Tag: Literature

A review of Hilary Mantel’s novel Beyond Black

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In Hilary Mantel’s 2005 novel Beyond Black, a fat psychic named Alison endures the harrowing torment of a collective of ghosts she calls the Fiends, the spirits of cruel men from her childhood. When a young, aimless woman named Colette comes into Alison’s life and assumes managerial duties for her career, Alison’s bilious past comes to a head. Colette engineers more and better gigs for Alison (the death of Princess Diana causes a huge spike in business), who, despite her genuine psychic talents, must nonetheless run the kind of scam the “punters” in her audience crave. Colette and Alison soon move in together, buying a new house in a quiet, boring suburb outside of London; their prefab homestead is drawn in sharp contrast to the slums of Aldershot where Alison grew up–the novel’s second setting. As Beyond Black progresses, contemporary suburban Britain increasingly crumbles into Alison’s grim, greasy past in Aldershot. Alison’s chief tormentor is, ironically, her “spirit guide,” a mean little man named Morris, a one-time frequent customer for Alison’s prostitute mother. Alison, like many victims, has suppressed much of her grotesque childhood, but it’s hard to black out everything with psychic baggage like Morris weighing her down. In time, more and more of the Fiends reemerge, forcing Alison to confront her mother and the abuse they both suffered at the hands of those awful men. As the book lurches to its chilling climax, Alison asserts independence, casting out her metaphysical and psychological demons.

At its core, Beyond Black asks what it means to be haunted and how one might survive an abusive past intact. A slim specter of a character named Gloria floats through the book. The Fiends, whose vile antics are sometimes compared to a gypsy circus, have dismembered Gloria with the old saw trick. In Alison’s memory, pieces of Gloria are scattered around her childhood home, parceled out, fed to dogs, transported in boxes at midnight, hidden. Alison’s awful mother frequently alludes to Alison herself being “sawed up,” a metaphor that dances on the literal as we come to realize that the old drunk has pimped out her daughter repeatedly. Mantel’s novel investigates the return of the repressed, and although she gives us something like a happy ending, the book’s central thesis seems to be that pain cannot be abandoned or hidden, but only mitigated through direct confrontation.

The book’s humor does nothing to lighten its grim subject–if anything it exacerbates and confounds the darkness at the heart of Beyond Black. Mantel’s gift for dialogue fleshes out her characters (even the spectral ones), and while the book aims for a satirical tone at times, its characters are too richly drawn to be mere cutouts in a stage production. Mantel’s satire of contemporary English life is sharp and bleak; you laugh a little and then feel bad for laughing and a page later you’re horrified. It’s a successful book in that respect. It’s one real weakness is in the character of Colette, whose voice gives way to Alison’s past by the book’s end. This is actually no problem, as Colette’s narrative life is not nearly as interesting as Alison’s psychic traumas; Colette is, however, catalyst for the changes in Alison’s life. It would’ve been nice to see more resolution here, but I suppose Beyond Black hews closer to real life here, with all its messy loose ends.

I chose to read Beyond Black because I enjoyed Mantel’s recent Booker Prize winner Wolf Hall so much. The books have little in common other than being well-written and tightly paced, and I think that anyone who wanted more Mantel after an introduction via Wolf Hall would do right to pick up Beyond Black. Recommended.

[Ed. note—Biblioklept first published this review in 2010. RIP to Hilary Mantel, who died “suddenly but peacefully” yesterday at 70.]

Ann Quin’s novel Passages collapses hierarchies of center and margin

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Ann Quin’s third novel Passages (1969) ostensibly tells the story of an unnamed woman and unnamed man traveling through an unnamed country in search of the woman’s brother, who may or may not be dead.

The adverb ostensibly is necessary in the previous sentence, because Passages does not actually tell that story—or it rather tells that story only glancingly, obliquely, and incompletely. Nevertheless, that is the apparent “plot” of Passages.

Quin is more interested in fractured/fracturing voices here. Passages pushes against the strictures of the traditional novel, eschewing character and plot development in favor of pure (and polluted) perceptions. There’s something schizophrenic about the voices in Passages. Interior monologues turn polyglossic or implode into elliptical fragments.

Quin repeatedly refuses to let her readers know where they stand. Indeed, we’re never quite sure of even the novel’s setting, which seems to be somewhere in the Mediterranean. It’s full of light and sea and sand and poverty, and the “political situation” is grim. (The woman’s brother’s disappearance may or may not have something to do with the region’s political instability.)

Passage’s content might be too slippery to stick to any traditional frame, but Quin employs a rhetorical conceit that teaches her reader how to read her novel. The book breaks into four unnamed chapters, each around twenty-five pages long. The first and third chapters find us loose in the woman’s stream of consciousness. The second and fourth chapters take the form of the man’s personal journal. These sections contain marginal annotations, which might be meant to represent actual physical annotations, or perhaps mental annotations–the man’s stream of consciousness while he rereads his journal.

Quin’s rhetorical strategy pays off, particularly in the book’s Sadean climax. This (literal) climax occurs at a carnivalesque party in a strange mansion on a small island. We see the events first through the woman’s perception, and then through the man’s. But I’ve gone too long without offering any representative language. Here’s a passage from the woman’s section, just a few paragraphs before the climax. To set the stage a bit, simply know that the woman plays voyeur to a bizarre threesome:

Mirrors faced each other. As the two turned, approached. Slower in movement in the centre, either side of him, turning back in the opposite direction to their first movement. Contours of their shadows indistinct. The first mirror reflected in the second. The second in the first. Images within images. Smaller than the last, one inside the other. She lay on the floor, wrists tied together. She bent back over the chair. He raised the whip, flung into space.

Later, the man’s perception of events at the party both clarify and cloud the woman’s account. As you can see in the excerpt above, the woman frequently refuses to qualify her pronouns in a way that might stabilize identities for her reader. Such obfuscation often happens in the course of a sentence or two:

I ran on, knowing I was being followed. She came to the edge, jumped into expanding blueness, ultra violet tilted as she went towards the beach. We walked in silence.

The woman’s I becomes a She and then merges into a We. The other half of that We is a He, the follower (“He later threw the bottle against the rocks”), but we soon realize that this He is not the male protagonist, but simply another He that the woman has taken as a one-time lover.

The woman frequently takes off somewhere to have sex with another man. At times the sex seems to be part of her quest to find her brother; other times it’s simply part of the novel’s dark, erotic tone. The man is undisturbed by his lover’s faithlessness. He is passive, depressive, and analytical, while she is manic and exuberant. Late in the novel he analyzes himself:

How many hours I waste lying in bed thinking about getting up. I see myself get up, go out, move, drink, eat, smile, turn, pay attention, talk, go up, go down. I am absent from that part, yet participating at the same time. A voyeur in all senses, in my actions, non-actions. What a delight it might be actually to get up without thinking, and then when dressed look back and still see myself curled up fast asleep under the blankets.

The man longs for a kind of split persona, an active agent to walk the world who can also gaze back at himself dormant, passive.

This motif of perception and observation echoes throughout Passages. Consider one of the man’s journal entries from early in the book:

Above, I used an image instead of text to give a sense of what the journal entries and their annotations look like. Here, the man’s annotation is a form of self-observation, self-analysis.

Other annotations dwell on describing myths or artifacts (often Greek or Talmudic). In a “December” entry, the man’s annotation is far lengthier than the text proper. The main entry reads:

I am on the verge of discovering my own demoniac possibilities and because of this I am conscious I am not alone with myself.

Again, we see the fracturing of identity, consciousness as ceaseless self-perception. The annotation is far more colorful in contrast:

An ancient tribe of the Kouretes were sorcerers and magicians. They invented statuary and discovered metals, and they were amphibious and of strange varieties of shape, some like demons, some like men, some like fishes, some like serpents, and some had no hands, some no feet, some had webs between their fingers like gees. They were blue-eyed and black-tailed. They perished struck down by the thunder of Zeus or by the arrows of Apollo.

Quin’s annotations dare her reader to make meaning—to put the fragments together in a way that might satisfy the traditional expectations we bring to a novel. But the meaning is always deferred, always slips away. Passages collapses notions of center and margin. As its title suggests, this is a novel about liminal people, liminal places.

The results are wonderfully frustrating. Passages is abject, even lurid at times, but also rich and even dazzling in moments, particularly in the woman’s chapters, which read like pure perception, untethered by traditional narrative expectations like causation, sequence, and chronology.

As such, Passages will not be every reader’s cup of tea. It lacks the sharp, grotesque humor of Quin’s first novel, Berg, and seems dead set at every angle to confound and even depress its readers. And yet there’s a wild possibility in Passages. In her introduction to the new edition of Passages recently published by And Other Stories, Claire-Louise Bennett tries to capture the feeling of reading Quin’s novel:

It’s difficult to describe — it’s almost like the omnipotent curiosity one burns with as an adolescent — sexual, solipsistic, melancholic, fierce, hungry, languorous — and without limit.

Bennett, whose anti-novel Pond bears the stamp of Quin’s influence, employs the right adjectives here. We could also add disorienting, challenging, abject and even distressing. While clearly influenced by Joyce and Beckett, Quin’s writing in Passages seems closer to William Burroughs’s ventriloquism and the hollowed-out alienation of Anna Kavan’s early work. Passages also points towards the writing of Kathy Acker, Alasdair Gray, and João Gilberto Noll, among others. But it’s ultimately its own weird thing, and half a century after its initial publication it still seems ahead of its time. Passages is clearly Not For Everyone but I loved it. Recommended.

[Ed. note: Biblioklept first published this review in May, 2021. Quin’s fourth and final novel, Tripticks, is being reissued this month by And Other Stories.]

A list of 81 (or more) similes from Roberto Bolaño’s novel 2666

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  1. a horrible and notably unhygienic bathroom that was more like a latrine or cesspit
  2. A rather ordinary picture of a student in the capital, but it worked on him like a drug, a drug that brought him to tears, a drug that (as one sentimental Dutch poet of the nineteenth century had it) opened the floodgates of emotion, as well as the floodgates of something that at first blush resembled self-pity but wasn’t (what was it, then? rage? very likely)
  3. the quadrangular sky looked like the grimace of a robot or a god made in our own likeness
  4. their incomprehensible words like crystallized spiderwebs or the briefest crystallized vomitings
  5. went on the attack like Napoleon at Jena
  6. demolished the counterattack like a Desaix, like a Lannes
  7. old Hanseatic buildings, some of which looked like abandoned Nazi offices
  8. like people endlessly analyzing a favorite movie
  9. the parade of immigrants like ants loading the flesh of thousands of dead cattle into the ships’ holds
  10. the little gaucho sounded like the moon, like the passage of clouds across the moon,
    like a slow storm
  11. his eyes shining with a strange intensity, like the eyes of a clumsy young butcher
  12. the lady would begin to howl like a Fury
  13. like an ice queen
  14. news spreading like wildfire, like a nuclear conflagration
  15. a rock jutting from the pool, like a dark and iridescent reef
  16. like a painting by Gustave Moreau or Odilon Redon
  17. I suffered like a dog
  18. now the fucking mugs are like samurais armed with those fucking samurai swords
  19. the appearance of the park, which looked to him like a film of the jungle, the colors wrong, terribly sad, exalted
  20. The words old man and German he waved like magic wands to uncover a secret
  21. like drudge work, like the lowest of menial tasks
  22. that abyss like hour
  23. Like the machine celibataire.
  24. Like the bachelor who suddenly grows old, or like the bachelor who, when he returns from a trip at light speed, finds the other bachelors grown old or turned into pillars of salt.
  25. like a howling Indian witch doctor
  26. like talking to a stranger
  27. like a whisper that he later understood was a kind of laugh
  28. like a hula-hooping motion
  29. you’re behaving like stupid children
  30. they attended like sleepwalkers or drugged detectives
  31. like missionaries ready to instill faith in God, even if to do so meant signing a pact with the devil
  32. they behaved not like youths but like nouveaux youths
  33. drifted through Bologna like two ghosts
  34. who once said London was like a labyrinth
  35. he could soar over the beach like a seagull
  36. which circled in their guilty consciences like a ghost or an electric charge
  37. they were so happy they began to sing like children in the pouring rain
  38. Their remorse vanished like laughter on a spring night.
  39. smiling like squirrels
  40. like a fifteenth-century fortress
  41. circles that faded like mute explosions
  42. Coincidence, if you’ll permit me the simile, is like the manifestation of God at every moment on our planet.
  43. a voice that didn’t sound like his but rather like the voice of a sorcerer, or more specifically, a sorceress, a soothsayer from the times of the Roman Empire
  44. like the dripping of a basalt fountain
  45. he and the room were mirrored like ghostly figures in a performance that prudence and fear would keep anyone from staging
  46. Aztec ruins springing like lilacs from wasteland
  47. like a river that stops being a river or a tree that burns on the horizon, not knowing that it’s burning
  48. the city looked to them like an enormous camp of gypsies or refugees ready to pick up and move at the slightest prompting
  49. the missing piece suddenly leaped into sight, almost like a bark
  50. It’s like hearing a child cry
  51. a kind of speed that looked to Espinoza like slowness, although he knew it was only the slowness that kept whoever watched the painting from losing his mind
  52. brief moans shooting like meteorites over the desert
  53. The words tunneled through the rarefied air of the room like virulent roots through dead flesh
  54. The word freedom sounded to Espinoza like the crack of a whip in an empty classroom.
  55. The light in the room was dim and uncertain, like the light of an English dusk.
  56. Literature in Mexico is like a nursery school, a kindergarten, a playground, a kiddie club
  57. the movement of something like subterranean tanks of pain
  58. The stage is really a proscenium and upstage there’s an enormous tube, something like a mine shaft or the gigantic opening of a mine
  59. like a bad joke on the part of the mayor or city planner
  60. like pure crystal
  61. like the legs of an adolescent near death
  62. his eyes were just like the eyes of the blind
  63. clung to the Chilean professor like a limpet
  64. grimaced like a madman
  65. like a reflection of what happened in the west but jumbled up
  66. The sky, at sunset, looked like a carnivorous flower.
  67. For the first time, the three of them felt like siblings or like the veterans of some shock troop who’ve lost their interest in most things of this world
  68. a smell of meat and hot earth spread over the patio in a thin curtain of smoke that enveloped them all like the fog that drifts before a murder
  69. long roots like snakes or the locks of a Gorgon
  70. like a shirt left out to dry
  71. reality for Pelletier and Espinoza seemed to tear like paper scenery
  72. lectures that were more like massacres
  73. feeling less like butchers than like gutters or disembowellers
  74. the boy on top of the heap of rugs like a bird, scanning the horizon
  75. She was like a princess or an ambassadress
  76. cry like a fool
  77. I felt like a derelict dazzled by the sudden lights of a theater.
  78. drew me like a magnet
  79. a cement box with two tiny windows like the portholes of a sunken ship
  80. a very soft voice, like the breeze that was blowing just then, suffusing everything with the scent of flowers
  81. The cement box where the sauna was looked like a bunker holding a corpse.

These similes are from “The Part About the Critics,” the first part of 2666, a novel by Roberto Bolaño, in English translation by Natasha Wimmer. I was originally going to try to record 666 similes, but then I didn’t. I’ll record similes from the other four parts of the novel though.

The extinction of the dodo | A passage from Thomas Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow

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saftleven_dodo
Dodo, 1638 by Cornelis Saftleven (1607-1681)

He left the dodoes to rot, he couldn’t endure to eat their flesh. Usually, he hunted alone. But often, after months of it, the isolation would begin to change him, change his very perceptions—the jagged mountains in full daylight flaring as he watched into freak saffrons, streaming indigos, the sky his glass house, all the island his tulipomania. The voices—he insomniac, southern stars too thick for constellations teeming in faces and creatures of fable less likely than the dodo—spoke the words of sleepers, singly, coupled, in chorus. The rhythms and timbres were Dutch, but made no waking sense. Except that he thought they were warning him… scolding, angry that he couldn’t understand. Once he sat all day staring at a single white dodo’s egg in a grass hummock. The place was too remote for any foraging pig to’ve found. He waited for scratching, a first crack reaching to net the chalk surface: an emergence. Hemp gripped in the teeth of the steel snake, ready to be lit, ready to descend, sun to black-powder sea, and destroy the infant, egg of light into egg of darkness, within its first minute of amazed vision, of wet downstirred cool by these south-east trades… . Each hour he sighted down the barrel. It was then, if ever, he might have seen how the weapon made an axis potent as Earth’s own between himself and this victim, still one, inside the egg, with the ancestral chain, not to be broken out for more than its blink of world’s light. There they were, the silent egg and the crazy Dutchman, and the hookgun that linked them forever, framed, brilliantly motionless as any Vermeer. Only the sun moved: from zenith down at last behind the snaggleteeth of mountains to Indian ocean, to tarry night. The egg, without a quiver, still unhatched. He should have blasted it then where it lay: he understood that the bird would hatch before dawn. But a cycle was finished. He got to his feet, knee and hip joints in agony, head gonging with instructions from his sleeptalkers droning by, overlapping, urgent, and only limped away, piece at right shoulder arms.

Continue reading “The extinction of the dodo | A passage from Thomas Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow” →

The Robing of the Bride. The title of one of Max Ernst’s most mysterious paintings | J.G. Ballard

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The Robing of the Bride.

The title of one of Max Ernst’s most mysterious paintings. An unseen woman is being prepared by two attendants for her marriage, and is dressed in an immense gown of red plumage that transforms her into a beautiful and threatening bird. Behind her, as if in a mirror, is a fossilized version of herself, fashioned from archaic red coral. All my respect and admiration of women is prompted by this painting, which I last saw at Peggy Guggenheim’s museum in Venice, stared at by bored students. Leaving them. I strayed into a private corridor of the palazzo, and a maid emerging through a door with a vacuum cleaner gave me a glimpse into a bedroom overlooking the Grand Canal. Sitting rather sadly on the bed was Miss Guggenheim herself, sometime Alice at the surrealist tea-party, a former wife of Max Ernst and by then an old woman. As she stared at the window I half-expected to see the bird costume on the floor beside her. She was certainly entitled to wear it.

From The Atrocity Exhibition by J.G. Ballard

Four Books (Barthelme, Burroughs, and Barry [Hannah])

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If you follow this blog even semi-regularly, you may know that I frequently frequent Chamblin Bookmine. This sprawling bookstore, with an inventory of close to three million books (mostly used, and often very weird), is about a mile from my house, and in some small ways might constitute a mute coauthor of this blog. I don’t get to their second location, Chamblin Uptown (in downtown Jacksonville) that often, and even less during the last few years (for obvious reasons), but I went downtown to watch my nephew wrestle last Sunday, and stopped by. In addition to a pair of Ishmael Reed massmarket 1970s paperbacks, I fetched a small stack of first-edition hardbacks by Donald Barthelme, William Burroughs, and Barry Hannah.

I was thrilled to find a first-edition of Donald Barthelme’s first novel Snow White (Atheneum, 1970), with a jacket by Lawrence Ratzkin. The cover sans jacket is also nice:

Overnight to Many Distant Cities isn’t Barthelme’s best collection, but I couldn’t pass up a first edition (G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1983). The cover features a photograph by Russell Munson.

So far this year, William S. Burroughs’ late novel Cities of the Red Night has been a reading highlight for me: apocalyptic, utopian, discursive, funny, and more poignant than I had remembered when I first read it two decades ago. I couldn’t pass up on a first-edition of its sequel, The Place of Dead Roads (Holt, Rinehart, and Winston, 1983) with a jacket by Robert Reed (working from an old uncredited photograph). I found an audiobook of Dead Roads at my local library, so I might give that a shot.

 

I also grabbed a signed copy of Barry Hannah’s semi-autobiography, Boomerang (Houghton Mifflin, 1989), with a cover by one of my favorite designers, Fred Marcellino. Here’s the autograph:

Marcellino also did the cover for another signed Hannah I have, Captain Maximus (wait, is this Five Books?):

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How to Read James Joyce’s Ulysses (and Why You Should Avoid “How-to” Guides Like This One)

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[Editorial note: What follows is an edit of a piece I first posted on June 16, 2010–Bloomsday. Today marks the 100th anniversary of the first publication of James Joyce’s masterpiece Ulysses. I tried to come up with something original, but I found I had nothing to say that I hadn’t already said here, which essentially amounts to, Read Ulysses. It’s not nearly as difficult as its reputation might suggest. And it’s really funny.]

James Joyce’s Ulysses is a celebrated and praised novel. However, the book’s reputation for density, erudition, and inscrutability still daunts many readers–leading to a glut of guidebooks, summaries, and annotations. Ironically, rather than inviting first-time readers to the text, the sheer volume of these guides to Ulysses can paradoxically repel. Their very existence seems predicated on an intense need, and although some of the guides out there can be helpful, others can get in the way. This need not be. Ulysses deserves its reputation as one the best books in the English language. It generously overflows with insight into the human experience, and it’s very, very funny. And, most importantly, anyone can read it.

Here are a few thoughts on how to read Ulysses, enumerated–because people like lists:

1. Ignore all guides, lists, maps, annotations, summaries, and lectures. You don’t need them; in fact, they could easily weigh down what should be a fun reading experience. Jump right into the text. Don’t worry about getting all the allusions or unpacking all the motifs.

Pretty soon though, you’ll get to the third chapter, known as “Proteus.” It’s admittedly hard to follow. You might want a guide at this point. Or you might just want to give up. (Of course, you might be a genius and totally get what Stephen is thinking about as he wanders the beach. Good for you). If frustration sets in, I suggest skipping the chapter and getting into the rich, earthy consciousness of the book’s hero, Leopold Bloom in chapter four, “Calypso.” It’s great stuff. You can always go back to chapter three later, of course. The real key, at least in my opinion, to reading (and enjoying) Ulysses is getting into Bloom’s head, matching his rhythm and pacing. Do that and you’re golden.

I’ve already advised you, gentle reader, not to follow any guides, so please, ignore the rest of my advice. Quit reading this post and start reading Ulysses.

For those who wish to continue–

2. Choose a suitable copy of the book. The Gabler edition will keep things neat and tidy and it features wide margins for all those clever game-changing annotations you’ll be taking. Several guides, including Harry Blamire’s The New Bloomsday Book align their annotation to the Gabler edition’s pagination.

3. Make a reading schedule and stick to it. The Gabler edition of Ulysses is nearly 700 pages long. That’s a long, long book–but you can read it in just a few weeks. There are eighteen episodes in Ulysses, some longer and more challenging than others, but reading one episode every two days should be no problem. If you can, try to read one episode in one sitting each day. As the book progresses, you’ll find yourself going back to previous chapters to find the figures, motifs, and traces that dance through the book.

4. So you’ve decided you need a guide. First, try to figure out what you want from the guide. Basic plot summary? Analysis? Explication? There’s plenty out there–too much really–so take the time to try to figure out what you want from a guide and then do some browsing and skimming before committing.

The most famous might be Stuart Gilbert’s James Joyce’s Ulysses, a dour book that manages to suck all the fun out of Joyce’s work. In a lecture on Ulysses, Vladimir Nabokov warned “against seeing in Leopold Bloom’s humdrum wanderings and minor adventures on a summer day in Dublin a close parody of the Odyssey,” noting that “it would be a complete waste of time to look for close parallels in every character and every scene in the book.” Nabokov scathingly continued: “One bore, a man called Stuart Gilbert, misled by a tongue-in-cheek list compiled by Joyce himself, found in every chapter the domination of one particular organ . . . but we shall ignore that dull nonsense too.” It’s perhaps too mean to call Gilbert’s guide “nonsense,” but it’s certainly dull. Harry Blamire’s The New Bloomsday Book is a line-by-line annotation that can be quite helpful when Joyce’s stream of consciousness gets a bit muddy; Blamire’s explications maintain a certain analytical neutrality, working mostly to connect the motifs of the book but letting the reader manage meaning. Don Gifford’s Ulysses Annotated is an encyclopedia of minutiae that will get in the way of any first time reader’s enjoyment of the book. Gifford’s notes are interesting but they can distract the reader from the text, and ultimately seem aimed at scholars and fanatics.

Most of the guidebooks I’ve seen for Ulysses share a common problem: they are obtrusive. I think that many readers who want some guidance or insight to aid their reading of Ulysses, rather than moving between books (what a chore!), should listen to some of the fantastic lectures on Joyce that are available. James Heffernan’s lectures for The Teaching Company provide a great overview of the book with some analysis; they are designed to be listened to in tandem with a reading of the book. The best explication I’ve heard though is a series of lectures by Joseph Campbell called Wings of Art. Fantastic stuff, and probably the only guide you really need. It’s unfortunately out of print, but you can find it easily via extralegal means on the internet. Speaking of the internet–there’s obviously a ton of stuff out there. I’ll withhold comment–if you found this post, you can find others, and have undoubtedly already seen many of the maps, schematics, and charts out there.

5. Another strategy: read, but listen to an audiobook as well. This will give you a chance to “reread” the novel. I highly, highly, highly recommend RTÉ’s 1982 full cast production. I reviewed it here some years back.

6. Keep reading. Reread. Add time to that reading schedule you made if you need to. But most of all, have fun. Skip around. If you’re excited about Molly’s famous monologue at the end of the book, go ahead and read it. Again, the point is to enjoy the experience. If you can trick a friend into reading it with you, so much the better. Have at it.

TBR anxieties

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It is not a bad problem to have to have a big ole stack of big boys stacked up, waiting to read, but I nevertheless continue to feel anxiety as the stack grows and I head into a new semester, knowing that my reading for work—student papers of course, but also all the other stuff, the rereads of ringers I can’t give up, the new reads I continue to dedicate myself to incorporating into a syllabus, cursing myself when I’m not sure how to do what I think I want to do with them, etc.—but yeah, it’s the knowing that work-based reading will dominate my eyes and brain, both of which have grown duller, slower, and more easily-wearied over the last two years (and I have, after forty-one years of perfect eyesight, taken up glasses to my face to read finer print), and that I will find myself without the reserves to jump into the big books like I used to (I fall asleep sooner too these days–but also wake up sooner too, and do dedicated some of those early morning minutes to reading).

Heimito von Doderer’s The Strudlhof Steps is (translation by Vincent Kling) is one of a few NYRB titles on my list. I’ve jumped into it a few times and I can tell it’s a big deal—maybe something revelatory to me, a big mash of consciousness like Alfred Döblin’s 1929 novel Berlin Alexanderplatz. But other books keep showing up.

Or, really, I keep picking up other books, like Zak Smith’s Gravity’s Rainbow Illustrated, almost eight hundred pictures to go with Thomas Pynchon’s novel. I’ve paged through it, but the anxiety here is the realization that I want to read Gravity’s Rainbow again, which will make me go insane.

The two by Pessoa cause me anxiety for other reasons. I’m pretty sure I will never finish The Book of Disquiet (in translation by Margaret Jull Costa). It’s smart at times, but it’s not really a novel—the catch is the protagonist’s consciousness. And the protagonist often needs a big kick in the ass. Disquiet will riff out some lovely little missives, and then whine a bit. Not my favorite flavor. And yet I feel like I can’t tangle with Writings on Art and Poetical Theory without engaging Pessoa’s aesthetic firsthand (or, really, mediated through translators and editors).

Pessoa’s Writings is published by Contra Mundum, as is Pierre Senges’ Ahab (Sequels) (translation by Jacob Siefring and Tegan Raleigh). I made a bit of dent of the book, but then took a slimmer volume with me on a vacation to some Smoky Mountains. I read Alan Garner’s novel Red Shift there in two or three days and loved it and failed to write about it here. (I am sometimes astounded that for a few years in very early thirties I somehow wrote about every book I read on this blog.) Maybe spring for Ahab.

I’m really excited about Vladmir Sorokin’s postapocalyptic novel Telluria (translation by Max Lawton). I’m so excited that I’ve decided not to have anxiety and commit to a proper review by the time it comes out this summer.

Esther Allen’s translation of Antonio di Benedetto’s 1965 novel Zama is one of the best books I’ve read in the past five years, so I was very happy to get Allen’s translation of El silenciero — The Silentiary–a week or two ago. I was so happy that I added the book to a stack of books I was intending to read, rubbed my eyes really hard, let anxiety pulse through me, and read a little more of the Pessoa (which added a different layer of anxiety).

Writing about these anxieties has not purged them, but maybe I have a plan, or an outline here, a promise to myself (but not you, if you’re reading this, I promise you nothing, to be clear). Maybe I’ll dig in, set an early AM alarm to read an extra hour or so. Maybe I’ll even quit acquiring new books for awhile.

(Or not, no, I’ll just lie to myself some more.)

A Mason & Dixon Christmastide | Thomas Pynchon

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They discharge the Hands and leave off for the Winter. At Christmastide, the Tavern down the Road from Harlands’ opens its doors, and soon ev’ryone has come inside. Candles beam ev’rywhere. The Surveyors, knowing this year they’ll soon again be heading off in different Directions into America, stand nodding at each other across a Punch-bowl as big as a Bathing-Tub. The Punch is a secret Receipt of the Landlord, including but not limited to peach brandy, locally distill’d Whiskey, and milk. A raft of long Icicles broken from the Eaves floats upon the pale contents of the great rustick Monteith. Everyone’s been exchanging gifts. Somewhere in the coming and going one of the Children is learning to play a metal whistle. Best gowns rustle along the board walls. Adults hold Babies aloft, exclaiming, “The little Sausage!” and pretending to eat them. There are popp’d Corn, green Tomato Mince Pies, pickl’d Oysters, Chestnut Soup, and Kidney Pudding. Mason gives Dixon a Hat, with a metallick Aqua Feather, which Dixon is wearing. Dixon gives Mason a Claret Jug of silver, crafted in Philadelphia. There are Conestoga Cigars for Mr. Harland and a Length of contraband Osnabrigs for Mrs. H. The Children get Sweets from a Philadelphia English-shop, both adults being drawn into prolong’d Negotiations with their Juniors, as to who shall have which of. Mrs. Harland comes over to embrace both Surveyors at once. “Thanks for simmering down this Year. I know it ain’t easy.”
“What a year, Lass,” sighs Dixon.
“Poh. Like eating a Bun,” declares Mason.”

The last paragraphs of Ch. 52 of Thomas Pynchon’s novel Mason & Dixon.

Tristram Shandy, but just the punctuation

Biblioklept3 Comments

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( ) , , . , – , , ‘ , ; , ‘ ; — — , , , , ‘ . ; , ; , , — — . , , ! — — , — — , , ; – , ‘ , – , , — — , . , , , – . — — — — , , , , , , ; , , , , — — — — ; — — ‘ , , — — ; , , , . , — — : — — , , , — — : , , : — — — — , , , , , . , . — — — — , — — , , , — — , — — , — — , — — . , , , , : — — — — , , , — — — — , — — — — , , , , , ‘ , . , , , , , . — — , , ! — — * * * * * * * * * * , . — — , , , — — , — — , , — — , ! ‘ , — — , , . , , ; , , , — — , , — — ; , , , , – . : , . ‘ , , , — — , , , , — — , — — , . — — , , , . — — , , . — — — — , , ‘ , , — — . — — , — — , , , , , — — , , — — ; — — — — , ! — — — — , ; — — , , , — — , , , , , , , . — — , , , – , — — , — — . — — , . , ! , , , ‘ – * * * * * * * * * * , , , , ” , . ” — — — — ‘ : — — — — ; — — — — , ; — — — — , ( ) ! , : , — — — — , . , — — , . – , — — — — — — , , , , , , . , ! ‘ , ; — — — — – – , — — , — — , , ! . , , , , , : , , ; — — — — ‘ ; — — , . ; — — – , , , — — — — ; — — , , ‘ , — — — — ‘ , , , , , ( ) . , , , , ; . , , , – , , , : — — — — , , , ‘ , , , , , — — , — — ; — — , , , , , , , ( ‘ ) ; — — — — , , – , , — — . — — , . . ‘ , , ; — — , — — ; — — , , — — ‘ , , — — , , . , , — — ; — — — — , , , , — — — — ‘ ; — — — — , , : , , , . , ; : : : : : : ; : — — — — . ; ‘ , , , , , : — — — — ; — — — — , , , — — : — — , ‘ , ‘ , ; — — . , ; — — , , , — — ; — — — — , — — ; — — , ; — — — — , , , . . ‘ – , , , , , — — ‘ , , ‘ : — — . ” , , , , , ‘ , , , — — , , , , , , , , . – , & . & . — — , — — , , , , — — , , , , , , ; — — , , , – , , – , — — , , , , — — — — , – , , , – , – , , , : — — , , , , , — — , , , , ‘ , , — — , , , , , . , — — , , , , : — — , — — , , , , , , — — ; , , , — — , , , – , . , , , — — , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . — — , , , , — — , , , , , , , , — — . — — , , , , , , , , , , . , , , , , , . , , ; , , , — — , — — — — , , , ; , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , – ; — — , , , , – , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . — — , , , , , , – . ” — — — — , — — — — ” , ( ) . ” , – , , ; — — : — — ” , , , ; — — — — , ; — — — — , — — , , , . ” — — , , ; — — , , , , . ; — — , — — , — — ; — — ; — — , ; — — , , . , , , , — — ; — — ‘ , – , ‘ , . , — — , , , , , — — . . , , , . – – , , , ; — — , , — — , , , – , , : — — — — ” , ‘ , , . ” , , ‘ , ‘ , ‘ – , , . ” , , , , & . , , — — ” , — — — — . ” , , , , ; — — — — , , ‘ , , — — ; — — , – , , . , ‘ , — — ” , ” , , ” — — — — , — — — — ” ! ” — — ! — — , , , ‘ ; — — — — , — — ; — — — — , — — — — , — — , , , . , , , , , . — — — — , , . . , , , — — , — — ; — — , ‘ – ; , , : , , , ‘ , — — — — , , — — — — – ; – , ‘ . , — — , , , . — — ‘ , — — : , ‘ , — — ‘ , . . , , – , ; , , , , , ; , . , , — — — — , , , , , , — — — — – , , ; , , , , , ‘ ‘ . — — ; — — — — — — — — : — — ; ‘ ; — — , ; — — , , — — — — , , , – – , — — , ; — — – – . — — ‘ ; , , ‘ , , , , , — — , , ; , , ‘ . , ‘ , ‘ . — — — — , ; — — — — , ; — — , – – . — — — — , , . — — — — ” ‘ ; — — . , ! – ; — — , , — — — — , , . , — — , . ” , , ; — — , , — — ; — — , — — — — , , , – . , ‘ , , , — — , — — , — — , , — — — — , — — , , , ; — — — — , . , , ; — — — — , ; — — , , , , – ; — — , . , — — . ” , ” , , – , ” , , ‘ ; — — , , , , , , ‘ , & . & . , ” , , , . , ‘ ‘ ; — — ; — — , ‘ , , : — — , , ; — — ; — — , . ” ” ‘ , ” , , , ” ? , — — , ? — — — — , ” ( ) ” – ; — — , , : , , . ” ‘ – , — — — — , , , , , ; — — — — , , — — , , . ‘ , , , , ; — — , , , , ‘ ; — — — — , , — — — — , — — , , . , , , — — – , — — , . ‘ , , ; — — , , , , — — ‘ ‘ . — — ? ‘ ; — — — — ; — — ; — — , — — , — — , — — , — — , — — : — — ; ; — — , — — ‘ : — — ‘ . — — ? — — ( ) , , , — — — — . , , — — , — — . , , ; — — , — — — — , ‘ , — — — — ” . ” — — , , , — — , , , , . — — , , , , , , — — , , , , , . — — , , , , ; — — , — — , , , , . , , , , , . — — , , ! , . — — , — — . — — , . — — ! — — . — — , , , — — — — — — ! . : — — , , , . ; — — , , , , ‘ . . , , ‘ , — — — — , , , — — , — — ( ) , — — , , — — , , , ; , ; — — , , , ; , . , , , , , , . , — — — — , — — — — , — — ‘ , , , — — . , , , ? , , , , ‘ ? , , , ( ) — — , — — , , , , — — ; — — — — , , , , , , — — , ; — — — — ; — — , , — — , . , — — , — — . — — , ! — — , , ? — — , , , , , — — , , — — , , , , ? — — — — ! , , , , — — ; — — — — ; — — ‘ . , , , , ; — — , ; — — ‘ , , , — — , , , , , , , , . . — — , , ; — — ; — — ; — — ; — — . — — , , — — , , , — — — — , — — ” . ” — — , , ‘ . — — , ‘ , , , , , , ; — — , , , , ; — — , , ; — — , ; , * * * * , — — , , — — , . , , , ; — — — — — — — — , , , ; , , . , ‘ , — — , , , , , — — , — — — — ; — — , , — — . ‘ — — , , ; — — , , , , ; — — , , . , , , , , ; — — ; — — , , , , . ; — — ; — — , , , , , — — — — , — — , – . , , ‘ ; — — , , , . , ‘ ‘ , , ‘ , ; — — — — , , , ‘ , , — — , , : , , ; — — , : — — — — , ; — — , , , , . , ‘ , , , , ; — — , . , , : ; — — , , , , , , ; — — , , ‘ ; , , – . , ‘ , , ; ‘ , , — — – . ; — — ‘ , , . — — : — — — — : — — , , . ; — — , — — , : , , , , — — — — , , , , — — — — , , , — — — — , — — , , ? — — , — — , — — ! — — . ? , — — : — — : — — , , , — — , , . – , — — ? — — – , ‘ , — — , — — ; — — — — , ; , , ‘ , . — — — — , , , – , ; — — ! — — ! , , , . — — — — ! , — — , , — — ; — — , . . — — — — , , ? , . — — — — ! , . — — , , , , , , . — — , , ‘ . — — , , ‘ . — — , . — — , , . — — , , . — — , , ; , , , , . , ; ; : — — ‘ , , — — , , , , — — — — , ; , ” , . ” , , — — , , , , . — — — — — — . , , ? — — : , , ? — — ! , , , , ” ‘ . ” , , , . [ ] , ; — — , — — – , , — — , — — : — — , , — — ; , – . – ‘ , , – . ; — — , , , . [ ] , , ‘ , , , & ‘ , ‘ , , , , , . , , , ‘ , ‘ , . — — — — , ‘ , & , & ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ . , . ‘ , , , ; , , ‘ . . , . . . . ; ‘ , . , , & . , , & ; ‘ , ‘ ‘ ‘ , , : ; , . , & ‘ , , ‘ . , & , , ; ‘ , , & ‘ , ; & ‘ , , ‘ , ; & ‘ , , , ‘ ; — — , & ‘ , , , ‘ , ‘ , ‘ ‘ , & , , ‘ ; ‘ , , , ‘ , & ‘ , & , & , ‘ , ‘ , ‘ ‘ , & ‘ , , & ‘ , ‘ . , ‘ , & , , ‘ , , ‘ & ‘ ‘ ‘ . , , ‘ ‘ , , ‘ , , ‘ , ; & , ‘ , , & , ‘ . , , . . . . . . . ‘ . , , ; . — — , , , , , , ; , , , , ( ) — — — — , , , . , ‘ , . [ ] , , ; — — , ‘ : — — — — , , , , — — , , ‘ , — — , , , — — ‘ , — — . — — ‘ . , , – , — — , , — — , , — — ” ( . ! ) . ” — — ! ! , , , . [ ] . . , , . . . — — — — ‘ , , , , , ‘ , , — — — — , , , , – : — — , ? — — , — — . , , , , , — — — — , : — — — — ‘ , , – , . ‘ , — — , , — — — — , ” ? ” , ‘ . — — , , ” ; ” — — ; — — , : , — — – , , , : — — — — ‘ , — — , , ( ) . , , ; — — . — — , , , , — — — — , , , , — — ; — — , , , . — — , – , ; , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ( ‘ , ) , , , , . , , ; — — ; — — , ; , — — — — , , , — — — — — — ; , , . — — — — — — ! ! , , ‘ , — — , , – – , . — — — — , – . , ; – , – , , , : , , – , , ‘ , , , , — — : : — — — — , — — , — — , , , , , , , , , . , — — — — ‘ , , , , , , , . , , — — . — — . , ; , , . — — — — , . — — — — , , ; — — , — — , ; — — ; — — , — — — — , — — — — , — — . , , , . , , , : , , , , , — — , ; ‘ ; — — — — , , , , ‘ . — — — — , ‘ ; , , , , — — ; — — — — , , , , : , , , , . , , ; — — , , , . , — — – – , ‘ — — — — ; — — — — , , , . — — — — ! — — , , , – , ‘ . — — ? , , ; — — . — — — — ‘ ; , , : — — ‘ , , , — — — — ‘ , , — — — — , ‘ , . — — — — ; — — , , — — , ‘ ‘ ; , , , , . , , , , , ‘ , ‘ , . . — — — — , , — — , — — ; — — ‘ , : — — , ; , ‘ , , , , . , , , ; — — — — , , , , , , , , . — — , , , , ; , ; — — — — . , . , — — — — . ‘ , , — — — — , , , — — ‘ ; — — — — , — — — — ? — — — — ? . — — — — , — — ? — — — — ! — — , , , , — — — — , , — — — — , . ‘ , ( ) — — — — , . , , — — , . — — — — , ; — — — — , , — — — — ‘ , . , . — — — — ‘ , : — — — — , ‘ , . , , , . — — , . , , , , — — — — — — , , , : — — — — , , ‘ , , — — — — ‘ ‘ , ‘ ; — — , , . , , — — , , . , , , , , ; — — , . , ; — — , , , ; — — ; — — — — , , , — — , . . , . , ‘ , , , , , , – , ” ; ” — — — — . , , , ; — — , , . . , ( ) – , , , – , — — , — — ‘ , , ; — — : ‘ , , — — , , , ; . , , – ‘ ; — — , : , ‘ ; — — , — — , — — , ‘ , , . ; , , . , , , — — . , , ‘ , , , ; — — , — — . , , ; — — — — , ! — — , , — — ; — — ; ; — — , — — – ; , . , , , , , : , , — — , , ; — — , — — . — — — — . — — , , , , , , , , – ; — — , ‘ , – , . . , . — — : ‘ , – , , — — — — , , — — , , – . , , , , ‘ , , – , ‘ , — — ‘ ; — — , — — ; — — ; — — , , ; , , & . — — — — , : — — ; — — ( ) , ; — — — — , , , – , — — , , , ( ) ( ; ) , , , , , ( ) — — , , , , , — — — — , ; — — , , , — — , , , ‘ . , , ; — — , ; , , . , , , , . , , – . — — ; — — ; — — , , . , – , — — . — — ; — — ‘ , — — ; — — , , : — — , , , , , . , ‘ , ; — — , — — , , ; , . , , — — ‘ , – . — — ‘ – , — — . , , ; — — , , [ ] . — — , , . ; — — ‘ , — — , — — . , , ; — — , , . ‘ , ; — — – , , ; — — , — — – ; , , ‘ – . [ ] , , . . ‘ , — — — — , ‘ . – , ‘ – : ; , , — — , , – , — — , , ‘ – ; — — , . – , – , ; — — , — — , , ; , , ‘ . , , , , , , — — — — – : , , , ; — — – – , ; — — , , . , , , — — — — . , , : — — , , . . ‘ , , , , , , . , — — , : , , ‘ , — — , , — — — — ‘ , , , — — , — — ( ‘ ) , ‘ , , , — — . , ; — — , — — , — — — — ‘ . — — , , , , – . ‘ ; — — ‘ , , , , — — . ; , , , , , ; , . , — — — — ‘ ; — — , — — ; , — — , — — , — — ; , . , , , , , — — . . , , , . , ‘ , — — , — — , , , . , – , – – . : , , ; – , — — – . – , , . – , — — — — , , ‘ , — — — — ; , , , — — – , — — – , — — . ; , , , – , . , – , , ‘ , , . , , — — , . , , – , — — , , , , , — — , , ; – . ; ‘ , — — — — . , — — , , ; — — , – , – , , : — — ; — — , , , , . , — — ( ? ) — — . — — ; — — ‘ , — — , . , , , , , , , . — — , , — — ‘ , , – . : — — — — . , , , , , , – . . , , , : , , , , , ( ) . — — — — ; , , ; — — , . — — , , , — — — — — — — — , , . , , , — — ; ( ‘ , — — ) , , , , . — — — — — — , ! , , , , , — — , – , – , , — — . , , ; . — — ‘ , — — , . — — ; ‘ ‘ , — — , , , , ‘ ; . , ; — — , , , , , — — , , — — ? , , ; — — , — — . — — — — : , , , ‘ ? — — — — ‘ — — , , , — — : — — , , . — — . — — ! ? ? ? ? ‘ — — – , , ( ) ‘ ; , , , . . , , , , . , , . , , . , , . — — – , , . — — — — , ; — — , , ‘ . — — — — ‘ , , – . , , , . . ‘ , , – , , — — ‘ , — — , ; , , , , ; — — — — – . ‘ ; , — — , . , , , — — , — — , . ( ‘ ) ; — — , , ‘ , – , — — – . ! , , , , , , : — — ; ; — — , ; — — — — , . — — — — , ! , ‘ , — — ; — — ; — — – : ‘ , — — ; . . , , , ; , , , , , . ‘ , , , ‘ , , , — — , , ‘ , , ; , — — , ; — — , , , , ; ‘ , , & . , . , . , , . , ! — — , , , , , , – ‘ — — – , — — – , – . , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . , ; — — , , , , , , , , . , , , . , , – , : — — – , . , – ‘ — — . . — — — — . – , , : , . — — , , , , — — , — — , , , , , ; — — , — — — — ! — — — — ! — — , — — ! ! . — — ; — — — — , — — . — — — — — — — — ! ‘ , , ? — — — — ! ‘ , — — — — — — , , , — — — — , — — — — . — — ! . . ‘ – , , — — — — , — — — — ‘ ; — — , . — — — — . , ; , . ; , — — , , — — ‘ . , – , , ; , , . , — — — — , — — — — , , , : , ! — — , , , — — — — , : — — — — , , , , , , , : — — , ; — — — — , , — — . — — — — . ‘ ; — — — — ‘ : — — — — , ; — — : — — — — ; — — — — , , — — ‘ ; , ‘ ; ; — — — — , — — . — — ; — — : — — ; , , , — — , ‘ – , . ‘ ; — — — — – : — — ; — — — — , ; — — — — , ‘ : — — — — , ‘ . , ‘ , ‘ – , . . , — — , , – , — — — — ! ‘ , , — — — — , ‘ ; , , — — . , , ‘ . — — — — , — — ; — — — — , , — — , , , ‘ , — — — — , , , – – ‘ , ‘ . — — — — – ‘ , ‘ — — , , , & . , , — — — — – . , : ‘ , , , , & . — — , — — , – , , , ; — — , , — — — — , ‘ . ‘ , , , — — ; — — — — , , — — , . — — ‘ , , ? — — — — , ‘ , , ; – , , — — , . , ‘ , , ‘ , — — , — — – , , , , . , – , , ; — — – , , ; , , , , , , ; , , . , , . — — — — , ( , , ) ‘ , ‘ , & . – , – , ; — — — — ; , – , – . ‘ , — — — — . — — , — — ; , , , ‘ ; – , — — — — ; — — , ‘ , , — — , — — — — . , — — , , , , . , , ; — — — — , , — — , — — . — — — — . , , , . — — , , — — , — — — — , , . — — , , ( – , ) , , — — , , , , , — — , , — — — — , , ‘ , — — — — , , , , , , – , , , : , , , — — ( , , ) — — — — , , — — , ‘ . — — — — ‘ , , . — — , , , — — , . — — , — — ‘ , , . — — , — — . — — , , : — — , — — — — ‘ , , , , — — — — , — — . — — , , . — — , , ; . — — — — , , — — — — , ; — — – , , , ( . ‘ ) . , , ‘ ; — — — — , , ‘ , , , , , , ‘ . ; — — , — — , — — , — — ; — — ‘ . — — ! , . — — , , , — — , , . , , – ( ) , , — — — — , , — — — — , — — , , , — — ‘ . , , — — ( – ) — — — — . — — , ‘ ‘ , ‘ – , — — — — , , , , , — — ‘ , — — , , ; — — , , , , . ‘ , — — : — — ‘ ‘ , . — — , , . — — ‘ . — — ‘ , — — . — — , ; — — , – , ‘ . – , ‘ , , – . , , – , , , – , ; — — , ” , ” — — – , , ‘ ; — — , , . , , – ; — — ; — — , , , , , – : — — , – ‘ . — — ! , — — — — , — — , , , — — ! , — — , , — — — — – – . — — , — — – . . — — — — ? , . — — , , — — , , , ; — — — — , , — — , , . , ‘ , ? — — — — ; — — — — . , , , — — . — — ‘ , ? — — — — , , , . — — , , . , – , , — — — — — — — — . , , , , — — — — . , — — , , , ; — — — — , , — — — — , , , . , , , : — — ‘ , — — , — — — — , — — , — — . — — — — , , , — — . — — , , , * * * * . ; — — ‘ , — — — — , , . , , ‘ — — ‘ – , . — — — — ! ; — — , , ! , , , – , , — — , ! — — : — — ; ; , ! . — — — — ” , , ” , ” * * * * ” , — — ‘ , — — , , — — ‘ . — — , ‘ , ‘ ; — — , , ‘ , , — — — — . ; — — ‘ – , , , . . ‘ , — — ; , – ‘ , — — , , , . — — — — ; — — — — ; — — , , — — . ; — — , . — — ” , ” , ( ‘ ) ” ! ” — — — — , ! ; — — . — — — — ? — — — — ? — — — — ? — — — — ? — — — — ? : . — — , , , , ! — — — — , — — : , , , ; — — , , — — , ‘ . — — , , , , , . ‘ , ” , — — ; — — — — , . ” , , , ‘ . — — ! , , , , – — — — — ! — — — — , , ; — — — — , ( ) , . , , , . , ( ) — — , , . — — — — , . — — — — , , , — — — — . — — — — , , , , , – – , , , — — , — — . — — , , — — — — ‘ ( – ) , — — , , ; — — : — — , , , — — ( , ) . . ‘ , , . , – ; — — , , , , , ; — — — — , , . ; , , ; — — , , , – , — — , ; — — , , , — — — — , — — — — , , , — — . – . , – ‘ : — — , , , : — — ; — — – – , . — — , ‘ . , — — , ( ) , , . , , , — — ; , , , , , , , : — — — — — — , — — — — , – , . ; — — , . ; — — . . , , , , , – . – . ‘ , — — ‘ , , ; — — — — , , . , — — , , . ‘ , , , ‘ , — — — — , — — — — ! — — — — , , . — — — — . — — — — , – , , . , , . . , , , — — ‘ , , , , , — — . , ‘ ? — — ; , – . — — , ‘ , , ‘ , . . , ( ) – , , , – , — — , — — – , , , — — , — — ! — — , , , , — — ! . . . ? — — — — + — — ! — — , , . — — ; . — — ; — — , , ; , — — — — ‘ , , , — — — — ; — — — — ( , , ) . ‘ , , , , , ( ) . ‘ . ; — — , — — . — — — — – ; — — , ‘ ? — — , ; — — – , ; . , ; — — , , ‘ , . , . , , . . . , , — — — — . ‘ , . ‘ , ; , , — — — — , , , , . — — ‘ , , – ( ) . , , , — — — — , ‘ , ( ) . ; — — , . , , , ‘ , ” . * * * * ” ; , , . — — — — ; , — — ‘ . . ‘ , ; ‘ , ‘ ; . , ; , ‘ , – , , . ‘ ; , ‘ , , — — , , , — — — — – ! , , , . , , , — — ; — — , , , ‘ . , — — : — — — — , — — . . , ( ) . , , ; — — — — , – , : ‘ , , , , . , , . ‘ ; — — . ‘ , – ; — — . , . — — , , ; — — , , , . — — , . — — , , — — , — — , , — — , — — ‘ , , . ! — — , . ! — — ; — — — — ; — — — — , — — — — , ! — — — — , . , — — ? — — , ? ! — — ‘ . — — , ! ? ‘ ; — — – , — — – , — — , — — , , , — — ! , , ‘ ! — — ; — — ; — — – . — — — — , , , ‘ ! , ‘ . . , , . , ( , ) — — , , , . — — , , , — — – ( ) — — , , . , — — . — — , , , , . ‘ , ; — — ‘ . — — , , — — — — , — — . , , , — — — — – . — — , . , , . , , ; — — ; — — , , , , ; — — — — . , , . , — — , ; — — ‘ , , ” – , , ; ” — — – , – : , , , — — , , . ( ‘ , . , . ) , , , , : — — — — , , – , — — ‘ ; — — , , ; , , , , ; — — — — ? ( , . ) — — , : — — , , , ; , ; — — – ; — — – – , , ; — — — — , , — — ‘ – ; – , , – ; — — ‘ . — — — — , , — — — — . — — – ( ! ! ‘ ) , , , ; — — — — , , ; — — ‘ – — — , — — , ‘ . — — , , , — — , , , , , ; — — ! — — — — , , , — — — — ; — — — — , , : — — , , , – . — — — — , — — , . . — — , , ‘ , — — , , ; — — , — — . — — , , , , , , , , , – , , , . ; — — , — — , ” : ” — — , , , — — ; — — — — ; — — ‘ ; — — , , — — , — — ; . — — — — , , – , – , — — , , ; — — ‘ , , , , , — — ‘ : — — , , , , ; — — , , , ? — — — — . : , , ; — — ; — — , , — — , , , ; — — , – , : ‘ , , , , ; — — . . ‘ , , — — – : — — . , , , , ; , ; ‘ : — — , ‘ : — — — — , , ; — — — — ; , , : — — — — , ( , ) . , , , . , – , — — ‘ – ; ‘ . — — — — : — — — — , , . , , ? — — ? — — , ! — — : – , — — — — , . , , ‘ , – ; — — — — ; — — — — ; — — — — : — — : , ‘ : — — , : — — ; — — — — , , . — — — — , , , ‘ , ; — — , , . ‘ , , ; — — — — ; — — — — , — — , — — ; — — — — ‘ : — — — — , ‘ . — — , , , — — — — . — — — — , , , , , ( ) ? — — — — , , , — — — — : — — , . — — , , , . , . . — — , . . , , . — — — — , , . . — — — — ! — — , — — ‘ . . , , , , . , — — — — ; — — , , , , , , : — — ‘ . ; — — , , . , . , , , . ( , , ‘ . ) — — — — , , , , , , ‘ , — — — — , . , . ( ) ‘ , ‘ , , , . ‘ , , , , , , , — — . – . , . . , ‘ ; — — — — ‘ , , . , , : — — , . — — ? — — , ‘ , , ‘ ; — — — — , . — — — — ? — — — — . , , , : , , ; ‘ ; — — , , . , , , ; , , , , ; , , , . , . , , ( ‘ ) – – ? — — , . : — — , , , , , — — ( – ) ; , , — — , — — , , , , ( ‘ ) . , , ” , , ” — — ; — — , , , , — — , ; — — ‘ , , , ; — — . , — — , , ; — — , , — — — — , . : — — ‘ , — — , . — — , , , . , , , , — — , . , , , — — , — — – , ; ‘ , , ; — — , , , ‘ , ‘ ; — — , , , . , , , ‘ ; — — , : — — , , , , ? — — , , , — — — — ‘ , — — — — , ; — — , , . . , , . ‘ , : — — , , ; — — , , . , , , ; — — , , , , . , , — — , . ‘ , , , , . — — — — , , . — — — — , , , , ‘ . , ; , , , — — , , , , . . — — , — — , . . , . ; — — , — — , , — — . — — — — ‘ , , ‘ , ‘ . ‘ , — — . , , . , , — — , . — — , ‘ , , , . . — — — — , ; — — — — , , , — — , — — , — — ; — — — — , ; — — , — — , . — — — — , , , — — . , , ; — — , , ; — — ; — — ‘ ; — — ; — — , — — ! , — — — — , , ? , , ; — — — — , , & . , , , , – , – , – , . , — — — — , , , , — — , – , — — — — , , , — — , , ; — — , , — — ; — — , ; — — , ; — — , — — , , , , . = > ; — — , — — ! — — ; , — — — — . ‘ . — — — — , , , , ; — — — — , , — — — — , . ‘ ; — — , — — , — — , — — . . — — — — ‘ ; — — , , . , — — , , , — — — — ; — — — — , , — — , . , : . . . — — — — — — . ” ! — — — — ! ” [ , , , , ; , , , . , ‘ , . ! , . , . , ; ( ) , ; — — . , , , . , ? — — , — — . — — — — , . , , — — , — — : — — , , , , — — — — , — — — — ‘ , — — . — — , ? . , . , . , , ? — — , . . — — ‘ , , — — — — , , , . — — , . , — — ; ‘ ‘ , , , ; , , . , . , ; , . — — , , : — — , ? — — — — , , , — — ; — — ; — — ; — — ; — — , — — ‘ , , , , , , , , , , , — — ; , , ( ) . — — — — — — ‘ . — — . — — ! , , ‘ , — — , — — : — — ; ; — — , , . , , , , — — . ] . . . — — — — . — — ” ! ! , , , — — . ” [ , . . ] ” , : — — — — ; — — , ” , , , . ” [ , , . . ] ” ; , , , . ; — — — — ; — — — — , . ” [ , , . ] ” , — — ; , , ; ‘ , , — — , – , . — — , , , : — — , , , , . ” [ , , . , . , , , . . — — , . , ; — — , , , . , , ; , . , , . ] ” : , — — , , , ( ) ; — — , , , : — — ; — — – ; — — , : — — — — — — ” ; — — : , , — — – , , : — — , ; — — : — — ‘ , , , . ” , , ‘ ( ) ; — — , , . ” ; — — , , ; , . — — — — — — — — , — — ; , , , , — — ; — — , , , , — — — — ; — — — — ; — — — — , , , . ” ” ; — — ; , , — — — — , , ; — — ; ; — — . , ; . ” ! , ; , — — — — , , , . ” : ; — — — — ” , ; , , ; ; ” — — — — [ , ‘ , . , ] — — ” ; — — ; — — , . ” [ , . , , — — . — — , , , . — — — — , . , ( ‘ ) — — ; — — . — — — — ‘ , , , — — . — — , . , . — — , , — — — — ? — — — — , . . — — — — ! — — ; ‘ , — — , , . — — — — ! . . , , . — — — — ! . , ( ‘ ) — — — — , , ? — — — — ? — — — — ? — — — — ? — — ‘ , . — — — — ? — — — — ? — — — — ? — — — — ? — — — — , . , , , . ] ” , , ” ( ) ” – , , . , . ” [ ‘ , , . ] ” ? — — — — ; , ; — — ; — — ; — — ‘ ; , , , , , . ” . ; — — ‘ ” , , — — — — . — — — — ; — — , , . ” , , — — ; — — ; — — ; — — , : — — ? — — ; ” , ; — — . ” [ . — — , , ! , , — — — — , . — — — — — — ! , , . — — — — , . , , ; : — — , ‘ , — — — — , , . ? , — — — — , , , . — — — — ‘ , . — — , , . — — . ] ” ; — — ; — — : — — — — – , , , , , ! — — ! — — , — — ! — — — — ; — — — — , , ; — — ; — — ; — — ; — — , , , . ; — — ? — — ; — — . — — ; — — , — — , , ” , ? — — , — — ; — — , , . ! ! — — — — , ‘ ; — — , , , , , . ” , . , , — — , . ” , , ‘ ; — — , , ; — — , , , , , . ” , — — : — — — — , , , , — — , . ” , ; , , . ” , , — — — — , , — — , , — — — — , — — — — , — — ; , , , , , . ” , — — , , , , ” , — — — — . — — , ? — — — — ? — — ; — — — — ? ” ; — — — — , , — — — — ; ” — — [ . ] — — ” ; — — — — , , ; , . ” , , , , : ” ; , , ( ) ; – . ” — — [ , , ‘ ‘ . ] — — ” , , , – : — — , , ; , , ; , , — — , , — — ” , , , . ” [ , , , — — — — . — — , — — . : — — , , , . ; — — , , . — — — — , , , — — . — — — — , — — , , — — ‘ , , . , — — — — ? , , – . , , – , , , , — — , ‘ , ; — — , , , , , , , , , . — — , , , , — — , , . — — — — , , , — — , , , ‘ , , ; — — , , ‘ ; – , , ; — — — — , , : — — , , , , , . — — , ‘ , ‘ . — — , — — , , . — — , , — — . : ” , , , : — — — — ; — — , , , , , ( ‘ ) . ” ; ; — — — — ” , , , , — — — — . ” , — — ‘ , , , . ” , , , , . ” . ” , , ” — — [ , . , ( ) ] — — ” : , , . ; — — , : — — , . ” . , , ; — — : — — . — — , ‘ . ” , , ” , , ; , , , , ; — — , , : — — , ? — — , , ; — — , , : — — — — ? — — — — ! , — — — — — — — — , — — ! — — . ” , , ; — — , , ” ; , ‘ , . ” , , , — — ; , — — — — , — — — — , — — , — — , — — , , , , : , , , — — , , . ” ” ; , , , , . — — — — , — — ; ” — — [ ? . ] — — ” , , , , ” — — — — [ , . ] — — — — . ” ” — — [ – , . ] ” – , , , ? — — , , ; , — — ” , . ” [ , ‘ , , , , — — , — — — — . — — — — ? ? . , , ‘ . — — — — , , ? — — , , ; — — — — , , , . — — — — ‘ , , – , , ‘ . — — , , — — — — . — — — — , . — — — — , — — . — — — — , , , , — — . . ] ” , — — , , . ” , . ” — — [ . ] — — ” , , — — — — , . ! — — ! ! ” — — [ ‘ . ] — — — — ” ” — — [ ] — — — — ” , . ” — — [ — — , , . ] — — ” , — — . ” — — [ ! ‘ , , , — — ‘ . ‘ ‘ ‘ ; . — — — — , , , , — — — — ‘ ; . ] — — — — ” , — — , . ” ! ” — — [ , , . ) — — ” ! — — — — , — — ! ” — — [ ‘ . ] — — ” ‘ ! ! ! ” [ , ; — — , ‘ , , . , , , , ‘ , — — ‘ . — — ‘ , , , ‘ . — — — — ‘ , . — — , , — — ‘ . — — , , — — ‘ , ‘ . , , ; — — ‘ ‘ . — — — — ! . . ] ” — — — — , — — ! — — ‘ ! ! , — — , — — — — ! — — ! ” — — — — [ , , , , . ] — — ” , , , — — , , . ” — — — — [ , , — — — — , , — — , — — . — — ! — — , , , , . , — — . ] ” ” , , ; — — — — ‘ , , — — — — . ” , . ” , , , , . , , , ‘ . ” , , , , — — — — ” , — — — — , ; — — . ” , — — , . ” , , , , — — ; — — , , ; — — — — , , , — — , , . ” . , , . — — , . , — — — — . , , , . — — , , , ; , , . , , — — ; — — [ , . ] — — , — — , , : — — — — ! , , , , , , . — — — — ‘ , , . , , — — — — ‘ , — — , , . — — — — , . . — — , , — — . , , , . — — — — , . , , — — , ‘ , . — — , , , ‘ . — — — — , , — — ‘ ? — — ? , , : — — , , ; — — , — — — — , ‘ , , . , – , , — — , , ‘ ‘ : — — , , , ‘ . , , , , , ; , , , . – ! , , , ‘ ‘ , , — — – ; — — , — — — — , — — – , — — — — , — — — — , , — — , . , ‘ , , , , , , — — — — ‘ ? — — , ; — — — — , . , , — — , , ; — — , , — — ; — — — — ; — — ; — — — — , . , , ‘ ; — — — — — — – , , — — — — . , , , , — — , , , — — — — , , ‘ , — — — — . . ; — — , , , . , , . , ( ) . , . , , ; — — , . , , , , , , — — , — — . — — , , , , , , — — , , , , . , — — — — . , . , ‘ , , — — ; — — — — , , , , . — — — — , , , , — — , , , , , — — . — — — — , . . — — , — — — — . — — , . , , , — — — — , , ( ) — — — — , , . . , — — — — , — — — — . , , , ; — — — — , ‘ , . — — — — , . , — — , , , . , , . , , , ; — — — — ‘ – , , — — , , , — — ( ) . , , , — — — — , , , , – , . — — . , , , ; — — ; — — ; — — , . — — – , , , , ; — — , , . , , , ; — — — — , . — — , , , — — , — — — — , — — — — , — — ‘ , , ‘ , — — — — , , . , , , ; — — — — ; — — — — , . , , , . ? , , . — — ? ? — — . — — , , ? — — — — ; — — — — , , . — — — — , , ? 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, , ; — — ; — — — — , , ; — — — — , ? , , , ; — — , ; — — — — ; ; , — — , , : — — — — , , — — – , , . ‘ ; — — — — , , , , ; — — . — — , — — — — ; , , — — , — — — — , — — . . ‘ ; , ( ) : , , , , — — — — ‘ , — — , — — , — — — — : , — — . , , — — — — ‘ , . , . ‘ ; — — — — – , , , , , ‘ ; — — — — ‘ ‘ , ‘ , — — . . , , . — — — — , , , — — . — — , , — — — — , , , . — — – , — — , , ‘ , , . — — , , ; — — — — , , , , , ( ) . , — — — — . [ ] ; , . , , . , , ‘ . . , ‘ . — — — — , , — — . . — — — — ” , . , ” , ( . , , [ ] ) — — — — ” , . , ” , ” . ” ‘ . , — — , — — — — , , . , — — — — , — — , , , — — ; — — , , : , ‘ , — — , , — — — — , — — . . — — . ; — — , ; — — : — — — — , ” : ” — — , . , , ; , , , — — ‘ — — — — — — — — — — , , — — — — , — — — — , — — , . [ ] . . ” — — ! ” — — , , , , , . — — — — — — — — , ; . , ” , ” — — , , . — — — — , , , ! — — , , , , — — — — — — — — — — , ? ‘ , : , , , ; , , , , ; — — — — , . , ( , , — — — — – , ) — — — — — — : , , . , — — . ‘ , — — ” . ” — — — — , , ‘ . . ‘ ( ) , , . — — — — , , ; – ‘ , , . ; — — , , , , — — , . , , — — — — . — — — — ‘ . — — — — . ‘ , , , ‘ ; — — , — — . , , , – , – , . , , , , , , , ; — — — — ; — — — — ; , , , ‘ , — — , — — , , ; — — — — , , , , . : — — — — , — — — — , , — — — — , — — — — – ; — — – , – , – , , , – , : — — , — — ! . — — — — . ! — — — — ? — — — — ? , , , — — ; — — , , , ( ) — — ‘ , , — — ) ) ‘ – , — — — — ” , — — , , ” , — — ” , — — ! . ” . , , , ‘ , — — ( , ) , , , : — — , , , , ‘ , , — — ; , — — , — — ‘ , ; — — — — , , — — , — — . — — ! — — — — , — — — — , — — — — ? , , , , , , . – ; — — — — , – — — — — , , . . ” ! ” — — — — , , , ; — — , , , , , , , : — — — — , , – , ‘ — — — — , , , — — — — , , — — . — — — — , , ‘ , , — — — — ‘ , , ? , , , , , , — — . — — — — ‘ , , , , — — . . , — — . , , — — — — , , , , , . . ‘ ‘ , , , : – , , , . , , , , , , : , ( ) , , , . ; . , , , , ( ) , , , , , , , ; , – — — — — ! , . — — — — , , , — — — — , , , – . — — — — ” , , . ” . – , — — , . ( ) , ‘ – : — — — — — — — — . ‘ — — — — , , — — — — , ; , — — — — – , , — — — — – , — — — — — — — — ; — — ; , , – , , — — – ( ) – , , — — . ‘ . — — , , — — — — . — — — — , — — — — , — — . , , — — — — . — — — — , ! , ! , , — — — — ‘ — — ( ) ; , , , , , , — — ; — — — — ‘ , — — — — ‘ , . , , , , — — — — , , . . , . . : . ( – ) — — . — — ‘ ‘ , ( ) . , — — — — , . — — — — — — . ‘ , , ; , , ‘ , , . , ‘ , . ‘ , . , , . . , — — , , – — — — — . , — — , — — : — — ‘ : — — — — , , , – ; — — , , , . — — , , , , , , , ; — — — — ‘ — — ‘ . — — — — . , , , , — — — — – . — — — — ‘ . , , , — — — — . — — — — . — — , , , , , , ‘ : — — — — — — ; . — — ! , . . — — — — ‘ – . — — ! . — — — — . — — — — — — ‘ — — — — ! — — — — ! — — ! — — — — — — – — — — — — — ‘ — — — — — — ! — — — — , — — — — . . , — — — — ‘ — — : , . , . , , ( ) ‘ . — — , . . — — – , ( ) . — — — — , , — — — — : — — , — — — — — — , ( , ) — — — — , . , — — . — — ” , ” — — . , , , , , , ( ) , — — — — , , – , , . — — , . , — — — — . , ; , , , ‘ — — ‘ ; — — , ‘ . — — , . — — . — — — — , , ‘ , . — — ; — — — — , , ( ) – , — — — — , — — . ‘ . — — — — . , , , , — — — — . , . . . 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[ ] , , — — — — ‘ ; . . . ” , , , , , , . ” , . , , — — — — , , , — — — — — — — — . ‘ , : — — — — , , , . . , — — — — , ; — — — — . ‘ — — — — ; — — — — , , — — — — — — — — , . ” , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — — ” ( ) ” ‘ ” ( ) — — — — ” , , ” , , , , , , . , , ” ( , ) ” ” ( ) ” . ” ” , . — — — — . — — — — , , ” ( ) — — — — ” , , , . ” , , . — — — — . , , . — — — — , , , . ” [ , , — — — — . — — — — . ] ” . , , . , . . , . , ‘ , . , , , ‘ ( . ) ” , , — — — — , , — — ” , , , ” ( ) ” , ” ( . ) ” ( ) ‘ — — — — , , , , , , . — — — — , . ” [ , , . — — — — . , , . ] ” , , , , , , , , , , , , , , – ! ” ” ( ) ” ! ” ! — — — — ! — — — — , , ” ( , ) ” , , , – , , – , , – , , , , , , , ! ” ‘ , , , ! ” , , ” ( ! ) ” , , ” ( ) ” , , , , – ! ” , ! ! ” , ” — — — — ( , , , , — — — — — — — — — — – ! . — — — — — — — — — — ( ) , , , — — – – , , ( ) — — — — , , , , ; — — — — — — — — — — , , , — — — — , ‘ . — — — — ” ! ” — — . , — — ” , , , ” ( ) ” ! . , — — . . ” , , . — — , . . — — — — , . — — — — , ‘ , , . . , . . , — — — — — — — — — — — — — — . . ‘ , ; , — — — — . ‘ , : — — — — , — — — — , & . & . ‘ ‘ , — — — — , — — — — ‘ ; — — , , , , , ‘ ‘ . — — ? — — , , , — — ! , , , , , — — , ; — — , , , , . — — ! — — — — — — — — ? ? — — — — ? ? — — — — ‘ – , . — — ! ? — — — — ! ‘ , , — — — — ! — — . — — , & . , . — — ! — — — — — — — — , , , , ‘ — — — — ‘ , , . — — ! — — — — , ? — — ‘ ! ; ! — — — — ! — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — . — — , ! — — — — — — — — ! , , ‘ — — — — , . ! — — — — , , — — — — , , , — — . , — — — — . ‘ — — — — ‘ ‘ , , , , ; , ‘ ; — — , , , : , , ! — — — — — — — — ” — — . ” — — ‘ — — — — ” — — — — ” — — ‘ . — — , : , — — ‘ — — — — , , , , , , — — — — . — — ‘ — — — — , , — — — — ! , ‘ , , , . — — — — ‘ , , , , , , , ; — — , , — — — — , — — — — — — . – , ( ) ( ) . — — , — — . , ‘ , ; — — — — , . . — — — — ! — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — ( , , . , ) , , — — , . — — ‘ , . — — , , — — — — , . . . ‘ — — . — — , . , ‘ . — — , , — — , , , , . — — , . , ( ‘ – ; – ) — — — — , , , , * * * * * * — — — — , , , , , , . . * * * * * * — — — — . ( , , , ) , , , , . , , , ‘ , , – , – — — , . — — ‘ , ‘ — — ‘ . — — , , — — — — . — — , — — — — — — — — , , — — ! — — ‘ , ‘ , , . , , , — — — — , , – – , , — — , . — — , , , , , , , – . — — , , . . . : , — — ‘ : , – , , * * * , — — — — : , , — — — — . ; — — , : . , , ( ) , . — — ‘ , , . — — — — ‘ . — — ” ! ” , ” ? ” . — — , , , — — ‘ . ‘ , . — — — — ‘ ‘ , . — — , . — — — — ‘ , — — — — — — ‘ , , — — ‘ – . — — — — – , . . — — , , ( ) ‘ . — — — — ! . , ‘ ; — — — — , . — — , . — — — — , . , . . — — — — , , , , ‘ , ‘ ? — — — — ‘ , . , . ( ) — — ‘ — — ; — — — — , , — — ( ) * * * * * * * * * * * * * * — — — — , . , . — — — — , , . — — , — — — — . — — — — — — — — ‘ . ; — — — — , ‘ , ‘ , , — — — — , , ‘ . . , — — — — , , . — — , — — . — — — — — — , , — — , , . , , ; ‘ , . , ” ‘ , ” — — ‘ ; — — — — , – , , , , . , . — — — — ” — — , — — . ” — — — — ‘ , , . , , , , — — , , ‘ , ( ! ) ; — — — — , , ; — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — , , , , — — — — ‘ ; — — , ‘ . ? . , . — — , , ? , . ! , , — — — — , — — — — ‘ . — — ‘ . — — — — , , — — — — , . — — — — ? . [ ] , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , – — — — — — — — — , . — — — — ‘ , , , , , , — — — — ( ) , — — — — ‘ , , . , , , ‘ , , — — — — ? — — — — – ! — — — — , . — — , , – . — — — — , , , . [ ] . . — — — — ! — — — — — — , ; — — ; — — – ; — — — — , , ! — — – — — — — — — — — , ! , ! — — — — ‘ — — — — ! ‘ , , , . . ‘ — — ‘ – — — ; — — , ; , , — — — — — — — — , : , — — — — — — . , – , . — — — — ! — — — — . . — — — — – , — — – . — — — — ; — — ‘ — — ‘ , . ‘ , ‘ — — — — ; — — — — — — — — ; — — . — — , ; — — , , — — , , ( ) — — — — , — — ‘ . , ( ) , , — — — — . , , ? ; — — — — , — — — — , . , , , , — — — — – ; — — , , — — — — , , , , , , . , – , , – ( ) — — — — , ( — — ) ; — — — — , — — , ; , ; — — , ; — — — — , ; , — — — — , , , , , . — — — — , , , , — — — — , , — — — — , , , , , , , , , — — ( ) , , , , , , — — — — , ‘ , , , , ‘ , , , , ‘ , . ! — — ! — — — — ! — — — — , ! — — — — — — ! — — — — — — ! — — ‘ — — — — — — — — — — ‘ ! — — — — — — — — — — ‘ — — . — — ! ! ! — — — — , , , — — , : — — — — — — — — , — — — — — — — — — — ! , , , , — — . , , ; , , , , — — ‘ — — , — — . , , ; , , — — , ; ‘ , — — , , , , . , , , , , ‘ — — — — , , — — — — — — — — — — — — — — . ! , , , , , , , ! ‘ , , — — , , ; , , , , – , , ; — — — — , . , , : — — , , ( ) , , , , — — — — , , . , , , – — — — — , , , , — — — — , , , — — — — , . , , — — , , ; — — , : — — — — — — — — , — — — — : — — — — , , , , . , , — — — — ; , , , ; , , , ‘ , , , . ! , — — , ( ) , — — — — , ; — — — — — — — — . , . — — , , , . — — ! — — ! — — — — — — ! — — — — , — — — — . – , , , — — — — — — ! — — — — . , , ; — — ‘ , ‘ — — — — – — — ; — — — — . , , , ‘ , , , , ! — — — — , , — — — — , , : — — — — — — — — ; — — — — , ‘ ‘ , , — — – – , , , — — — — , , , — — — — , — — , — — — — — — – , , — — — — , . — — — — — — — — , ‘ . — — — — ; , — — — — — — , , ‘ , — — ‘ , , , — — — — , , . — — — — — — , — — , , , , , . , , . — — — — , ‘ , , , , , ‘ — — , , , , — — ” , , , , , , , – , , ‘ , , , ? ” — — . , ? — — , , – , , , – . . — — — — , , ‘ , – . — — , — — — — , , , — — — — . , — — ( ) — — , ‘ , — — , , ? — — , ‘ ; : — — — — — — — — , , — — — — , ? — — — — , , , , , , ? — — , , , , ? — — — — , — — — — , , , , , — — — — ‘ — — , — — , , — — — — — — , , , , , , . — — , — — — — ? — — — — , , , ‘ — — — — , — — — — , , . , — — — — , — — — — . , , , , , , , — — ; — — — — ; , , — — , , ‘ . — — — — , , : — — — — – – . , — — — — , — — , , – — — — — — — ! — — = > — — — — . . — — ‘ ; — — — — — — , , – . — — — — , , , : – . — — – — — ; — — — — , , . — — — — ! — — — — , ! — — ! — — , — — ( ) — — , ! — — , ! — — — — , ; — — , , ? , , — — — — . . , – ; , . , , . ‘ , — — , — — — — ( , , — — ) — — , , , ‘ : — — , , – , : , , , , — — ; , , , ‘ , , , . ” , ‘ , ? ” ‘ ? ? , , . — — — — . — — — — ‘ , , , . — — ‘ , . — — . , . — — , , – , – , . — — ! , , — — — — , – — — — — ‘ — — . , , . — — , ‘ , — — — — , — — — — – , ( , ) , , ; — — — — – . — — . — — — — ‘ , , , , — — — — ‘ . — — — — , , , , , , ‘ . — — — — , ? . — — — — — — – ? — — ? — — – ? — — , : , , , — — ; — — — — — — ; — — , , , . — — , , , ‘ ? — — — — — — ; — — — — ( – ) , . ! — — , – ! . . , , — — . — — , ‘ ? , , , . . — — ! ( ) — — ! , , ( , , ) , . — — — — , . , . — — — — ! — — , ‘ , , . — — — — ‘ , : — — — — , . , , . , — — : — — — — — — ; — — ( ) — — — — , ‘ , , , , , ; , ‘ , — — ‘ – — — ; — — — — — — ‘ ; — — — — — — — — , . — — ? — — , . , . — — , , . ! ( , ) — — — — — — , — — — — — — — — — — — — — — ! — — , , ; — — — — ? 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( ) — — , , . ! , . — — , , , , , ? , , , — — — — , , ! — — , , ? , , — — . , — — — — , , — — , . , . , — — . , , — — ? . , ( ) — — — — ? — — — — , , — — , — — ? — — — — . ‘ , , , , , – , , , – , . , , — — — — — — , . ‘ — — — — ! — — , — — , , , , — — — — ‘ , . , , , – ‘ , — — — — , . — — — — , , , — — — — , , — — — — , — — . , , . — — — — ‘ , – ‘ — — — — ‘ . — — — — ‘ , , . — — , . , , . , – ‘ , ! — — ‘ , , . ! — — — — ! ‘ , ‘ , . , . ‘ , . — — ‘ , . — — ‘ ‘ , . , , ‘ , ‘ , ‘ , . ‘ , , , ‘ . ! , ‘ , , – ( ) ! , — — — — — — — — — — — — ! , — — — — ? ‘ . ‘ — — — — ; , , – , , , , , ‘ , – – . , , – ; , – , – — — ( , ) — — , – , – , , . , ‘ — — , , — — , – , & . – , . , , — — — — . , , , — — – , , ‘ , . — — — — ‘ , , — — — — . — — — — ! ! , ; , , ‘ . , ‘ — — — — , – ‘ , ! , , , ? ‘ , , — — — — ‘ . ‘ , . ‘ – , , . — — — — ‘ , . ‘ , – . ‘ , , – ‘ , , . , , — — , . — — — — ? . , , , — — ? ‘ . — — ! — — ! , — — ‘ , ? — — — — . . , : — — ‘ — — — — — — , , , ( ) — — , — — — — — — — — , — — — — , — — — — ? ? ? ! ? — — — — ? ? ‘ , ? ‘ ! ! — — , , , — — — — ! — — — — ‘ ! — — — — , – ‘ , , ‘ , . , , — — — — , — — — — . , ! — — — — — — . — — — — — — — — ! — — ‘ — — — — . — — — — ‘ — — — — — — — — . — — — — , ‘ ! — — — — — — — — ‘ – — — — — – , — — — — ! — — — — ? — — , ? — — — — ! ! — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — ‘ — — — — , , — — ! , — — . — — ! — — — — ? — — — — ‘ , & . — — , , , — — — — , , — — — — – , – , & . — — , ‘ , . , — — — — , ; , , ‘ , , , . , , , , – , , – — — — — . ‘ , , ‘ — — — — — — — — , . — — — — — — — — — — — — [ ] — — — — , , – , — — , — — — — ‘ ‘ — — — — ‘ — — — — — — , , . — — . , , ( ‘ ) ‘ . — — — — , — — ‘ — — — — — — , , , , , . ‘ [ ] , & . , ! — — ‘ , , ; ‘ , , ( ) ; , , — — — — ‘ , ? , — — — — , , , , — — , — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — ‘ ‘ , — — — — — — — — — — . , , — — , , – ‘ , , ‘ , ‘ , , ‘ , ‘ — — — — , , ; , , — — – — — ! — — — — , — — , , ‘ — — – — — ‘ , — — — — ( ) . , , , , , – , – ‘ : ‘ , — — — — , — — . – ‘ ! — — — — ! – , . , – , — — – — — , : ; — — , , ‘ — — — — , — — . ‘ , , & . ‘ ‘ , , , — — — — , — — ( ) , ? , ‘ , , — — — — ‘ — — — — — — — — — — — — — — , — — — — ‘ . , , , , . — — — — — — — — — — — — . , , & . , , , , ( ) . , , — — , , , . — — — — , , , — — — — , : ‘ , — — , — — — — , , ; , — — — — ; , , . , — — — — , , ? , — — , . — — — — — — — — — — . — — — — , . , , , . , , , , — — , — — — — ; — — . ; — — — — ; , , . , , — — — — — — ( , , . ) — — — — , , — — — — — — — — , — — — — ‘ , — — , . : — — — — . , , , — — — — — — , , . , , ‘ . . , , , , & . & . — — — — , , . , , , , : , , , [ ] , – . — — — — , ; — — — — , , , — — — — , , – , , , ( ‘ – ) — — — — ‘ . , – — — — — , , , , , , , — — , , ‘ — — , , ‘ . , [ ] ( ) , — — — — — — — — — — — — ( ‘ ) , – . , , , . , . — — , , ; , , , . [ — — — — ; , , — — — — ; , — — — — , — — — — . — — , , , , ” ; ” — — — — , ‘ — — — — , , — — — — — — — — ‘ , — — — — . , — — — — , , ; , ‘ , — — — — — — — — . — — — — , , , , . ] ‘ . , , ; — — , , ; , – ; , , , ‘ , ‘ — — . ; ‘ — — — — – — — , — — — — ‘ . ‘ — — – — — . ‘ , . ‘ , . ‘ , . ‘ – , . ‘ , . ‘ , . ‘ , , . , – , . , . ‘ , – . , . — — — — ‘ , . — — — — , . — — , . , , , , . – , – , – ‘ — — — — — — ; — — . , , — — , . ‘ — — – — — — — . . , & . , — — — — — — — — — — , , , , — — , , . — — — — ! — — — — ? — — — — — — — — — — — — . — — — — ! – — — — — – — — — — , , , ? — — — — — — ‘ . — — — — , , , , , – – , . – . ( ) — — — — – — — , , , — — , , , , , , — — , , – , , , , – — — – ; — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — – . — — — — ( ) , , ( ) , — — — — , , , , — — — — , , ‘ . , , , . — — — — , , – , — — — — , . , , , , , ‘ , ‘ ‘ : — — , , . , ( ) . , , — — . — — — — . — — ? — — ‘ — — — — . , ‘ ; , . . , , , . — — ! — — — — ! — — — — , ! , ! , ! , ! — — ! , — — — — ‘ — — — — — — — — — — . , , ‘ , , . — — — — , , — — — — ‘ — — — — , , , . — — — — ! , , . — — — — , . — — — — , , , ‘ , . — — — — , . — — — — , . — — — — ‘ – , , , , . — — — — ? , . — — , . — — — — , — — — — — — — — , . — — — — ‘ , , ‘ ! — — — — — — — — , , , — — ‘ . , ; , , . , ‘ . — — — — — — — — , , , — — — — — — ‘ , ; , , . ( ‘ ) — — — — ‘ – , . — — — — , , , ‘ . : ” . , ” — — — — ‘ — — . ” , ? , , ? — — , , ? , , , , ? ” — — — — , , ; — — — — , , . ” , — — — — — — ‘ — — — — — — — — . ! ‘ ; — — — — , , — — ! ” , , — — — — — — . — — — — ‘ , , ! ‘ — — — — — — ” . , . – — — — — ‘ ; — — — — , , — — — — , , . . , , , , . . ! — — — — , , ‘ ; . — — — — — — ; , ‘ ‘ , ; , , , , , , , , , , , . ‘ , , ; , , — — — — ; , , . — — — — ! , , . , , , , , , . , . , , . ‘ , , , , — — — — , . — — — — — — — — ( ) . ! — — — — — — . , , , . — — — — — — — — , , , , . ! ! , ‘ , — — — — ‘ — — — — , , , , , ‘ — — — — , . — — ; , , . ! ! , — — — — — — — — — — . ‘ . [ ] , ; , – — — , , . [ ] , , , . [ ] . ‘ — — — — — — — — : — — — — , . — — ‘ . [ ] . & & — — — — . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . & . . . . . . . . . , . & . . . . , . . . & , . & . . , . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . & . & . . . , . . . , . . , , . . . [ ] , . , , , , , — — , & . — — — — . . ‘ — — — — — — — — — — — — — — ? — — — — , — — — — , , ? — — — — , — — — — – , — — ‘ , ? – , , – ; , . , , , ; , , ‘ — — ‘ ; , , . ‘ ! , , – . . ! , ! ! , ‘ , , — — . — — — — , , — — . — — — — , , , — — — — , , ? , , . — — — — . — — — — ‘ ‘ — — . — — — — . — — — — . — — ‘ . — — , , , , — — — — ? — — — — ‘ — — , — — — — ‘ , , — — — — . — — — — , , . . , – ; ‘ . — — — — , – , – , — — — — , , — — ! , , ; : , , , , . ‘ — — , , — — — — , . — — — — , , – , . : . , , , , , , — — — — , , , ? — — — — , ( ‘ ) , ‘ . — — — — ‘ , . ! . . ‘ , , ‘ ? — — ! ! , . — — ‘ , , ‘ . — — , ‘ , , . — — — — , , . — — — — , , ‘ , – , . — — — — , . — — – , . — — — — , , . — — , , , — — , — — , — — ! — — ! — — ‘ — — ‘ , ! — — ! — — , , — — — — , , . — — . ‘ , , , — — . — — – – , , — — — — — — — — . — — — — . — — , , ; , — — , — — . — — — — ‘ , , , . — — — — , , , , , , — — , , , — — — — — — , , . — — — — — — — — — — — — , . — — — — – , — — — — . — — — — , . — — — — . . , , ? . , , , , ; ; , — — , . , — — — — ‘ — — — — , . — — — — – — — — — — — — — — — — — , , ; – , , : . , , ; — — , , , , — — — — , , — — . ! , ? — — — — ? — — — — ‘ , — — , – , ‘ , , , . — — — — ‘ , , , — — — — ‘ , — — — — – . — — — — . — — — — , , , — — — — , , . , . , ; , — — – – – , — — — — ” — — — — : , , ‘ — — . ” , – , , – — — — — ! — — — — ! , . . , , ‘ , , , — — — — , , . — — , , . — — ‘ ? , , . — — — — , . — — — — , , , , ; , , , – , ‘ — — — — . , , , – , — — — — , ‘ — — , — — ! , . ! , — — — — . , . — — — — , . . , , , , ! , , — — — — , ( , – ) — — — — ‘ — — — — , , ( ) , . , . — — — — — — — — . ‘ — — — — ( ! ) — — ‘ — — — — — — — — — — ! , . — — ? ? ? ? — — — — ? — — , — — ‘ ? , — — ‘ , ‘ . , , , , , , , . , . — — — — ‘ , . — — — — , , . . — — — — — — — — — — — — , . . ? , ; , , : — — — — , , : — — — — — — , — — — — — — , — — — — . — — — — — — , — — ? , — — — — ! — — — — ? , , , , , : , — — — — — — — — — — — — — — , ? — — ! , ‘ — — — — — — — — — — — — ‘ – , . — — — — — — ; ( ) , [ ] , , — — — — , . , ; , , , . [ ] ‘ ; ‘ , & ‘ ‘ , , & ‘ . ‘ ‘ ; & , ‘ ‘ , & ‘ . ‘ , & , ‘ & , ‘ ‘ ‘ , ‘ . ( . , . . . . ) ‘ ‘ ‘ , ‘ , ‘ . ‘ – , & ‘ – ‘ — — ‘ , & ‘ . ‘ ‘ . ( , & . ‘ . . , , . — — , , — — — — ( ) — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — . — — — — , . . — — ? , , , – — — ? , , , , . — — ! , — — , , ‘ — — — — , ? — — — — . . ? , , — — . , , , — — — — , , , — — — — , , ‘ — — — — — — , , ‘ – , ; , . , , ‘ . — — — — . — — ‘ – , , — — ‘ ‘ , , — — , , ‘ — — , — — — — , , , . / ‘ — — , . . ! — — — — , ! — — — — ‘ — — — — ‘ , – . ‘ , , . — — ‘ ; , – — — , – – , , — — , . — — — — . , — — , — — , , — — , , . – ; , , [ ] — — ‘ — — ‘ – , ; , , — — , — — — — ? — — — — — — ? — — , ‘ , , — — , , . ? ; , , – ; , , . , , — — , , — — ‘ ; — — — — — — . — — , — — — — . — — — — – — — . — — , ! , ? — — — — ? — — — — ‘ – — — — — — — ‘ . [ ] . . — — , . — — ‘ , , — — — — — — ? , , . — — , , , , ‘ . — — ‘ . ? — — , , ‘ – , , — — , , . , , – , , — — , , — — — — . , , — — — — , ‘ — — — — , , ‘ . , — — — — — — , , ; , ? — — — — ? , . — — — — , ‘ , , , . . . , — — ‘ — — , — — – , , — — . ‘ – , . — — — — , ! — — ‘ , , , , — — ! , & . & . & . & . — — , . , – , , , – . — — — — , , ? — — — — , , , . — — — — , . — — — — ? , , . — — ! , – — — , – — — , , , , – , , – . , ! ‘ — — , – , , . . . , , — — — — ‘ , , ‘ . . , , – , , . – ! ‘ — — — — , ‘ — — — — — — — — — — — — ‘ – — — ‘ — — ‘ — — ‘ . — — — — — — , , — — ‘ — — — — , , – ; , , , , , — — — — ( ) ; , , , , , — — — — — — , , , , , . ” ‘ , ” , ” – — — . ” , , ‘ . — — — — ‘ — — ( . ) , , , . — — , . — — , . — — — — , , , ; , — — — — — — — — — — , . , — — — — — — — — , ” ‘ ( ) ‘ . ” . . — — , ‘ , . — — — — — — — — , , , . , , , , . , , , ‘ — — , , , ‘ , ; , , , — — ! — — ‘ , . — — — — , — — , ‘ — — , , , — — — — . — — — — ‘ , ? — — — — — — — — ! — — — — ‘ , — — – . — — — — , , , — — — — ! — — — — , . — — — — – , , , . . ‘ ; — — , ; , , , ; — — . , — — — — — — — — . — — — — , ( ‘ ) , , , , . ‘ , , , — — — — — — ; : , , , , — — , , — — — — , , — — — — , , , ; ‘ : , , , ‘ — — , — — — — ‘ . , — — — — — — – . , — — — — , , : , , – — — — — , – – – ‘ — — , , , , , , , , , . . , , – , , , — — — — , , , . — — , , , , . — — — — — — ? — — , — — — — ‘ ‘ ‘ . — — — — , ‘ , ? — — — — , . , — — — — , , ; — — — — , . — — — — ‘ , , , : — — — — , , ‘ — — ‘ , — — — — . — — — — , ‘ ! , — — – . — — — — , , , — — — — , — — , , – , — — — — — — , , , , , . — — — — ‘ , ‘ — — , , , . — — — — , , , — — — — , . — — ! , , – ? — — — — , ? , . — — — — ? , . — — — — ? , , . — — — — ? , . — — — — ? , . — — — — . – — — — — – , — — — — — — — — ! ! ! — — – ! ; , ‘ , – , , – , , : ‘ , , ‘ , – — — — — — — — — , , , — — — — , , , , ; . — — — — , , — — — — ! ! ! ! ! ! , , ! , — — — — ! — — — — ! — — — — , ‘ — — — — — — — — , ‘ , ; , — — ‘ — — — — , , . ! , — — — — ‘ — — — — , , , ‘ — — — — , , , , . — — — — ; — — — — — — — — , , , — — — — – , , , . — — — — ! — — — — , , – ? , — — — — . — — — — , ; , , , — — ! , . — — — — , . — — — — ! , . , , ‘ , , , , . — — — — , – ! , — — ‘ . , – . — — — — . — — — — , , — — — — — — — — , , , — — — — ) — — ! ! , — — . , , — — ! ! ! . , . — — — — , . . , , [ ] , , , ! — — ‘ — — — — — — — — ‘ ; ‘ – . — — — — — — — — — — — — , — — — — , – . — — — — ‘ ‘ , — — — — ‘ — — ‘ — — ‘ — — ‘ — — — — ‘ — — — — ! — — — — ! — — — — ‘ — — ‘ ! — — — — ‘ – , , , , , , , , – , , , , , , , , . — — ‘ , — — ‘ – ‘ . — — ; ‘ ‘ — — — — , ‘ , . — — — — . , , , . — — — — , . — — . — — — — ‘ , , . , . , , , , , . — — — — ? . [ ] . . , [ ] — — , , , . — — , , , — — . — — ! ! — — , . , , — — ‘ . — — — — , , , ; — — — — , , , . — — , — — – . , , ( ) , . — — — — , , . , . — — , . — — , , , — — — — , , , , . , — — , , , . , — — — — , . — — — — ? — — — — , , – , . — — ‘ , , , . , , . ‘ — — — — . , , . — — — — ‘ , . ‘ , . , . , , — — — — ‘ ‘ . 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( – – ) . — — — — , — — — — ; — — , — — — — ‘ , — — , — — — — , — — — — . — — — — — — , , , ‘ ; — — — — , , , , ‘ , . , – – — — — — ‘ : — — — — , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . , , , : , , , , , ; , , , ; — — — — — — , ‘ — — , , ; , , , , — — — — , , , , , , : — — — — , , , , , — — — — — — , , ; — — — — , – – , , . , , , — — , . : — — — — , — — — — , , , — — — — ‘ , , . , , ‘ — — — — — — — — — — , , — — . — — — — , , ‘ : ‘ , , — — , , , : , , , , , — — — — . , , — — — — , ; — — — — — — — — . — — — — , , . — — . , — — — — ‘ , ‘ — — ‘ * * * — — — — * * * , — — , , . ‘ — — — — — — — — ‘ — — — — ‘ — — – – . , , : , , — — — — ” , ” ‘ , , ; — — , ( ) . — — — — , , , , . , — — — — , ; , , — — — — — — . — — , , , , — — ; — — . . — — — — . — — — — . . — — , , — — — — — — — — , , ? — — — — , . — — — — , , , — — — — , — — — — , , , , , . — — — — , , , , ; , — — . — — , ( ) — — — — – , . — — , , , , . , , – , , . — — — — , . — — — — , , , , ; — — — — , ( ) , , , ( ) . — — — — , , . — — — — , — — — — . — — — — , , . — — — — , , — — — — . — — — — ? ; . — — — — , , ‘ . ‘ , . — — — — — — . . — — , , , — — — — – — — — — [ , ] — — ‘ — — [ ‘ , ] — — — — , , , — — , , , , – ‘ , & & — — . — — — — , — — — — , , — — — — , — — — — , , . , ‘ . , , , ‘ , & . & . , & . — — — — ? — — ; , ; , . — — ? . — — — — — — . — — — — , , . — — — — , , . — — — — , , , , — — — — , ‘ , , , . — — — — , , ‘ . — — — — — — — — — — — — , ; , , . — — — — ‘ , , — — — — ‘ , ‘ , – . — — — — , , , . ‘ , , . , , . — — — — ‘ , , . — — — — , , [ ] , , ” , ” — — , — — — — , ” . ” [ ] ‘ ‘ , ; — — , — — — — ‘ , ‘ , . — — — — , — — — — , , : , , , ; , ‘ . — — — — , — — — — , . — — , . , . , : , , , , , ; — — — — , , — — ‘ ( ) . ‘ , , , . ( ) , ‘ , , , ; , ; , , , , . , , — — , — — — — , , , , , . — — — — — — — — – — — — — — — — — — — , , , [ ] . — — — — ? . ‘ , — — — — ‘ , ‘ — — — — , . ‘ , , , ; ‘ , , — — — — , , ; , — — , & , & . — — — — , , , — — , , — — . — — — — , , ; , , , , ( [ ] ) ; — — — — . — — — — , — — — — , — — — — — — — — , , — — — — , , ? — — — — , , — — — — , . — — ” , , , ” — — ” ? ” — — — — ‘ , . — — — — ‘ , , , . . [ ] , . . [ ] . . . . . [ ] , . . . . . [ ] . . . . . . — — , , , — — — — ‘ , , – — — — — , , , ? , ; , , — — — — . – — — — — ‘ — — — — . , — — — — , – , , . — — — — — — — — , , . — — — — , , , . , , . . — — — — ‘ — — — — , , . — — — — – — — — — — — ‘ — — — — — — , , , , — — , , , , . , , . — — – – — — , ‘ — — — — — — — — — — — — — — ‘ — — , — — — — – , – — — , – , . , — — — — — — , ; , , . ; ‘ ‘ , , – , — — — — – , , , , , , – , : . , — — — — : — — — — , – , ; , ‘ — — ‘ . — — — — — — . , , , , — — , — — , , — — , , . , — — — — , — — — — , ‘ – , — — — — . , – . – , — — — — – — — . – ; , – , – — — — — , , — — — — ‘ ; , , ‘ ( ) , , . , — — , , , ‘ — — — — — — — — , – ( ) — — — — ‘ , , , , , , — — — — . – , ; ‘ — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — , – — — — — , , , . , , , ‘ – , — — — — , — — — — . — — — — — — — — , , , ; , , – , & . & . — — — — — — , – . , , — — — — — — — — , , — — — — , — — — — — — — — . — — — — , , — — — — , — — — — , — — — — . , , ‘ , : , , , — — — — , . , — — — — , , — — — — ‘ . ! ? — — — — ? — — — — — — — — ? . – — — — — , . , — — — — , , . , – , — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — , — — — — — — — — — — — — , — — — — , , — — — — , , , , , . , , , , ; , , , , , , — — , . — — — — ! ! — — — — , , — — — — — — — — ! — — — — , — — ! ‘ — — — — , — — ( ) ! — — — — ‘ . — — — — , — — — — , — — , ‘ ‘ , , — — — — ‘ ‘ — — — — , — — – — — — — . [ ] — — — — , ? ! — — — — , , . — — , , , , , . , , , — — ; — — , : , , , , — — — — , — — — — — — ; , . , , – , , ( ) ‘ , . [ ] . , — — — — — — — — — — — — , . — — — — . — — , — — , . — — . , , , , , . . , , [ ] ; , , : — — , . , , , , ; , , . , , ‘ , . . [ ] . . . . , , . — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — ‘ — — — — — — ” , ” , , – , , ” – , , – . ” ; , , ‘ — — ‘ — — ” ! — — — — , — — — — — — — — ‘ ! — — — — ! ” , , — — ? , , ? , ? — — ? , – , – , , — — — — ? , — — , , — — , — — , — — — — , — — — — , — — , — — — — — — — — ? — — — — , , , , , , ; , — — — — , – , , : — — — — , — — – , . . ‘ — — — — ‘ ‘ — — — — ! ! — — ‘ — — — — — — – ; , , ( ) ; . . * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * — — — — , , , ‘ , , — — — — ? , — — ; , , — — — — , , . : — — — — ! , , — — — — , , , ‘ , . ‘ , ‘ : ‘ — — ! , , — — — — ! , — — — — , , , , ‘ , — — — — ? , — — , , . , , : , , , , — — , , — — — — , , — — — — ; , — — — — — — — — , — — — — . , , . , — — — — — — , — — — — , , , — — — — — — — — ; . – , , — — , — — — — , — — — — , — — – , , — — — — , — — — — , — — — — , . , , , ; — — ! — — — — – ? , . , , , , — — — — ! , . , , — — — — . . , ; . , . , . , . , . , . , ‘ — — — — , — — — — — — . , — — , , . — — — — . , , , – , , , — — — — — — , ‘ — — — — ‘ — — , , — — — — — — — — ‘ — — — — — — — — ‘ – . . . — — — — . – , , , , & . — — — — , , , , — — — — ‘ , , , ‘ , — — — — . — — — — . , — — . . – ; , , — — , , . , ! , ! , ‘ — — — — , ! , : — — ! — — , , — — — — , — — , , — — ! ; — — — — ‘ ‘ . . , , , , ‘ — — . — — — — , . – — — , . ‘ : , — — — — , , , , , — — — — , ( ) . , , . — — — — ‘ , , . , ‘ , , ? — — — — , – – ? , – , – — — , ? — — , , — — — — — — ‘ . ‘ ‘ . — — . — — . — — , , , . . ‘ , , . ‘ ; , , , ‘ — — – . — — , , ( ) — — – , . — — — — , ! . — — — — ! , , . , . — — , , . — — — — ‘ ; , , . — — — — , . ‘ ! , , ‘ , . — — , . — — , — — — — , , . , , . — — — — , , — — . , , ‘ , – , , , — — , : ‘ , , . — — — — — — , ; , ( ) . , ‘ , . — — — — , . , , — — — — , , . , — — ‘ , ? . — — — — , — — — — — — , , , . — — — — , – — — , , . — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — ‘ ! — — — — — — — — ? . — — — — , . — — — — — — — — — — ? . : — — — — , , . — — ? . — — , , , , , ! ‘ — — — — . ‘ , , , , — — , . — — ! , , ! — — ‘ ; ? , , . — — . — — — — — — — — , — — . ‘ , , , , , , — — — — , , , — — , . , . , , — — ( ‘ ) , — — , — — — — , . ; ; , — — , — — , , , , — — , , , , . — — — — — — — — , . ? , , — — , . — — ! ! ! — — , , , — — ‘ ! — — ! , , . — — , — — , , , . , , , : — — . — — — — — — ; — — ; , , , , — — ( ) — — . — — ‘ , , : , , ; , , — — , , . ‘ ; , , , , , , . , , : ; , , , — — . , , ‘ , . — — — — — — ! , , , ! — — — — , . — — — — ? . ‘ , — — — — . ‘ . . — — ; , ‘ , ‘ , . — — . ” ‘ — — — — , , — — . ” , , — — . ” . ” — — , : , , ; , , , ‘ . ” ( , ) — — ” , , ? , , , . ” — — , , — — , , , — — ! , — — . — — — — ‘ — — . — — — — ? — — — — , , , — — , , . — — — — . ” , , ? ” — — , – , . — — ” , , , ? , ; , ( ) – , , : , , — — . ” , , ” ( ? , ) ” . , , , . — — ! ! ! , , — — — — , — — . ” — — ‘ . — — , , , . — — , , , , , , , ; , , , & . & . ‘ . — — ‘ , . — — , , , ‘ — — — — ? — — ‘ , . — — ‘ , . — — ! , — — ‘ . ; , . — — ” ! ” , , . — — , . ” , , , ” — — — — ( , , ‘ ) . — — — — ” , , , , , , . ” — — — — . — — — — ” ! — — ; — — ‘ . ” ! — — . — — — — . ” , ” — — ( , , ) — — ” ; . — — — — , , — — , ‘ ‘ . ” , , , ‘ . ” , , ( — — , ) — — , ? — — , ? , , , , , , ? , , , — — , ‘ . — — , ? — — ‘ , . — — , , , — — , , — — ? — — ! , , — — ‘ — — , , — — — — ; — — — — . ; ‘ — — , — — ‘ . — — — — , , ‘ , , , . — — – — — — — — — , . — — ‘ — — . — — ‘ , — — . . — — — — — — , , — — , — — . — — ‘ , — — , , , . — — , . — — , * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * — — , — — . — — ‘ — — . . , . — — ‘ , – , ; — — , , — — ( , , ) — — : — — — — , , . : ( ) . . , , ; , , — — — — , , — — — — , – . , , , , , ; , , , , , , , , , , . , , , — — — — — — , , , ‘ , , – — — , — — , , ( , ) ; , , , , , , , ; — — . — — , ‘ , , , — — , . , ‘ — — , — — , , , . — — — — — — , , , . — — — — — — — — – — — , . , , ( ) . , , , , ; , , , . ! ‘ ! — — ! — — ! — — — — ! ? . — — — — ? . — — — — — — – ‘ , , ‘ ‘ . — — . — — , , . — — : , — — ; , , — — . — — — — – . — — ! ‘ , . — — ‘ . — — ! , — — , — — , — — , — — – , – , – . — — . — — ” , — — , ” . , — — , , ; — — . — — , , — — ! — — , . — — — — , , , ‘ , — — — — ‘ — — , . , . — — ! . — — ‘ , ‘ . — — — — , , . , ; – . — — ! ‘ , . — — , , ‘ . , , . — — ! — — ! — — ! — — ! . — — ! ! , , , — — , ( ‘ ) , , , ? , ( , ) — — — — ( ) ! ! — — ‘ ! . — — . — — , , – , . — — , – , ‘ . — — . , , , — — — — , , ‘ — — — — , , , . , ” ” — — ‘ . , , , — — , ; — — , , , , , . , , ( , , , ) , — — , , — — . — — ‘ — — , ‘ — — ‘ — — ” , — — ? ” — — — — ‘ – ; — — . — — — — ” ; ” , ” ” — — ( — — , ) — — ” ! ? ” . — — — — , – , , — — , — — , — — ‘ , , — — . — — , ( ) , . — — — — , , , , , , — — , — — — — — — — — , , — — — — — — ‘ , . , — — , , , , — — — — — — — — , , , , . , , — — — — , , — — — — , , ‘ . . — — . — — . – , , — — , — — – – , , , : , , , , — — – – , — — ; , ‘ , – , , . , — — , — — , . . — — — — , , — — — — ( , ) — — , , — — ‘ — — ‘ ; — — , , , , — — ‘ . — — ! ‘ – ‘ , , ( ) , ! — — , , , , , — — , — — . — — — — — — ‘ . — — , , — — — — — — ‘ — — ? — — , — — ‘ . — — , — — – . — — . — — — — ! — — , , — — ! ( ‘ ) — — ? — — — — . — — ‘ — — — — — — — — — — , — — ‘ . . , ‘ ( ) — — — — — — — — , ‘ , — — — — – – – – – – – – — — — — — — — — , , — — — — ‘ , , . , , , : — — . . , , — — . — — , . . . , , . — — ? — — — — . — — — — — — ! ‘ ! , — — ‘ . — — — — ‘ . ‘ . — — , — — , — — , — — , — — , . — — ‘ ‘ , , , — — . — — ‘ , , . — — ‘ , . — — — — , , – . — — , , , . — — ‘ , — — — — . — — — — , . — — , , . — — . — — , . — — — — , — — , — — . — — , . ‘ , , . , , , — — ‘ — — . — — . — — , , , , . — — — — , , , ‘ . — — , , . ‘ , . — — – , , . — — , , , . — — ‘ , — — ‘ ; , – , — — , , . — — — — . — — — — , , — — . — — , ! , — — , , , , . — — — — . , — — , — — , , — — , . — — — — . — — — — . — — , . — — — — , . , , , , , ; , — — . . , , , . — — — — , — — ‘ , — — ; — — , — — ‘ , — — ? — — — — . , ; — — , , , — — . , ; , , , , , — — ‘ ‘ : — — — — , — — ( , ) , — — — — , — — — — . — — — — , , , — — – , — — , ‘ . . — — — — . ‘ , , ” , ‘ ; ” — — — — , — — ( ) : — — — — , — — , — — , , , , . — — — — , , , ? ‘ , , ; — — — — ‘ : — — — — , — — ‘ . — — — — [ ] , , , ; — — — — , , . ‘ , , , — — — — , — — , — — , , , , ? — — — — , — — . — — — — — — ; ‘ , ( . ) — — — — ; , , – , , — — ; , ( ) , , , — — , — — , — — : — — — — . — — — — , . — — — — , , ; ( ) , , , , ; , , , – , — — — — – . — — — — ! ! [ ] ; ‘ , , , , . . — — — — , ‘ ( — — — — , ‘ . — — — — , , ; — — , , , & . — — — — , , , , — — ‘ , — — ) — — — — , , , , , — — , — — ; — — : — — — — , — — , . — — — — , ; , , ‘ , , . — — , , ( ) , , ; . — — ” — — , — — , ” — — . — — — — — — , , , — — — — , . , . ! , — — , . . — — — — ‘ , . , . — — , , , , , , , , . . , , ‘ , — — , , , . . . . . . . . . . — — — — — — — — — — — — ‘ . — — ‘ ? — — . . . . . — — . — — — — ‘ — — . . . . . . . . – . — — , , — — — — . . — — ! . — — , , , . , — — ‘ — — — — — — . — — ‘ ! . — — , , ; ‘ ‘ , , , — — , , — — , — — , — — , — — — — — — — — — — . — — ‘ , , — — ‘ , — — , . , , — — — — — — . — — — — — — — — – , — — – . ! — — , — — , — — , . — — , , — — — — . , , — — ‘ . . ‘ , , ‘ – , — — , , – , ; , , ; , . ‘ — — , — — , , – — — , — — , , , — — ; . — — , — — , , , — — – , ‘ . , , . — — , . — — , , , ‘ . — — . — — , — — ” — — ‘ . ” , , , , ( ) , , ; ; , ‘ . — — , , , — — ; — — ‘ , , — — . , , ( , ) , — — , , — — — — — — , , — — , — — . — — : ; , , ‘ : , — — , — — . 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[ ] — — — — ‘ , , — — , , ‘ . — — — — , , . — — , , , . — — — — , , . — — — — , , ‘ , . — — , [ ] , . — — ? . — — — — , , ‘ , , — — ; — — ; — — ; — — , – . — — — — , , . , , – – : — — , , , . — — , — — , , ; — — — — – . — — , . , , — — ? — — — — , , , ‘ , , ; . — — — — , . — — , . — — , — — , — — , , ‘ . — — , . — — — — , ; , – – , , , . [ ] , , . — — [ ] , . [ ] . — — . 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( ? ) , ? , ? , , , ; ? ? — — ? ? , , , , , ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? — — ? — — — — ? — — ? . — — — — ‘ , , — — , [ ] , ( , , — — — — ) ‘ . — — — — — — — — ! , ! , , ? — — — — ‘ ‘ ! — — — — , — — ! ! — — — — , ! ? * * * — — — — — — — — ! ? — — — — ? — — — — — — . , — — ; — — — — — — ‘ : — — , – : — — — — , , – – – , . [ ] , . . , ‘ , — — ‘ , ‘ , . — — — — , , , ; — — — — , , , , ; — — – ; — — ; , . — — — — , , ‘ . — — — — ‘ , , , . — — — — , , , — — , — — ( , ) — — — — , , , — — , , , ; — — , . — — — — , , , , ‘ , ? — — — — ? — — ‘ , , , , , , , ‘ . — — — — ! ( ) — — , , ( ) — — — — , , , , , — — , , , — — . — — ? : — — , : — — , — — ( ) — — , , , , , , , , — — , , ; — — ; — — ; — — , — — ‘ ; — — , , . — — — — , — — , , , , , — — , — — , , : — — — — , , [ ] : — — — — , , . [ ] , , ‘ ‘ ‘ , . , , ‘ , ‘ , ‘ ; ‘ ‘ ; , . — — — — , & . & . . , ‘ , , ; ‘ , — — . — — — — ! ! — — — — , ‘ , ; — — — — , , — — — — , ! , , , , , — — — — ! . — — — — ; — — — — ‘ ; — — — — ‘ , . — — , , . , , , — — — — ‘ , — — : — — ‘ , : — — ‘ , , , , ; — — — — , , , . . — — — — ; — — — — , ; , , ‘ , , . — — — — ! , — — ( , ? ) — — , , , ; — — — — ‘ , , — — : — — — — ? , ; — — — — , , , . . – ; , , ; — — , . . ‘ , , , ‘ , . ‘ , — — ; — — , , ‘ , ‘ ; — — , , ‘ , , . , , , , ; — — , , , , . — — — — , . — — — — , , , , ; , , ; — — — — . , , ; — — — — , , , , . — — — — , , ‘ ; , , , — — , , . , , [ ] , , , , , ; — — — — , , , , . — — — — , — — , , — — ; — — , — — ; , . — — — — , , — — , , , , , ; — — — — ( ) , — — . — — — — , . — — — — , , , , ; , , , , , , , ; — — — — , , : — — — — , , – , ? : — — — — , , , , , ? — — — — , , , . — — , , , , ‘ , — — ‘ ; — — — — ‘ , , , ‘ , ; — — — — ‘ : — — — — ! ( ) , ; — — , — — . 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[ , , , . ] , – , , — — ? — — — — ? — — — — , ? , , , , , , — — – ? , ? , , — — — — , — — ? , , , ? ? , , — — , , . — — — — — — — — ? , , , , — — ? ! ‘ , — — ‘ . — — — — [ , , ? ] — — — — ‘ , , — — , : — — — — ‘ , , , — — , , : — — — — ‘ , , , , — — ‘ ; — — , , , ( , ) . , , , ‘ , , , , , , ? — — — — , , — — — — ? — — — — ? , , , , — — , , , ? , , , — — , , – , , , , , . . — — — — — — — — — — , — — — — , — — — — , — — — — , , ‘ — — — — , , , , , — — , , , , , – — — — — , ! — — — — — — — — ‘ ‘ ; , , , , , , , * * , ( ) — — — — , – , . — — — — , . , ‘ — — — — . . ‘ , — — , – , . , , , ” ‘ , , . ” ; , — — — — — — — — , . – . — — — — , , – . — — — — , , , , . , , , , — — , , — — — — , ‘ ; , , — — — — ( ) , — — , , , * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * — — — — * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ; ; , , , , , , , , , . — — — — ! , , — — — — , — — , , , , ; — — — — , ‘ , — — — — , , ; — — ‘ ; , , : — — , , ‘ , , — — , ‘ , . — — — — , , , , – – , — — — — ‘ , , — — ; . , , , , — — , , , ; — — — — ‘ , — — , — — , : , , ‘ . — — — — , , — — — — , — — . . , , , , — — , : — — — — — — — — — — — — , , , ‘ ; — — , , – . — — — — , , , , , — — , , , , , — — : — — , , , , , ‘ : — — — — , , , , — — , , , : — — — — , , . — — — — , — — ; — — , — — , ! ! ! — — — — , ? . , , , ‘ , , , – , — — — — , ? , — — — — — — — — , — — — — , ” — — , — — ; ” — — , , ; , : — — ; , , , , ‘ , , — — , , . — — — — , ( , ) — — — — ” ‘ ! ” ! ‘ , ! — — ” . ” , . , , , , — — — — , ; — — , , — — — — , , ; — — – — — , ; — — , — — – . — — — — , , ( . . ) , ” , ” — — — — . , , ‘ : , , ( , , ‘ , , ) — — ; — — , , , ‘ . , : , — — — — , — — — — ; — — — — , . . — — — — ‘ . — — — — , ; , , , , ? — — — — , — — , — — , , — — . , , , : — — : , — — , — — , — — , — — , : — — ‘ , , , — — : — — . , — — . — — — — , , — — : , , . . , — — — — ‘ . — — — — , , — — — — — — — — — — ‘ — — — — . — — — — ! — — ! — — — — , , ? ! , , , , . . . , ‘ , — — , , — — ‘ . , . , , . — — — — , , . — — — — ” — — , , . . ” — — — — , , . , . — — — — , — — — — . — — . — — — — , , . — — — — , — — . , , , — — , ; , ( ) , . , ‘ , — — . – , , — — , , — — — — , : — — , — — , . , , — — — — . , , . — — — — — — — — , — — — — — — * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * . ; , , ‘ , , . , . . . . , , , [ ] — — — — , — — — — : , , , , , , , . , , . , — — . , — — , ‘ . — — , ; , — — — — . — — ‘ , ‘ , — — . , — — — — ‘ — — — — : , – ‘ ( ) , . , — — – ! — — — — — — — — ! — — — — — — — — ! — — — — , , . — — — — , – ! — — — — ! , — — , , — — — — — — — — — — — — , , ? [ ] . . — — — — , , , , , — — — — ( , ‘ ) , – , — — , . , — — ( – , ) , — — ‘ : ( ) ; , , , , , ; , — — ; , , — — — — ” — — , ” . , — — — — , – , ‘ , — — — — ” — — ? ” . , , , — — — — , , , ; — — — — — — , , — — , , ‘ — — — — ‘ , , — — , , ; ( ) , , , ‘ , ( ) — — , , ? ‘ , , — — ! — — — — , , , ; — — — — ‘ — — — — , ‘ ; , , — — — — — — , , . ‘ ‘ — — — — ‘ ; — — — — ! ; – — — — — , . . ! , ‘ — — , — — — — , , . , — — — — — — , , — — — — ‘ , — — ‘ , , . , , , , ? , , — — — — ! , , — — — — ! — — — — ! — — — — – ! , , , , ‘ , — — — — — — ! — — — — ‘ ‘ — — — — ! ! ! ! — — — — — — ? — — — — — — ! — — — — , — — — — ‘ — — — — — — ! ? ! ! — — — — ! ! — — — — ? — — — — , ‘ , , , , , — — — — – ! — — ! — — ! ! ‘ ? ‘ ! ‘ — — . ! — — ‘ ‘ , — — — — — — — — , , ‘ , . . , , , ‘ . , , — — — — , . , , , — — — — , , . . . ” , ” – , ” ” . ” — — — — , , , ‘ ; , , ‘ — — ‘ , ; , , , — — — — , — — , ‘ — — ( ) , , – , . , , — — ( ) ; , , , , — — , ; , ‘ — — – — — , , ? , — — – ? ( ) , – ? — — — — ‘ , , , , — — — — — — — — ‘ , . . , , , . , , — — ; , , — — — — , , . , ; , ‘ — — , — — — — ‘ — — , ; , , , , — — , . – ; ‘ , , , — — , — — , . ; ‘ ‘ ; ‘ , , , ; , , , , , — — , — — ‘ , ; , , , , . – , ; ; , , ; ‘ , . , ; ‘ , ; , ; ‘ , , , — — . — — — — — — , ; ‘ , , ; — — — — ‘ , , . , , , , , , , , , , ( ) — — . , , , ; , — — , , , , , , : ; , , ; , : , , ( ) , , – , ; . , – , ‘ . , , , , ‘ : . — — — — ! ! — — — — — — — — ‘ — — — — , — — — — — — — — ! – , ! , , ! , , — — — — , , . — — , ! . . — — — — ! — — — — ! — — — — — — — — ; — — ‘ — — ‘ , , : — — — — ‘ , — — — — ‘ – , , , — — — — ; — — — — , – ! . ; , — — — — — — ! ! , ‘ — — ( , ) — — ; ‘ , — — — — ( ‘ — — ‘ ) ‘ , : ‘ ; ; ‘ , , ; , , — — , – , ! ; — — , , — — — — – , , ? – , – – , — — — — — — — — , , , — — — — , — — — — — — — — , , ‘ , , ; . — — — — — — — — ! . — — — — ? — — ! — — — — — — ; . . ‘ — — ! ( ‘ ) ! , ” , ” , ‘ ; — — , , , , , , , , – , ; , , , , , , , , ; – , . : . ‘ ? — — — — ! — — — — ‘ ! — — — — ! — — — — ‘ ! — — — — ‘ ! — — — — , , , , , ‘ , . , – , — — — — — — , – — — — — ‘ , — — — — , , , , , , , ‘ , , — — , , : — — — — , ! ; , , ‘ – , , , . — — — — , , , — — , – – , , ‘ : ‘ , , ‘ . ! { ! — — / ! — — , . . , , , ; — — — — , – ; — — . , , ; , – ‘ : , , ; , , , . — — — — — — ! , — — — — , — — , ! — — ‘ — — — — ‘ — — . — — — — — — — — ‘ ! — — — — , , , — — ( ) — — — — , – , , — — , , . — — — — — — , , – , — — , — — , — — — — — — , , — — ; , ; , , — — — — , — — , — — . — — , — — — — ‘ , — — — — — — , , ‘ — — — — ‘ ; , ‘ , – , : — — : — — : , , — — — — — — — — ! : , . . , — — — — , , — — — — . [ ] – – – – – – – – – – – – — — — — . [ ] . – , . . . ! ; , . . , , — — — — ; , ; , , — — — — — — — — , , — — — — , , , , , : , , , , — — — — . — — — — , : — — — — , , , — — — — ! ‘ . . ” , ” , , , , ; , , ‘ ‘ — — , , ” . ” — — , ( ) — — ; , , . , ( ) ; , , — — — — , , — — — — ! ! — — — — ‘ ! — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — ‘ — — — — , ( , ‘ ) , ‘ , – , — — — — , , – ; , , , . ( ) ” , ” — — — — [ ] ” , . ” , ; , , , , — — — — , , ; . — — — — — — — — , , ? , : , . . — — — — ; — — — — ; — — — — ‘ ( . . , . . ) , , , , , , , ( ) ‘ . — — — — — — ‘ — — ‘ , , — — — — , , , , , , , . ‘ , , — — — — — — — — — — — — ; , , , , ; , ‘ ‘ . ! ! , — — — — ! — — — — ? ? — — — — , ‘ — — — — , ! . . — — — — ” , , ” — — — — – , ; ; – , , , ; — — — — ( ) . , , , , , , , — — — — — — . . ‘ , , — — — — ( – , ) — — — — : . — — — — — — , — — — — , , — — , , , — — — — , — — — — , — — — — , ( ) , , ( , ) — — — — . — — ‘ ‘ , , ‘ , : ” , ” ( ) , ” – ‘ , . ” — — — — — — — — . — — , ; ( ) : ; , — — , ! — — ‘ ; – , , , : — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — ( ) : — — — — , ; , — — — — ‘ . , ‘ — — — — — — — — , , , ‘ — — — — ‘ , . — — — — , ‘ ; — — ; . , — — — — — — — — ! ! — — — — , , , ‘ — — — — , , . . , — — — — , — — — — , — — ! ( ) — — ! — — — — ! — — — — ! , — — — — , , — — — — . , , — — — — , — — — — , — — — — ! — — , , ‘ , , — — , — — — — , — — — — , , — — — — — — — — — — — — ‘ ; — — . ! — — — — ! — — — — , – — — ? ? ? — — ! — — — — ! ‘ . — — — — ! — — — — , — — — — — — — — ‘ . ; ? ‘ , , , ? , , ; , , ( ) . — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — . — — ! ! ! , – , — — , : — — — — — — — — ; — — — — : , – — — , , — — — — [ ] — — ! — — — — — — , , ( , – , — — , ) , . [ ] , & . & . & . . : — — — — , ; , , , — — — — , ” ” — — — — ; ‘ , , ” , , ” – . – — — — — — — , — — ; — — — — , & . . . . ‘ — — , , — — , ( ‘ ) , – , , , ( , , ) — — — — , . : ‘ , , , ; ( ) — — – . . , – . . , – . , – . , . , – . . , – . . , – . , – . . , – . . , – . . , , – . , – . . , , . , , – . . ‘ , – . , – . . , . . , – . , – . . , – , ; , – — — , , , – – – , – , . – – – , , , , — — — — — — — — — — — — — — ‘ , , , [ ] ! — — ‘ ! — — , , , . ; . [ ] , — — — — — — — — — — — — . . ( ) ( . . ) — — — — : — — , , , — — — — ‘ , — — — — — — ‘ , , — — , , ; . — — , , ; , , ‘ ‘ — — , , — — — — — — — — — — ; — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — , : , , — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — ‘ — — — — — — — — ? — — — — , — — — — — — — — — — — — , . . . . . . , , , . , , . * * * — — — — , , * * * * * * * . , ; , – , — — — — . * * * * * * * , . * * * . , , ; . – ‘ . * * * — — , ‘ , . ; , : , , — — , , ‘ – ; – ‘ ; ‘ — — ‘ – — — , . , , – . , . . , , ; , ; , — — , — — ‘ : , ‘ , – , * * * * * * * * * * * * , : , ; — — , , — — — — – — — , : , , , , — — . — — — — — — — — — — — — ‘ — — — — ( ) . — — — — ; — — — — — — — — ( ) — — ‘ . . , , , ( ) , — — — — , ; — — — — — — — — , – , — — — — — — – — — , — — — — — — — — – , , , — — , ‘ , — — — — , – , , — — — — , – — — — — – — — : , , ‘ , & . — — , , – , , , . , , , — — , , – , – , , , — — — — – ‘ ‘ – — — — — , – , , , . — — — — — — — — ; , , ‘ , – — — . , , , , — — — — — — — — : ; , , , ‘ — — ( ) — — ‘ — — ‘ : – — — ‘ — — — — ‘ ” , . ” , . , , , , – , – , , , ; , , , – – , ; , , — — , ; , ‘ , ‘ , ‘ . . — — — — — — — — , — — — — ” — — , , — — . ” — — , . , ‘ , , ‘ ‘ ( ) — — ” ” — — — — , ” ” — — — — , ‘ . , , , , , – , , , , – ; , , & . & . , , , & . & . — — — — , & . & . — — — — & . & . & . — — , — — , — — ; , — — ( ) — — – , – , – — — , , . — — — — , , — — , , ? — — ‘ ; , — — , , . ‘ , , ‘ ; , , , , , — — — — ! , , ‘ — — — — , , . — — — — ‘ — — — — . — — — — , . — — — — – – – – – — — — — — — — — . – – – — — — — – — — — — – – — — – – — — — — ‘ . — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — ‘ , . — — — — — — – — — — — — — . ‘ , , , — — — — — — — — ‘ — — — — — — — — — — — — ‘ , , . ! ( ! ) — — ‘ ? ? ? ! ! , — — , , ? ! . — — — — ; — — — — — — — — ‘ . ! ! . — — — — ! — — — — ! , . . , , , — — , , , , ; – ‘ , ‘ , . ! — — ; — — — — ? , : , , — — — — , — — — — , — — — — , , , ; ‘ ‘ — — , . ! ? — — — — , , , ? — — — — , ! ! ! — — — — ‘ — — — — — — — — — — — — , , — — — — — — — — — — . , , , : . — — — — , — — , , — — . , , , , , , ; , , , , , : , , — — , ; , — — — — ( , , , , , , ) . , , : , ) – – – – – – , ) — — — — , – – , – – . , ) . . . . . . . . , ) — — , – – , – – . ; — — — — ‘ ‘ , . , ) . . . . . . , ) — — , , , , , . , . , , , , , , , , . , . , , , , , , , , . — — ; — — , — — , . . ! — — , , , , ! ‘ , , , , , , , — — — — — — — — , : , , — — — — — — , ‘ ! . — — — — ! , — — , — — — — : , , ( ) — — — — — — — — — — — — : — — — — . — — — — ‘ — — — — , — — — — ‘ — — — — ‘ — — — — ! . — — — — , – – – — — – – – – – . , , , . . — — — — ( ‘ ) , ( ) , — — — — , , — — , , ( ) , , – — — — — . , ‘ ; , ‘ . — — — — ! — — — — — — — — — — ” ‘ . ” — — — — — — , , . — — : , , , ( ) , , , , , , — — ( ) — — , , , ; , , , , — — — — : , — — — — ‘ , , — — , — — , — — — — , , ‘ , , — — ( ) — — — — , — — , ‘ – — — , , — — — — — — – , , — — — — , , . — — — — — — — — ‘ ; , ‘ . — — — — — — ‘ ; ‘ , . ‘ , , , — — , , . — — — — ‘ , ; — — — — ! — — — — — — ; — — — — ! — — — — ‘ — — , , , . , , , , , , — — , . — — , , ; . — — — — , , , , , , , , — — — — , , , — — — — — — — — — — . ‘ — — : – , : — — — — , ‘ ; . — — — — ? , : , , , , — — — — — — — — , , , — — , — — — — , — — — — ‘ , — — — — ? — — — — ? — — — — ; , , , , . ‘ , , . , — — — — ‘ , , , – . — — — — , ‘ , , — — — — , — — — — , , . — — — — . ! , ‘ : , — — — — , ? , — — — — , , — — — — ‘ ! : ‘ ? . , , — — — — — — — — , ! , — — ! — — — — ? – , , , , , ‘ , : ‘ ; ‘ , — — . — — ‘ – , , ‘ — — , , — — . . — — — — — — — — , ‘ , , — — , — — — — ; , , ; – , — — — — – — — , [ ] , . , . — — — — , . [ ] , , . — — . . , . . , , , ‘ — — — — – , — — — — , , ‘ ; , , — — — — , , , — — , , ( , ) — — — — : ! — — . , , , , , , , , . , , ! ! , , ‘ — — — — , , , , . , , ‘ , ; — — — — — — ! — — ! , , ‘ — — — — – , , — — — — , , , — — ? — — , — — — — — — . , , , – ? – , — — ‘ — — — — — — — — , , , , , , — — — — ‘ , , , , ‘ — — — — ‘ , , , , , * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ; — — * * * * * * * * * — — — — — — — — — — — — , . — — — — ‘ , ‘ — — ‘ . , , , , ‘ , : , , ‘ — — , , . — — — — , , — — – . . , , , , , , — — . , ; — — — — , . ( , — — ‘ ) — — , , . , , , , — — — — , , — — — — , , — — , , – ‘ — — ‘ ‘ — — , — — — — ‘ , , : , , , , ( , ) , . , ‘ – ; , — — — — . ‘ ; , . , , , — — — — ‘ . , — — — — , — — — — ‘ , — — ; , , , — — — — ” . ” , — — — — ; – — — — — ‘ . . ! , ( , ) — — — — , , — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — ‘ , — — — — — — — — , ‘ , , . — — — — — — ( ) , ‘ , ‘ , ! — — — — ! ! — — — — — — ! ! , — — — — ! — — ‘ ? — — — — , — — — — , , — — — — , , , , – , ? ‘ , . ‘ , , , , , . — — — — ‘ , , , ; , , , — — — — , , , , — — — — , , , — — ‘ , — — – , ; — — — — ‘ — — — — ” ( ) , , , , , ( ) . ” , , , , ‘ , — — , , ; , , , ; — — , — — — — , , — — — — — — — — . — — — — ‘ , , – – ; , – , , . , ‘ ( ) — — — — , , , ; , : , — — — — — — — — — — ; ( ) — — — — ; — — — — , — — , . , , : , , & . — — — — — — — — , & . ; , , : , — — — — ( ) — — , — — — — , , , , ‘ ‘ , — — — — ‘ — — — — ‘ — — — — — — , . , ! , — — — — — — — — , ? — — — — — — — — ‘ : — — — — , — — — — , — — — — , — — — — ! , – , – . , , , ‘ — — — — , ! , ‘ — — ‘ , — — , , — — — — ‘ — — , . — — — — , , , , — — ( ) , . — — — — , ‘ ‘ , , — — , , , — — — — , . , ‘ — — — — — — — — ‘ — — — — , ‘ , — — — — ‘ — — ” ‘ — — , ” — — — — , , ‘ — — — — . – , ‘ — — ( ) — — , ‘ , . ! — — — — — — — — , , — — ‘ , , ‘ , — — — — ! , — — — — , . . , , , & . — — ‘ — — — — — — ; , , ( ) . – , . ? . — — — — ‘ , , — — — — — — — — , — — — — — — — — — — — — — — ? . — — — — — — — — ‘ ; . . — — — — , , , — — — — ; , — — — — — — , , . , — — , — — ‘ — — — — — — — — ‘ ; . — — — — ; — — — — — — — — , — — — — , — — , . — — — — . — — — — ! — — ( ) — — — — — — ‘ — — — — , , — — — — — — — — — — , — — — — — — — — , , — — — — — — — — , . ! ; ( ) — — — — — — ; . ! — — — — — — — — — — — — — — ‘ — — ‘ ; . ! , ! ! — — — — ‘ ; — — — — — — — — ! — — — — — — ! ! , , — — , , , . ‘ , , , — — — — ‘ , — — — — — — — — ‘ . . – , , , : : — — — — — — — — , . , ? ; . ; — — , , — — — — — — — — , — — — — ‘ — — ‘ — — — — — — — — — — — — ‘ . — — — — ‘ . — — — — ‘ . — — — — — — , . — — — — — — ‘ , — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — , , , , – — — , — — . — — , , — — , & . , — — ‘ , , , — — — — — — — — ! — — — — — — — — ; — — — — — — – — — . . , ; – — — ( , , ) ” ” — — — — , . ! ! ! ! , — — — — ! — — ? — — — — . ! , ? — — — — ‘ ; — — — — ! , , — — — — — — — — — — ! ! ? — — ! — — ! — — — — — — — — — — , , — — — — — — ? — — ? , ‘ , . . , — — ‘ , — — , , – . — — — — , , — — — — * * * * * * * * * , — — , , , , — — – — — ‘ — — – ( ) ; , , , , – — — — — , — — — — — — – ! — — , , — — — — , — — ‘ , ‘ , . . – ‘ , ; , , — — — — — — – – – — — — — – — — — — — — — — ; , : , , , – — — — — , , – , — — , — — — — ‘ – , , , — — — — — — — — — — ‘ , , , ‘ — — — — , ‘ ( ) , – — — — — ; , ( ) . – ‘ , , — — — — — — — — ‘ , ‘ , , — — — — — — ! — — , ! — — — — ‘ , — — — — ‘ , , — — , ‘ — — , . — — — — , , — — — — — — — — — — — — ! ; , , — — — — . . ‘ ! , , ‘ — — — — , , & . , — — — — ‘ — — , , . , , , , — — ‘ , — — — — , , ; , — — — — — — — — . — — , ; — — ‘ — — , – — — — — , , — — — — , , , ; — — — — — — , . . , , , , , — — — — , ‘ , — — ‘ — — — — , — — — — — — ! , — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — . , ! . , — — — — — — ( ) ; — — , , . , — — — — — — — — , , , , , , , , , , . , — — — — ‘ , , — — , ; , ; , , , . , , : , ‘ , — — — — , ” : ” , — — — — , , — — — — , — — — — — — , , , — — — — , — — — — . , , , — — — — – , — — , , , — — : — — , , — — — — — — — — — — — — . , , — — — — — — , — — — — — — — — — — ” ‘ , — — . ” — — — — , — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — , — — — — ‘ , , — — — — ? – , ; , , , , . — — — — – , ; ; , : , ‘ ! ! ( ) — — , , & . . . . , — — ; , , — — — — . — — ; ‘ . . , . ‘ ; ; , – , — — — — — — , , ‘ — — — — , — — — — ‘ — — — — , , – ; ; ; , ‘ , – — — — — — — — — ? — — — — — — — — ‘ , , — — — — , , , ‘ : , , — — — — — — — — , , , ( ) , : — — — — , ‘ — — — — , , . , , , — — — — , ‘ , ‘ ; , — — , — — — — — — – — — , , , — — – , — — — — , , , — — — — , ; , — — – , . ‘ – , , — — . ! , ‘ — — , — — , . ‘ , , — — , . — — — — — — ; — — — — — — — — ‘ , — — — — ‘ ‘ , — — — — , , — — — — , , — — ( ) ‘ — — — — ‘ , , — — — — , ; , , ‘ — — ‘ , — — . – , ; , , , . , , , — — ; , . , , ‘ ! — — — — ! . , , , – , . , , , , — — — — , , — — — — — — — — — — . — — , — — — — ” ! ” , , — — — — ‘ . ! ! ‘ , — — — — ‘ — — — — ! — — ! . — — — — ‘ ! — — — — , ? , , — — — — , , , – ? , — — — — ‘ , ; , — — — — , — — — — , , , ‘ , , , , ‘ — — — — — — — — . — — — — — — — — , , , , , ‘ , , , [ ] — — , , ( ) — — , , , , , , ‘ — — , — — — — – , – , — — — — — — , , , — — , — — , , – ‘ , ‘ , — — — — — — ! . [ ] . . . . . . — — — — , , , , ( ) — — — — ‘ , . . , — — — — ‘ — — — — — — — — . ‘ – , , , , , & . , . , , , — — — — , — — — — . [ ] — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — , — — — — — — , , , , . [ ] . ‘ . . — — — — ! — — — — ! — — — — ! — — — — ‘ , — — — — ‘ , ‘ — — — — — — — — — — , — — ‘ ? — — , , , — — — — , , , – , , , , , . — — — — ! — — — — — — — — — — – — — — — ? — — — — ? ! ! , ! , — — — — – ‘ ! . , , — — . , — — — — , , — — — — , , , , , , , — — — — , . . ” ” — — — — , : , , ; , , — — , — — — — — — — — — — — — — — , , — — — — — — — — — — ? , , , , , ‘ , ‘ ; , , — — — — ‘ – , ‘ , . . , , — — ( ) — — , , . – , ‘ , , : , , , , ” , ‘ — — ” — — — — ; , — — — — . — — — — ” ? ” — — , — — , — — — — ” ! — — ? ” — — ! – — — — — ! — — — — , — — — — — — , , – — — — — , , , , — — — — ! , ‘ – — — — — — — , — — — — , , , — — , , , , . — — , , . . – ; , , — — ! — — . — — — — — — — — — — — — ‘ , ( , ) , — — — — , – ; ‘ , , , , — — — — ; , — — — — . , , , — — , — — — — , — — — — , — — — — , ‘ — — — — , — — — — ‘ . , , ‘ ; , . , , , , , : , ‘ — — — — ! ! , , ‘ — — — — , , , ? , – [ ] — — , ‘ , ? ? , , ( ) , , , ; , — — — — ? — — — — [ ] . . — — ‘ , — — — — ; , ; , , — — — — . . , , ; , ‘ , , — — — — : – ; , ; . ‘ , , ( , , , , , , ) , , ‘ . , , ‘ — — — — ” — — ” — — — — – — — — — , . – , , , — — , , — — — — , — — — — — — . ; — — — — — — — — ‘ — — — — — — — — ; ‘ . . — — — — — — – – , ; , , , – ? ‘ – ( ‘ ‘ ) ; ( ) — — — — ; , , , . , – , , ‘ – — — . , , — — , , ‘ – , – , , , , – , – , , ‘ ; , ‘ , ‘ . , ; , ‘ , & . — — — — ; — — — — , , , , , . , , – . , , — — — — . – , , – , ‘ , , . , , – , : ( ‘ ) ‘ – , — — — — — — — — , ‘ — — — — * * * * * * * * * , – — — — — ‘ — — — — , — — — — , ‘ . . . ‘ , , , . 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[ ] ; . . — — — — ; , , . ‘ : — — — — ‘ ; , — — — — . ” , ! ” . . ! — — — — — — , — — ! – – – – – – – , ? — — , ‘ , — — , — — — — ‘ ‘ – — — — — . , — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — , ‘ , , — — — — — — — — — — , , — — — — . , , — — — — — — , ? , — — — — — — , ‘ , , — — — — ‘ , — — — — — — ! — — , , — — — — — — ! — — — — . , , . – ; , , , , — — , . , , , — — , — — — — , , , , — — — — , , — — ‘ — — — — — — — — — — , . — — — — — — ‘ , — — . , — — ‘ . — — ‘ — — — — — — — — — — — — . , , – , , — — — — — — — — — — — — — — , , , — — , ‘ , , , . , ‘ , ( ) — — ‘ – , ‘ , — — ‘ – — — , ‘ ‘ — — — — — — , — — — — . . — — — — — — — — ‘ ‘ , . . — — ‘ — — ‘ , ‘ , — — — — , , — — — — ‘ — — — — ‘ , ‘ ; . , — — — — ‘ . , ; ‘ , ‘ , , — — . ; — — , , — — — — — — — — . — — , . . , , , , ; , , , , — — — — ‘ — — ” , ( ) . ” ; — — — — , , ; ‘ , ‘ — — — — — — — — , , , ‘ , . ‘ – — — , . – , , ; — — — — ‘ – — — , , , — — ‘ — — , – , — — ‘ — — — — — — — — — — ‘ — — — — ! — — — — — — ( ‘ , ? ) — — : — — ‘ — — , . . ! , , — — ? , ‘ — — ( ) , , , , : , , . , , . ‘ , ‘ — — — — , — — . — — , , — — — — ; ; — — — — ! — — ‘ — — — — , — — — — . , , , , — — . , , , , — — — — ! — — — — ? — — — — — — — — ; . ‘ — — ‘ ‘ . . , , , , — — — — — — , . , , , , , , ? — — — — ! , , ‘ , ‘ ‘ — — ! , ‘ ‘ — — — — — — — — , , , , ‘ — — — — , — — , , — — , ‘ — — — — — — — — , , , ‘ — — , , , — — ‘ ; , , — — , — — — — , , — — , , , , , , — — — — — — . , , , , , , , — — — — — — — — ‘ , , ; — — ‘ , — — ‘ — — , — — — — , , ‘ ; ‘ – , , , — — — — , , , ; — — , , — — — — — — , ; — — — — ; — — : , ‘ , — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — : , — — — — — — , , , ? , — — — — , , . , , , , — — — — , , — — — — — — — — , , — — — — — — — — , , — — — — — — — — — — , — — — — — — ; — — — — — — ; . — — — — ‘ , , , . ‘ ! . . , , , — — ‘ . , , , ; , , , ‘ , – , . , , — — . ‘ , , ; ‘ , , , . , ; , , , ‘ — — — — , , , , ‘ ‘ — — — — , — — — — , , , — — — — , , , , , — — — — ‘ — — — — — — — — . , , , , — — — — , , , , , — — — — — — — — — — ; . , ‘ , , — — — — — — — — — — , ( ) — — , . — — . , , , – ‘ . , , ‘ . – , — — — — ‘ – , , ; ‘ , — — — — — — , ‘ , – — — , ( ) , — — — — — — — — , — — ‘ ; ‘ – — — — — — — — — — — — — , ‘ ? , ‘ , — — — — , , , , ? – ; . ‘ , . ; – , , , — — — — — — — — — — — — — — : , – ; , , , : , , – ; — — ‘ — — , . — — , ‘ ‘ , ; — — — — — — , — — — — , , ; , , ; , , . , — — — — , , , , — — ( ) , ; , , , , . , ; , ‘ , — — — — . — — ‘ . , , — — — — ” : ” ‘ — — — — . , , – . — — — — . , , . , , : , , . , , : , — — : , , — — — — — — — — ; , , . , . , — — — — — — , . , ; , ; , , — — — — , , , . , , , — — — — . ‘ , — — — — ‘ ; — — — — , , , , , , – — — — — — — , , — — — — , , , , – , , , . , — — — — — — — — — — — — , , , , . . , . 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( ) — — — — : – : , ‘ ; , , — — , , . , , ‘ , : , ; , ‘ , , ‘ , , , , . — — — — . . , , — — — — — — — — — — — — – — — — — , — — — — , — — — — : , , ‘ – , . , , , ‘ — — — — ( , , – , – ‘ — — — — ‘ ) — — — — , — — — — , , . , — — — — — — — — , , , , ; , ‘ , ‘ , , . , , ; , , : , , , , ‘ — — — — — — — — — — — — . – ; ” ! ” — — — — ! ! . ‘ , — — — — ‘ , . . , ; . ‘ . ; , – , — — — — , , : , ‘ ; ‘ , — — ‘ — — ‘ , , ; , . , , ‘ ; , , – – , . ! — — — — , , . ‘ — — — — . . . ‘ , ‘ — — — — ; , , ‘ — — — — — — — — : ‘ ; , , : , ‘ , , , , , — — — — . — — — — — — — — – — — — — – ; ‘ , ‘ , , , — — — — , , , , , , ( ) , — — — — — — — — , ! . — — — — . — — — — . . . . — — — — * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * . * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * . — — — — — — — — , ; . . ‘ — — — — ‘ — — — — ‘ — — — — ‘ — — — — ‘ — — — — ‘ ; , , — — — — ” — — ! — — — — ‘ ? , ‘ — — — — . — — — — . ” . ‘ , , , — — — — * * * * * * * * * * * * * * — — — — , — — — — , ‘ , , — — — — , , , , . , . — — ; – , . , . — — — — — — . — — — — , , . . : — — — — . , . — — — — — — , ! — — — — — — — — . . 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[ ] . . 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Laurence Sterne’s The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman—but just the punctuation.

Wherein I suggest Dracula is a character in Roberto Bolaño’s novel 2666

Biblioklept1 Comment
The Self Seers (Death and Man), Egon Schiele

I. Here’s my thesis:

Dracula is a character in Roberto Bolaño’s dark opus 2666.

Specifically, I’m suggesting that Dracula (like, the Count Dracula) is the unnamed SS officer in “The Part About Archimboldi” who hosts a strange party in a Romanian castle.

II.  I’m willing to concede that my idea is probably full of holes and more than a little silly, but I think there’s some textual support for such a claim.

III. I’ve already suggested on this blog that 2666 is full of lycanthropic transformations, and in that earlier essay, I linked werewolves to vampires (using the work of mythologist Sabine Baring-Gould).

I also suggested on this blog that 2666 is a dark ventriloquist act, full of forced possessions and psychic hauntings.

It’s a work of mesmerism and transformation—vampire powers. Dracula showing up is a winking sick joke, a satire.

IV. In his post “Castle Dracula” at Infinite Zombies, Daryl L. L. Houston connects the many strands of vampirism that run through 2666, suggesting that “Bolaño is using the vampirism in the story, and Dracula in particular, to tie together some of the threads he’s been unwinding pertaining to insiders and outsiders, parasitism and consumption of people, and a sort of larger parasitism of nations.” Hence Aztec blood rituals, the Holocaust, the murder of helpless, marginalized women in Santa Teresa . . .

V. Okay, so back to that thesis. Let’s start with the first appearance of the unnamed SS officer:

At midmorning they came to a castle. The only people there were three Romanians and an SS officer who was acting as butler and who put them right to work, after serving them a breakfast consisting of a glass of cold milk and a scrap of bread, which some soldiers left untouched in disgust. Everyone, except for four soldiers who stood guard, among them Reiter, whom the SS officer judged ill suited for the task of tidying the castle, left their rifles in the kitchen and set to work sweeping, mopping, dusting lamps, putting clean sheets on the beds.

Fairly banal, right? Also, “midmorning” would entail, y’know, sunlight, which is poison for most vampires. Let me chalk this up to the idea that the SS officer is inside the castle, which is sufficiently gloomy and dark enough to protect him (I’m not going to get into any vampire rules that might spoil my fun, dammit!). In any case, hardly noteworthy. Indeed, the SS officer—a butler commanding house chores—seems hardly a figure of major importance.

VI. Next, we get the Romanian castle explicitly identified as “Dracula’s castle” and meet the actors for this milieu:

“And what are you doing here, at Dracula’s castle?” asked the baroness.

“Serving the Reich,” said Reiter, and for the first time he looked at her.

He thought she was stunningly beautiful, much more so than when he had known her. A few steps from them, waiting, was General Entrescu, who couldn’t stop smiling, and the young scholar Popescu, who more than once exclaimed: wonderful, wonderful, yet again the sword of fate severs the head from the hydra of chance.

(I love Popescu’s line here).

VII. Our principals soon take a tour of castle and environs, led by the SS officer (boldface emphasis is mine):

Soon they came to a crypt dug out of the rock. An iron gate, with a coat of arms eroded by time, barred the entrance. The SS officer, who behaved as if he owned the castle, took a key out of his pocket and let them in. Then he switched on a flashlight and they all ventured into the crypt, except for Reiter, who remained on guard at the door at the signal of one of the officers.

So Reiter stood there, watching the stone stairs that led down into the dark, and the desolate garden through which they had come, and the towers of the castle like two gray candles on a deserted altar. Then he felt for a cigarette in his jacket, lit it, and gazed at the gray sky, the distant valleys, and thought about the Baroness Von Zumpe’s face as the cigarette ash dropped to the ground and little by little he fell asleep, leaning on the stone wall. Then he dreamed about the inside of the crypt. The stairs led down to an amphitheater only partially illuminated by the SS officer’s flashlight. He dreamed that the visitors were laughing, all except one of the general staff officers, who wept and searched for a place to hide. He dreamed that Hoensch recited a poem by Wolfram von Eschenbach and then spat blood. He dreamed that among them they had agreed to eat the Baroness Von Zumpe.

He woke with a start and almost bolted down the stairs to confirm with his own eyes that nothing he had dreamed was real.

When the visitors returned to the surface, anyone, even the least astute observer, could have seen that they were divided into two groups, those who were pale when they emerged, as if they had glimpsed something momentous down below, and those who appeared with a half smile sketched on their faces, as if they had just been reapprised of the naivete of the human race.

Bolaño concludes the crypt passage by highlighting an essential ambiguity that courses throughout the entire “Castle Dracula” episode, a strange axis of horror/humor, romance/banality. What has been revealed in the crypt? We don’t know, of course, but our surrogate Reiter allows us access to a few visions of what might have happened, including terror and fear and cannibalism. (He employs Hawthorne’s escape hatch too—it was all a dream).

The Knight of Death, Salvador Dali

VIII. Then, supper time:

That night, during dinner, they talked about the crypt, but they also talked about other things. They talked about death. Hoensch said that death itself was only an illusion under permanent construction, that in reality it didn’t exist. The SS officer said death was a necessity: no one in his right mind, he said, would stand for a world full of turtles or giraffes. Death, he concluded, served a regulatory function.

Clearly it’s easy to link any of the dinnertime comments about death to Dracula, but note that the SS officer’s idea that death is a “regulatory function” is terribly banal, is quite literally regular—this idea contrasts with Hoensch’s more poetic notion that death is an illusion (an illusion that the SS officer, if he is in fact Count Dracula, would realize in a perfectly mundane way that foreclosed the necessity of metaphor).

IX. Dinner conversation turns to murder—obviously one of the central themes of 2666:

The SS officer said that murder was an ambiguous, confusing, imprecise, vague, ill-defined word, easily misused.

Again, ambiguity: on one hand, sure, an SS officer’s job was in large part about coordinating and executing mass murder. At the same time, we might appreciate that murder is a vague term if people are one’s lunch.

X. Then conversation turns to culture:

The SS officer said culture was the call of the blood, a call better heard by night than by day, and also, he said, a decoder of fate.

I’m pretty sure that this was the moment I started entertaining the fancy that the SS officer might be Dracula.

XI. Popescu the intellectual also seems to reconsider the SS officer:

The intellectual Popescu remained standing, next to the fireplace, observing the SS officer with curiosity.

XII. Then, they finally riff on Dracula. Significantly, the SS officer believes that Dracula is a good German (bold emphasis mine):

First they praised the assortment of little cakes and then, without pause, they began to talk about Count Dracula, as if they had been waiting all night for this moment. It wasn’t long before they broke into two factions, those who believed in the count and those who didn’t. Among the latter were the general staff officer, General Entrescu, and the Baroness Von Zumpe. Among the former were Popescu, Hoensch, and the SS officer, though Popescu claimed that Dracula, whose real name was Vlad Tepes, aka Vlad the Impaler, was Romanian, and Hoensch and the SS officer claimed that Dracula was a noble Teuton, who had left Germany accused of an imaginary act of treason or disloyalty and had come to live with some of his loyal retainers in Transylvania a long time before Vlad Tepes was born, and while they didn’t deny Tepes a real historical or Transylvanian existence, they believed that his methods, as revealed by his alias or nickname, had little or nothing to do with the methods of Dracula, who was more of a strangler than an impaler, and sometimes a throat slitter, and whose life abroad, so to speak, had been a constant dizzying spin, a constant abysmal penitence.

The SS officer is the noble Teuton. More importantly, we get language that connects Dracula to the murders in Santa Teresa, most of which are stranglings; we also get the idea that Dracula has had a “life abroad”—one outside of time—a life that might see his spirit inhabit and ventriloquize an industrial city in the north of Mexico. (Or not. I know. Look, I’m just riffing here).

We also get the idea of an abyss (this is the structure of 2666), as well as the idea of Dracula as a penitent of sorts.

So, let us recall that early in “The Part About the Crimes,” detective Juan de Dios Martinez is searching for a criminal dubbed The Penitent who desecrates churches and has committed a few murders in the process. He goes to psychologist Elvira Campos for help:

Sacraphobia is fear or hatred of the sacred, of sacred objects, especially from your own religion, said Elvira Campos. He thought about making a reference to Dracula, who fled crucifixes, but he was afraid the director would laugh at him. And you believe the Penitent suffers from sacraphobia? I’ve given it some thought, and I do. A few days ago he disemboweled a priest and another person, said Juan de Dios Martinez.

This is the first mention of Dracula in 2666, and he’s explicitly likened to the Penitent; later, as we see above, Dracula will be explicitly linked to penitence.

(I’m not suggesting that the Penitent is Dracula traveled to Mexico to piss in churches. What I want to say is that Dracula’s dark spirit ventriloquizes the text of 2666).

(I’m also suggesting, again, that 2666 be read intertextaully).

Riding with Death, Jean-Michel Basquiat

XIII. Our other principals continue to discuss Dracula, but I won’t belabor that discussion (I’d prefer you, dear reader, to return to the text).

I will summarize though: Popescu sees Dracula in nationalistic terms (“a Romanian patriot” who repels the Turks), and General Entrescu goes on a long rant about heroism and villainy and history, culminating in a lengthy digression on Jesus Christ (recall now that Entrescu will be crucified JC-style by his men).

One aside on the SS officer bears mentioning: we learn that “the fastidious SS officer” is the most sober conversant as he “scarcely wet his lips with alcohol.” (Because he’s a vampire who prefers blood! Muahahahaha!)

XIV. Fast forward a few hours. Our man Reiter, among fellow soldiers, sets out to explore the secret crannies and passageways of Castle Drac and play voyeur:

The room they came to was empty and cold, as if Dracula had just stepped out. The only thing there was an old mirror that Wilke lifted off the stone wall, uncovering a secret passageway.

Dracula’s spirit leaves the room, creating an opening, behind the ever-symbolic mirror. (Muahahahaha!). (2666: Mirror, tunnels, chambers, labyrinths).

They enter the passageway and come first upon our supposed Dracula, the SS officer:

And so they were able to look into the room of the SS officer, lit by three candles, and they saw the SS officer up, wrapped in a robe, writing something at a table near the fireplace. The expression on his face was forlorn. And although that was all there was to see, Wilke and Reiter patted each other on the back, because only then were they sure they were on the right path. They moved on.

XV. Dracula, the epistolary novel. Count Dracula, troubled writer of letters, will author the following scenes, his spirit ventriloquizing the principals all: Here, we find Reiter and his homeboy Wilke, lurking in a secret passage, jerking off to werewolf-cum-Jesus-Christ-figure Gen. Entrescu screwing the lovely Baroness Von Zumpe and reciting poetry (emphasis per usual mine):

Then Wilke came on the wall and mumbled something too, a soldier’s prayer, and soon afterward Reiter came on the wall and bit his lips without saying a word. And then Entrescu got up and they saw, or thought they saw, drops of blood on his penis shiny with semen and vaginal fluid, and then Baroness Von Zumpe asked for a glass of vodka, and then they watched as Entrescu and the baroness stood entwined, each with a glass in hand and an air of distraction, and then Entrescu recited a poem in his tongue, which the baroness didn’t understand but whose musicality she lauded, and then Entrescu closed his eyes and cocked his head as if to listen to something, the music of the spheres, and then he opened his eyes and sat at the table and set the baroness on his cock, erect again (the famous foot-long cock, pride of the Romanian army), and the cries and moans and tears resumed, and as the baroness sank down onto Entrescu’s cock or Entrescu’s cock rose up into the Baroness Von Zumpe, the Romanian general recited a new poem, a poem that he accompanied by waving both arms (the baroness clinging to his neck), a poem that again neither of them understood, except for the word Dracula, which was repeated every four lines, a poem that might have been martial or satirical or metaphysical or marmoreal or even anti-German, but whose rhythm seemed made to order for the occasion, a poem that the young baroness, sitting astride Entrescu’s thighs, celebrated by swaying back and forth, like a little shepherdess gone wild in the vastness of Asia, digging her nails into her lover’s neck, scrubbing the blood that still flowed from her right hand on her lover’s face, smearing the corners of his lips with blood, while Entrescu, undeterred, continued to recite his poem in which the word Dracula sounded every four lines, a poem that was surely satirical, decided Reiter (with infinite joy) as Wilke jerked off again.

I contend that the poem is the work of the SS officer, psychic mesmerist, the poet Dracula, a poem no one in the scene can understand, a dark satire that might also be a war poem or a love poem or an elegy, but definitely a dark satire, written in violence and sex and blood, a poem that ventriloquizes not only Entrescu, phallic delivery device, but also the baroness, and also Reiter and Wilke. And perhaps the reader.

XVI. Where to go after such a climax? Maybe point out that Dracula infects Reiter and Wilke, of whom we learn:

Some of their battalion comrades dubbed them the vampires.

(But better to return I think to our strange figure, the SS officer).

XVII. Here, his last appearance:

The next morning the detachment left the castle after the departure of the two carloads of guests. Only the SS officer remained behind while they swept, washed, and tidied everything. Then, when the officer was fully satisfied with their efforts, he ordered them off and the detachment climbed into the truck and headed back down to the plain. Only the SS officer’s car—with no driver, which was odd—was left at the castle. As they drove away, Reiter saw the officer: he had climbed up to the battlements and was watching the detachment leave, craning his neck, rising up on tiptoe, until the castle, on the one hand, and the truck, on the other, disappeared from view.

Dracula stays in Dracula’s castle; his spirit, his seed, his blood seeps out.

[Ed. note: This post was originally published in 2012. Happy Halloween!]

Donald Barthelme’s Sixty Stories in reverse, Part VII

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I am rereading Donald Barthelme’s Sixty Stories, starting with the sixtieth story and working my way to the first and writing about it.

Previous entries:

Stories 60-55

Stories 54-49

Stories 48-43

Stories 42-37

Stories 36-31

Stories 30-25.

This post covers stories 24-19.

24. “Critique de la Vie Quotidienne” (Sadness, 1972)

A cruel cruel story bristling with venomous punchlines, “Critique de la Vie Quotidienne” takes its title from Marxist philosopher Henri Lefebvre’s 1947 book of the same name. The story is a caustic satire of quotidian domesticity, showing the dissolution of a marriage through the perspective of an alcoholic narrator who very much resembles Barthelme. It begins ugly:

While I read the Journal of Sensory Deprivation, Wanda, my former wife, read Elle. Elle was an incitement to revolt to one who had majored in French in college and now had nothing much to do with herself except take care of a child and look out of the window.

And continues ugly:

Our evenings lacked promise. The world in the evening seems fraught with the absence of promise, if you are a married man. There is nothing to do but go home and drink your nine drinks and forget about it.

There’s a deep anger and contempt toward domesticity that Barthelme’s narrator sustains throughout the story while also pulling the rhetorical trick of quickly retreating into the second-person you, a conceit that never fully absolves the narrator from his intrinsic horribleness:

Slumped there in your favorite chair, with your nine drinks lined up on the side table in soldierly array, and your hand never far from them, and your other hand holding on to the plump belly of the overfed child, and perhaps rocking a bit, if the chair is a rocking chair as mine was in those days, then it is true that a tine tendril of contempt – strike that, content – might curl up from the storehouse where the world’s content is kept, and reach into your softened brain and take hold there, persuading you that this, at last, is the fruit of all your labors, which you’d been wondering about in some such terms as, “Where is the fruit?”

The narrator quickly divides himself from the you, the horrible man who cannot live the quotidian life:

 …you look, as I say, to your wife, as the cocktail hour fades, there being only two drinks left of the nine (and you have sworn a mighty oath never to take more than nine before supper, because of what it does to you), and inquire in the calmest tones available what is for supper and would she like to take a flying fuck at the moon for visiting this outrageous child upon you.

Ultimately, “Quotidienne” is too mean and ugly (borderline misogynistic, perhaps); it lacks the kernel of heart that beats in Barthelme’s best satires.

23. “The Glass Mountain” (City Life, 1970)

Look, it might take you ten minutes to read it, so read it.

The story is a list numbered to one hundred. Most of the numbered points are a solitary sentence, with exceptions coming from a handful of citations Barthelme includes.

“The Glass Mountain” fits neatly into City Life. It’s a city story transported into the realm of the mock-heroic. With the aid of two plumber’s friends (plunger, you might call them), the narrator (a mock hero) climbs the titular mountain, which “stands at the corner of Thirteenth Street and Eighth Avenue.” It’s a skyscraper, of course:

7. I had strapped climbing irons to my feet and each hand grasped sturdy plumber’s friend.

8. I was 200 feet up.

9. The wind was bitter.

10. My acquaintances had gathered at the bottom of the mountain to offer encouragement.

11. “Shithead.”

12. “Asshole.”

13. Everyone in the city knows about the glass mountain.

His “acquaintances” continue to berate him as he climbs (“24. “Dumb motherfucker.” / 25. I was new in the neighborhood.”)

As he climbs, the heroic arc swells, enriched by a riff on symbolism and signs, which is the story’s main theme. And yet at the end, Barthelme’s “hero” rejects symbolism the minute it transubstantiates into sign:

97. I approached the symbol, with its layers of meaning, but when I touched it, it changed into only a beautiful princess.

98. I threw the beautiful princess headfirst down the mountain to my acquaintances.

99. Who could be relied upon to deal with her.

The mob rules.

22. “The Policemen’s Ball” (City Life, 1970)

In his Barthelme biography Hiding Man, Tracy Daugherty links “The Policeman’s Ball” to the eruptions and disruptions of May ’68:

In Don’s story, Horace, a policeman with the “crack of authority” in his voice, takes his girlfriend Margot to a policemen’s ball, hoping she will surrender to his force–the “force of the force.” At the balll, she is drawn to a fireman named Vercingetorix. Finally, though, she returns home with Horace and gives him what he wants…All the while, the “horrors lurk outside Horace’s apartment…The story’s smirk at authority is clear. The names Horace and Vercingetorix come to us from Roman history. Vercingetorix was a Gallic rebel noted for building barricades to thwart Roman soldiers. Shortly after vanquishing Vercingetorix, Caesar was assassinated. Horace, an irreverent poet and satirist, fell under Brutus’s sway, and joined him in a hopeless attempt to establish a republic.

The historical referents–to a decadent empire and rebellions against it–make Don’s story, in the context of the May Days, an extended utopian slogan, as playful, sly, and funny as much of the graffiti in the Latin Quarter.

(A version of) Vercingetorix shows up in “City Life” (in City Life).

I think “The Policemen’s Ball” is more relevant than ever, as we (who is we?) contest against the force of the force.

(Hear Barthelme read the story here.)

21. “The Falling Dog” (City Life, 1970)

Another story about writing a story—and again, Barthelme displaces the creative act to fine art—and again (in reverse), he chooses a sculptor as his artist. The sculptor achieved a thin bare fame with his YAWNING MAN statues, but when a dog falls on him, he finds new inspiration. (And puns. Lots of lots of puns.)

(I keep thinking about another Don here, although it’s in no way related—Don DeLillo’s Running Dog (1978) and Don DeLillo’s Falling Man (2007).)

(doG is God backwards—can you even fucking believe?)

20. “Kierkegaard Unfair to Schlegel” (City Life, 1970)

There’s a tension that runs throughout much of Barthelme’s short fiction: professed leftist idealism set against the writer’s urbane bourgeoisie (or bourgeoisie-proximal) reality as an arbiter and curator of Modernist culture. Barthelme’s aesthetic describes technological postwar American culture–often through a mythological lens, often through the spectacle of both pop art and Pop Art (which becomes American mythology in his writing). His satires, pastiches, and parodies set a funhouse mirror up to America’s hypermediated massculture reality. At the same time, Barthelme’s stories tend to eschew direct action, direct engagement with the realities of the age his stories (not so much document but) describe: the Civil Rights movement, the Vietnam War, and other social inequalities. A passage in the Q&A story “Kierkegaard Unfair to Schlegel” shows Barthelme perhaps a bit defensive about these elisions:

Q: You’re not political?

A: I’m extremely political in a way that does no good to anybody.

Q: You don’t participate?

A: I participate. I make demands, sign newspaper advertisements, vote. I make small campaign contributions to the candidate of my choice and turn my irony against the others.

Here, we get Barthelme declaring the political scope of his literature: it is an irony against the others. Much of the story is given over to the answerer’s summary and analysis of Kierkegaard’s The Concept of Irony, followed by a defense of Friedrich Schlegel’s novel Lucinde, which Kierkegaard regards as a moral failure because it does not instruct its readers how to live. The answerer says Kierkegaard fails to attend to the novel’s “objecthood” — its aesthetics. At the end he remains ambivalent: Kierkegaard is both fair and not fair to Schlegel:

…What is interesting is my making the statement that I think Kierkegaard is unfair to Schlegel. And that the whole thing is a damned shame! Because that is not what I think at all. We have to do here with my own irony. Because of course Kierkegaard . was “fair” to Schlegel. In making a statement to the contrary I am attempting to… I might have several purposes-simply being provocative, for example. But mostly I am trying to annihilate Kierkegaard in order to deal with his disapproval.

Q: Of Schlegel?

A: Of me.

(There’s also a deep strain of horniness to the story that I will not comment on at this time.)

19. “City Life” (City Life, 1970)

The title story of Barthelme’s 1970 collection is a weird, oblique love letter to a version of NYC. The Houston-native seems to finally earn his New Yorker stripes. It’s an unusually long story, rich with meanings that I won’t bother to plumb here, because I’ve had a long day, and I doubt anyone is actually reading this (I can live in doubt). The basic plot of “City Life” is the whole Virgin Birth thing, with the city-as-father—which is par for Barthelme’s oedipal course. It has some wonderful passages, including this one.

Summary thoughts: “City Life” and “Kierkegaard Unfair to Schlegel” strike me as seminal Barthelme texts, but neither make a good starting point to his fiction. “Critique de la Vie Quotidienne,” the story in this batch from Sadness is sad, mean stuff, and also likely relatable for any dad who’s ever wanted to hop in his car and go out for a pack of cigarettes or a carton of milk or whatever your deadbeat idiom is. “The Falling Dog” is okay. Both “The Policemen’s Ball” and “The Glass Mountain” would make nice starting places for anyone interested in Barthelme’s stuff.

Going forward (in reverse): A few more from City Life and then we crack into what might be Barthelme’s best collection, 1968’s Unspeakable Practices, Unnatural Acts.

As Goethe said, theory is gray, but the golden tree of life is green | Donald Barthelme

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I know a painter who feels the same way about being a painter. Every morning he gets up, brushes his teeth, and stands before the empty canvas. A terrible feeling of being de trop comes over him. So he goes to the corner and buys the Times, at the corner newsstand He comes back home and reads the Times. During the period in which he’s coupled with the Times he is all right. But soon the Times is exhausted. The empty canvas remains. So (usually) he makes a mark on it, some kind of mark that is not what he means. That is, any old mark, just to have something on the canvas. Then he is profoundly depressed because what is there is not what he meant. And it’s time for lunch. He goes out and buys a pastrami sandwich at the deli. He comes back and eats the sandwich meanwhile regarding the canvas with the wrong mark on it out of the corner of his eye. During the afternoon, he paints out the mark of the morning. This affords him a measure of satisfaction. The balance of the afternoon is spent in deciding whether or not to venture another mark. The new mark, if one is ventured, will also, inevitably, be misconceived. He ventures it. It is misconceived. It is, in fact, the worst kind of vulgarity. He paints out the second mark. Anxiety accumulates. However, the canvas is now, in and of itself, because of the wrong moves and the painting out, becoming rather interesting-looking. He goes to the A&P and buys a TV Mexican dinner and many bottles of Carta Blanca. He comes back to his loft and eats the Mexican dinner and drinks a couple of Carta Blancas, sitting in front of his canvas. The canvas is, for one thing, no longer empty. Friends drop in and congratulate him on having a not-empty canvas. He begins feeling better. A something has been wrested from the nothing. The quality of the something is still at issue-he is by no means home free. And of course all of painting-the whole art-has moved on somewhere else, it’s not where his head is, and he knows that, but nevertheless he-

-How does this apply to trombone playing? Hector asked.

-1 had the connection in my mind when I began, Charles said.

-As Goethe said, theory is gray, but the golden tree of life is green.

From “City Life” by Donald Barthelme.

I believe that my every sentence trembles with morality | Donald Barthelme

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INTERVIEWER

What about the moral responsibility of the artist? I take it that you are a responsible artist (as opposed, say, to X, Y, and Z), but all is irony, comic distortion, foreign voices, fragmentation. Where in all this evasion of the straightforward does responsibility display itself?

BARTHELME

It’s not the straightforward that’s being evaded but the too true. I might fix your eye firmly and announce, “Thou shalt not mess around with thy neighbor’s wife.” You might then nod and say to yourself, Quite so. We might then lunch at the local chili parlor and say scurrilous things about X, Y, and Z. But it will not have escaped your notice that my statement has hardly enlarged your cosmos, that I’ve been, in the largest sense, responsible to neither art, life, nor adultery.

I believe that my every sentence trembles with morality in that each attempts to engage the problematic rather than to present a proposition to which all reasonable men must agree. The engagement might be very small, a word modifying another word, the substitution of “mess around” for “covet,” which undresses adultery a bit. I think the paraphrasable content in art is rather slight—“tiny,” as de Kooning puts it. The way things are done is crucial, as the inflection of a voice is crucial. The change of emphasis from the what to the how seems to me to be the major impulse in art since Flaubert, and it’s not merely formalism, it’s not at all superficial, it’s an attempt to reach truth, and a very rigorous one. You don’t get, following this path, a moral universe set out in ten propositions, but we already have that. And the attempt is sufficiently skeptical about itself. In this century there’s been much stress placed not upon what we know but on knowing that our methods are themselves questionable—our Song of Songs is the Uncertainty Principle.

Also, it’s entirely possible to fail to understand or actively misunderstand what an artist is doing. I remember going through a very large Barnett Newman show years ago with Tom Hess and Harold Rosenberg, we used to go to shows after long lunches, those wicked lunches, which are no more, and I walked through the show like a certifiable idiot, couldn’t understand their enthusiasm. I admired the boldness, the color and so on but inwardly I was muttering, Wallpaper, wallpaper, very fine wallpaper but wallpaper. I was wrong, didn’t get the core of Newman’s enterprise, what Tom called Newman’s effort toward the sublime. Later I began to understand. One doesn’t take in Proust or Canada on the basis of a single visit.

To return to your question: If I looked you straight in the eye and said, “The beauty of women makes of adultery a serious and painful duty,” then we’d have the beginning of a useful statement.

From Donald Barthelme’s 1981 interview in The Paris Review. The interlocutor is J.D. O’Hara. Read the full interview here.

Five books Donald Barthelme recommended to the attention of aspiring American fiction writers

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I have heard Donald referred to as essentially a writer of the American 1960’s. It may be true that his alloy of irrealism and its opposite is more evocative of that fermentatious decade, when European formalism had its belated flowering in North American writing, than of the relatively conservative decades since. But his literary precursors antedate the century, not to mention its 60’s, and are mostly non-American. ”How come you write the way you do?” a Johns Hopkins apprentice writer once asked him. ”Because Samuel Beckett already wrote the way he did,” Barthelme replied. He then produced for the seminar his ”short list”: five books he recommended to the attention of aspiring American fiction writers. No doubt the list changed from time to time; just then it consisted of Rabelais’s ”Gargantua and Pantagruel,” Laurence Sterne’s ”Tristram Shandy,” the stories of Heinrich von Kleist, Flaubert’s ”Bouvard and Pecuchet” and Flann O’Brien’s ”At Swim-Two-Birds” – a fair sample of the kind of nonlinear narration, sportive form and cohabitation of radical fantasy with quotidian detail that mark his own fiction. He readily admired other, more ”traditional” writers, but it is from the likes of these that he felt his genealogical descent.

From John Barth’s 1989 eulogy for Donald Barthelme, first published in The New York Times.

Barthelme had a longer list too, of course:

The novel should now try simply to be Funny, Brutalist, and Short | From B.S. Johnson’s novel Christie Marly’s Own Double-Entry

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‘Christie,’ I warned him, ‘it does not seem to me possible to take this novel much further. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry,’ said Christie, in a kindly manner, ‘don’t be sorry. We don’t equate length with importance, do we ? And who wants long novels anyway ? Why spend all your spare time for a month reading a thousand-page novel when you can have a comparable aesthetic experience in the theatre or cinema in only one evening ? The writing of a long novel is in itself an anachronistic act : it was relevant only to a society and a set of social conditions which no longer exist.’

‘I’m glad you understand so readily,’ I said, relieved.

‘The novel should now try simply to be Funny, Brutalist, and Short,’ Christie epigrammatised.

‘I could hardly have expressed it better myself,’ I said, pleased, ‘I’ve put down all I have to say, or rather I will have done in another twenty-two pages, so surely. . . .”

‘So I do go on a little longer ?’ interrupted Christie.

‘Yes, Christie, you go on to the end,’ I assured him, and myself went on : ‘Surely no reader will wish me to invent anything further, surely he or she can extrapolate only too easily from what has gone before ?’

‘If there is a reader,’ said Christie. ‘Most people won’t read it.’

‘Politicians, policemen, some educators and many others treat “most people” as idiots.’

‘So writers may too ?’

‘On the contrary. “Most people” are right not to read novels today.’

‘You’ve said all this before.’

‘I’m very likely to say it again, too, since it’s true.’

A pause. Then suddenly Christie said :

‘Your work has been a continuous dialogue with form ?’

‘If you like,’ I replied diffidently.

‘Only one of the things it’s been,’ said Christie generously. ‘It’s something to aspire to, becoming a critic ! Though there are too many exclamation marks in this novel already.’

Another pause. One of the girls in what is ill-reputed to be a brothel opposite hung out the shirt of what might be her ponce. Christie smiled gently, turned back to me.

‘But I am to go on for a while ?’

‘Of course,’ I assured him again.

‘Until I have everything ?’

‘Yes, Christie, until you have everything.’

The excerpt above is the complete text of Ch. XXI of B.S. Johnson’s 1973 novel, Christie Marly’s Own Double-Entry. The title of the chapter is “In which Christie and I have it All Out; and which You may care to Miss Out.” The chapter begins with this epigraph:

. . . the novel, during its metamorphosis in respect of content and form, necessarily regards itself ironically. It denies itself in parodistic forms in order to be able to outgrow itself.
Széll Zsuzsa
Válságés regény (p. 101)
Akadémia (Hungary) 1970
transl. by Novák Gyorgy

This particular chapter might stand as a synecdoche of Christie Marly’s Own Double-Entry itself.

Ann Quin’s novel Passages collapses hierarchies of center and margin

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Ann Quin’s third novel Passages (1969) ostensibly tells the story of an unnamed woman and unnamed man traveling through an unnamed country in search of the woman’s brother, who may or may not be dead.

The adverb ostensibly is necessary in the previous sentence, because Passages does not actually tell that story—or it rather tells that story only glancingly, obliquely, and incompletely. Nevertheless, that is the apparent “plot” of Passages.

Quin is more interested in fractured/fracturing voices here. Passages pushes against the strictures of the traditional novel, eschewing character and plot development in favor of pure (and polluted) perceptions. There’s something schizophrenic about the voices in Passages. Interior monologues turn polyglossic or implode into elliptical fragments.

Quin repeatedly refuses to let her readers know where they stand. Indeed, we’re never quite sure of even the novel’s setting, which seems to be somewhere in the Mediterranean. It’s full of light and sea and sand and poverty, and the “political situation” is grim. (The woman’s brother’s disappearance may or may not have something to do with the region’s political instability.)

Passage’s content might be too slippery to stick to any traditional frame, but Quin employs a rhetorical conceit that teaches her reader how to read her novel. The book breaks into four unnamed chapters, each around twenty-five pages long. The first and third chapters find us loose in the woman’s stream of consciousness. The second and fourth chapters take the form of the man’s personal journal. These sections contain marginal annotations, which might be meant to represent actual physical annotations, or perhaps mental annotations–the man’s stream of consciousness while he rereads his journal.

Quin’s rhetorical strategy pays off, particularly in the book’s Sadean climax. This (literal) climax occurs at a carnivalesque party in a strange mansion on a small island. We see the events first through the woman’s perception, and then through the man’s. But I’ve gone too long without offering any representative language. Here’s a passage from the woman’s section, just a few paragraphs before the climax. To set the stage a bit, simply know that the woman plays voyeur to a bizarre threesome:

Mirrors faced each other. As the two turned, approached. Slower in movement in the centre, either side of him, turning back in the opposite direction to their first movement. Contours of their shadows indistinct. The first mirror reflected in the second. The second in the first. Images within images. Smaller than the last, one inside the other. She lay on the floor, wrists tied together. She bent back over the chair. He raised the whip, flung into space.

Later, the man’s perception of events at the party both clarify and cloud the woman’s account. As you can see in the excerpt above, the woman frequently refuses to qualify her pronouns in a way that might stabilize identities for her reader. Such obfuscation often happens in the course of a sentence or two:

I ran on, knowing I was being followed. She came to the edge, jumped into expanding blueness, ultra violet tilted as she went towards the beach. We walked in silence.

The woman’s I becomes a She and then merges into a We. The other half of that We is a He, the follower (“He later threw the bottle against the rocks”), but we soon realize that this He is not the male protagonist, but simply another He that the woman has taken as a one-time lover.

The woman frequently takes off somewhere to have sex with another man. At times the sex seems to be part of her quest to find her brother; other times it’s simply part of the novel’s dark, erotic tone. The man is undisturbed by his lover’s faithlessness. He is passive, depressive, and analytical, while she is manic and exuberant. Late in the novel he analyzes himself:

How many hours I waste lying in bed thinking about getting up. I see myself get up, go out, move, drink, eat, smile, turn, pay attention, talk, go up, go down. I am absent from that part, yet participating at the same time. A voyeur in all senses, in my actions, non-actions. What a delight it might be actually to get up without thinking, and then when dressed look back and still see myself curled up fast asleep under the blankets.

The man longs for a kind of split persona, an active agent to walk the world who can also gaze back at himself dormant, passive.

This motif of perception and observation echoes throughout Passages. Consider one of the man’s journal entries from early in the book:

Above, I used an image instead of text to give a sense of what the journal entries and their annotations look like. Here, the man’s annotation is a form of self-observation, self-analysis.

Other annotations dwell on describing myths or artifacts (often Greek or Talmudic). In a “December” entry, the man’s annotation is far lengthier than the text proper. The main entry reads:

I am on the verge of discovering my own demoniac possibilities and because of this I am conscious I am not alone with myself.

Again, we see the fracturing of identity, consciousness as ceaseless self-perception. The annotation is far more colorful in contrast:

An ancient tribe of the Kouretes were sorcerers and magicians. They invented statuary and discovered metals, and they were amphibious and of strange varieties of shape, some like demons, some like men, some like fishes, some like serpents, and some had no hands, some no feet, some had webs between their fingers like gees. They were blue-eyed and black-tailed. They perished struck down by the thunder of Zeus or by the arrows of Apollo.

Quin’s annotations dare her reader to make meaning—to put the fragments together in a way that might satisfy the traditional expectations we bring to a novel. But the meaning is always deferred, always slips away. Passages collapses notions of center and margin. As its title suggests, this is a novel about liminal people, liminal places.

The results are wonderfully frustrating. Passages is abject, even lurid at times, but also rich and even dazzling in moments, particularly in the woman’s chapters, which read like pure perception, untethered by traditional narrative expectations like causation, sequence, and chronology.

As such, Passages will not be every reader’s cup of tea. It lacks the sharp, grotesque humor of Quin’s first novel, Berg, and seems dead set at every angle to confound and even depress its readers. And yet there’s a wild possibility in Passages. In her introduction to the new edition of Passages recently published by And Other Stories, Claire-Louise Bennett tries to capture the feeling of reading Quin’s novel:

It’s difficult to describe — it’s almost like the omnipotent curiosity one burns with as an adolescent — sexual, solipsistic, melancholic, fierce, hungry, languorous — and without limit.

Bennett, whose anti-novel Pond bears the stamp of Quin’s influence, employs the right adjectives here. We could also add disorienting, challenging, abject and even distressing. While clearly influenced by Joyce and Beckett, Quin’s writing in Passages seems closer to William Burroughs’s ventriloquism and the hollowed-out alienation of Anna Kavan’s early work. Passages also points towards the writing of Kathy Acker, Alasdair Gray, and João Gilberto Noll, among others. But it’s ultimately its own weird thing, and half a century after its initial publication it still seems ahead of its time. Passages is clearly Not For Everyone but I loved it. Recommended.