M & Mrs. M, Hapworth and God
Laughing Man (the_laughing_man@hotmail.com)
Wed, 29 Sep 1999 01:48:38 -0700 (PDT)
How’s a man supposed to work in this age of the Internet? You get back from
that one-week stay in Portugal and find you have – apart from the mail of
colleagues and IRL friends – more than 100 bananafish mail!
>From: William Hochman <wh14@is9.nyu.edu>
>Subject: Re: A (master) piece of film history: McCabe and Mrs. Miller
>One of my favorites too--I was a projectionist in the early seventies and
>the film arrived in the afternoon...though I was going to show it in the
>evening, something made me set it up to preview...I was taken with it then
>and truly enjoyed your response now...thanks, will
Glad you enjoyed my longish reaction to McCabe & Mrs Miller, Will (I’m fully
aware you probably had to watch it on the chair next to me to find meaning
in what I wrote; but a preview of you own back in the seventies might have
done the trick). I watched it a few years ago, and just couldn’t believe it
would touch me just as much the second time around, but it did.
It is strange, though. Some movies are of the kind you could talk and talk
about them, never getting tired of discussing the meanings/your impression
of different parts (or the hole). Something close to what we’re doing with
Salinger here. Altman at his best – and McCabe & Mrs Miller is made by an
Altman at his best – works more like a drug. For a short time, everything
makes sense, even if you don’t know why. But later, the sense of clarity
looses its rich flavor, and you are left only with the memory of something
you know – with your mind – is rich and full of poetry, but you can no
longer feel it inside you. (I’m not totally sure I’m talking about drugs,
this movie or my latest love story; take a pick)
Happy to see you’re talking about Hapworth, since I happened to get my hands
on it some time ago – of course by “going through the New Yorker archive”,
like the Q&A states, nothing illegal (thanks Mr X) – and started reading it.
Half way through, however, constantly getting irritated by young Seymour, I
went to Portugal. And when going abroad, an old spell forces me to look
through the Arlanda Airport book store for something new to read. Every trip
in my perverted mind is a journey to something new, whatever sorcerer
planted that cliché inside me.
Anyway, I bought this book “God – A biography”, by Jack Miles. For years
now, I’ve had this plan in my head (along with my “Marcel Proust plan”) to
read the Bible from cover to cover. Since it is so unbelievingly boring from
time to time, this has been an impossible task for me. In “God…”, Miles is
reading the bible as a literary critic would read Shakespeare’s Hamlet,
trying to get a grip of the character, his motifs and development from the
beginning to the end. This, along with Miles impressive knowledge of the
text and the historical research around it, seems to be a perfect companion
for actually reading the Bible. Reading Tanakh (the Hebrew version of the
Old Testament) as the individuation process of God is a very entertaining
way and right now (I’ve only one third into the book) it looks as he is
getting away with it.
So I have piled up with my paperback copy of the Bible and my biography for
the next weeks, I’m afraid. Hapworth will just have to wait.
/TLM
As final ballast I’ll paste this review from Library Journal:
”Despite its provocative title, this is a serious attempt to come to an
understanding of the portrayal of God in the Tanakh, i.e., the books of the
Hebrew Scriptures in the order of the Hebrew Bible, as opposed to the order
in the Old Testament. Miles, a former Jesuit with a Ph.D. in Near Eastern
languages who is currently a member of the editorial board of the Los
Angeles Times, offers "knowledge of God as a literary character." While some
may not care for how God is portrayed-at one point he is "whiny"-the book
will appeal to believers and nonbelievers alike as an excellent introduction
to the Hebrew Scriptures that does not read like a Scripture commentary.
Recommended for all collections.-Augustine J. Curley, Newark Abbey, N.J.”
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