Archive for the ‘Really Awesome Insults’ Category

“Turgenev, can-can. Sad.”

October 20, 2022

In the spring of 1878, Turgenev in Paris and been pleased, but warily surprised, by a penitent letter which he received from Tolstoy: “Forgive me if I have been at fault in any way with regard to you.” Tolstoy begged his fellow novelist to forget all their previous quarrels and to remember only the good things which they had enjoyed together. It was the sort of letter which a postulant nun might have written to a schoolfriend before going into the cloister.

When the opportunity arose, later that summer, Turgenev visited Tolstoy at Yasnaya Pollyanna. He found that a tremendous change had overtaken Tolstoy. Turgenev’s novels reveal the liberal humanist’s ability to recognize life’s master for what it is, and not to worry at it. He was no metaphysician. For Tolstoy, such questions as Why are we here? What is the point of living? Is there a God? What is the Good? were of consuming importance. He had, during this summer, become obsessed by them. Turgenev discovered that there was little meeting ground between the two of them. After this particular visit, he wrote to Tolstoy, “I am glad that your physical health is good and I trust that your intellectual malady… has passed.” He went on to say that he had often experienced such moods of depression himself. To others, he expressed the fear that Tolstoy was going mad. For Tolstoy’s part, Turgenev’s urbanity and good humor were, in such circumstances, intolerable. On a rather later visit, Turgenev, carried away with high spirits, demonstrated a can-can to the children Yasnaya Pollyanna. “Turgenev, can-can. Sad,” was the priggish comment Tolstoy noted down afterwards.

A.N. Wilson, Tolstoy

Really?

June 7, 2020

Is “maga” slang in Nigeria for moron?  How has this not come up before?

“The more he talks, the more I realize that I am a maga––a fool who has been taken advantage of.”

~ My Sister, the Serial Killer, Oyinkan Braithwaite

Well, He’s Not Wrong About Portnoy

January 5, 2020

Those who enjoyed Nabokov’s high-literary trolling the first time around can rest assured that the fresh opinions expressed herein are just as strong. In the line of fire are William Faulkner, Albert Camus, and Yevgeny Yevtushenko (all “second-rate”), Samuel Richardson (“third-rate”), Fyodor Dostoevsky (“a journalist”), Maxim Gorky (“a bad writer”), Andre Gide (“boring”), Thomas Wolfe (“mediocrity”), Ernest Hemingway (“a writer for boys”), Thomas Mann (“a small writer who did big stories badly”), Rousseau (“mediocre”), Cervantes (“mediocre and tedious”), Stendhal (also “mediocre and tedious”), Friedrich Schiller (“nothing”), Joseph Conrad (“swarms with clichés”), Herbert Marcuse (“intolerably trivial”), Andre Malraux (“execrable”), Samuel Beckett’s poems (“banal and false”), Boris Pasternak’s Doctor Zhivago (“a mediocre melodrama with Trotskyist tendencies”), Philip Roth’s Portnoy’s Complaint (“a ridiculous book”), and, of course, Freud (“charlatan”).

From a review of Nabokov’s essays in The Telegraph

Funny? Please Vote

November 25, 2019

I’m thinking of starting a funny Twitter dedicated solely to calling myself out for my (occasionally!) terrible taste in music.  So sample tweets would be like, “Just a thirty-something white woman walking around streaming Lil Peep, nothing to see here, folks!” or “Wearing my baby in a Bjorn and listening to ‘Timber’ by Pitbull (featuring Ke$ha).”  Thoughts?

Relate?

April 4, 2019

“If I had a dollar for every time I wish someone I loved dead, I’d be the richest woman in the world.”  ~Big Love

Yeesh

July 18, 2017

While looking up something about The Glass Menagerie, I found this scathing review of the recent New York production directed by Sam Gold. Hilton Als, tell us how you really feel!

The despair and disgust I felt after seeing the director Sam Gold’s rendition of Tennessee Williams’s 1944 play, “The Glass Menagerie” (at the Belasco), was so debilitating that I couldn’t tell if my confused, hurt fury was caused by the pretentious and callous staging I had just witnessed or if my anger was a result of feeling robbed of the beauty of Williams’s script.

Jacques Lacan Being a Dick

May 3, 2017

Interviewer: In your philosophy…

Lacan: I am not a philosopher, not in the least.

An ontological, metaphysical notion of the real…

It is not at all ontological.

You borrow a Kantian notion of the real.

It is not even remotely Kantian.  I make that quite clear.

***

“The Triumph of Religion” comes from a press conference held in Rome on October 29, 1974, at the French Cultural Center.  Lacan was interviewed by Italian journalists.

Women Are Better Than Men, Part A Million and One

December 14, 2015

“The language of conversion can be abrupt.”  With these words Karl F. Morrison approaches an account by Snorri Sturluson (1178/9-1241) of the Christian king of Norway, Olav Tryggvason (969-1000) and the non-Christian Queen Sigrid of Sweden, whom the king wished to marry.  “Marriage negotiations progressed well until the queen refused to abandon the religion that she held, as her kinsmen before her had done.  Olav, she said, could, without hindrance or reproach, worship whatever god pleased him.

“King Olav was very wroth and answered hastily, ‘Why should I wed you, you heathen bitch?’, and he struck her in the face with the glove he was holding in his hand.”  This was no way to win the heart of Queen Sigrid the Strong-minded.  Her response was instant: “This may be your death,” she said.  Turned into Olav’s staunchest enemy, she married the king of Denmark, whom she incited to the battle in which Olav died.

Varieties of Religious Conversion in the Middle Ages, from the chapter “Gender and Conversion in the Merovingian Era” by Cordula Nolte

Bergman is a Bitch

July 31, 2015

Wow, I am so glad I never had to interview Ingmar Bergman.

Torsten Manns: This time we’ve agreed to discuss some general motifs, not one particular film, but motifs which recur in many of them.  Among other things, we’ve agreed on the child motif, sex, and censorship.  How about taking the child-motif first?  The fact is, we’ve one little film left; and that’s Daniel––a little scrap of a film from Stimulantia, 1966.

So I’ve arranged the child-motif in four types.  First, as a catalyst for subconscious phobias, the trauma and the archetypes––here The Hour of the Wolf is a good example: the little boy there goes straight back to the old man in the cupboard who appeared in that play, ‘the little folk.’

The second is the child as an object of violence: The Devil’s Wanton, where a baby is murdered, The Virgin Spring where the raped girl is herself almost a child, The Shame––this little dead girl found by Liv and also the dream of children, where it’s smashed to pieces––and even the boy in Frenzy who arrives too late at the beginning and is told off by Gunnar Bjornstrand (of all people)––he too is a little exposed fellow.

The third––in dreams of continuation, of togetherness, as the rescuer of relationships––a patent solution, one might say, not peculiar to yourself, but implicit in the whole of this The Joy-Eva-Journey Into Autumn complex, where the woman begs to have a child with Ulf Palme, and he says: ‘I don’t want to have some poor little chap somewhere I can’t reach.’  In The Silence it’s less clear; but there the boy is definitely a means of communication between the two women.  In So Close to Life, the motif is completely patent––it’s virtually a clinical film about children; about the three women’s attributes to childbirth.

Finally the fourth, the dwarf motif––we’ve pretty well exhausted that.  In The Rite, Hans speaks of his children, but no child is actually seen.  I should very much like to know what your attitude to children is, from every point of view.

Ingmar Bergman: My first reaction to all you’re saying is a dreadful feeling of oppression.  Not specially aimed at myself, but a feeling of powerlessness.  I can’t explain it.  A feeling that it’s all so dull, that it will get duller, and what I’ve made, suddenly, is all dull and uninteresting too.  I can’t explain it.  I don’t know why it is, but as I sit here listening to you I feel furious––don’t misunderstand this, Torsten.  I’ve nothing against you personally.  That’s just how it is.

When someone pulls out a thread like this and says: ‘Yes, well, surely it’s this way?  Aren’t things like this?  It’s like this and it’s like that,’ I feel completely paralyzed.  I can’t utter a word.  Well, it’s possible, things may be that way, I don’t know.  I’m not being cagey.  It’s simply with me things don’t work that way.

I can’t discuss any leitmotif running through my films.  Obviously I could hold a lecture on the humiliation motif––I even fancy we’ve gone through it rather thoroughly.  But all this about children… I’ve eight children myself, so I’ve had a certain amount of experience of children and react according to certain patterns, which have changed over the years.  But I don’t think it’s of any consequence, nor do I feel it has any place in this document.

(From Bergman on Bergman: Interviews with Ingmar Bergman by Stig Bjorkman, Torsten Manns and Jonas Sima)

Targeted Ads Are Mean

November 11, 2014

My Gmail tells me that the word of the day is “crapehanger: someone who sees the gloomy side of things.”  WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY GMAIL.