Listiness

Spent a little time last night and (inspired by Book World, who was in turn inspired by Francine Prose) made up a couple of new lists which you can see at bottom right, after the LibraryThing widget and my list of books read so far this year.

The first is a list of authors whom (to my shame) I have never read (not a single work, be it a short story, book, poem, play...). I am baring all my weaknesses to you, kind readers, so... be kind. The second is a list of authors of whose work (because I enjoyed what I have read so far or because their work is so gosh darn canonical) I would like to read more. I put these lists up in the hope that, at some distant point in the future when I am seeking out a new book, I will be inspired to take up one of the authors I have never read, or to expand my knowledge of those I have already sampled. [Both lists are somewhat foolishly organized in alphabetical order by the author's first name. This is a silly organizational method, but I am now quite fond of it, since it is, in essence, a sort of organized shuffle that puts authors out of the order in which I am used to seeing them.]

I must admit that this second list is also inspired by a LibraryThing discussion about what encounters with authors have inspired you to read everything that author wrote. Although from time to time I get this urge when I read new authors (most recently with Pat Barker and Paul Auster), I almost never follow through in any kind of exhaustive way. As I say on LibraryThing, Jane Austen (and, for that matter, Tom Stoppard) is the rare author about whom I can claim any kind of extensive knowledge. Maybe a few other authors I covered for my orals would also count, like Shakespeare or Congreve, but even with the kind of enforced devotion to single authors that qualifying exams evoke, I only managed to cover parts of these writers' canons.

Are there egregious gaps in your reading? Authors you have always meant to try but haven't yet gotten around to? Tell me about them....

[Loose Baggy Monster's comment has inspired the possibility of a challenge relating to these lists, and the gaps in all of our reading. Go here for more details.]

Devilishness

The new year has brought me a substantial number of demonically themed films, from the very first movie I watched (The Devil Wears Prada) to John Huston's Beat the Devil and Lau and Mak's Infernal Affairs. [If you count descent-into-the-underworld tales and back-from-the-dead stories, you can add "Pan's Labyrinth" and Volver to the list.] And of course, let us not forget the glorious (if somewhat tardy) triumph of my beloved Tar Heels over the insidious Blue Devils (although I am currently watching a less encouraging game between the two women's teams on TiVo).

But now, an addition from my "1001 Movies you must see before you Die" list: Henri-Georges Clouzot's "Diabolique." In this classic of suspense, the wife and mistress of a sadistic headmaster plot his murder, only to find that he is no less controlling in death than he was alive. I will say no more, especially since the film specifically exhorts its viewers not to spoil the plot for their friends, but it is quite a gruesome, claustrophobic romp. Unfortunately, the headmaster's weak-hearted wife (played by Clouzot's real life spouse) is almost too mewling and swooning to bear, and I found myself sympathizing, never with the boorish husband, but with the abrupt, competent mistress, for whom no task is too ghastly. For God's sake, I found myself repeatedly thinking, if you are going to kill someone and lug around his body in a giant wicker chest, do it with some enthusiasm and vigor! It recalled the time I (appalled) found myself arguing to my roommate that if the models from "The Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency" had signed up to be ring-girls at a boxling murder or tournament, then they were honor-bound to perform the job with flair. Professionalism is more important than personal dignity, I found myself implying, when what I meant to argue is that (in a tough situation, like Clouzotesque spousal slaughter or boxling) professionalism is the only thing that can salvage your personal dignity.


"Diabolique"/ "Les Diaboliques" (1955, France)
dir. Henri-Georges Clouzot
****


More of my ramblings (with links! and information!):
  • Wikipedia has entries on both "Les Diaboliques" (very brief) and Clouzot - go there to learn or to affect the nature of wikiality with your additions.
  • James Berardinelli reviews "Diabolique" for ReelViews, and places it in their Top 100 of all Time.
  • Michael Sragow of Salon.com has a slightly longer and more detailed review of the film, in which he calls it "hands down, the dankest movie of all time."
  • Criterion has an informative essay that accompanied its release of "Diabolique," which goes into the details of the dynamics of influence between Clouzot and Hitchcock. Don't read it before watching the film if you are spoiler-averse. And really, with this film, the fewer spoilers you ingest, the better.
  • Jenny Jediny's review for Not Coming to a Theater Near You examines how the wife functions as a (perhaps mad) protagonist for the film.
  • You can get the Criterion Collection release of "Diabolique" at Amazon, among other retailers: Diabolique - Criterion Collection .

Dickensian kindness-butter

A brief interlude, courtesy of Martin Chuzzlewit, chapter 3:

It would be no description of Mr Pecksniff’s gentleness of manner to adopt the common parlance, and say that he looked at this moment as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He rather looked as if any quantity of butter might have been made out of him, by churning the milk of human kindness, as it spouted upwards from his heart.

Is there anything that Dickens is better at describing than pomposity?