Madame Bovary

I just finished reading the book. Why on earth did I wait until now - I don't know. However, here are my favorite parts from "Madame Bovary":

(Part 2, Chapter I) The chemist answered: "I have a religion, my religion, and I even have more than all these others with their mummeries and their juggling. I adore God, on the contrary. I believe in the Supreme Being, in a Creator, whatever he may be. I care little who has placed us here below to fulfil our duties as citizens and fathers of families; but I don't need to go to church to kiss silver plates, and fatten, out of my pocket, a lot of good-for-nothings who live better than we do. For one can know Him as well in a wood, in a field, or even contemplating the eternal vault like the ancients. My God! Mine is the God of Socrates, of Franklin, of Voltaire, and of Beranger! I am for the profession of faith of the 'Savoyard Vicar,' and the immortal principles of '89! And I can't admit of an old boy of a God who takes walks in his garden with a cane in his hand, who lodges his friends in the belly of whales, dies uttering a cry, and rises again at the end of three days; things absurd in themselves, and completely opposed, moreover, to all physical laws, which prove to us, by the way, that priests have always wallowed in turpid ignorance, in which they would fain engulf the people with them."

(Part 2, Chapter IV) … Her husband, was he not something belonging to her? As to Emma, she did not ask herself whether she loved. Love, she thought, must come suddenly, with great outbursts and lightnings--a hurricane of the skies, which falls upon life, revolutionises it, roots up the will like a leaf, and sweeps the whole heart into the abyss. She did not know that on the terrace of houses it makes lakes when the pipes are choked, and she would thus have remained in her security when she suddenly discovered a rent in the wall of it.

(Part 2, Chapter VII) The flames, however, subsided, either because the supply had exhausted itself, or because it had been piled up too much. Love, little by little, was quelled by absence; regret stifled beneath habit; and this incendiary light that had empurpled her pale sky was overspread and faded by degrees. In the supineness of her conscience she even took her repugnance towards her husband for aspirations towards her lover, the burning of hate for the warmth of tenderness; but as the tempest still raged, and as passion burnt itself down to the very cinders, and no help came, no sun rose, there was night on all sides, and she was lost in the terrible cold that pierced her.

(Part 2, Chapter X) But she was so pretty. He had possessed so few women of such ingenuousness. This love without debauchery was a new experience for him, and, drawing him out of his lazy habits, caressed at once his pride and his sensuality. Emma's enthusiasm, which his bourgeois good sense disdained, seemed to him in his heart of hearts charming, since it was lavished on him. Then, sure of being loved, he no longer kept up appearances,

and insensibly his ways changed.

He had no longer, as formerly, words so gentle that they made her cry, nor passionate caresses that made her mad, so that their great love, which engrossed her life, seemed to lessen beneath her like the water of a stream absorbed into its channel, and she could see the bed of it. She would not believe it; she redoubled in tenderness, and Rodolphe concealed his indifference less and less.

She did not know if she regretted having yielded to him, or whether she did not wish, on the contrary, to enjoy him the more. The humiliation of feeling herself weak was turning to rancour, tempered by their voluptuous pleasures. It was not affection; it was like a continual seduction. He subjugated her; she almost feared him.

(Part 2, Chapter XII) He had so often heard these things said that they did not strike him as original. Emma was like all his mistresses; and the charm of novelty, gradually falling away like a garment, laid bare the eternal monotony of passion, that has always the same forms and the same language. He did not distinguish, this man of so much experience, the difference of sentiment beneath the sameness of expression. Because lips libertine and venal had murmured such words to him, he believed but little in the candour of hers; exaggerated speeches hiding mediocre affections must be discounted; as if the fullness of the soul did not sometimes overflow in the emptiest metaphors, since no one can ever give the exact measure of his needs, nor of his conceptions, nor of his sorrows; and since human speech is like a cracked tin kettle, on which we hammer out tunes to make bears dance when we long to move the stars.

(Part 3, Chapter VI) … Emma was no longer there. She had just gone in a fit of anger. She detested him now. This failing to keep their rendezvous seemed to her an insult, and she tried to rake up other reasons to separate herself from him. He was incapable of heroism, weak, banal, more spiritless than a woman, avaricious too, and cowardly.

Then, growing calmer, she at length discovered that she had, no doubt, calumniated him. But the disparaging of those we love always alienates us from them to some extent. We must not touch our idols; the gilt sticks to our fingers.

La Pianiste

It's been a long time since I've watched a movie that inspired such strong emotions in me to be disgusted and intrigued at the same time. To be covering my eyes and wanting to scream "Nooo!!", but curiously expecting what will happen next.

Apart from the amazing music throughout the whole movie, the extraordinary performance by all of the actors, the artistic scenery and camera angles, there is Haneke's mastery. The mastery of knowing how to shoot the face expression, of how long to make a scene last, of when to cut the scene and leave us wondering.

Even though the movie is made according to the book "La Pianiste" by the Nobel laureate Elfriede Jellinek, in my opinion no other director would be able to make that transfer from paper to screen more convincingly.

The main theme the book and the movie explore is the domination-submission relation. All of the characters are dominating at one point of the movie and are then submissive in other circumstances. It captures perfectly the reactions of the characters. How does the other part behave and react when one is dominating and how when one is submissive. Isn't love a game of submission and domination? Aren't all relations we form during our lifetime in one manner just a reflection of our position of dominating or submitting? Isn't the most essential relation of the individual and the society a relation of submission on the part of the individual?

Erika is firstly oppressed by the society which condemns the individuals like her. That is, individuals that do not conform to the general rules of socially acceptable behavior. She has to act strict and righteous in order to conceal all of her frustrations, sexual and non-sexual.

Then, there is the relation with her mother. Jellinek said that the character is based on her mother, and I am sure she is a representation of many other mothers, who are dominant and submissive at the same time. One moment inducing pity and the next hatred.

Finally, the relation with her lover. Benoît Magimel is really wonderful to watch as he goes through all the different stages of submission-domination. First, the woman is domineering, setting all the rules and having the power to command the boy, who being in love and younger is immediately put in that position. But, what can the woman expect when expressing her most hidden secrets, when completely opening herself to the man she begins to love? Only to concede her position of dominance and become completely vulnerable and in the hands of the man who now knows "the real" her. The boy doesn't immediately assume the dominating position, or isn't immediately aware of the change in their relation. When he becomes aware he is completely changed. Makes you wonder if it's not the exact same thing that happens in every love relation. The role of persuader changes gradually, and it's only after that we notice it.

I love movies that tackle so many different levels of the relations we form between us and the changes they provoke in our characters. I don't really know how come I haven't seen this movie earlier, but then again, I'm glad I didn't.
   

Norwegian Wood

I am not a big fan of Murakami. It's not that I don't like him. On the contrary, I think his books are very readable. Every time I come across one of his books I gladly read it. But, there is nothing that would push me to the library to buy one of his books. I never put him in any of my lists of favorite books and I am not one of those people who wait impatiently for his next novel.

The main reason for this is that for me his books are quite forgettable. There is not a character, or a feeling, or an event that would linger after I finish the book. I read Norwegian Wood maybe 2 months ago and I can't recall anything, only the main atmosphere of the book, which as in most of his books is depressing and quite dark. It is a "love novel", but strangely, that love hasn't remained with me.
I have to return the book to my friend and I found that I had left bookmarks in two places. I find these excerpts quite true and well-composed. Here they are.

[...]Memory is a funny thing. When I was in the scene I hardly paid it any attention. I never stopped to think of it as something that would make a lasting impression, certainly never imagined that 18 years later I would recall it in such detail. I didn't give a damn about the scenery that day. I was thinking about myself. I was thinking about the beautiful girl walking next to me. I was thinking about the two of us together, and then about myself again. I was at that age, that time of life when every sight, every feeling, every thought came back, like a boomerang, to me. And worse, I was in love. Love with complications. Scenery was the last thing on my mind. 
Now, though, that meadow scene is the first thing that comes back to me. The smell of the grass, the faint chill of the wind, the line of the hills, the barking of a dog: these are the first things, and they come with absolute clarity. [...] And yet, as clear as the scene may be, no one is in it. No one.[...]

[...] "Hey, tell me, what do you think the best thing is about being rich?" [...] "Being able to say you don't have any money. Like, if I suggested to a school friend we do something she could say, 'Sorry, I don't have any money'. Which is something I could never say if the situation was reversed. If I said 'I don't have any money', it would really mean 'I don't have any money'. It's sad. Like, if a pretty girl says 'I look terrible today, I don't want to go out', that's ok, but if an ugly girl says the same thing people would laugh at her. That's what the world was like for me.[...]"