{"id":27835,"date":"2012-03-09T13:00:46","date_gmt":"2012-03-09T18:00:46","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=27835"},"modified":"2012-03-12T07:54:05","modified_gmt":"2012-03-12T11:54:05","slug":"campy-fiction-smoking-strictures","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/03\/09\/campy-fiction-smoking-strictures\/","title":{"rendered":"Campy Fiction; Smoking Strictures"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a>Watching a marathon of <\/em>Twin Peaks has gotten me thinking about camp. There are movies and television shows that we delight in, and discuss seriously, though the content may not be \u201cserious.\u201d What can be said about campy contemporary fiction? Please give me a list of fabulous, outlandish books, preferably with a narrator who will repulse and delight me all at once. Something bad, but well-written.<\/em><\/p>\n

Delight<\/em> may not be the operative word, but David Vann\u2019s new novel, Dirt<\/em>,<\/a> is outlandish, repulsive, well-written, and utterly over the top. (In one climactic scene, the teenage hero imprisons his mother in a toolshed after she threatens to have him arrested for the statutory rape of his cousin.) True to its title, the book is down and dirty. I am not sure whether the camp is intentional\u2014but then I often suspect that many of the best \u201ccamp\u201d artists, as for instance Lynch and Almod\u00f3var, do mean it. Their sincerity is their power.<\/p>\n

If you\u2019re looking for high camp\u2014without the Sturm und Drang\u2014it doesn\u2019t get campier than James McCourt\u2019s 1971 send-up of the opera world, Mawdrew Czgowchwz<\/a><\/em> (pronounced \u201cMardu Gorgeous\u201d). And if soap opera\u2019s more your speed, try Cyra McFadden\u2019s 1977 The Serial: A Year in the Life of Marin County<\/em><\/a>.<\/p>\n

Dear Lorin,<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/em><\/p>\n

I’ve recently moved to Manhattan only to learn that I am actually a ghost\u2014that I am, apparently, an apparition. Needless to say, this discovery has been rather disconcerting, but my chief worry is that the recent strictures regarding smoke in apartments and Central Park will cause me rapidly to be evicted from my apartment, and possibly excommunicated from the city outright. I have it from trusted sources that you are at once smoking, wispy, and nebulous\u2014indeed, altostatus cumulus\u2014and yet you seem to face little threat from the law. Lorin, my friend, how do you do it?<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/em><\/p>\n

Spiritedly,
Spook<\/em><\/p>\n

Dear Spook,<\/p>\n

My secret is I don’t smoke very much. It’s bad for you! It’s probably even bad for ghosts …<\/p>\n

To the wise members of <\/em>The Paris Review, <\/em><\/p>\n

<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/em><\/p>\n

The only poem I have ever memorized was for Spanish class in ninth grade. It is time to add to the repertoire, but which poem do I choose? I imagine that it would be a comfort\u2014something inspiring about living, loving, the natural ups and downs of being human. Perhaps something about choices, or appreciation. Not too long or too short. Something to share when the moment is right, or something to keep to myself, to repeat in a chant-like form on long runs through the woods. I maintain full confidence in your advice.<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/em><\/p>\n

Sincerely,
Julia<\/em><\/p>\n

Dear Julia,<\/p>\n

Once my friend Cary and I had a poem-memorizing contest. He memorized poems by Richard Hugo. I memorized poems by Keats. Each poem had to be longer than fourteen lines, and each of us had to pay the other a dollar for every line we muffed. My favorite of the poems I learned is the \u201cOde on Melancholy,\u201d which I think may fit the bill. At least, I go around repeating it to myself in low moments, and it seems to do the trick. (Note that the word globed<\/em> should be pronounced with two syllables.) <\/p>\n

\n

No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’d
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow’s mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.<\/p>\n

But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose.
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.<\/p>\n

She dwells with Beauty\u2014Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine;
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

And here is Rilke’s \u201cWorld Was in the Face of the Beloved\u201d (translated by Stephen Mitchell):<\/p>\n

\n

World was in the face of the beloved\u2014,
but suddenly it poured out and was gone:
world is outside, world can not be grasped.<\/p>\n

Why didn’t I, from the full, beloved face
as I raised it to my lips, why didn’t I drink
world, so near that I couldn’t almost taste it?<\/p>\n

Ah, I drank. Insatiably I drank.
But I was filled up also, with too much
world, and, drinking, I myself ran over.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

No doubt other readers will have different recommendations. Happy memorizing. And happy runs in the woods.<\/p>\n

Have a question for the editors of <\/em>The Paris Review? E-mail<\/a> us.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Watching a marathon of Twin Peaks has gotten me thinking about camp. There are movies and television shows that we delight in, and discuss seriously, though the content may not be \u201cserious.\u201d What can be said about campy contemporary fiction? Please give me a list of fabulous, outlandish books, preferably with a narrator who will […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[56],"tags":[3922,6693,2633,1729,6689,6696,6691,6692,6697,6690,160,6695,6694,6688],"class_list":["post-27835","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-ask-the-paris-review","tag-camp","tag-cyra-mcfadden","tag-david-lynch","tag-david-vann","tag-dirt","tag-ghosts","tag-james-mccourt","tag-mawdrew-czgowchwz","tag-memorizing-poems","tag-pedro-almodovar","tag-rainer-maria-rilke","tag-smoking","tag-the-serial-a-year-in-the-life-of-marin-county","tag-twin-peaks"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nCampy Fiction; Smoking Strictures by Lorin Stein<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"March 9, 2012 \u2013 Watching a marathon of Twin Peaks has gotten me thinking about camp. 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