for river and iver…

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“(the cradle rocking equally to one and oppositely from the other on its law of capture and recapture)”

FINNEGANS WAKE by James Joyce
CONTINUATION (FROM HERE) OF MY GESTALT REAL-TIME REVIEW IN THE COMMENT STREAM BELOW AS AND WHEN I READ THIS BOOK:-

10 responses to “for river and iver…

  1. Page 145
    “Angst so mush:”
    And thanks so much to YOU for becoming my co-captive on this journey. I can’t quite believe that we’re not yet a quarter of the way through!

  2. –> Page 159
    Three chosen passages:

    “As my explanations here are probably above your understandings, lattlebrattons, though as augmentatively uncomparisoned as Cadwan, Cadwallon and Cadwalloner, I shall revert to a more expletive method which I frequently use when I have to sermo with muddlecrass pupils. Imagine for my purpose that you are a squad of urchins, snifflynosed, goslingnecked, clothyheaded, tangled in your lacings, tingled in your pants, etsitaraw etcicero.”

    “The siss of the whisp of the sigh of the softzing at the stir of the ver grose O arundo of a long one in midias reeds: and shades began to glidder along the banks, greepsing, greepsing, duusk unto duusk, and it was as glooming as gloaming could be in the waste of all peacable worlds.”

    “Then Nuvoletta reflected for the last time in her little long life and she made up all her myriads of drifting minds in one. She cancelled all her engauzements. She climbed over the bannistars; she gave a childy cloudy cry: Nuée! Nuée! A lightdress fluttered. She was gone. And into the river that had been a stream (for a thousand of tears had gone eon her and come on her and she was stout and struck on dancing and her muddied name was Missisliffi) there fell a tear, a singult tear, the loveliest of all tears (I mean for those crylove fables fans who are ‘keen’ on the pretty-pretty commonface sort of thing you meet by hopeharrods) for it was a leaptear. But the river tripped on her by and by, lapping as though her heart was brook: Why, why, why! Weh, O weh I’se so silly to be flowing but I no canna stay!”

    ME:

    O my dear lattlebrattons, these are 3 passages for your delectation, passages that broke the banks of the river of these ‘Inklespill Legends’… And indeed having earlier spilt my own thoughts on captcha codes and Finish-began and their importance to the eschatological state of Death, I shall now propose that this book’s rivverun is subject to its own riparian laws as a real river would be: i.e. we who own the banks as well as the flowing river the banks create between them… But the river is never the same river as it flows past you, ever renewing, ever ouroboros heading. Unless it overspills into waste lands of flood…as it has been doing as a result of the serial storms over the last month in the UK. Where does the river end and the flood begin?
    Then who owns the text flow or the text flood and who owns the riparian dream? And who can swim from the glut of dream within whose dream that the book’s spate swills Jungianly… A Severn bore always being chased ahead of us? Or a Kantian Noumenon ever tantalisingly out of our chasing reach. Answers to come later in this review I hope.

    ———————————————————-
    The Flood

    glast

    From THE GLASTONBURY ROMANCE (1933) by John Cowper Powys:
    “One especial thing that struck his pragmatic and literal mind was the extraordinary difference between this murderous-looking flood-water and all other bodies of water he had ever seen or known. The brownish-grey expanse before him was not like the sea; nor was it like a lake. It was a thing different from every other natural phenomenon. A breath of abominable and shivering chilliness rose up from this moving plain of waters, a chilliness that was more than material, a chilliness that carried with it a wafture of mental horror. It was as if some ultimate cosmogonic catastrophe implying the final extinction of all planetary life had commenced. A wind of death rose from that mounting flood that carried a feeling of water-soaked disfigured corpses!”

  3. –> Page 171
    From:
    “I cream for thee, Sweet Margareen”
    and
    “…it will be very convenient for me for the emolument to pursue Burrus and Caseous for a rung or two up their isocelating biangle.”
    we now reach one of the highly readable highlights of all literature, the description of Shem that even out-Dickens how Dickens would describe him. No choice of quoted passages would do justice to it, other than to mention that the concept of a character’s ‘back life’ takes on a meaning here that the term ‘backstory’ these days can only act as a retrocausal backstory of itself!
    And all this reminds me that there is probably one last captcha-captive writer to list in connection with the FW catchment area of retro-influence and counter-influence and Jungian foreplay, one I forgot till now, Charles Dickens himself!

  4. And, oh yes, Jonathan Swift.
    –> Page 180
    “…your gullible’s travels…” — “…the Pure River Society…” — “…written and composed and sung and danced by Niscemus Nemon…” — “…though he was foxed fux to fux like a bunnyboy rodger…” — “…and shoot shy Shem should the shit show his shiny shnout out awhile to look facts in their face before being hosed and creased (uprip and jack him!) by six or a dozen of the gayboys.” — “…that every splurge on the vellum he blundered over was an aisling vision more gorgeous than the one before t.i.t.s., a roseschelle cottage by the sea for nothing for ever, a ladies tryon hosiery raffle at liberty, a sewerful of guineagold wine with brancomongepadenopie and sickcylinder oysters worth a billion a bite, an entire operahouse…”

  5. In hindsight, my own short piece entitled THE BRAINWRIGHT – first published in 1990 by the renowned ‘Stand’ magazine – has Finnegans Wake tendencies, I guess! You can read it here: http://weirdmonger.livejournal.com/2007/03/12/
    (This short piece is also printed on the dust jacket of the hardback version of the ‘WEIRDMONGER’ book as published by Prime in 2004)

  6. –> Page 186
    “Who can say how many pseudostylic shamiana, how few or how many of the most venerated public impostures, how very many piously forged palimpsests slipped in the first place by this morbid process from his pelagiarist pen?”

    Some amazing stuff here, writerly lists, writerly concerns that have concerned me for ages (and please google my terms here) regarding parthenogenetic fiction and late labelling, the synchronised shards of random truth and fiction, magic fiction as opposed to magic realism, the ominous imagination, weirdmonger wheel, fiction as religion, high weird, weird weird, wordy weird, weird fiction and horror fiction, Nemonymous and Nemonymity themselves – and I now realise that Joyce shaped as Shem the Penman put all their pens to paper before being disguised as this section of Finnegans Wake. A wake up call for someone like me reading this book properly for the first time. Captchas, finish-began, death ring-fenced, riparian flooding from literature, and now all THIS writerly imaginarium of fiction as truth!

    “…till by its corrosive sublimation one continuous present tense integument slowly unfolded all marry-voising moodmoulded cyclewheeling history…”

  7. –> Page 195
    “…haunted by a convulsionary sense of not having been or being all that I might have been…”
    On that truly haunting note, I sense, from what I should already know, that we are about to enter a crucial section of FW concerning Anna Livia Plurabelle? We shall see whence and whither and whereover and underwhich the widening river takes us …

  8. This review will now continue in the comment stream HERE

  9. Anyone who simply confirms that they have read and enjoyed the ‘Finnegans Wake’ real-time review from beginning to end will, upon request to me, receive a free signed copy of one of ‘Weirdtongue’, ‘Agra Aska’ or ‘Real-Time Reviews Vol. 1′, until further notice or current supplies of these books end.

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