At Seamus Cooney’s Bad Poetry page:
My thanks to Alexandra Botelho for suggesting the next item. She writes, “Many people consider ‘A Tragedy,’ by the minor Pre-Raphaelite poet Theophilus Marzials to be the worst poem ever written in the English language. …”
William Faulkner quits his post office job:
As long as I live under the capitalistic system, I expect to have my life influenced by the demands of moneyed people. But I will be damned if I propose to be at the beck and call of every itinerant scoundrel who has two cents to invest in a postage stamp.
This, sir, is my resignation.
From the prologue to Cixin Liu’s The Dark Forest (follow up to The Three-Body Problem):
“See how the stars are points? The factors of chaos and randomness in the complex makeups of every civilized society in the universe get filtered out by distance, so those civilizations can act as reference points that are relatively easy to manipulate mathematically.”
“But there’s nothing concrete to study in your cosmic sociology, Dr. Ye. Surveys and experiments aren’t really possible.”
“That means your ultimate result will be purely theoretical. Like Euclid’s geometry, you’ll set up a few simple axioms at first, then derive an overall theoretic system using those axioms as a foundation.”
“It’s all fascinating, but what would the axioms of cosmic sociology be?”
“First: Survuival is the primary need of civilization. Second: Civilization continuously grows and expands, but the total matter in the universe remains constant.”
“Those two axioms are solid enough from a sociological perspective … but you rattled them off so quickly, like you’d already worked them out,” Luo Ji said, a little surprised.
“I’ve been thinking about this for most of my life, but I’ve never spoken about it with anyone before. I don’t know why, really. … One more thing: To derive a basic picture of cosmic sociology from these two axioms, you need two other important concepts: chains of suspicion, and the technological explosion.” (pp. 13, 14)
An extraordinarily elaborate textual transcription of sonic hyperstition is unfolding (or implexing) at Xenaudial, beginning here.
“The coïncidences began intensifying …”
It’s probably a decade or so ahead of its time, insofar as chronological estimation can get any kind of grip on such things.
A weekend selection of Twitter brilliance from Pete Mandik:
Still only half-way through (the first volume of) this masterpiece, but its genius is overwhelming.
(At he most trivial level, it’s an eye-opener for anybody who has convinced themselves — on the basis of abundant evidence — that the Chinese are incapable of writing science fiction.)
The April edition of The New York Review of Books carries a magnificent article by Mark Lilla on Michel Houellebecq’s Soumission. Calmly disdaining the dominant moral-political panic reactions, he asks what the book is really about, and finds something far more interesting than Islamophobic spleen. Its fundamental suggestion is not that the great Western project of emancipation is endangered, and in need of one more effort in its defense, but that liberation teleology is exhausted — and unmistakably unwanted. Submission is the final act of volition, through which the West — and first of all France — frees itself from the dream of freedom. Whether or not one agrees with Houellebecq — and he is not a writer to court cheap consent — it is difficult to disagree with Lilla.
Since Soumission is fiction, its historical vision is embedded, and ironized. Through the figure of Robert Rediger, university president and opportunistic Islamic apologist, we are exposed to a perception of the cultural crossroads that is supple, wide-angled, and fatalistic:
The Roman Empire lasted centuries, the Christian one a millennium and a half. In the distant future, historians will see that European modernity was just an insignificant, two-century-long deviation from the eternal ebb and flow of religiously grounded civilizations.
It is nothing on this scale of grandeur that leads Houellebecq’s hero François to convert, but rather the personal revelation — received through pornography more than religious scripture — that: “Freedom is just another word for wretchedness.”
And so François converts, in a short, modest ceremony at the Grande Mosquée de Paris. He does so without joy or sadness. He feels relief, just as he imagines his beloved Huysmans did when he converted to Catholicism. Things would change. … why not? His life is exhausted, and so is Europe’s. It’s time for a new one — any one.