Saturday, February 03, 2007

Brideshead Revisited Revisited

Reading Brideshead Revisited was a bit odd. I hadn't read it before but I saw the mini-series when it first aired in America on Great Performances, not Masterpiece Theatre, mind you, at a very tender age. It was a highly formative experience. Retrospective kudos to my parents for letting me, although it probably damaged me for life, sparking Anglophilia and yearning for the mysteries of adulthood. While other kids were watching Silver Spoons, I was learning about homosexuality, Roman Catholicism, alcoholism and adultery. For years after, my father did a creepy imitation of Kurt lisping the word, "pus," and I wanted to name a bear Aloysius.
I think I must have watched it again in high school, as I could not read the novel without hearing Jeremy Irons, Anthony Andrews, Claire Bloom, John Gielgud, et. al. uttering the lines. Down to every inflection. Typically, reading something after I've seen it dramatized is a dreadful experience, but I have to say I found Charles Ryder as played by Jeremy Irons infinitely more sympathetic than how Waugh wrote him. (And what's with the Brits naming boys Evelyn?) I also don't remember all the Divine Grace bit at the end being so heavy handed, but perhaps it flew right over my secular Jewish head.
I found the Et In Arcadia Ego half much more appealing. The nostalgia for university days was quite contagious and I think a number of beautifully written truths were contained within. I also found that Charles' love (that dare not speak its name) for Sebastian was much more vivid and poignant than Charles' love for Julia in the second half, which rang very hollow and like a lost soul looking for an echo of past love. I also enjoyed the rapturous descriptions of meals, keeping in mind that it was written in 1944 and that no one in England had had anything delightful to eat in years.
It will be peculiar discussing BR tomorrow with a bunch of Jews. I think -- and this is one of the points made in the novel itself -- if one is secular it is easy to dismiss the inherent religiosity of the faith. But how can one of faith, albeit a different faith, dismiss it without being hypocritical? From an anthropologic or literary perspective, how dissimilar is the catechism from yigdal? (Yes, Talmud is inherently more interactive, and thorough, but that's why the study part of Judaism is much easier than the prayer/faith part.)
Shifting gears, I haven't been reading as much as I like, or books that I would particularly recommend these past few months, so I won't bother with a complete litany. I loved Michael Malone's The Last Noel, never mind I predicted how it would end, I still had tears cascading down my face when I finished it at 3:00 a.m., after picking it up the prior day (I typically only read once everyone else is in bed). There's Murakami's latest story collection, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman; I had read about a third of the stories elsewhere, but they're certainly worth re-reading. I didn't really care for Sarah Waters' The Nightwatch; I think critics admired its historical accuracy and backwards chronology, but a little style and research a great book doth not make. Yehoshua's A Woman in Jerusalem was worth a read, but my least favorite of his books. Oh, and I truly enjoyed Mieville's Perdido Street Station, great SF.

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1 Comments:

Blogger Tony said...

I think the differences between Christianity and Judaism are well expressed here.

But what do I know?

4:02 PM  

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