by Andrea McKenzie Raine
Pauline Holdstock's novel, Beyond Measure, takes place in Italy in the 1500s, and spirals around the main characters Paolo, Orazio, his daughter and assistant Sofonisba, Ceccio the land lord, Matteo Tassi, Alessandro and Caterina, the slave girl. Each character has a desire to be appreciated, if not seen.
Paolo, an artist, treats human subjects like objects; he searches for the inanimate flesh to make it come alive once again in his art. He cannot see beyond his own flesh and, therefore, has a compulsive need to capture the beauty of the human form in his paintings. He is calculating, methodical and manipulative in the way he obtains these objects. Paolo attempts to move past the emotional element of his subjects to get to the purpose of his art, as illustrated in the following passage:
"...The skin of a hanged man is as the skin of any other. It is its own miracle, a paragon of suppleness and strength and exquisite sensitivity and, when hairless and smooth as in youth and in the female form, a thing of beauty beyond compare."
When Caterina, the slave girl, is presented to Paolo, he becomes obsessed with the living quality of her female form and her strange markings. Caterina is an unwitting gift or pawn, passed around between the characters for the benefit of monetary, artistic and personal status. Paolo insists on painting her in the nude, as he says "a muse clothed is against Nature. The muse must be naked. She is naked truth. The naked flame of inspiration."
The novel examines the existing classes, and relationships between master and slave. The need each character has to interact with the other characters, in their varying positions, is modeled on hierarchy, obedience, responsibility and human value. Paolo reserves the right to manipulate human beings to dissect and exploit them, for the sake of art. Still, for his livelihood and art, he must answer to his landlord, Ceccio.
The circling relationships between the characters are interconnected and dependent, with different agendas revolving around their individual needs for the slave girl, Caterina. She will win them esteem, power, love, or artistic pursuit. Art and people are for bartering, and a means of ownership. Nothing is sacred in terms of art or human life, as each are subject to revisions.
Art is the central theme, and the characters are tied to it either physically or intrinsically. Holdstock's writing is thorough and painstakingly descriptive. She leaves out no detail of the work involved. For instance:
"Carefully he sticks pins into the anima and, in a process of trial and error, positions it securely in the mould, closing the two halves round it. The protruding pins keep it away from the inner walls; it hangs inside, clear of the shell of the mould, trapped and at the same time free, the way, Maestro Paolo once remarked, the rough unfinished soul hangs inside the body, a disparate element, longing for fire. So the artist's work, said Maestro Paolo, was the mirror of God's creation, Man."
The language used is clinical and instructive, and yet poetic and transcendent. Beyond Measure is, essentially, a commentary on art: how one's work is viewed by outsiders, other artists and critics, and the lengths that artists will go to come close to divinity. As well, the sacrifices people will make to achieve their desires.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Morning Couplets
Create the day, and erase; release the mind’s fallacies,
events holding you, that aren’t otherwise real.
A chair in the corner, a book moved on the bookcase,
evidence of someone paying attention to the outside.
This house holds in the heat, the writing room
cold enough for work.
The dark mornings disorient, stumbling to work down dark roads;
the owl doesn’t know it is daylight – hoots nocturnally in the tree.
I wake up to duty, to feed the cats; I stay awake,
get ready to tread off in my good clothes and stay inside all day.
The left hand has never met the right one,
and doesn’t know it is doing anything.
I question how I spend eight hours of my day –
growing or drowning, learning or head-splitting?
The extroverted world makes me go inwards;
everyone plugged into each other – no space for a silent thought.
A blank wall, blank screen, black night; a bright mind,
a chance for something to happen.Days dying.
They all go with no ticket,
no test, no shiny diploma - they pass through.
events holding you, that aren’t otherwise real.
A chair in the corner, a book moved on the bookcase,
evidence of someone paying attention to the outside.
This house holds in the heat, the writing room
cold enough for work.
The dark mornings disorient, stumbling to work down dark roads;
the owl doesn’t know it is daylight – hoots nocturnally in the tree.
I wake up to duty, to feed the cats; I stay awake,
get ready to tread off in my good clothes and stay inside all day.
The left hand has never met the right one,
and doesn’t know it is doing anything.
I question how I spend eight hours of my day –
growing or drowning, learning or head-splitting?
The extroverted world makes me go inwards;
everyone plugged into each other – no space for a silent thought.
A blank wall, blank screen, black night; a bright mind,
a chance for something to happen.Days dying.
They all go with no ticket,
no test, no shiny diploma - they pass through.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
The Blackbird’s Song by Pauline Holdstock
by Andrea McKenzie Raine
The Blackbird’s Song is a story about the challenges of faith. The reader is introduced to a group of three Christian missionaries who are chosen and sent to China to ‘spread the word’ by holy instruction.
The story is told through the eyes of one of the missionaries, Emily, who watches as her companions, one being her husband, William, struggle along with her in China’s harsh and unpredictable environment. The group also has the obstacle of not starting off strong and united, as a woman, Martha, exhibits extremist behaviour in the group and rails against the intent of the group for adaptation and survival in the strange country. Their struggles deepen as horrible mishaps befall them, and Emily begins to lose her sense of faith. A division begins to take place within the group, as conflicting ideals either real or perceived are brought to the surface, which in turn bring about internal conflicts and suppression of true feelings.
The language is poetic. For instance, “Tsechow was spread below them like a wasp’s nest broken open in the sun.” Holdstock also uses strong, descriptive images to evoke the emotions in the characters and the impact of their new environment. As well, the frequent use of short, fragment sentences echoes the abruptness and urgency of changing scenery, quick action, and sharp, violent thoughts.
The undercurrents carry the tense vibe of changing ideas, while there are increasing overtones of religious strife. Emily is steadily drifting from the group, into herself and questioning her faith and reasons for being there, while Martha is drifting away further into the dangers of the country and her own madness. Emily becomes disillusioned with the idea of God, and feels abandoned. There are also children included in the journey, those of Emily and her husband, who are suffering alongside the adults through the elements and trials of the failing mission.
There is a division of purpose in the group that emerges, displayed in the notions of Christian beliefs, religious extremism, and paganism threatening their united ability to infiltrate the society and assist the Chinese people. Still, there is a silence in the group, as the members don’t wish to communicate these changing dynamics. The mission is falling apart, as the each of the members begin to succumb, in their own way, to the unrelenting landscape and people. New demons arise to test the foreigners, and the group begins to collapse within itself as a result of mind-trickery, obsession, fear and suspicion.
The foreigners face an upward battle, and a constant threat of death, in a land that doesn't want them. Eventually, their stead-fast and narrow views about fortune, faith and god become inverted in the culture they were once trying to save.
The Blackbird’s Song is a story about the challenges of faith. The reader is introduced to a group of three Christian missionaries who are chosen and sent to China to ‘spread the word’ by holy instruction.
The story is told through the eyes of one of the missionaries, Emily, who watches as her companions, one being her husband, William, struggle along with her in China’s harsh and unpredictable environment. The group also has the obstacle of not starting off strong and united, as a woman, Martha, exhibits extremist behaviour in the group and rails against the intent of the group for adaptation and survival in the strange country. Their struggles deepen as horrible mishaps befall them, and Emily begins to lose her sense of faith. A division begins to take place within the group, as conflicting ideals either real or perceived are brought to the surface, which in turn bring about internal conflicts and suppression of true feelings.
The language is poetic. For instance, “Tsechow was spread below them like a wasp’s nest broken open in the sun.” Holdstock also uses strong, descriptive images to evoke the emotions in the characters and the impact of their new environment. As well, the frequent use of short, fragment sentences echoes the abruptness and urgency of changing scenery, quick action, and sharp, violent thoughts.
The undercurrents carry the tense vibe of changing ideas, while there are increasing overtones of religious strife. Emily is steadily drifting from the group, into herself and questioning her faith and reasons for being there, while Martha is drifting away further into the dangers of the country and her own madness. Emily becomes disillusioned with the idea of God, and feels abandoned. There are also children included in the journey, those of Emily and her husband, who are suffering alongside the adults through the elements and trials of the failing mission.
There is a division of purpose in the group that emerges, displayed in the notions of Christian beliefs, religious extremism, and paganism threatening their united ability to infiltrate the society and assist the Chinese people. Still, there is a silence in the group, as the members don’t wish to communicate these changing dynamics. The mission is falling apart, as the each of the members begin to succumb, in their own way, to the unrelenting landscape and people. New demons arise to test the foreigners, and the group begins to collapse within itself as a result of mind-trickery, obsession, fear and suspicion.
The foreigners face an upward battle, and a constant threat of death, in a land that doesn't want them. Eventually, their stead-fast and narrow views about fortune, faith and god become inverted in the culture they were once trying to save.
Morning Couplets
Words wrestle in me like pregnant thoughts,
their small serifs poke through tissue, paper thin and full of intent.
Skin letting go from muscle; the flesh rises along with me,
a memory of some past self, now buried under life.
It is possible to carve the day into slices,
watch the clock, don’t watch the clock, and watch the clock again.
A thin layer of frost holds in the day,
we should all be sleeping still.
I am not awake for his humour, a side wit;
as my brain still adjusts from dark to light, blur to focus.
Why does the self turn, like a revolving snakehead?
Strike at others, fangs ready to bite into itself.
Chataranga; body made of softwood, this pose
a strengthening of the will to bend, and not break.
Fur flying at 4am, and squawking like a seagull
inside the house, begging for something we can’t give.
A pursuit of being happy; the completeness
and the work that comes with luck.
The art of slowing; to dip into the future,
taking in each minute, the length of a breath and holding.
their small serifs poke through tissue, paper thin and full of intent.
Skin letting go from muscle; the flesh rises along with me,
a memory of some past self, now buried under life.
It is possible to carve the day into slices,
watch the clock, don’t watch the clock, and watch the clock again.
A thin layer of frost holds in the day,
we should all be sleeping still.
I am not awake for his humour, a side wit;
as my brain still adjusts from dark to light, blur to focus.
Why does the self turn, like a revolving snakehead?
Strike at others, fangs ready to bite into itself.
Chataranga; body made of softwood, this pose
a strengthening of the will to bend, and not break.
Fur flying at 4am, and squawking like a seagull
inside the house, begging for something we can’t give.
A pursuit of being happy; the completeness
and the work that comes with luck.
The art of slowing; to dip into the future,
taking in each minute, the length of a breath and holding.
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