Saturday
Now I feel so much better about having started to read both of Stendhal’s novels at once. I’ve lifted this from Wiki—he was not appreciated until the beginning of the 20th C (hence around 1958 I might have “heard” of him somehow being still “in the air,” and he is sardonic and psychological. Plus he writes only for the happy happy few (as in Beckett’s “Happy Days?” )
Contemporary readers did not fully appreciate Stendhal’s realistic style during the Romantic period in which he lived; he was not fully appreciated until the beginning of the 20th century. He dedicated his writing to “the Happy Few”. This is often interpreted as a dedication to the few who could understand his writing, or a sardonic reference to the happy few who are born into prosperity (the latter interpretation is supported by the likely source of the quotation, Canto 11 of Byron‘s Don Juan, a frequent reference in the novel, which refers to “the thousand happy few” who enjoy high society), or as referring to those who lived without fear or hatred. It may also refers, given Stendhal’s experience of the Napoleonic wars, to the “we few, we happy few, we band of brothers” line of Shakespeare’s Henry V.
Today, Stendhal’s works attract attention for their irony and psychological and historical aspects. Stendhal was an avid fan of music, particularly the composers Cimarosa, Mozart, and Rossini, about whom he wrote an extensive biography, Vie de Rossini (1824), now more valued for its wide-ranging musical criticism than for its historical accuracy.
[edit]
he turns up in Beckett’s bio—at a key moment–Beckett read him in 1926 when he was just 20—very formative
Since I am starting to read Saramago’s Ricardo Reis then I can post my claim to having invented “Stereoscopicphonic Reading” Reading two books at once by the same author or two books at once about the same location. Best if also the same time and place. Two books set in Lisbon in the 20thC–Reis and Night Train to Lisbon— and two books by Stendhal—The Red and the Black and The Charterhouse of Parma—both titles have had a certain ring for me all my life—“I want to read those—without knowing at all why.
Let the record show the date and time of my invention and of my supreme claim to fame. I will call upon two or three witnesses to verify said achievement.
It matters not a whit, of course, that I am also at the moment reading about twelve other books as well in these middle days of December when feeling housebound by weather and circumstances makes one feel alternately like a prisoner and a vacationer and a leisured pacific island noble. Minus the tropical balms and breezes.
But if I’ve got about 12 to 18 books going I should just go ahead and claim as well the invention of Symphonic Reading, Choral Reading, Symphonic-Choral Reading and Orchestral-Choral Reading. You read from one author to the next, around the house, books with bookmarks everywhere, sounding each out and trying to get them by the end of the day and week to all play and sing together in perfect harmony.
23 books or more becomes Madhouse Reading. I guess.
