interesting perhaps

de[]ial; denial... or Delial.

XXXXXXXXXX

2 G[] was better than house of leaves in tha[] XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Slothrop XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX.

Almost there...

Felt like it was an adequate time to post something. XXXXX, both nights work well for me. I hear you Matty, I am [ ] as well. Hey Andy, Page 379 (fifth full graph of footnote) (XXXX) (XX (XXXXXX)) And I over use the parentheses)?
[



]
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX and I found that quite interesting. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXX I know that seems rad[ ] however XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX however when “[ ]” appear, in many cases you can fill in several letters XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX and the meaning is changed XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXhouseXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (sic) XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Lude and I XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX1 [

]
1 I’m pretty sure that Ginger was right here in her assessment of the text however, I think she was pretty stupid to say XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX and Andy XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX. So that is what I think of that (strikethrough).

[ ] ThiX

invitation

I'd like us to have one of our final classes down here at my mansion in Omaha. This may be foolish to try and schedule all seven of you for an evening dinner, but would a Thursday or Friday evening work for anyone?

poem

One need not be a Chamber—to be Haunted—
One need not be a House—
The Brain has Corridors—surpassing
Material Place—
Far safer, of a Midnight Meeting
External Ghost
Than it’s interior Confronting—
That Cooler Host.

Far safer, through an Abbey gallop,
The Stones a’chase—
Than Unarmed, one’s a’self encounter—
In lonesome Place—

Ourself behind ourself, concealed—
Should startle most—
Assassin hid in our Apartment
Be Horror’s least.

The Body—borrows a Revolver—
He bolts the Door—
O’erlooking a superior spectre—
Or More—

Emily Dickinson

mi ata beni

I think you are right, based on what I know about Dutch, English,=20
Portuguese, Spanish, French and the way pidgin/creole languages diverge=20
from their parent languages: (this was an interesting language puzzle)

mi ata beni =3D I am fine

From the web [with comments]:

Papiamento is the native, though unofficial, language of the southern=20
islands of the Netherlands Antilles=97Curacao, Aruba, and Bonaire. A creole=
=20
language with Spanish as its base, it contains numerous words from Dutch,=20
English, Portuguese, French, and many other languages. There are about=20
200,000 speakers.

Papiamento is spoken/used in Netherlands Antilles

Untitled 2

Andy... I agree; sharing your level of interest. I refuse, however, to read the poem till I get there.

Untitled

Go ahead… laugh. I’m scared to go to sleep. Honestly. No effects intended. After 100 more pages tonight, I needed a break. Walked next door. “What the fuck happened to you,” were Chris’ first words. “This book,” I replied (didn’t even realize that I still had it in my hand). I allowed him to look through it. He made several of the same comments we all made upon initial viewing. I explained to him the plot with the best effort I could muster; allowed him to read SOS (check marks the code). After 20 minutes, I forced myself back into my room. I turned on all the lights (the dark door leading to my bathroom seemed too familiar as I saw it in a new light). I needed a brownie (surely food, especially chocolate, would right me). I stood at the counter for five minutes. That’s when I heard the knocking from my bedroom wall ( …_ _ _ …). Chill. I didn’t move. The scream that came moments later allowed me to defy gravity. On my decent, I understood the cruel joke Chris had played on me (but I still hear the knocking). I tried to pick up the book. I think its time for bed.
For as cool as I think this book it… it certainly was not for me.

Some deep intellectual shit

Updated
Okay, so... all of us who were in class at the time will remember my brilliant fucking observation about footnote 123 on page of 110 of our hymnals. Dr. Scott says it looks like a rocket, but I maintain that when the pieces of the footnote on both pages are placed together, it looks like a key. A key to what, though?
All right, turn to page 189, very bottom (and I have to say, I loved this section of the book, because it's not very often you can read through 100 pages in 45 minutes). I quote: "In the domain of values, on the other hand, a key closes more than it opens, whereas a doorknob opens more often than it closes." So a key is more often used to symbolize a closing-off, a securing.
Back to page 110, and look at that. It's crossed out. Struck. Closed off. In fact, it's one of the first struck passages. It's also the story of the Minotaur, a word which is struck throughout the book. Hmm... so is the Minotaur being locked up, closed away? In the little story there, the answer is yes, obviously. But in the greater novel as a whole, in the house itself, is the Minotaur and his representative symbology (the unwanted child, the monster, etc.) being shut away? I'm not just making a big deal out of a rather small little footnote, because this is where we first see the story of the Minotaur, so I'd assume it's important to look at. Especially if we want to assume Johnny Truant is writing all this, and the house and its monster are allegories for his own fractured psyche.
Something to think about.

More staggeringly brilliant observations:
Have you read the inside flap of the book yet? It makes it sound like both Zampano's bundle of papers and Danielewski's first-edition internet publication are real, which probably means neither of them are. Or maybe it's using fact to augment the fiction, or just avoid the truth altogether so that Average Joe Reader would pick this up, not knowing Dan's grand joke, and buy the whole thing hook line and sinker. Whatever the intent, it's funny that even the inside flap is full of lies and unreality.
Last note, real quick. You curious about why the book is called House of Leaves? Turn to page 563, and read the poem there, written by Zampano.
Okay. What is this, 15 posts in one week? Forgive me, all, but this book has really grabbed my interest, and if I was a savvy PhD like Scott, I'd be writing books of articles on this. As it is, I can just throw a few comments on the internet and hope I don't come off like an overly enthusiastic ponce. Cheers!

hip online: artists: poe

hip online: artists: poe

Kevin Carter - Photojournalist

Kevin Carter - Photojournalist

An article that calls into question the publicatio data of HOL

sixosix magazine chicago • 606mag.com • chicago magazine • feature - house of leaves

The publication history

The picture

Satan is a book

Don't worry, I'm not talking about House of Leaves. That book is fantastic, I love it. No, my fellow readers, I'm talking about Lo's Diary.
I started reading that book today because I was bored and I thought it might be good to get a head start on it. I've read the John Ray foreword and the first chapter, and I am entirely baffled as to why we're reading this. No, wait, I'm baffled as to how this beast was published. The Foreword consists of Pia Pera revealing that about 90% of Lolita actually didn't happen. Yes, we know Humbert wasn't reliable, but in this little reality, things didn't happen at all. The showdown with Clare Quilty? Not real. Humbert's death? Nah, he's alive and well. And his real name is Humbert Guibert, by the way (did Pera even read the fucking book?). Lolita's alive too, oh and her husband Dick is deaf. I can't conceive of a reason to make that particular change, but there it is.
Okay, having no respect for a classic piece of literature is one thing, but then! we actually get into the story. Have you ever wanted to read the pissy, inane ramblings of a bitchy twelve year-old girl? What, you haven't? Me neither! Who the fuck would? When Pia Pera wrote this book, did she even know that novels are supposed to have target audiences? I'd assume this would be for people who have read Lolita, but none of them would be interested in this brainless shit, and the kinds of pre-teen girls who might find this deeply fascinating sure as shit wouldn't have read Lolita. Their little brains would explode by the third page.
And now I'm staring at the first page of chapter 2, and it begins with "This summer I so totally betrayed Mary Jo that I really have to spend a page of my diary on her." Omigod, you so totally betrayed your best friend? Please, Dolores, tell me more! What could be more interesting than that?!?! Maybe... I don't know... a description of a colonoscopy? The mating habits of armadillos? A two page listing of American photographers in 8-point font? Anything?
Scott, why are you doing this to us? Does the book have merit, somewhere down the road? Is there more to it than just pissing on Nabokov and listening to a whiny adolescent? In the Foreword, "John Ray" says that he doesn't think this diary would be of interest to anyone. Note to Pia Pera: when your own characters are pointing out how shitty the concept is, it's time to change the concept. Scott, please, what am I reading this for?
Holy shit, 450 words... might as well Count This.

Andy! AHHHHHHHH!

Damn you Andy! Well I wrote this before reading Andy’s quaint little post but still relevant.

Thus far I’ve read the introduction through page 10. I understand that I still have roughly 90 pages left before Tuesday however, before I get too far ahead of myself, I was hoping a small discussion, for the benefit of my understanding, could take place. The text House of Leaves was written by Mark Danielewski. I’m assuming this man to be real. However the title page reads House of Leaves by Zampano with introduction and notes by Johnny Truant. I’m going to assume, again, that the Zampano listed here is the same referenced in the introduction (the old man). I’m going out on a limb and stating Danielewski is pulling a Nabokov here and both these gentlemen are factious. But to play along, I believe we are to presume that from chapter 1 on our narrator is Zampano and the foot notes provide are from Mr. Truant. Points I’d like to mention:

- First, I must say I am completely hooked.
- Second, in the introduction, Zampano, an old, and fair to presume, dead man, is described as being blind. Did I read this correctly? Are we to assume that our narrator is blind? Perhaps somebody can put me in my place here.
- Third, these meticulous footnotes have to be false. They reference a nonexistent film (as we are told in the introduction). Certainly a postmodern element at play here. If I am correct in my assumption, I will elaborate more fully in class, otherwise putting my foot in my mouth three times today is enough.
- Fourth, the house being fonted (a word created by Matt) in blue. I’m sure its way too early to begin discussing this but interested in hearing more about this and other textual elements at play.

I will be holding a Contemporary Lit. study session in my room on Tuesdays at 9:30 ( I hear your laughs now). The success of this will be dependent on those that attend therefore, I urge all to attend or “show the hell up.” Postscript; you’re a fool if your looking to me for interpretation on GR, not that I think any of you would. But the more we talk about the texts, I think the better we all can understand them.

Word count says I’m well over 250 so go ahead and count this.

Through the front door

I just read the introduction of House of Leaves, and I'm already a little freaked out. Also interesting is the fact that the book is Danielewski writing about Johnny Truant who found a book by Zampano about a film by Will Navidson. Lolita ain't got nothin' on the House.

Updated: It gets better. Turn to page 24 in your hymnals, and you'll see that chapter IV starts with a quote from Diedrich Knickerbocker. That is, of course, the famous pseudonym of Washington Irving. The quoted line is the last sentence of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, spoken by the narrator of the story, who was allegedly some guy at a public house that told the story to Irving (a fabrication designed to give Irving's stories a sense of authenticity). So, the quote is from a fictional narrator invented by an author under a pseudonym. And it's tucked inside a story being told by a guy about a movie that doesn't exist even in this fictional world, said story being discovered and conveyed by a narrator who his own (fictional) editors aren't sure exists, and every word is being written by the actual, we assume, Mark Z. Danielewski.
This is an element of deconstructionism: the author of the work is irrelevant, as are his opinions, and we may treat the work as an artifact, viewing it how we will. Do you disagree with that? And if you do, how can you approach works like Sleepy Hollow, Lolita, or House of Leaves, where we are so distanced from the author that his "message" is muddled at best?

Pynchon on Simpsons

On Sunday, Nov. 14 (8:00-8:30 PM ET/PT), on the official 16th season premiere of THE SIMPSONS, actor James Caan and writer Thomas Pynchon guest-star as themselves.

Get closer.

Count this.

Since we’re in the gap between books right now, preparing to read a text that will have to be turned ninety degrees every other page in order to be read, I thought I’d provide some general thoughts and assorted shit about post-modernism in general.

If you want to really get into po-mo art, or abstract art, you have to learn to look at the pieces. I was at this modern art museum in Omaha a while back, and I was wandering around and looking at all these paintings. And there was this whole freaking exhibit dedicated to this one artist who, it appeared, just put two huge swatches of color side by side on a canvas and called it a painting. Right, obvious crap, “my kid at home could have done that!” and so on. And so on.

But then I got closer. Much closer than I would have been allowed to get in a regular museum. And when I stood close like that, I saw some things. It wasn’t all solid color, for one thing, there were subtle fluctuations. Some parts almost looked water damaged. The paint strokes were left in, too, so you could see swirls and slashes if you looked hard enough. And then I noticed that all over the surface of the painting were these stamp marks, various little shapes that had been pounded into a waxy surface that covered the paint. After all that, I stepped back, and I thought it was beautiful. Most people get so caught up in the insistence that a painting has to be something, represent something, that they can’t see the very simple beauty of a purple brush stroke on a white canvas.

So pull it back to literature (my own circus trick for the day). Most people, when they read GR, are going to say “I don’t get the plot,” and write it off as crap. Our own Herr Schneider insists on realistic characters in everything, and that put him off. Both these attitudes are not wrong, but certainly flawed. Because there are so many little things, puns or ridiculous names, stunning descriptions, philosophical insights, unique character quirks, historical tidbits you never would have seen otherwise, a structure held together by conspiracy and coincidence… to look at Gravity’s Rainbow and not see the quality of these little touches would be like looking at that painting and seeing two big splotches of color. It misses everything. It misses the point. Post-modernism is concerned with the details. Enjoyment is everywhere, if you look.

Hey Andy

Oh, hey Andy. I'll use as many as I want (as you seem to rob the world of sarcasm (so back off)).

Hypertext of the Unknown

Hypertext of the Unknown

more than that even

more than that even

Take this as you will...

Tying up loose ends.
- I am coming to class with 35 look-a-likes. That’s when you know you’ve made it. I too found the insert humorous.
- I am somewhat disappointed that Papillion, Nebraska wasn’t mentioned. I guess you’re not cool unless your hometown or hometown state is mentioned.
- Matty and I were discussing this (both of us mentioned that we have trouble finding the obvious in the book) the Kenosha Kid dies right? Barber kills him. I’m assuming so as he’s not mentioned again. Can some one put this scene in context for me? This is what I get for trying to read a somewhat segmented text “segmentally” (new word).
- Matty, I too, understand your frustration, bastards.
- My Halloween night was spent writing a paper. Sounded about as eventful as everyone else’s.
- Study session PLEASE! While some maybe great a winging test, I am not. I think a study session maybe, just once a week (I’ll host the first, root beer floats), will better prepare us for, which will be, the most challenging final of our lives. WAHHHAAAAA… WAHAAAAAAA (lights flashing and cue electricity).
- The expository writing blog is kicking our asses….

To business (after having read John’s post). I think, perhaps, we have been too hard on Pynchon. Our friend Tom didn’t write 750+ to end the novel in the manner you presume. In fact you said it yourself, symbolism. I think, as a man wiser than I expressed to me (cough… Scott) that perhaps we became so caught up in the text, trying to master its plot that we forgot to view the text as a literary one. Ask, what was this text about, why did it have an audience (and not what this text can do for you but what you can do for this text); leave your sarcasm at the door. I will be the first to speak to the texts difficulty, shit honestly, I have no idea what I’ve read (well perhaps a better idea than I presume). But the final hurrah of the text is it not another one of Pynchon’s pointless jokes (in fact, if studied more in-depth I’m sure we would find that nothing was done for the sake of pointless humor, except perhaps the puns… no I take that back). Symbolism is written throughout the final pages. What is the theater? What does it symbolize? Answer these questions.

Okay, I’m finished with my ramble, and I know Matt is probably tired of reading posts about an ending he hasn’t read. So, as I believe I have opened myself up to a great number of attacks, I’m going to go cower in house (pretend this is blue) of leaves (try to post before me…).

Matty B. (a rhyme)

Pynchon Opened For Us

Pynchon Opened For Us