One Week Ago, in a House of Leaves far far away...

In this second in-class blog post, the assignment is represented by two seperate, yet equally important characters: Navidson's friend Tom and Johnny Truant. These are there stories.

Chung-Chung.

So, what do these two characters have in common, these men speaking at once between pages 251 and 268? Well, let's look at Tom. He's being a good sport by relaying messages between Navidson and Karen, but deep down in the nitty-gritty pit of his thoughts, "I don't want to be here...I'm not a hero. I'm not an adventurer (251). Tom just wants to live his existence in a way that doesn't endanger himself. But what is he doing hunkering down where the much discussed "Mr. Monster" is lurking? (251). He keeps himself busy by telling inappropriate jokes and having conversations with the alleged thing that's down there with Navidson and company; a mysterious "it" that shreds neon markers, which represent a source of light. Tom is in the presence of darkness and it's slowly turning him insane, while at the same time eliminating the bright shining feeling that is "hope" that Navidson's case will be quickly solved.

Now, let's look at Johnny. In the eight pages that the reader has with him, we learn about his sexual encounters (in addition to Lude's expansive list of partners in the past month). However, the sexual mentions are there to divert the reader's attention from examining the thing with lips "stuffed with god knows how many layers of tissue collected from the ass of some cadever" (266). The thing's name is Johnnie and she's the center of Truant's attention in this tiny anecdote. He tells the reader outright that he's afraid of the woman, with all her monstrous features about her, like her fingernails and the size of her breasts. He's actually happy he didn't get to lay the Gorgon-esque being who gives him a lift home. However, the Pekinese stray they picked up doesn't live happily ever after: "...I heard a thump... an eerie awful sound. Not too loud. Slightly hollow, in fact (267). The scrappy pooch bites the dust at Johnnie's will, and Truant's not quite sure how to handle the sudden impact of death. The woman's a physical manifestation of darkness, capable of taking life. Though our current narrator isn't trapped in a bad situation, he experiences the "evil" wandering the world, crushing all the light and good things it can find* Both Tom and Johnny Truant live in a world where they experience the unknown representation of what causes fear within them. They walk along the line where light and darkness is completely blurred, and if either of them isn't careful, they'll be consumed by it.

* A brief aside on the symbology behind The Pekinese, according to
http://www.pekingese-dogs.net/pekingese-information/history-lore : The Pekenise Breed originated in China. An ancient emperor named Han Ming-Ti experienced a visionary dream that led to his involvment with Bhuddism, which quickly spread to throughout the country. Statues of Lions began popping up everywhere outside public places. Within Bhuddism, the lion is a powerful, prominent creature associated with LIGHT and justice. The problem was that no one knew what a lion looked like, except for the foreigners who shared their tales involving them. Then, it was discovered that dogs could be bred to look like these ferocious animals, and thus, the Pekenise breed was born. The tiny toy breed swiftly became infused with Chinese royalty and was to be treated like a king. However, the breed left the Orient when Allied forces invaded China during the Second Opium Wars, where the dogs were taken as war trophies back to England, where they eventually circulated into mainstream society.

Post Tally

So, I tried to count how many posts each of you has completed. Here's what I have. PLEASE tell me if I am in error.

By the way, the posts are EXCELLENT.

Chelsea:  5
Nick:  3
Alan:  1
Josh B:  1
Josh K:  3
Andy:  0
Stephanie:  2
Emmett:  4
Jacob:  2
Jess:  11 (done!)
Ken:  0
Colleen:  0
Eric:  5
Jodie:  4

Once again, if I missed any post, please tell me. I tried my best to be accurate!

- Monica

Sn -- a-- p

During the rescue after Exploration #4, Navidson's lifeline, the rope Tom sent down the staircase to haul the rescue party up, snaps. At this point (page 296) Johnny makes a footnote on how his lifelines are snapping too.

His job? Lost. Contact information for everyone he knows? Thrown away. Ability to keep track of time? Gone. Just as Navidson is alone in the dark and silence so is Johnny. While only Navidson's situation is physical as well as mental, it is no more real than Johnny's. Navidson has something practical to occupy himself with: escaping the house. Johnny cannot escape. Navidson has one section of his life where reality does not apply. Johnny's entire life is being stripped of its reality. Unable to escape, Johnny instead turns to ensuring that what marks of reality that he still possesses remain. He insulates his studio to prevent hearing the house's growl and puts down measuring tapes so that he knows if the demensions of the studio change. Abnormal behavior, but with the intent of preserving normalcy. Every other lifeline in Johnny's life has snapped. If he clings to the few that have stayed whole, is it really so strange?

In the same footnote Johnny includes what, at first read, appears to be an unrelated and rambling story about a ship called The Atrocity. The story of The Atrocity is just another way to tell Navidson's story, and so another way to tell Johnny's. Instead of buying the wrong house or visiting Zampanò's apartment, this story begins with a small puddle of oil and a wayward spark. Yet it has the same result: being lost in the dark. In the end, Johnny is left questioning if he remembered the story correctly or if it even happened, much as the reader questions Johnny's and Navidson's stories. Even the reader is not free from breaking reality.

It isn't until the end of the footnote that Johnny really acknowledges that his relationship with reality is snapping. "I'm lost inside and no longer convinced there's a way out. Bye-bye Ashley and goodbye to the one you knew before I found him and had to let him go"(page 300). In many ways Johnny is lost worse than Navidson is. Navidson has the labyrinth to help him find himself. Johnny has no physical labyrinth and can only get lost deeper and deeper within himself. Navidson accepts his changing reality, yet does not give into it. Johnny cannot do the same. By the end of Chapter XII, both Navidson and Johnny are lost, yet Navidson is the one more likely to find his way out.

Shapes of self

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sp3fmAYbiO0

After watching this short clip, do others shape ourselves or are we free to create what we want from our minds? For instance, in House of Leaves many of the characters become alone or isolated. Is this isolation a cause an effect that ultimately leads to their twists on reality? Within the house, are their decisions and thoughts provoked by the hallway, stairwell, etc. that leads to the monster within.

-Josh K

Fear of the Dark in HoL

You knew this was coming.

(To allow this post to have the most effect on you, you should play the song "Fear of the Dark" by Iron Maiden while reading.)

I had to write about having a fear of the dark, partially because I experience it a lot myself and also because Johnny seems to in a similar capacity (only with more hallucinations).

According to my brief Wikipedia research, this fear, when pathological, can be called nyctophobia, scotophobia, lygophobia, or achluophobia. All their roots relate in some way to night, or darkness. The opening paragraph to that article also states very concisely what I actually fear: "Fear of the dark is usually not fear of the darkness itself, but fear of possible or imagined dangers concealed by the darkness."

For many years I was severely plagued by this fear of monstrous possibilities lurking just out of my peripheral vision, to the point where I would run up the stairs from the dark living room, not necessarily because I was hurried to get there, but because a genuine thrill of fear went through me and caused adrenaline to happen. It was bad.

When I moved away from home, this response calmed a lot (I lived on the second floor, there were more people around, etc). I was able to tuck it away in the back of my head and be fine. I still never did well with completely dark rooms, but I could survive without running everywhere.

I made the mistake last weekend of reading House of Leaves with only a single lamp on in the apartment, night fully set in outside, and boyfriend out of the house. I was alone, with this book, and my fear of the dark. Because the fear is innately enough woven into my mind that sitting here with the TV blazing away and boyfriend right next to me, I can picture eyes peering out of a dark doorway in my head and be frightened. Almost to the point of glancing around. So, sitting alone, reading about Holloway appearing around corners and people's flashlights dying and Tom crouched stationary in a tent, I was way freaked out. I try to save on electricity by shutting off lights and my computer when I leave the house--I left them all on. I couldn't stand to turn my back on that much darkness, or even exist in it for the time it would take me to make it to the door.

Anyway, this isn't supposed to be about me. I only mention it at all because the darkness is so prevalent in this book that it reawakened my previously suppressed fear. The darkness in this book is the divine presence, it is as pervasive. Every character we encounter has noticed the dark, or mentions it--Karen's claustrophobia verges on fear of the dark, Tom's issues, how drained Jed and Wax and Holloway are after Exploration #3, Johnny's attack in the back room. When I identify with him during a section he's written, I can't help but fearfully exclaim, "Johnny, you dumbass!" He doesn't avoid the dark despite all these terrible visions of attacks happening to him, nor does he attempt to open his home more, let in the light. He shrinks into dark alleyways and bars and covers his windows with foil and lets his electric go unpaid. I can't believe it...I'd be even less able to sleep than he is.

I'm not breaking it down here as conclusively as I would in an essay, but the darkness literally touches every section of this book. I'm almost certain I could tie it to any section you can think of. The monster in the labyrinth of the house? Maybe a minotaur. Maybe just the house. It's the possibility that's so frightening.

Basically, trying to write about this book is like that idea we wrestled down at the beginning of the semester. Trying to write a scientific report that actually contains everything related to it is impossible, because everything relates to everything when discussed scientifically. Trying to write about House of Leaves is not impossible--but trying to write about every idea contained in House of Leaves probably ranks right up there with a complete scientific report on the scale of impossible things. The best we can do is what we have done--write a body of criticism that is infinitely expanding and covers a piece of it at a time.

Onward and upward.

Chelsea

In Class Post(superscript 1)

¹A blog post about footnotes should be written in a footnote.²

²Or a few footnotes.³

³I decided to write this post differently. In addition to the smartass opening, I wrote this post in a more segmented fashion, because I feel the footnote containing Johnny’s story (pages 296-301) relates to many things in addition to the section it succeeds.

For starters, it does refer back vaguely to the section ahead of it (pages 292-296, mostly blank space, in which the staircase expands and leaves Navidson impossibly far down). The end of that section is:

“Navidson makes a desperate grab for the only remaining thread connecting him to home, but he is too late. About ten feet above the last banister [the rope snaps]^…

^…Time has accelerated and I’ve done nothing to mark its passage.” (p295-296)

There is a key juxtaposition here between the staircase stretching, becoming longer and Johnny’s few weeks becoming a day, suddenly shrinking. This is an example of how the footnotes aren’t necessarily connected by being similar—sometimes they are connected in that they are opposite. However, these lines are not only spatially connected. There is a similar element of denial—Johnny shows up at work like nothing’s happened, in denial as to how quickly he’s lost the time just like the grieving group in the house have trouble accepting Navidson is gone.

Then there’s the element of survivalism present. This footnote almost looks ahead to the succeeding passage where Navidson makes a long trek home when Johnny writes, “Right now the only thing that keeps me going is some misunderstood desire to finish The Navidson Record.” (p297) He fights on through the difficulties of his life just to finish the book, like Navidson will find supplies and climb the stairs despite having no real hope of making it back. This is also related in that similar to Navidson not knowing if he’ll even make it home, Johnny has no idea if he even has anything to learn about himself from finishing Zampano’s book, or if “…when the answers arrive the questions are already lost.” (p297)

Lastly, the story he tells (fabricates?) about The Atrocity sinking relates back to his own story of the boat that sunk in Alaska when he worked there, as well as the growl in the house. The line I’m referring to is: “…a grinding relentless roar, which like a growl in fact, overwhelms the pumps…” (p297) He describes a similar roar in the Alaska story, as well as details about the two incidents being similar (fire on board, water rushing in from everywhere). There is certainly a resonation between the two events in his mind (if The Atrocity even counts as an event). The word growl also relates it to the house, perhaps on a level of things tearing apart—ships tearing apart in his mind, like the house tearing itself to stretch and grind into different shapes and sizes. I for one do hold the belief that there is no creature in the depths of the house, there is only the sound of the house moving and changing, grinding on itself. So far I have seen no indication other than that sound that there is something living in it, and the idea of the house moving against itself to create a resonating growl sounds plausible.

Many of the other footnotes which contain Johnny stories are this same way—they relate to the section they succeed on a very broad vague level, and they also tie back to one another and ultimately to Zampano and how he discovered the book. Johnny always writes about how reading this is affecting his life, in one form or another.

Chelsea

In Class Blog Post

In Danielewski’s House of Leaves, the text appears to connect to one another (in context, form, information, etc.) as well as to outside sources. I use the word “appear” only because that nothing can be for certain in House of Leaves, for nothing can be taken for face value or deciphered and understood simply. The form of the text takes different shapes and evolves as the manuscript continues, however, the supposed separated interior context (paragraphs versus footnotes) is only an illusion. Each can stand alone, but they also relate to one another. In my opinion, as House of Leaves is meant to also be authored by the reader, the connection between varying sections must also be determined by the audience as well.

Tom’s Story is written in the form of a screenplay, but also is reminiscent of personal journal entries. These words, or entries, are to be witnessed and absorbed by readers. Johnny’s footnotes also have the same purpose, where we, as the audience, are meant to read and understand what Johnny is transcribing to us. This purpose is not the only similarity between the two sections. The diction and pacing is also similar in that both sections read fast, but convey a vast amount of information to process in a short amount of time. Johnny states, “I was in some weird kind of jittery daze,” this jittery daze reflects to the confession-like voice Tom has in his screenplay (261). Both Tom’s and Johnny’s words, or confessions, convey stories to the audience. Again, the audience is meant to help author, and determine, which information is more vital and valid.

I find the greatest significance that connects and makes both Tom’s and Johnny’s words able to coexist in close proximity to be the references to the monster, a monster, or creature (depending on how you perceive the information).

“Did you expert oration Mr. Monster? Or perhaps a little expectoration” describes the audiences want for expectoration, or expansion, on knowledge of the monster’s being and existence. The monster’s action, in Tom’s section, acts and exists but what happens is not clear. The monster’s in itself, in existence, is vague. The only concrete image is that the monster turns “into a dragon…a flesh eating dragon” (260). Johnny also refers to a creature, “born out of the absence of light, shaped with [Toms] bare hands, [is] able to exist” only by Tom’s doing. Also, within Johnny’s footnote, the monster is the woman herself, but also reflects back to Johnny in namesake.

The most concrete relation between Tom and Johnny’s words, in my opinion, is the reference and description of the monster, or creature. The monster in itself is perceived as horrible, a brute, dangerous and yet is not clear. What is the monster’s purpose? The monster is unseen, but heard. We as readers know that something exists, but the true purpose of the monster can only be better understood as more of the text is covered.

Code Breaking and Hidden Meaning

In House of Leaves, there are many hidden messages, usually acrostics (often referred to in the community as Pelafina's Code for the use in her letters) that can give a deeper understanding of a character, or the whole book, or sometimes just lead to more layers of questions we have as the reader. For example, chapter VIII contains a lot of Morse code, particularly spelling out SOS, or in many cases, "SO?" At one point the code spells out "FUCK," while on the same page Johnny says "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck you. Fuck me. Fuck this. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." 3 short, 3 long, 3 short. SOS.

In footnote 119 though, in response to a "SO?" we find a more hidden Morse code if we look hard enough. There are long and short passages, broken up by dots. Letters are broken up by hollow dots (as we've seen earlier in the chapter). When you puzzle it out, eventually you get: Long Short Short Short/ Short Short Long/ Long/ Long/ Long Long Long/ Long Short/ Short Short Short. This spells "BUTTONS"

So what? Sew Buttons.

At many points I have seen people question how much of the code Danielewski actually put in the book on purpose, and how much has been discovered that he didn't intend. What many of these people fail to realize is that is the point. By putting even one code into this book, and he put many more than one, Danielewski actually opened up an entire world for his readers to find new things every day. We will never find all of the codes in the book because new ones can always appear. The death of the author indeed, he is entirely unnecessary, and with each new analysis of the book it grows into a new shape, and new additions are made. The book is ever growing, changing, expanding, much like the hallway, the house, the characters.

Not to be content with the simple and easy codes to find, readers have found relevant words all over the book in acrostics. On page 77, "thinking, has another missing year resolved in song?" spells out Thamyris, an ancient mythical bard who challenged the Muses to a singing contest. (He lost of course.)

One speculator noticed that if we turned each letter into a number, (A=1, B=2 and so on), and then add up the numbers that make up Johnny, you get 86. And if you add up the numbers that make up Zampano, you also get 86. 86 is actually a diner slang for "gone," "non-existent," or, "to be gotten rid of." Such as "The tenderloin special is 86ed, table 12 ordered the last one."

Who cares if the author meant to do that, it works for the text, and even if he "didn't mean to," he did it. With the dreamlike feeling of this book, many parts of it could be said to be subconscious, which according to psychoanalysts is able to reach parts of ourselves that we don't see.

Webcomics and The Meaning of Art

First off, check the link.

This is a webcomic I discovered today. I felt it was somewhat related to the discussions we've had of what art is for as believed by the modernists and postmodernists.

Is art only art if it ends in art? Is it still art if it is used for some other purpose (like a game, or even a decorated fountain or a house)? I believe it still is. I think the writing in video games and webcomics as well is just as valid writing as any novel or article is. If anything, the fading that's occurring between comics and novels (creating the realm of the graphic novel) shows that quite well--words and images are mixing more and more. Many graphic novels could still function with the words removed, just as that writing could work without the images, though they work much better together.

To reference another recent element of pop culture, I've recently gotten to watch someone play through the video games Mass Effect and Mass Effect 2. These games are excellently well written--the plot is well executed, logical and intriguing, the space marines' dialogue is snappy and hilarious at times, and above all the universe is worth exploring. My point is, the writing in this game could allow for the material for countless novels. It is just as valid art as the novel would be, despite being a game, something where the end result is not art.

I realize the statement at the end of the comic is jesting, but it speaks to the day that might well be coming (or could already be here) when the art we create no longer fits our definition of art.

Chelsea

The Crying of Lot 49: Name List

While discussing The Crying of Lot 49 in class, we have spoken a lot about name meanings, both connotative and denotative. I thought it might be interesting, and fun, for us as a class to try and make a blog-posting list of names, name meanings (implied and sourced meaning), and what everyone might think the significance of the name is in relation to the novel itself.

Names: The tip of the Iceberg or a Facade of a Character

Analyzing names and Possible Significance to The Crying of Lot 49

(Please note I am using the same website for all name meanings for origins and meanings, everything else is analytical/debatable so feel free to give your own input and/or add to the list!)

Name: Thomas Pynchon

In relation to the author himself, Thomas, has a Greek origin (which one might believe is not coincidence when looking at the protagonist’s name and origin of story), as translates to “twin.” This, is analyzed, can give suggestions of duality, incompleteness or overabundance. Thomas Pynchon, in the novel The Crying of Lot 49, gives an incredible amount of information to readers. The information can sometimes come in waves, and make the pursuit of the story hindered. An overwhelming amount of small details and facts are unneeded, but are given for a reason. Whether or not this reason is to hinder or help can be debated.

Name: Pierce

Pierce is the “charactered” form of bait for the protagonist, Oedipa. It is Pierce's words that drive Oedipa to search for meaning, one might believe he is the source of her “quest,” of her “hero's journey.” Pierce looks like the word pierce, to puncture, to injure, to prod. Pierce does seemingly prod Oedipa to continue on, even if he is not present, and he is able to puncture her conscious mind into thinking of trying to figure out the “truth.” But does truth exist, is there actually a goal, a success at the end? Oedipa, at the end of The Crying of Lot 49 is frozen, injured, paralyzed. Pierce, in origin, is French (however this is debatable) and is a “Form of Peter.” Peter, in the bible, was a “speaker,” as he was the first to reveal Jesus was the Messiah. He is also known for his betrayal. Pierce speaks to Oedipa, becoming a driving force, like a voice of conscious.

Website used: www.namemeanings.com

Specificity vs. Identification

Here's a quote from Mark Z. Danielewski: "I've always wanted to create scenes that verge on the edge of specificity without crossing into identification." How do you interpret this statement as you read House of Leaves?

Maxwell's Demon

Oedipa's experience with the machine is that she is told that it will unlock the ability for her to move the piston with her mind. The explanation for how it works can easily be taken as an explanation of the expectations of a novel.

"Communication is the key" Nefastis says as he begins to describe the process (84). The "billions of molecules" can be seen as words and letters in a novel. Just as Nefastis explains how the molecules are interpreted on a psychic level, so too must the reader interpret of thousands of words and millions of letters to make sense of the whole. In the process of trying to perform the necessary mental actions on the piston, she thinks she has done it but only finds her initial reaction false. The novel reads much in the same way. The reader constantly expects a meaning to become clear and, at times, the novel seems to be heading in the right direction only to have it take an unexpected turn. The images of Yogi Bear, Magilla Gorilla and Peter Potamus (85) all act to demonstrate how the novel consistently thwarts the reader with trivia and bizarre pop culture rather than acquire the specific result.

Even Nefastis helps act as a symbol of this misleading. in explaining the demon, he constantly loses Oedipa's understanding and, when she fails to move the piston, Nefastis's seeming comfort only turns out to be a sexual advance (86). The novel leads the reader on, posturing the idea that there will be an explanation before yanking the presumption out from underneath the reader.

Maxwell Demon Machine

To Read the novel in comparison to the Maxwell Demon Machine:

The Maxwell Demon, as described by Koteks is “a tiny intelligence…[it] sat and sorted” (68). The Maxwell Demon system itself, “you wouldn’t have put any real work into,” Koteks explained (68). When described, the machine is misleading in context, “the Nefastis Machine contained an honest-to-God Maxwell’s Demon” (68). However, how can something be “honest-to-Go” when numerous individuals have no faith in such an omnipotent presence? When compared to reading the novel itself, no individual can believe there is an absolute truth to be found and understood, if there is no possibility of an absolute truth to exist.

It is explained “two fields [that] were entirely unconnected, except at one point: Maxwell’s Demon” (84). The Maxwell Demon acts as a tissue that connects two different entities or thoughts. By connecting two entirely different ideologies or “fields,” the Maxwell Demon acts as the small symbols and information dribbled throughout the novel that connects one moment to another. The novel, in context, is in fractions. These fractions need to be connected by something otherwise they would stand-alone and have no possibility of any meaning or use. When reading the novel, we, as the audience, act as the sorter. We must separate the fast and slow molecules, or pieces of information, to determine what is valid, important and vital to our understanding. Although the system “was said to lose entropy,” or information, it was “offset by the information the Demon gained” (84). This mimics readers as we lose information, or get lost in the novel, but new information is gained as the novel progresses.

“One little movement, against all that massive complex of information” is all a reader needs to begin new understandings, or quests for truth while reading the novel. One small movement, or piece of information, is enough to bait readers to want to know, understand, and seek truth.

The novel in itself, like the Maxwell Demon machine, is misleading. Readers want a truth to exist, or want the Maxwell Demon to exist, but it is entirely possible that no truth or Demon exists in the novel. We, as readers, are led to believe the Demon does exist if noticed by sensitive individuals. But how are we to know of its true existence, if we cannot devote all of our senses to seek out the demon, if we must focus on another image.

“’Watch the picture,’ said Nefastis, ‘and concentrate on a cylinder. Don’t worry. If you’re sensitive you’ll know which one. Leave your mind open, receptive to the Demon’s message…’” (85). This quote epitomizes readers’ process of reading the novel. We as readers must leave our minds open to the possibilities, but our mind can be clouded by the façade of what we believe is to be the essence of the novel. We must seek information, not truth, we must never devote ourselves to one want or we will not gain any understanding in the novel at all.

Maxwell's Demon Machine

Oedipa sits, staring at the Maxwell's Demon Machine, trying to communicate and more importantly to understand. Like her, we the readers also sit, waiting for some sort of understanding or meaning to come out of the novel. When she thinks she sees a piston twitch, she can't get her mind off it, hoping to have actually communicated with the machine. In the same way, we look and try to find one small bit of meaning, we hope when we find it that means we've managed to communicate with the text.

She's told that if she is truly sensitive she will be able to accomplish this, and she wonders if a "true sensitive" would feel and understand more. We, as readers, wonder as well if we're missing a hidden meaning, a point which the "truly enlightened" reader would understand. We believe that the novel is trying to communicate with us and that we are trying to communicate with it, but that the messages aren't getting across except in those brief moments where we see a piston twitch.

When Oedipa can't find meaning or communication with the machine, she becomes frustrated, not only with the machine, but with herself, and with the man who introduced her to the machine, one might say the author of the machine in her mind. He consoles her, tells her that it's okay, she probably wasn't going to see anything anyways. She decides that the only "truly sensitive" people are those that shared in his delusions. Perhaps he was even the only one who got the piston to move at all. Likewise, the author Pynchon, is the only one who would truly understand the novel as it was meant. But even that isn't true, because he meant to eschew meaning and prove that search futile. Likewise perhaps the man behind the machine knew it would never work and used it to disillusion those coming to search for the Maxwell's Demon.

IN CLASS POSTING

Since so many of you are way behind on your postings, I am going to have you ALL write a response to a question on Pynchon tomorrow in class. It will count towards your blog posts and it will receive a check-plus, check, check-minus, or zero. Make sure to be caught up on your reading!