No Variations (Argentinian Literature Series) by Darren Koolman Luis Chitarroni Page B
Authors: Darren Koolman Luis Chitarroni
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how strange that I loved so …
“she’s no less important to us. As a spokeswoman”
“But how old are they?”
“Who?”
“Look, they’re coming down”
“How many miles has it been?”
“when did you finally tell the assistant?”
“So much the worse for us that we were picked to ‘discover her’ and “tell the story,’ in the movie by that friend of yours …”
“Every once in a while, or every so often, a novel, or a book with some political agenda is found …”
“the assistant”
“Lucky him”
“Politics in a novel, said Stendhal, is like firing a pistol during a concert. That’s stayed with me”
“We won’t ask for examples”
“But there are some”
“It’s a can of worms, Inés”
“But isn’t that all you do together?”
She wanted a glass to continue the argument. The other guy handed her one .
“that thing about the history of Prague—I read it too. And it was—what can I say? Bankrupt, inane …”
“Well, there are periods in history of which nothing survives. Or a little, just a little”
“Psychedelia, psycholalia … who the hell knows … experimental cinema”
“they leave their mark”
“ Vienna while in Prague ”
“who really cares … whether any of that stuff survives?”
“I disagree entirely”
“it all goes back to the father, see”
“what survives of that era? I noticed the other day … what’s his name?”
“ Bergsonne ”
“So-so”
If I should awaken , I will try to go back to sleep .
Since the reader will find throughout this effort a lot of unnecessary, perhaps superfluous, punctuation, reflecting the anxiety and indecision of the writer, it wouldn’t be entirely presumptuous to include a preface [note the inconsistency of this regime]. For what it’s worth: I wasn’t trying to write something experimental (much less spontaneous) when I commenced this journal. I was trying to find a structure in the mass of [modest, always modest!] narrative/cyclical intermittencies.
NO
Cryptodermia/deafness
There are none so deaf as those who will not hear
Strum away
Occupation
Auden, poem on Melville
As though his occupation were another island
When he saw them again, on that morning in August after returning from a visit to the city, he found them quite as submissive and conceited as ever; and he, once again trapped in their especial variety of conversational antechamber (in which they oft belabored him with successions of halting effusions), sought escape by firing off—or more properly, stammering—a bêtise on the “perfumed scent” of his butler’s arrhythmic respiration, which was indeed perceptible to him in more than one—and to more than one—sense. Not that George Smith’s exhalations were any more perfumed or arrhythmic than usual, but his master, having grown accustomed to the salubrious air of the city, and being somewhat distracted by his servants’ tedious divagations, judged his Butler’s breath to be, on this occasion, especially noisome, which contrasted starkly with that natural air of unbending courtesy that poor old George exuded in his manner, the odor of which, in its many persuasive nuances, would, in fine, have made any other man feel at home in his company.
Interruption: explanation/reasons/stylistic(s)
A story in the style of Henry James—perhaps unnecessary. Telling a genuine anecdote from his life (it’s in Leon Edel)—try to make convincing and meaningful for the ever-vigilant eye of Agraphia, or else discard. Don’t just parody , like Beerbohm (hopefully , I can pull it off). Try anyway .
Could proceed as follows:
When George had finally left, it was only the two of them at home, and he, nonetheless longed to evade that situation too, and by the same exaggerated dissimulation that proved useful in his escape from their
how strange that I loved so …
“she’s no less important to us. As a spokeswoman”
“But how old are they?”
“Who?”
“Look, they’re coming down”
“How many miles has it been?”
“when did you finally tell the assistant?”
“So much the worse for us that we were picked to ‘discover her’ and “tell the story,’ in the movie by that friend of yours …”
“Every once in a while, or every so often, a novel, or a book with some political agenda is found …”
“the assistant”
“Lucky him”
“Politics in a novel, said Stendhal, is like firing a pistol during a concert. That’s stayed with me”
“We won’t ask for examples”
“But there are some”
“It’s a can of worms, Inés”
“But isn’t that all you do together?”
She wanted a glass to continue the argument. The other guy handed her one .
“that thing about the history of Prague—I read it too. And it was—what can I say? Bankrupt, inane …”
“Well, there are periods in history of which nothing survives. Or a little, just a little”
“Psychedelia, psycholalia … who the hell knows … experimental cinema”
“they leave their mark”
“ Vienna while in Prague ”
“who really cares … whether any of that stuff survives?”
“I disagree entirely”
“it all goes back to the father, see”
“what survives of that era? I noticed the other day … what’s his name?”
“ Bergsonne ”
“So-so”
If I should awaken , I will try to go back to sleep .
Since the reader will find throughout this effort a lot of unnecessary, perhaps superfluous, punctuation, reflecting the anxiety and indecision of the writer, it wouldn’t be entirely presumptuous to include a preface [note the inconsistency of this regime]. For what it’s worth: I wasn’t trying to write something experimental (much less spontaneous) when I commenced this journal. I was trying to find a structure in the mass of [modest, always modest!] narrative/cyclical intermittencies.
NO
Cryptodermia/deafness
There are none so deaf as those who will not hear
Strum away
Occupation
Auden, poem on Melville
As though his occupation were another island
When he saw them again, on that morning in August after returning from a visit to the city, he found them quite as submissive and conceited as ever; and he, once again trapped in their especial variety of conversational antechamber (in which they oft belabored him with successions of halting effusions), sought escape by firing off—or more properly, stammering—a bêtise on the “perfumed scent” of his butler’s arrhythmic respiration, which was indeed perceptible to him in more than one—and to more than one—sense. Not that George Smith’s exhalations were any more perfumed or arrhythmic than usual, but his master, having grown accustomed to the salubrious air of the city, and being somewhat distracted by his servants’ tedious divagations, judged his Butler’s breath to be, on this occasion, especially noisome, which contrasted starkly with that natural air of unbending courtesy that poor old George exuded in his manner, the odor of which, in its many persuasive nuances, would, in fine, have made any other man feel at home in his company.
Interruption: explanation/reasons/stylistic(s)
A story in the style of Henry James—perhaps unnecessary. Telling a genuine anecdote from his life (it’s in Leon Edel)—try to make convincing and meaningful for the ever-vigilant eye of Agraphia, or else discard. Don’t just parody , like Beerbohm (hopefully , I can pull it off). Try anyway .
Could proceed as follows:
When George had finally left, it was only the two of them at home, and he, nonetheless longed to evade that situation too, and by the same exaggerated dissimulation that proved useful in his escape from their
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