Yepyeni bir hayata başlamaya hazırdım. İhtiyacım olan her şeye sahiptim, cezalandırılma ve aşağılanmalarla geçen günlerin geride kalacağını bilmenin sevincini taşıyordum içimde.
There's a place beyond words where experience first occurs to which I always want to return. I suspect that whenever I articulate my thoughts or translate my impulses into words, I am betraying the real thoughts and impulses which remain hidden.
April is always a weird month for me, the last few weeks of the spring semester when I try to corral my students (and myself) toward our Grand Project of Just Damn Finishing (while also Learning and Growing as Humans), when the magic of spring break has burned off to memories, scents, traces, when the Florida weather is glorious and perfect, but for only just long enough to get out in the garden…
It actually makes a lot of sense that Macca would be reading this book around the time Secretary was recorded, since he was probably interested in the book after Peter Sellers was cast in Hal Ashby's 1979 film.
I respectfully remain perplexed by your "overrated" remark on Come and See. Why measure the totalizing (ironically 'fascist') power of film against the subjective 'inner theater' of literature? Sure, it envelops the viewer, and worryingly approaches the salacious 'torture porn' spectacle of evil, but I don't know; to use the hackneyed phrase, it bears witness—and 60 Million Dead Europeans Can't Be Wrong... Then again, maybe there are certain historical atrocities that exceed the magic of art?
Maybe it comes down to Truffaut line's: there's no such thing as an anti-war movie. Film monumentalizes everything—which implies your label of "fascist." On paper, compared as narrative structures, The Painted Bird is far more "fascist" than Come and See—the novel's title refers to the exceptional individual standing against the mindless horde—but it doesn't feel that way: it feels intimate, human-scale. (Though I stand by the point in my original essay that Come and See is still commie propaganda, even if its relative subtlety as such went over the Soviet censors' heads.) I like (non-slasher) horror movies because, despite the genre's reputation, they're often subtler about evil than war movies, leaving it in the shadows, in the metaphysical and symbolic, without summoning it nakedly onto the screen, and are often in consequence more delicate in their refraction of history's nightmare. I think art in general can encompass anything, but this particular art, the art of cinema, has a hard time with real violence as subject matter.