The Time of Indifference

Browsing through the shelves of the school library, I came upon a thin volume of "The Time of Indifference" by Alberto Moravia.

Time of Indifference, what an incredible title. It is even more extraordinary if you know that the man who came up with it was only eighteen at the time of writing his first novel. Yes, he followed it with such titles as "Boredom", "Contempt", "The Conformist" but "The Time of Indifference" holds its ground.

It is often said that fifty or so years ago people matured much faster - this novel is a great illustration to it. It is so full of disillusions, so calmly unkind, so unusually indifferent to its own characters.

Everything what you see there isn't what it is; everyone say one thing and think another. Five characters bound together by genetics, lust, past, resentment, loneliness, and financial woos, exist in perpetual state of loud arguments, pulsating sexual desires and dramatic events but underlying emotion of their existance is indeed indifference. Like a surface of water regains its calm after the stone sank to the bottom; the high emotions in the novel remain just that passing feelings, failing to initiate real change.

This novel is often called the worst of Moravia's work, while in fact it shows how talented and observant he was even at the young age.

New Discoveries

I am sitting in the sun room – rain is rustling on the roof, the kids are playing with their friends. My eyes keep lingering on the cover of the book on Japonisme, "The Japanese influence on Western art since 1858." This book has been the source of my interminable interest for several months now. Theoretical, broad knowledge about influence of oriental culture on the West exists in my head for a long time. But seeing side by side illustrations that demonstrate these influences in great details, forged much deeper understanding of it. It helped me to see how a single pose, a small gesture, unexpected colour combination was borrowed, processed and weaved into the paintings of western artists. It also made me realize how liberating, exciting, and inspirational it must have been to discover such alien world of art for the western artists. Our modern eyes are conditioned to see and accept as natural variety of artistic styles while in the second part of the 19th century the rules of what considered to be a proper painting were still rigid. How exuberant it must have been to see new ways of organizing the picture plain, discover new range of subject matter, new techniques, new colour palette, new artistic devices. No wonder that so many artists, Monet, Degas, Gauguin, Van Gogh, Toulouse – Lautrec, Pierre Bonnard, to name a few, were mesmerized and heavily influenced by Japanese art.

It is also utterly fascinating that the moment when Japonisme became possible is so clearly defined in history. March of 1854, the treaty of Kanagawa, the end of 216 years of Japanese isolation. Isn’t it interesting that the signing of the political document had such an enormous influence on European and American art? The treaty had allowed Japanese artifacts and handicraft articles to be brought in Europe where in no time they became all the rage. Shops selling kimonos, antiquities, fans, and woodblock prints appeared one after another. Exhibitions showed Japanese art objects to the public. Artists inspired by new forms found new ways of expressing themselves. How extraordinary and at the same time logical.

Below are the most telling examples of japonisme (the term was coined by French art critic Philippe Burty to describe the craze for all things Japanese):

Claude Monet, Madame Monet in a kimono, 1876

Kitagawa Utamaro, Japanese woman (detail); Joseph Wacherle, Lady of fashion, 1907

Edgar Dega, Nude woman, standing (detail), 1886; Katsushika Hokusai, Sumo wrestler, 1814-78, from Manga

Edgar Dega, Dancer tying her ribbons, c.1880; Katsushika Hokusai, Sparrow dance, 1814-78, From Manga

Katsushika Hokusai, Man washing, 1814-78, From Manga; Edgar Dega, The bath-tub, 1886

Ando Hiroshige, Ohashi bridge in the rain, 1856-58, from 100 Views of Famous Places in Edo; Vincent van Gogh, Japonaiserie: the bridge, 1886-88, copy after Hiroshige

Little Gifts

For some unknown reason life has been showering me with small gifts this week – letters and calls from friends, a day of rare sunshine, the kids, who suddenly don’t requir nagging for completing their chores, – it is funny how at times everything flows smoothly without a strain. One of the most unexpected gifts was a small print of Ole Lukøie. I went to see the exhibition of Norwegian artist whose prints makes me smile – it is a combination of whimsical images, warm colours and words that does the trick. So, here there was a little man standing on a cloud with an opened umbrella. “Ole Lukøie”, came immediate recognition along with the long forgotten words of Andersen’s tale. (For some strange reasons "Ole Lukøie" is omitted from many collections of Andersen’s stories in US. I had to find it on the internet in order to read it to the kids.)

“There's no one on earth who knows so many stories as Ole Lukoie-he certainly can tell them!
When night comes on and children still sit in good order around the table, or on their little stools, Ole Lukoie arrives. He comes upstairs quietly, for he walks in his socks. Softly he opens the door, and flick! he sprinkles sweet milk in the children's eyes-just a tiny bit, but always enough to keep their eyes closed so they won't see him. He tiptoes behind them and breathes softly on their necks, and this makes their heads hang heavy. Oh yes! But it doesn't hurt them, for Ole Lukoie loves children and only wants them to be quiet, and that they are only when they have been put to bed. He wants them to be quiet so that he can tell them stories.
As soon as the children fall asleep, Ole Lukoie sits down on the bed beside them. He is well dressed. His coat is made of silk, but it would be impossible to say what color it is because it gleams red, or green, or blue, as he turns about. Under each arm he carries an umbrella. One has pictures on it, and that one he opens up over good children. Then they dream the most beautiful stories all night long. The other is just a plain umbrella with nothing on it at all, and that one he opens over naughty children. Then they sleep restlessly, and when they wake up in the morning they have had no dreams at all…”

When I write, the little print sits by my side (I haven’t framed it yet) reminding me that “Life is beautiful and full of surprises.”

World of Words

Busy schedule of the land of Doldrums:

“At 8 o’clock we get up, and then we spend
“From 8 to 9 daydreaming.
“From 9 to 9:30 we take our early midmorning nap.
“From 9:30 to 10:30 we dawdle and delay.
“From 10:30 to 11:30 we take our late early morning nap.
“From 11:30 to 12:00 we bide out time and then eat lunch.
“From 1:00 to 2:00 we linger and loiter.
“From 2:00 to 2:30 we take our early afternoon nap.
“From 2:30 to 3:30 we put off for tomorrow what we could have done today.
“From 3:30 to 4:00 we take our early late afternoon nap.
“From 4:00 to 5:00 we loaf and lounge until dinner.
“From 6:00 to 7:00 we dillydally.
“From 7:00 to 8:00 we take our early evening nap, and then for an hour before we go to bed at 9:00 we waste time.
“As you can see, that leaves almost no time for brooding, lagging, plodding or procrastinating....”

Excerpt from "The Phantom Tollbooth" by Norton Juster.

If there is anybody out there who is interested in the captivating world of words and this somebody hasn’t yet read this delightful book with their kids or by himself, he should get it without delay.

Thomas Mann makes me laugh

Before returning books to the library I have to write down some quotes that made me giggle. (Both are from Thomas Mann’s “Tristan”)

“Ah, what activity! How she (Fraulein von Osterloh) plies, now here, now there, now upstairs, now down, from one end of the building to the other! She is queen in kitchen and storerooms, she mounts the shelves of the linen-presses, she marshals the domestic staff; … she keeps house diligently, furiously; and her exceeding capacity conceals a constant reproach to the world of men, to no one of whom has it yet occurred to lead her to the altar.”

And, about Fraulein von Osterloh again: “She had read it (a novel) once, in a spare quarter-hour, and found it ‘very cultured’- which was her circumlocution of inhumanly boresome”.

Who knew, that Thomas Mann can be funny? I had hard time reading Mann’s works in university and I still have hard time reading them now. For me his style is like an iron gates which craftsmanship, intricate details you admire but they also prevent you from entering a garden hidden behind and fully revel in its beauty (ha, ha and apparently his style is contagious).

I picked up his book because of the “Death in Venice” or, being more precise, because I wanted to watch Visconti’s version of “Death in Venice”, so it seemed only logical to reread the original.

The central theme – an old man infatuation with a young boy, obsession born out of pure admiration of beauty, passion destroying the soul and resulting in death - is utterly fascinating. The most interesting is that the passion continues to swell despite lack of interaction between Gustav von Aschenbach and Tadzio; there are only chance meetings and glances there. I wonder if the novel would have been published now with political correctness and all. At the beginning of the century this topic seemed to be common. Épater la bourgeoisie, indeed.