doesn't seem to have the same popularity here as he does in Britain (where the Pennsylvania-born writer lives, no surprise). Most of you probably know the Frances books and I've certainly gone on at length about my love for Riddley Walker on various occasions, but I hadn't read Kleinzeit until recently.

While reading it in November, I decided to recommend it to everyone who was doing NaNoWriMo as the perfect inspiration for the difficult task of writing, especially for the first time. It mashes up a sort of Pynchon-esque mystery of coincidences and misheard words with a delightful surrealism: the titular character ends up in the hospital for trouble with his hypotenuse. His troubles begin on the most mundane sort of day when he begins to experience a sudden pain. But then something else happens:

Kleinzeit got out of the train, poured into the morning rush in the corridor. Among the feet he saw a sheet of yellow paper, A4 size, on the floor, unstepped-on. He picked it up. Clean on both sides. He put it in his attaché case. He rode up on the escalator, looking up the skirt of the girl nine steps above him. Bottom of the morning, he said to himself.

Little does he know that yellow sheet of A4 will take over his life: he loses his job, he's admitted to the hospital, he takes up the glockenspiel and he takes up with Sister (nurses in Britain are still referred to as "sister"), he meets a red-bearded man who lives in the Underground. And everything seems conspired either to kill him or turn him into a writer. It's not surprising that Hoban has said that this novel is where he found his voice.

One of my favourite passages comes when Kleinziet reads from Thucydides' The Pelopennesian War as he contemplates Athenians and the blank page of yellow A4:

I promise, said Kleinzeit to his dead mother, I'll be, I'll make, I'll do. You'll be proud of me.

Suppose [the Athenians] fail in some undertaking; they make good the loss immediately by setting their hopes in some other direction. Of them alone it may be said that they possess a thing almost as soon as they have begun to desire it, so quickly with them does action follow upon decision. And so they go on working away in hardship and danger all the days of their lives, seldom enjoying their possessions because they are always adding to them. Their view of a holiday is to do what needs doing; they prefer hardship and activity to peace and quiet. In a word, they are by nature incapable of either living a quiet life themselves or of allowing anyone else to do so.

Right, said Kleinzeit. Enough, He opened the door of the yellow paper's cage, and it sprang upon him, Over and over they rolled together, bloody and roaring, Doesn't matter what the title is to start with, he said, anything will do. HERO, I'll call it. Chapter I. He wrote the first line while the yellow paper clawed his guts, the pain was blinding. It'll kill me, said Kleinzeit, there's no surviving this. He wrote the second line, the third, completed the first paragraph. The roaring and the blood stopped, the yellow paper rubbed purring against his leg, the first paragraph danced and sang, leaped and played on the green grass in the dawn.

Up the Athenians, said Kleinzeit, and went to sleep.

It delights me to no end that Hoban fans go around on February 4th leaving sheets of yellow A4 in the tube and other public places with quotes from the author. I can't imagine a more wonderful tradition to have connected with one's books. This novel is quite wonderful and I recommend it highly -- and then go get Riddley Walker and the rest of his books! I love Hoban because his stories all make their own singular way, ignoring genres and rules and convention. What better way to write?

See more "forgotten" books at Patti Abbot's blog where you'll doubtless find friends like Todd.

Confessions of a Pack-Rat & Canterbury Closure

Okay, I knew it was bad when I cleaned out the files for shredding and there were still (paid!) bills from a couple years ago; then I started finding stuff from when I lived on Notre Dame -- in Cambridge! Have to clean out the files more often.

All right -- to belatedly finish up the account of Canterbury:

Morning proved to be just lovely. After feeling so ill, it was great to feel so much better. We made a walking tour of Canterbury (in part because several of the students complained about their lack of funds). We started out with the city walls, around since the Roman times, but most recently rebuilt for the Hundred Years' War (fourteenth century). We had a lot of fun too at the Norman castle (ruins from the twelfth century) and a couple of students had presentations to give. Then we walked along to St. Mildred's, the oldest church within the city walls; part of the Anglo-Saxon structure is still visible. It's got a lovely cemetery attached to it as well. We were lucky enough to have one of the staff members give us an impromptu tour while the organist practiced, pointing out historical bits and letting us into the chapel where the gentry would have sat, warming themselves by their private fire while the rest of the parishoners shivered.

Next we walked up to Grey Friars, the last remaining portion of a monastery founded by followers of St. Francis during his lifetime. Unfortunately, it's only open a couple of hours every day -- and not the hour we were there, although we could see much outside the fence of the bulding that stretches over the river Stour. I don't think the students were too upset -- they had much more fun watching the city workers pull debris out of the river and then help feed the ducks by hand. By then it was lunch time. I recommended some of the free museums and some of the not so free ones, and everyone headed off to lunch. Well, a few of us headed to the Chaucer Bookshop. By that point Sandi wasn't feeling well and went off to the hotel, while I went to the Roman Museum, where I ran into a bunch of our folks. The museum is a little cheesy, but some interesting artifacts from the Roman era.

After that, I ventured outside the city walls to see the ruins of St. Augustine's Abbey and the beautiful St. Martin's, the oldest parish church in England, where Queen bertha lies. Wonderful cemetery -- even had a dead bird (which I duly photographed -- don't forget, you can see all the pictures here). Afterward I did a litte shopping too, picking up a raspberry Kangol beret for a mere $5 at the Oxfam shop -- but no books. Then it was dinner at the Falstaff Hotel -- very good! if not Falstaffian -- and then the piece de resistance, The Canterbury Tales performed by the RSC. The students were very excited to attend the performance -- they even got lucky later because our coach was late, we go to chat with the actress playing the Wife of Bath as she waited for her cab. The performance was superbly presented, if a little odd at times. The hybridity of the opening, retaining a lot of the Middle English but giving it a modern pronunciation, probably helped the audience understand the historical aspects of the language, but was quite jarring to my ears. Who knew the Reeve's Tale would come off more funny than the Miller's Tale when dramatized (which just goes to show how literary it is despite the "misdirected kiss")?

One surprise: the inclusion of the Prioress' Tale. This anti-Semitic tale is in keeping with medieval propaganda against Jews, who had been expelled from England in 1290. However, performing it before a modern audience unaware of this tradition seems bizarre if not downright offensive, particularly when you put the actors playing the Jews in dark cowls and long beaked masks as they are led to murder by a bombastic Satan. One can argue that the Prioress, already lampooned in her portrait in the General Prologue, merely tells a tale that adds to that unflattering portrait, but the production doesn't bear out that argument. There was the slightest comment from the Chaucer character that her story was nonsense -- it was not enough to erase the vivid images that preceded it. If they wanted to do one of the religious tales, why not the Second Nun's? Sigh.

Back to the hotel, where my roomies insisted I take the private room for the night, then early morning coach ride to Gatwick, with less traffic than we feared, onto the plane and the seemingly endless flight back. Argh -- then back where I began this odyssey...and have finally found closure for the tale. Unlike Chaucer -- he didn't have time to complete the Canterbury Tales before his death in 1400. But he left an amazing legacy nonetheless, which will continue to draw pilgrims to the city for many years to come (as will Marlowe and Riddley Walker!).

Peeps at London [4]

[Yesterday proved eventful, what with Gene on the radio in NY, Maggie requiring an emergency trip to the vet -- on medication, but still hanging in there -- then a belated birthday dinner for Pat at Houston landmark, Spanish Village.]

Sunday before Canterbury proved to be an exceedingly damp day. I ran around town picking up things I had promised to people and somehow not got around to buying, so I went everywhere from Gosh to the Tate Britain and got thoroughly soaked doing it (that will become important later). But I got my errrands done, read The Lieutenant of Inishmore and dried off enough to help lead a bunch of students to dinner at the Porterhouse in Covent Garden. Great beers! Terrific service -- even the latecomers (who had run off to places like Glastonbury (thanks for the water David!), Stonehenge and (my fave) Avebury) got their dinnera. The food was excellent and spirits were high. And yes, dared by the students I did do a tequila shot, which they made sure to immortalize in photos. We ended the evening late despite our early departure in the morning, singing and reciting poetry like a bunch of English professors or something.

Our Canterbury trip had a delayed start, as our drivers needed to take a mandated break before driving us. Oh well. We had a few students delivering presentations to entertain us and of course, the beautiful countryside to delight the eyes. We got to a blustery Canterbury and dropped our bags at the very American Holiday Inn Express and headed out to the city. People fanned out for lunch, and the first thing I ran across after lunch was the clock tower once part of the church where Marlowe was baptized. Ah! living history -- I can touch the very bricks that the greatest Elizabethan playwright touched, too. Then we met folks at the cathedral -- one of the main aims of our trip. What a cold wind was blowing! I was really feeling its chill for some reason (should have been dawning on me at that point, but it wasn't). Student gave presentations both inside and outside the cathedral. Many were quite in awe of the structure which offers an imposing figure over the city. We saw the site of Becket's martyrdom and, most important to me, the fifteenth century wall painting of the life of St. Eustace which plays a crucial role in Riddley Walker. But after walking aroudn the cathedral a while, I was starting to feel dizzy and sat down for a while. Sandi and I went to Debenham's cafe for a pot of tea and pain au chocolate, which made me feel a bit better. If I could just get warm...but by dinner time, I was feeling less than wonderful. Which was a pity -- we had our last full group dinner and the students produced a mock proclamation for Jim as, among other things. "The Earl of the Headcount" thanking him for organizing such a wonderful trip. Then Sandi gave a nice speecha bout how much she was going to miss me and the students joined in and a number stood and applauded. I think it was just a conspiracy to make me cry.

Fortunately by that point I was so dazed with fever it all seemed unreal. I rode back to the hotel in a taxi with a few other students who were caling ti an early night and skipping the "ghost tour" (which as it turned out, was a wise decision -- no Benny Hill for me!). I took a hot shower (alas, no bath in the American hotel) and went to bed, finally realizing I ached all over because I was shivering so much. My roommies came in later and were somewhat alarmed at my shivering. Thankfully, they got blankets from housekeeping and piled them on me. About 4am my fever broke and by the next morning, I was almost myself again.

But that will take another post to finish --

New Publication: Puppetry International

Just arrived in the mail! I have an essay in the latest issue of Puppetry International on medievalism in Russell Hoban's Riddley Walker. I look at the ritual of the Punch and Judy show in the novel's post-apocalyptic setting, and how Hoban uses the relics of Canterbury Cathedral and the legend of St. Eustace as rendered in a medieval wall painting in the cathedral.

The magazine itself is a fascinating collection of articles on puppetry (naturally), a medium that proves amazingly varied. It really expands the idea of what can be done with puppets. There is a two page spread of the grants awarded by the Jim Henson Foundation that is simply stunning in the variety of works, although I was particularly intrigued by the Hotel Obligato Physical Theater's production of Punch's Progress.



Insert your swazzle and repeat after me: "That's the way to do it!"

New Publication

I'm happy to report that I will have a publication forthcoming in an unusual outlet: Puppetry International Magazine. It brings together a variety of skills and readings which is always fun. The essay is "Future Medieval Space: Performing 'Punch' in Riddley Walker." I have been really fascinated with Punch of late, and this is one of the payoffs. I know I've mentioned Riddley Walker before (and recently reviewed the latest book by Russell Hoban), but the part that Punch plays in the novel continues to fascinate me, as does Hoban's use of the legend of St. Eustace (and the wall painting based on it in Canterbury Cathedral. Perhaps the fractured language that Hoban uses to evoke the stunted world after nuclear holocaust intrigues me most of all. Naturally, I have made sure to include this favorite book in my course about Canterbury that I'm teaching as part of the London trip this spring.

Review: Linger Awhile

In a rare opportunity (provided by a trans-Atlantic flight), I actually read a brand new book -- Russell Hoban's Linger Awhile. I love Hoban's novel Riddley Walker, which I found an excuse to teach again this semester, so I was looking forward to reading this new one. It has a fun premise, smashing together Frankenstein, Dracula, DNA, cloning and classic Westerns. It's a bit slight, but entertaining -- if a little too flavored by an old man's sexual nostalgia (Hoban's 82 now). There's a lot sly word play, and you'll never look at frogs the same way again. While it's not up to his best, it is definitely fun and kept me entertained, sometimes laughing out loud.