Alright, this time I will be serious and write something that may be another step in explaining why this blog works the way it does. My goal is to argue if and why my doings might be consider a voice, one of many, in the much fragmeted chorus of contemporary art. In other words, I will focus on the question what kind of people with bigger names are doing something that resembes to some extend our quotes and pictures and those illustrated essays. But first, feel invited to listen to this hit by The Cure and keep it in the background.
<some paper I’ve written for classes, why not post?>
„For the first time it was inside, do you see.
The control is put inside. No more need to suffer
passively under ‘outside forces’ – to veer into any wind.”
– Thomas Pynchon ‘Gravity’s Rainbow’
The main question that we would like to deal with in this paper is whether pleasure plays an instrumental role in controlling the way people act. This is neither a new idea, nor is it groundbreaking, and as we will see, there are at least a few major examples of literature works that explore the said topic. However, as we would like to take a look on novels written in quite different moments in history, that is, more or less, in: the beginning (1931), the middle (1959) and the end (1996) of the 20th country, it might be a move resulting in some interesting conclusions. The specific way that the pleasure is used, the way people react to it, the effects of such enterprise and finally the way in which the great authors chose to write about it are all subject to considerable and meaningful changes. It is understood by us that even though literature may not always hold the key to the ultimate truth, it does vividly show how we, collectively, think about certain issues at certain points in time. In other words, it is to be more of a hermeneutic work, than a rigorous, scientific securitizing of the possible ways our present civilization might develop.
“Traps are laid, deals are set up, alliances are made and unmade in the stadium passageways, in the changing rooms, in the showers, in the mess halls. The most expirienced try to barter their good advice; a wrestler sells a favor: he’ll pretend to knock you out, you’ll be able to play deaduntill the starter’s pistol goes off.”
This part might be confusing at first. It’s just parital description of author’s imagined island. People who live there have only one occupation. They compete in sports. So while in our world Olympics are supposed to bring all the nations together in peaceful rivalisation, in this nightmare place no fair play rules apply. Suprisingly there’s only one country and no guns, no bombs, no trenches, no warplanes. And nothing changes!
Influenced by history of years ’39-45 in Europe, Perec isn’t exactly what we call an optimist in regards to human nature. Human is human, meaning lupus. Tell a man: being first at the finish line is essence of your life, he’d do anything to be there before competitors. Hance all the methods developed to slow down opponents, all these dirty little tricks in changing rooms. Win by all means, this is the message promoted on every step by guys with power. It works.
The climax point is an event consisting of chasing and raping woman. On the stadium of course, it’s just a sport, but sport here means war. Sportsman have to fight each other first than catch who they can. And that’s where children come from if you want to know. Geogre let’s his imagination run wild to say the least. Lots of running on his mind. And nowhere to escape. You probably think about Orwell’s dystopia right now. You should.