'...Cecilia (the Wordsworth-hater) ...'
... who, I don't doubt, in her search for the divinity
of the child would gladly shred Intimations in exchange
for just one more page of the holy Hapworth ...
... who, in turn, illustrates the total folly of making
'genius' - adult or infantile - the central figure of one's
creative efforts. Geniuses, being by definition so far
outside the normal human range, do not speak to our
condition. (Except for the actual thing which virtually
never concerns itself with fictional versions of itself.)
One does not write a story about a unicorn when
reflecting on the life of the pony, the dray mare
or the stallion.
This is fresh in my mind having watched a video of
the Royal Tennenbaums the other night. The Glass
echoes are obvious, of course, but the three gifted
children are as unengaging as their chancer father
is mildly amusing. In the same way that the gosh-
whizzo-zowie Wise Children are essentially creatures
from a Raree Show - rendered even more tiresome
by that dreadful, self-regarding prose style.
Scottie B.
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Received on Tue Aug 27 02:24:31 2002
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