my favorite lepidopterist

Thanks to Maud Newton's blog, which I have to thank my professor for this class for recommending to me in the first place, I stumbled upon this really cool project:
http://observatory.designobserver.com/entry.html?entry=11597
21 designers were asked to create new versions new covers for all 21 of Vladimir Nabokov's novels. Called "The Specimen Box Project," because Nabokov was an avid butterfly collector, each book is presented in its own specimen box.
I love this because I'm a sucker for aesthetically pleasing copies of books I adore. Even though I know it's what is inside the cover that counts, I do think one day (when I'm an "adult" with spending money) I'd like to collect gorgeous copies of my most cherished books.
At any rate, looking at pictures of 18 of the 21 novels, I realize how much I need to read more Nabokov that isn't just Lolita - which isn't even pictured among the 18 shown.

My favorite new covers are The Enchanter, Glory, Pale Fire, but my very favorite is probably this one:

and besides, as a rule, things can't go back to what they were

There are many ways for a story to lose its original essence. Translations and adaptations are two common ways for a story to change, not necessarily in a good way.

In the case of The Master and Margarita, the Mikhail Bulgakov classic, various translations and multiple film adaptations have changed the shape of the novel a few times. I read the most recent translation of The Master and Margarita over the summer, and fell in love with it. This semester, after attending an English major advising appointment, I found an old copy of the book on a case in a spare room on the English floor of the Cathedral with a sign offering free books. There it was!
I love books, and I love free things, so free books are especially welcome.

Only upon closer investigation once I made it back to my room did I realize this was a 1967 translation that differed pretty significantly from the version I'd just read.

Because I'm currently lacking the energy to explain how difficult the plot of The Master and Margarita would be to adapt to a film (I am zapped of needed energy by what seems to be a nasty hollow aching in my chest, in conjunction to a burning pain in my throat that my mother insists is the swine flu), I am going to let this funny 70s narrator describe the difficulties as he introduces a 1972 film version of the novel.

I would recommend only watching until his introduction ends. The opening sequence is almost as painful as my symptoms. (Har Har Har)

With such stupid, purely physical, infirmities, that seem to depend on the sunset or something, how can one help doing stupid things?

Dostoyesvsky's 188th birthday on October 30th and I missed it! Thanks to Jessica Crispin at Bookslut, I can now acknowledge it properly. I never knew that he was born the day before Halloween.... But after reading Jessica's funny (and excellent, not that the two are mutually exclusive) post about it, I have an excuse to post about the Pittsburgh Irish and Classical Theater's production of Crime and Punishment that I saw at the end of September and neglected to mention on this blog.

I have read Crime and Punishment twice and, apart from my attempt to read Notes From Underground over this past summer, it is the only work of Dostoyevsky's that I've ever completed. I know how much of a shame that is, and given how much I loved C & P the second time I read it, I know I'd like his other novels a lot. The banter between Porfiry and Raskolnikov is exhilarating and the philosophical questions it raises are profound without feeling trite. And Dostoyesvky's characterization is sharp as all hell.
Take for example, this description of Peter Petrovich, Dunya's fiance:

Peter Petrovich belonged to that order of persons who seem extremely amiable in company and lay special claim to the social graces, but who, as soon as something is not to their liking, lose all their spring and become more like sacks of flour than animated and lively gentlemen.

This humor pervades the entire massive novel, though at parts it's much less funny than others.

The play adaptation I saw two months ago fails to capture many of those moments in the book. It would be impossible to adapt the whole novel to a 90 minute stage play, so the company chose to focus solely on Raskolnikov's meetings with Porfiry, and his relationship with Sonya. Those parts are all done well, but watching the play didn't knock me out as much as reading the book did. That said, the performances are strong and Joel Ripka depicted Raskolnikov's psychological struggles well. Thanks to a photo on the Pittsburgh Tribune site, below are Joel Ripka and John Meyers on stage as Raskolnikov and Porfiry during one of the invigorating interview scenes.

And still, the box is not full

I know that we're supposed to be reaching out into the blogosphere this week, (and I promise, I've been looking into that!), but I've been thinking about East of Eden this weekend and I want to share a passage I loved in it that speaks volumes to the whole idea of this silly blog.
The selection I want to share describes the sensation of barricading yourself in a book. It's a feeling I miss a lot during the semester, when somehow I start viewing all free time as an opportunity to be doing something either more important, or more "fun" than reading for pleasure. That's a ridiculous and embarrassing fact for me to admit, especially here.

I'm looking forward to winter break for a lot of reasons, but one of them is definitely for whatever book I choose to bury myself in.

At any rate, here is the paragraph that triggered all of that:

"Tom got into a book, crawled and groveled between the covers, tunneled like a mole among the thoughts, and came up with the book all over his face and hands."

what we talk about when we talk about love

In keeping with the original intent of this blog (creating links within the literary world, showing how stories connect writers and collections...Six degrees of separation/Kevin Bacon basically), I thought I'd share how my recent reading of stories in My Mistress's Sparrow is Dead traces back to a Raymond Carver poem I found last week. A day after I found the poem I'm about to tell the story of, I was laying in bed choosing a story to end my night on from My Mistress's Sparrow is Dead. I chose the Raymond Carver short story "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love" because I'd read some of his stories before and find them intriguing.

But mostly I read it because only the day before....

...I was at Carnegie looking for a book of poems for my religion class, and I stumbled upon a collection of Raymond Carver poems. I never knew he wrote poetry, so I picked up the book, entitled All of Us to see what it was all (no pun intended) about. I'd already known that Carver's widow is named Tess Gallagher, so I shouldn't have been so shocked when I opened to a random page and saw the poem "For Tess".

But I was thrilled. And convinced that I'd just experienced some sort of poetry/name serendipity that had a much larger meaning than it did. I rarely see my name in print, and embarrassingly, I got real happy to see an entire poem written to me. It was a nice poem, too.

The last line reminded me a lot of a Nick Laird poem I love:

As I was lying there with my eyes closed,
just after I'd imagined what it might be like
if in fact I never got up again, I thought of you.
I opened my eyes then and got right up
and went back to being happy again.

I'm grateful to you, you see. I wanted to tell you.

love drains from you

A few weeks ago I saw Lorrie Moore at the Drue Heinz Lecture Series in the Carnegie Music Hall. I'd never read any of her renowned short stories, but I had recently read a review of her newest novel A Gate at the Stairs, and figured if it were free, I may as well hear her speak.

At the talk, the woman introducing her relayed a story about how while Moore was getting her MFA at Cornell, the professor told them that using the second person to narrate a story was a cheap crutch. And so Moore decided to write a superb short story called "How to be an Other Woman" that went on to be featured in her collection of stories "Self-Help."

After seeing her talk, I went to the Carnegie Library to check out some of her stories, and saw that the story "How to be an Other Woman" was part of the Jeffrey Eugenides edited collection My Mistress's Sparrow is Dead, which is a book I've been wanting to read for a long time because of my love for Eugendies, and short stories. It's a collection of "great love stories, from Chekhov to Munro" and is chock-full of talented writers' stories. In his introduction Eugenides writes that it is only through reading love stories "that we can simultaneously partake of the ecstasy and agony of being in love without paying a crippling emotional price." Moore's story, written as a sarcastic instruction manual of sorts for how to have an affair, allows the reader to experience the self-loathing humiliation that being the other woman causes, without actually having to participate in an affair.

I'm glad to finally have this collection. And I'm glad to have seen Moore's talk. She reminded me of a text I'd been meaning to get for ages now, and in the process I discovered a new writer. I've added her new novel to my reading list.

it's no use worrying about Time

Every morning I see a copy of a Frank O'Hara poem on my dresser. My sister printed it out for my birthday last year, and it immediately resonated with me. I already liked O'Hara's poetry a lot (thanks to my sister), but hadn't read this poem yet.

It's taken from O'Hara's collection "Meditations in an Emergency," which was featured on an episode of the AMC show "Mad Men" last year. At the time my sister gave me the poem, I hadn't yet seen "Mad Men," but now I have and completely adore it. So when I finally got to the episode from the start of season two in which the main character Don Draper recites the poem, I was beyond excited. Sure I was a year late in seeing it ("Mad Men" is now into its third season on AMC, but I'm only three episodes in...watching illegally online), but hearing my beloved Don Draper read the poem gave me chills.

Here is a clip of Don reading it out loud, followed by the poem. The real scene it's featured in is not available on Youtube, so this is just a compilation of different clips from the first two seasons with Don's voice over.

Now I am quietly waiting for the catastrophe of my personality to seem beautiful again, and interesting, and modern.

The country is grey and brown and white in trees, snows and skies of laughter always diminishing, less funny not just darker, not just grey.

It may be the coldest day of the year, what does he think of that? I mean, what do I? And if I do, perhaps I am myself again.