Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Shakespeare's "Henry IV Part I"

Every month I (try to) read and blog about at least one Shakespeare play. This month's play is The History of Henry the Fourth.

"Henry IV Part I" is the first history play of Shakespeare that I have ever read. (I know--it surprises me too.) The story is about those who conspire against him, and those who rise up to fight against the conspirators.

I expected to be bored, and was pleasantly surprised by how funny and entertaining the play was. It had so many farcical scenes that it read almost like a comedy, with a memorable character like Sir John Falstaff, who was just ridiculous. I was also captivated by Prince Harry "Hal", who gave up his careless ways to prove to his father that he was a deserving heir to the throne. While there was a good scene between Henry and his son, the play wasn't really about their relationship; while the conspiracy was the central plot, it wasn't elaborated and well executed (unlike, for example, the conspiracy in "Julius Caesar"). Henry was accused by his conspirators of breaking the promises he had given them, of forgetting those who had helped him to the throne, but his character was neither honored or condemned. The play, then, was not about the moral behind the story. I don't know what it is that history plays are meant to be, but nowadays when I go see a play that I haven't read before, it is simply to sit back and be told a story, and I can imagine this play being quite interesting on stage despite lacking the elements that might have made it a great work of literature.

(Did anyone notice how I just talked about literature in past tense?)

Saturday, September 26, 2009

This and That


And another week had just gone by.

I've been swamped, constantly getting called in to cover other people's shifts. It is possible that this will continue to happen for the next couple of weeks. Anyway, it is one of the reasons I haven't been updating.

I've been meaning to pick up some books that have writing exercises in them so that I can do my weekly exercise entry, but of course I've been too lazy to even do that. As a result there won't be one of those entries this week.

I am reading "Henry IV." That's going to be the Shakespeare entry of the month. Hopefully I'll be able to get a short story read by the end of next week as well. I also have to cook something...

I'm out of school but still overwhelmed--this time by my own ambitions, which is good; it means I'm not wasting time and constantly pushing myself and working my brain.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

This and That

No writing exercise this week.

Probably won't do another one again.

Writing exercises are something you do in private, not on a blog.

Also, I'm working on other writing projects right now and would rather continue doing that instead of wasting my time doing exercises.

Yes, I fail at keeping at it.

But I will make up for it somehow.

As planned, by the end of the month there will be a post about a Shakespeare play, a short story, and a food dish. These I still intend to do.

Meanwhile, check out a piece of my beautiful city:

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Eugene O'Neil's "Long Day's Journey Into Night"

Every month I will write about one Shakespeare play and one non-Shakespearean play. This month's non-Shakespearean play is Eugene O'Neil's "Long Day's Journey Into Night."

As always I try to find a way to write about something without giving away the plot. Most of the works I write about are the ones I want everybody to read.

I recently saw a production of Arthur Miller's "All My Sons," a drama about a dysfunctional family. Not long after I read O'Neil's "Long Day" and found that the two plays bare some similarity: both plays are set in a period of one day, they are about a family wherein its members are troubled by personal guilts that plague their relationships with one another. The difference, however, is that Miller's play has a resolution; there is a point of explosion in which the tension that has been building up climaxes; O'Neil's work offers no such thing.

This one day in the life of the Tyrone family is full of revelations; each member of the family lets us see the skeleton in their closet. I wonder if a material like this makes for a good theatrical experience. Imagine sitting through an intense tragedy wherein a whole lot of serious problems are introduced with absolutely no resolution--that doesn't sound like a pleasant evening at the theater, does it? As we get to know each member of the family better, we wonder how they could possibly live together still. Each member blames themselves for the tragedy of another, and they also blame others for their own tragedy. They must really love each other to be able to live together still, but it is also clear that they also have an intense hatred for each other.

Each character has his or her own dream, what they want their lives to be like, but those dreams had become impossible because of their preexisting life. Mary Tyrone, for example, longs for the days when she was a schoolgirl in a convent. She believed that she could have been a concert pianist or a nun, and that those things would have been better than what she had become. She blames her marriage with James for depriving her of those opportunities.

As I said before, there is no climax. The characters simply tell us their problems, and they have just finished their stories by the time the play ends. One can only imagine what would happen to the family next; are they going to kill each other? Maybe they will kill themselves. Or maybe they will continue living their lives in misery.

With extensive descriptions, the play almost reads like a novel. O'Neil, one of the most prominent American playwrights, had intended for this play to be published 25 years after his death. (It was in fact published only 3 years later, with permission of his wife Carlotta, to whom the play is dedicated.) Perhaps he didn't mean for it to be performed. It certainly is a good read; the characterization of these people is both heartfelt and powerful. It might actually make you appreciate your family more.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

"West Side Story" (film)

I just watched "West Side Story" again for the first time in years.

I remember the time before I started studying Shakespeare, when I thought "Romeo & Juliet" was stupid. I also didn't like "West Side Story" the first time I saw it, thinking it was based on a story that didn't deserve to be told again. Here we have two teenagers, stupid enough to fall in love overnight, then spend the rest of the play risking their lives and causing troubles for a whole lot of others until they, at last, they die. But of course, I was young then, and dumb.

What makes the Shakespeare play works isn't much different from what makes the musical works. Shakespeare's flowery language makes the story believable. Sure, anybody who has actually been in love knows that it ain't that easy, but you are taken into the realm of fiction, wherein his words make the love seem real. They peer through to our heart and remind us what it feels like to love. Maybe this love is romantic and not realistic, but we all know how it feels, don't we?

As I watched the musical, the lovers were getting on my nerve a little bit. I didn't like how quickly Tony and Maria became so emotionally involved with each other. The film expands over about two days, and already there were talks of love and marriage? Get real! However, my annoyance went away as soon as they started singing. Just as Shakespeare's language makes the love story come alive, the music by Leonard Bernstein and the words by Stephen Sondheim do the same for the musical. During the balcony scene, for example, the lovers sing a song called "Tonight, Tonight," whose lyrics carefully focus on the feelings of the characters on that particular moment, how the world has changed, and how their meeting had marked the beginning of a new life for both of them. If they were saying those lines I would probably continue to be annoyed, but in songs I can believe just about anything. There are some stories that work on stage and not on screen; I think the theater has more power to convince the audience of unbelievable things than films do, and most film audiences expect things to be more believable, unless they pay to see a sci-fi or a fantasy. Fortunately this film is a musical, and it has some of the best songs ever written, which made me sympathize with Tony and Maria.

The cinematography is brilliant; it is what makes the film not just one of the best movie musicals but one of the best films ever made. The choreographies are some of the most outstanding I have ever seen. The only thing that I thought should have been better is the singing; most of the singing was dubbed by other singers, and I just don't think they do that good of a job. I was particularly dissatisfied by Tony's singing. But that isn't a major issue.

I found myself crying several times, all during songs. I don't think the same story can be updated to modern time unless it uses Shakespeare's text or unless it's a musical. That's why musical is a necessary genre; it doesn't only entertain but it can tell a different kind of story that non-musicals cannot.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

5 Monologues

I almost forgot to do this. I remembered it on Wednesday and thought I would wait until later in the week. I have been working on other writings, which was why I didn't want to take the time from that to do this. But now it's time. I'm trying to take this blogging thing super seriously because it's giving me what I need--a schedule. And with a schedule comes motivation. Even though I have to take my time off of doing other things to do this, it's actually motivating me to do those other things.

So here's this week's "5 Monologues" entry:

(This exercise is boring as hell. Hopefully by next week I'll find a different writing exercise to replace it.)


SUITCASE

I just bought a new suitcase. It's blue and old-fashioned, something often seen in old movies. I had wanted it for so long, so when I found one at an antique shop the other day for only $10 I just knew I had to buy it. I love suitcases; there was a time in my life when I traveled so much, and my suitcase was like my friend, my traveling companion. I had one that came with me from Thailand to the US, then I took it to several other cities in the US. It belonged to the family, however, so I never really felt like it was mine completely. But now that I just bought my first ever suitcase, it will be mine and mine alone. Wherever I go from now on it'll go with me. We will create new memories together.


SHOT GLASSES

I went to Chicago a few years ago on a choir tour. During the trip my friends went to a souvenir store where some of them bought shot glasses. At the time I didn't drink and didn't approve of underage drinking, so I made a scene about how drinking was bad and blah blah blah. My opinion had changed over the next couple of years, and shot glasses had become the one thing I always buy wherever I go. I never use them because I hate taking shots and never do it at home, but I still like collecting them. I keep them hidden in my kitchen cabinet, which really isn't the place for souvenirs. I'll find a new place to display them once I have a big enough collection.


SOCKS

During the first couple of years of my puberty, my feet sweated and stank a lot. I don't mind admitting that now because the problem had ceased years ago. I used to feel embarrassed about it. There were times when my socks were some of the most disgusting things in the world, so moist and stinky you can smell them from feet away. (Ha ha, feet away.) I had tried different brands of spray and powder, but neither worked. Until one day I tried rubbing hand sanitizer on them before I put on my socks. I had always thought the smell of hand sanitizer was too strong, so I thought it would work perfectly for my feet. The result was satisfactory. I continued to use this method for a while until I got lazy and stopped. But by then my feet no longer stank.


CELLPHONE

I used to want a cell phone so bad. When I was younger I used to make several phone calls a night to people who probably didn't want to talk to me. (I was a lonely and annoying little boy, it's safe to say.) Having a phone to me was a dream; it would give me complete privacy. Little did I know how much money was involved in buying a phone and using it. Many years later when I had stopped caring so much about it, my dad bought me a cellphone. It was amazing how quickly the device consumed my life, how it became a necessity, how naked I felt when I left it at home. I have had many cellphones since then, but now it is no longer important to me. Sometimes I leave it at home intentionally just so nobody could bother me. I'm not too attached to it anymore--I have grown out of it--and that is a good thing.


WATER

I drink a lot of water. I've been doing it ever since I was a child, and started doing it more in high school when I sang a lot. My voice constantly got sick in high school, and it would take a lot of time for it to heal because of all the singing I was doing. I thought that drinking water would protect the voice, but it didn't work all that well. I continued drinking a lot of water despite finding out over the years that it really doesn't help to prevent sickness or help me to get over a flu quicker. Eight glasses of water will do--more than that isn't going to make a difference.

Monday, September 7, 2009

Lorrie Moore's "Self-Help" (part 2)

I finally finished Lorrie Moore's "Self-Help." My opinion of it stays the same as the last time I wrote about it--the stories are great individually, but the repetitiousness makes Moore seem a weaker writer than what she is. You often hear people say that writers should write what they know, but if all you know is cancer and adultery and going insane then perhaps you should learn some new things.

In the last story of the collection entitled "To Fill," Moore experiments with a style different from her other stories. She uses no quotation marks and very minimal commas in order to replicate an inner voice of a woman slowly driven to madness. The story is similar to previous stories in the collection; her husband is having an affair, she is unsatisfied with her life, her mother is sick, she is sick, et cetera. As always Moore has the ability to thoroughly explores the mentality of her narrator and convey it beautifully on the page, but after reading several similar stories these insights can be quite boring. How many hysterical women fighting with how many cheating husbands can you stand? (The first story of the collection, "How to Be an Other Woman," is probably the most unique, as it is about the other woman for a change and not a victimized wife.)

I'm not exactly riveted by "To Fill." It is rather long and contains too many issues: depression, amnesia, adultery, theft, et cetera. It's not a good story to end the collection, because it doesn't really offer enough magic. I was more captivated by other stories in the middle and think they would serve better as a closure. However, Moore's ability to entertain and capture attention never disappoints; she keeps me reading even when she has no surprises left. Though each narrator is different, their voices are still similar. As gifted a writer as she is, her range and versatility stand to be better. I would say buy the book, read one story, put it away and go read other things, come back to it after a few months and read the next story. You will appreciate it more that way.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

D.H. Lawrence's "Lady Chatterley's Lover"

It is no wonder that D.H. Lawrence's "Lady Chatterley's Lover" was controversial at the time of its publication. Even reading it today I find it rather daring. Maybe I have been been reading too many conservative novels.

The story is about a woman, Constance Chatterley, finding love and sexual satisfaction in her crippled husband's gamekeeper, Oliver Mellors. This is not another story about a woman forced into an unhappy marriage with a man she doesn't love, and finds liberation in an affair with another man, making her another feminist figure in literature who defies social conventions and follows her heart. No; the novel is more forward than that. It is set in a world where rich educated men openly discuss sexuality with each other, talking about their genitals among other things while a woman is present. The language is graphic enough to startle modern readers who fail to expect such contents in a modernist novel. Constance's husband, Clifford, understands his wife's sexual needs, and outwardly allows her to have relations with other men. He even agrees to raise her child begot with another man. Though Lawrence represents him more as a villain, or as much of a villain as he could possibly be with his feeble body, he does possess some redeeming quality; he makes the best effort to put aside his masculine pride, letting her do what she wants so long as she stays with him.

As for Mellors, he is a man burned with love, who believes he is safe so long as he is alone. Unfortunately Constance walks in and takes him back to the world of passion and endless suffering once again. The affair between the two seems doomed from the beginning, yet they go along with it. It seems on many occasions, however, that Mellors does not want the same things as Constance, or at least he isn't as certain as she is about their lives together. She wants to leave her husband and to have a child; she strongly expresses these needs while he doesn't. He seems merely to go along with her.

Aside from those needs, it seems that Constance too is still trying to figure out what she wants from life. Mellors is her escape from Clifford, but does she love him? I don't think so. At times it even seems that she resents him. But that seems to be the feeling of everyone toward everyone in this novel. Nobody loves unconditionally. Even Mrs. Bolton, the most loving character who seems at first to admire Clifford, starts expressing her resentment toward him once Constance leaves and she is left to take care of him alone. She tells Constance that men, meaning Clifford, are like children and women are to treat them as such. She may love Clifford to a certain degree, but she seems to gain more satisfaction from knowing that she has some power over him.

Gender and class are discussed in the novel, not only in its plot but in the conversations between characters. The division between men and women, between the higher class and lower class, is clearly present at all times. Men blame women for all kinds of destruction, sexual or economic. The women seem to think of men as idiots, ungovernable beings. Those in the higher class have the most demeaning opinions of the lower class, despite the unhappiness their own conventions cause them. Lawrence not only represents his characters as flawed, but also as cynical and ignorant, trapped in their own stupidity.

I find this novel a real page-turner. While I have little sympathy for the characters, the essence of their being revealed through their actions is what makes the story interesting. Constance, especially, seems to be chasing after something--that thing isn't love or a perfect marriage, but a feeling of being alive. She longs so desperately to escape her boring aristocratic life that she is willing to invent a desire for Mellors. Only by deviating from the norms can she find some excitement and make her feel human. Some say this is a love story, but I think love is too complex for these people. It is passion that drives them, passion for one another and for a real happiness that they can't seem to find. And it is on passion alone that they live.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

5 Monologues


Here goes, the "5 Monologues" entry of this week:

(If you don't know what this is, read the previous entry. Please.)

SUMMER

When I think of summer I always think of being warm and sweaty and gross. I've always hated it. This is Portland and I like it gray and wet. But this year I found that I had probably hated it more than I should have. Like many unpleasant things in life I tend to think and worry about them too much. The real thing of anything is never as bad as the picture in my head. I think there is some benefit in preparing for the worst, but when you spend as much energy stressing out about things as I do, you might need to learn to stop. I learned to embrace the heat this year--well, most of it. I went out to my backyard and sunbathed for a few days, which I enjoyed, until I stopped because of all the unidentifiable minuscule insects that kept flying in my face. And on some of the really hot days I just went out in my undershirt to the waterfront, and to the library where is was air-conditioned. I still don't like the heat, but I did, to a certain degree, enjoyed those days.


RAIN

I loved those rainy fall nights two years ago when I took an amazing night class at PSU. I loved getting out of class when it was dark outside, and when it rained it was only more fun. I remember being cold, shivering in my pea coat, sometimes with and sometimes without an umbrella, walking from the building to my bus stop. During moments like that so many things go on in my head. When I'm alone I'm usually lost in my own thoughts, and amidst an insane atmosphere, my thoughts tend to run wild. Without knowing why, I do cherish those moments. I don't vividly recall what I was thinking about or how I was feeling, but I remember that it felt good, and now, recalling it, makes me feel happy also.


HAIR

I have been cutting my own hair for months. It's difficult, and I'm learning new things every time I do it. I started doing it because I wanted to save money, but now it's more because I enjoyed taking charge of my own look. I know that a barber would be able to do a much better job, but I've been enjoying not depending on them so much that I can never go back, at least not for a long while. There are many things I intend to do on my own, things that I should probably pay people to do for me--but where's the fun in that?


INK

I've recently started keeping a journal in longhand. I gain a sense of pride in looking at the white pages I have filled with my handwriting. It gives me a sense of accomplishment, such that I don't find from blogging or typing. I used to hate my handwriting, but it has improved over times, and looks pretty decent now if I'm in a good mood when I write. A few days ago, when I was on my vacation, an old lady who sat at a table by mine at the restaurant told me it was great to see somebody write with his hand. That made me happy. I secretly hope that I look cool when I write, so that perhaps some younger kids would see me and want to start doing what I do. I think technology is great, but I dread the sights of these people and their iPhones. I don't think half of them have any need for it, and most of them will probably become more and more stupid the more they use that device. I'm not looking forward to the future wherein most of the world's population can't tear their faces away from some sort of a handheld device; that, to me, is the end of civilization.


YELLOW

Yellow is the color of my legal pad. It is also my least favorite color in the world. I don't mind it on a legal pad, or on sticky notes, but you have to pay me extra if you want me to wear yellow. I just don't find it flattering; there may be a shade of yellow that looks good on me, but I have yet to find it. I also don't think it's flattering on other people; I don't recall having seen one person look good in yellow. In fact I don't recall seeing that many people wear yellow. Maybe everybody feels the same way I do about it.


At last it is over, five random monologues about myself. It's harder than I thought--maybe I'm just not inspired enough tonight--but the point is to do it and get it done.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009


A few days ago when I was on my vacation in Ashland, I got a new idea about a new blogging project. As an aspiring writer, I know that I will only get better if I write more. Quantity eventually brings quality, I believe. So, I decide to blog more. At first I was going to start a new blog, because the new idea doesn't really fit in with what I intended this blog to be. But then I thought, who cares? I can do what I want with my own goddamn blog! So here we are.

I try everyday to use the things I read and do to somehow enrich my writing. I want to improve my lifestyle by integrating things that I find beneficial to my writing. This, from now, is what this blog is about. And because I find schedules useful, I decided to make myself one--every month I will post entries about the following:

-a novel (1 entry per month; when finished)
-a Shakespeare play (1/month; when finished)
-a play (1/month; when finished)
-short stories (2/month; 2nd and 4th week)
-an old film (1/month; 3rd week)
-a new dish (1/month; 4th week)
-5 monologues (1/week; every week)


Pretty much I plan to write about one novel, one Shakespeare play, one other play, and two short stories a month--I read a little bit more than that. These entries are for my other blog and will also be posted here. I plan to spend some tim
e watching old films--I like them and think them swell--and write about one of them every month. These films are so complex and worth studying.

I want to learn to cook a new dish every month, because I love being domestic, even though I haven't had much time to do so lately. Every time I try something new it always gives me a sense of accomplishment, so it's only proper to blog about it.

Not too long ago I came up with a writing exercise that I found really intriguing: write down five random words that came up on top of your head, and use them as topics for monologues. Through it I learned many new things about m
yself, opened numerous doors to the past and discovered thoughts that I didn't even know existed. I wanted to do it consistently, hence it ended up on the schedule.

Encourage me by reading my blog and leaving comments! Your attention counts; it will help me to stick to the schedule.

Lorrie Moore's "Self-Help"

I've been reading Lorrie Moore's short stories collection called "Self-Help." The stories are good individually, but reading them back to back can get a little boring. She is a bit repetitious, recycling the same themes like adultery and cancer over and over. She sometimes uses second-person narrative, which she does well. Despite the repetition I find it a real page-turner.

The story I just read this afternoon is called "Amahl and the Night Visitors: A Guide to the Tenor of Love." It is about a woman in a dysfunctional relationship with an opera singer, who is convinced that her boyfriend is having an affair with someone else. I read it out loud, and bursted out laughing unexpectedly at one point. Her joke caught me off-guard. Later the opposite happened; I came across a sentence that made me start crying.

I'm not going to quote the sentence because somebody might want to read it, and I do hope that you do read this collection. But the sentence struck me because it says something to me so directly. It didn't offer anything that never crossed my mind before. Instead it said something that I have heard myself say before, maybe in my journal, or out loud to myself. It made me think of people I had loved, who had left. Sometimes you come across a work of art that speaks so honestly, and speaks directly at you, right to your heart, and it affects you so tremendously. That's when the most powerful form of catharsis happens.

Whoever you are, if you read, I hope you find something that touches you, that affects you. I have this ability to kind of feel along with anything I read, but only once in a while does something sweep me over like this. I know I would be reading anyway even if moments like this never happens. But when it does, gosh, it reminds me why I love reading.