Enrique Vila-Matas - "Because She Never Asked"

I recently moved into a new apartment in a new neighborhood. A new home needs new books, I reasoned. Two days ago, on my way home from work, I exited the Blue Line subway and stopped by City Lit, an impulse I'm sure I'll indulge many more times. My initial plan was to find Alvaro Enrigue's "Sudden Death" but it was out of stock. Instead I picked up books by two Spanish authors: "On the Edge" by Rafael Chirbes and the book this post is about.

I opted to read Vila-Matas's short book first since I haven't had much time to read recently with the move. I wanted to begin and end something. The book is composed of three parts. A short story written by the narrator about a fictional character obsessed with real life actress Sophie Calle; the narrator's meeting with and interactions with Calle; the narrator's descent into physical illness and ruminations on life and mortality based on the confusing actions of Calle.

After finishing the book, I clicked on over to Goodreads to rate how I felt about it. I hovered between 3 and 4 stars, liking vs. *really* liking. I decided on 4 stars, as it has pretty much everything I want out of a book. Meta-fiction, descriptive language, copious amount of references to other authors/artists, reflections on the meaning of literature in life, various settings (Paris, Barcelona, the Azores), develops coincidences and connections (sorta like how I recently read another novel that fictionalizes an actress), and is shrouded in ambiguity throughout.

What Do I Want to Write?

That's always the biggest question, isn't it? And yet, for as many words as I've combined together, through keyboard or pencil or pen, it is still a difficult question to answer. Why do I write? Because I have to, I say, and so say the writers. The philosopher in me has to doubt: and he has to doubt that I actually want to write.

Because I have to doubt anything I think I want.

I can only want what I have been exposed to. I can only think I know what I want based on my experiences, which are based on my circumstances, which alas, I have not entirely decided on my own. /enddigression

One key to understanding what I want to write is understanding what I want (or "want") to read. Lit Reactor had a post today about lazy readers ("lazy fuckers") who are too dependent on Amazon. I am not one of these readers. I thought it curious that the writer of this article assumed their readers all depended on Amazon for their next book purchases as opposed to going to a bookstore. Is this really the state of the book-buying public? Perhaps that shows my own bias: I am fortunate to live in a city with a plethora of stores: one Myopic would be more than enough for a single town, yet I can go months (years?) without having shopped there due to going to other bookstores.

Likewise, I travel, and when I travel, I make it a point to visit bookstores (see: St. Louis / San Francisco).

You find books you never knew you even wanted to read. It's the same with record stores as I've made this point before: you don't know what you really want and being surrounded by all of these possibilities is so much grander experience than relying only on Spotify or Amazon. /enddigression

Asymptote Fall 2015 Issue

The newest issue of Asymptote Journal came out a couple weeks ago. I haven't made it through the whole issue yet. It can be hard to get through a full issue sometimes. I'm generally unfamiliar with many (read: all) of the author so I find myself reading a story (or poem or whatever else) and then falling into a blackhole of research about the author and if they have a twitter or what other works they've written and where they're from and who their translator is and if they have a twitter or what other works have they translated and...you get the point. And that point is these stories, these interviews, these essays, these are all great jumping off points to learn about new ideas, new works of art, new cultures, all around the world.

Take for instance, the poem 'Common Night' by Uyghur poet Merdan Ehet'éli. The Uyghurs are an ethnic group from Eastern and Central Asia, primarily in the far Western region of China called Xinjiang. Their culture isn't typical to what one normally thinks of Chinese as they are traditionally an Islamic group, and tend to have more in common culturally with neighboring countries (Kazakhstan, Mongolia, Kyrgyzstan) than with Beijingers and Shanghainese.

Merdan (born 1991) is already an accomplished writer and translator, having translated works from Chinese to Uygher (and vice versa). He's part of what's called the Nothingism school of Uygher poetry. Take the opening lines of the poem for example: "This is a night made from words" and contrast those with a later line: "This is a night that no elegy, ode, rain, or beam of light shall ever reach." This seeming contradiction is just another facet of a common night. The Xinjiang region that is home to Uyghers is fairly isolated from the rest of China, but as translator Joshua Freeman notes in an interview, "a lot of what’s really vibrant and interesting in Uyghur poetry right now is happening primarily on the web, and even on phone messaging apps."

Death, Meaning, Motivation, Translation

(Construction cranes in the bamboo forest; Balancing nature and urbanization in China PSA Advertising)

From the Book of Northern Qi, 7th century Chinese text: "大丈夫寧可玉砕何能瓦全."

Translation: "A man would rather be a shattered jade than be a complete roof tile."

Alternative translation: "A great man should die as a shattered jewel rather than live as an intact tile."

Google translation: "A real man would rather jade Sui who can be your guns."


Emiliano Zapata, Mexican revolutionary: "Prefiero morir de pie que vivir de rodillas."

Translation: "It is better to die upon your feet than to live upon your knees."

Alternative translation: "I prefer to die standing than to live forever kneeling."

Google translation: "I'd rather die standing than live on your knees."