Note to Self: Remain on Henry James' Good Side

Sunday, 17 June 2007

Note to Self: Remain on Henry James' Good Side

James' description of "Vernon Lee" (Violet Paget), as transcribed by Edith Wharton:

The long lean face of a starved horse, large and intelligent eyes not wholly devoid of obliquity, a flabby pendulous nose covered with cutaneous scabs, an underhung jaw revealing a dental display of really deplorable character, and on her head, my dear boy, from nine to thirteen hairs.

Have I plugged the Lee biography enough yet?

Jun 17, 2007 7:26:46 PM | Dissertation, Edith Wharton, Henry James

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Birthday Wishes; or, Life Imitates Cingular Telephone: Ring ring! Ring ring! Scott: Kaufman residence. Friend: Scott! How's it going? Scott: Could be better, could be worse. Friend: I've been there, boy have I been there. Anyway, I'm calling to wish your wife a happy birthday. Is she around? Scott: In the shower. Friend: What'd you get her? Scott: Nothing. Friend: Nothing? Seriously? Scott: I wished her happy birthday in front of a few thousand folks online. Does that count? Friend: On your blog? Scott: That would be it. Friend: I read it earlier and didn't see anything up there. Scott: I said I'm going to wish her happy birthday in front of a few thou— Telephone: Beep! Beep! Beep! Aum! Hek! Wal! Ak! Lub! Mor! Ma! Pwfungg! Scott: Hello? Hello? Stupid phone. Note: Scott did purchase his wife a birthday gift. He was winding his friend up, which is easy enough to do when one has Scott's reputation for absent single-mindedness. Like how he forgot to mention Bloomsday yesterday, and now settles for borrowing the cries of a dying phone from the "Circe" chapter of Ulysses. Also, another coincidence: do you know what pops up in a search for "phone hisses"? Bet Adam Roberts does.

Marx Towers over Spencer In death, at least, his grave does. In response to Jodi's remark about Marx's grave being across from Spencer's, I wrote: Actually, it's Marx whose grave is opposite Spencer's (as Spencer was the far more influential contemporary figure). It appears to be the other way around because that's not where Marx was originally buried. He was initially buried down the hill and across the way, in an obscure corner of Highgate. In the '50s, a group of Marxists pooled their funds, dug him up, and had him moved to the posh section of the graveyard, up there with Spencer, George Eliot, Michael Faraday, &c. His monument is so much bigger, well, because those who moved him wanted to make a statement. (As did the various people who have tried to blow it up.) Here's a stunning photograph of the looming bust of Marx (found here): I note this to remind myself of its usefulness as an anecdote, if not in the Jack London chapter, then in my general introduction. It neatly captures the belated, artificial elevation of Marx over Spencer as the foremost thinker of the late nineteenth century, but allows for the introduction of grand historical irony, inasmuch as Spencer wasn't the free market advocate most now consider him. Terrible sentence, that is, but not an altogether terrible idea.