hi ho! indeed
A certain well-read little bird contrived a way to get me to read Collette this saturday, as I am yet again at work, and yet again find myself with little else to do but read. The book contains both Gigi and The Cat, so I set off to read them both today.
I just recently finished Gigi, and it left me dismal, if not downright depressed. It doesn't hurt the situation that today is an especially gloomy day near the coast and the fleeting moments of sunlight only serve to make the gloom more gray. Anyway, its not a very sad story, and I even found myself getting caught up in the discussions of proper culture and the close attention that one of such esteem would pay to the faint glimmer of blue in a valuable emerald. This is a time when things of value were beyond our comprehension. There are beautiful trifles to be found at every corner, but things of true beauty are only visible to the trained eye, and I guess that's basically the point of Gigi as a character. She's "backwards" for her age and is everything but a proper lady of the times, but she manages to catch the eye of an infamous bachelor-about-town. He's rich, stylish, and has full capacity to take care of her and her family and all that doesn't interest her in the least.
And of course this only makes him want her more, but not in an objectifying manner, just your typical human nature, "i want what i can't have" sort of desire. Its all too complicated to really be put into words, which is why the interplay is so important.
Throughout the whole story the love that these two share is scarcely even mentioned, but towards the end, they are so miserable that you can have no doubt that they are really in love. And that's specifically the part that bother's me. Too often in literature real, overpowering, unbridled love is described as a torment that often necessitates misery at a distance and overwhelming ecstacy otherwise. Think of Howard Roark and Dominique in The Fountainhead, think Heathcliffe and Catherine in Wuthering Heights. Its all the same. Which is why I have two questions to ask.
Why is it that Love is so often portrayed in this light?
Does life mimic art or does art mimic life?
Have we been lead to believe that the only love worth having is the kind of love you can't bare to be with and without? Or, conversely, is it actually the case that love is one of those mystical contradictory, transcendent things that actually involves misery and ecstacy at the same time?
Mmmmm...contradiction! Good to the last drop. Of course I took it there. How could I not? One of the last lines sums it up perfectly:
"I've been thinking Gaston. In fact, I've been thinking a great deal... I've been thinking I would rather be miserable with you than without you."
So there. Love is just need tinged with repulsion...isn't it beautifully complex. I don't know if I'm happy about this or not.
Gigi has left me feeling uneasy about love and our understanding of it through literature. I'm sure The Cat will reinvigorate me.
I just recently finished Gigi, and it left me dismal, if not downright depressed. It doesn't hurt the situation that today is an especially gloomy day near the coast and the fleeting moments of sunlight only serve to make the gloom more gray. Anyway, its not a very sad story, and I even found myself getting caught up in the discussions of proper culture and the close attention that one of such esteem would pay to the faint glimmer of blue in a valuable emerald. This is a time when things of value were beyond our comprehension. There are beautiful trifles to be found at every corner, but things of true beauty are only visible to the trained eye, and I guess that's basically the point of Gigi as a character. She's "backwards" for her age and is everything but a proper lady of the times, but she manages to catch the eye of an infamous bachelor-about-town. He's rich, stylish, and has full capacity to take care of her and her family and all that doesn't interest her in the least.
And of course this only makes him want her more, but not in an objectifying manner, just your typical human nature, "i want what i can't have" sort of desire. Its all too complicated to really be put into words, which is why the interplay is so important.
Throughout the whole story the love that these two share is scarcely even mentioned, but towards the end, they are so miserable that you can have no doubt that they are really in love. And that's specifically the part that bother's me. Too often in literature real, overpowering, unbridled love is described as a torment that often necessitates misery at a distance and overwhelming ecstacy otherwise. Think of Howard Roark and Dominique in The Fountainhead, think Heathcliffe and Catherine in Wuthering Heights. Its all the same. Which is why I have two questions to ask.
Why is it that Love is so often portrayed in this light?
Does life mimic art or does art mimic life?
Have we been lead to believe that the only love worth having is the kind of love you can't bare to be with and without? Or, conversely, is it actually the case that love is one of those mystical contradictory, transcendent things that actually involves misery and ecstacy at the same time?
Mmmmm...contradiction! Good to the last drop. Of course I took it there. How could I not? One of the last lines sums it up perfectly:
"I've been thinking Gaston. In fact, I've been thinking a great deal... I've been thinking I would rather be miserable with you than without you."
So there. Love is just need tinged with repulsion...isn't it beautifully complex. I don't know if I'm happy about this or not.
Gigi has left me feeling uneasy about love and our understanding of it through literature. I'm sure The Cat will reinvigorate me.
posted by R. Peeps at 11:49 AM
2 Comments:
Wow - I feel like a kid at tee-ball practice. Love is a poorly blended smoothy: it has its smooth and sweet spots, but you still have to deal with those damned chunks of bananas - don't choke.
By the way, check this out you silly animal lovers... hehehe
http://channels.netscape.com/men/package.jsp?floc=ns-tos-need-h-02&name=fte/genistein/genistein
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