LIVING A THOUSAND LIVES

Here's another assignment I had to write on FutureLearn, this one about reading strategies and my own experience. I believe that fiction, whether literature or audiovisual media, should hold a mirror in front of reality, like, to take Shakespeare's most egregious example, the mirror the last of Banquo's descendants held in hand facing King James across the fourth wall.

Last month I went to see the live action version of the French fairytale film that inspired my passion for literature when I still lay in the cradle. It's not hard to see why my review of Beauty and the Beast on my blog (LA BELLE ET LA BÊTE - MMXVII) is so packed with excitement. 

Said review begins with the following paragraphs:

"The first we got to see in autumn last year were some celebrities' names and this crimson rose in a frosted dome (reminiscent of both B&tB and The Snow Queen); details that already got me excited and waiting for springtime. And it has truly felt like a long awaited springtime after an endless winter, to borrow a metaphor from the film itself!

Tale as old as time, true as it can be... I had been waiting until the musical version of the French fairytale that awoke my passion for literature should be brought to the live action format and hoped that said version would not disappoint me. It has not... rather, the whole film, which I have watched this evening, has taken my breath and heartbeat away. It's not a film, it's a MAGNUM OPUS. The setting, the songs, the costumes, the unexpected twists... And this is the reason why I have decided to consecrate a review to it right here and right now... detailing all the things I have adored about this version: loose ends cleared up, animated scenes brilliantly rendered into live action, and some Easter eggs one needs real passion for literature in general and the Bard in particular, like that of Belle and her Beast, to discover!

Seeing those scenes come alive 
The old rose-seller revealing herself as a fairy, turning the prince into a beast and the courtiers into objects. Belle walking past the chickens and getting dissed by the other villagers. Belle taking her leave of her papa. The Beast capturing Maurice after he's picked that rose. Belle returning Romeo and Juliet to the priest (instead of Jack and the Beanstalk to the librarian!). Belle giving Gaston the axe. The triplets fawning over Gaston. Chip blowing bubbles for Belle. The Master and Belle at first mistrusting one another. Mme. de Garderobe decking Belle in uncomfortable court dress. Belle befriending Lumière, and the extravagant feast for both the lips and the eyes that he prepares for her. The Master saving a runaway Belle from a pack of wolves. Belle nursing the Master back to health. Belle and the Master enjoying the wintry garden, the library, finding a common interest in literature as a springboard for the fact that there's something there. The snowball fight in the royal gardens, Belle discarding her spoon and drinking soup from the plate like her beau. That dance, both lovers getting prepared for the ballroom; her golden gown and his cobalt blue overcoat. Gaston in scarlet mess uniform drowning his sorrows in the tavern and Lefou bragging about his accomplishments to all the others. Belle scrying into the mirror to find her papa in distress. The Master letting Belle go and regretting it, feeling as if she would betray him. Belle and Maurice locked in the Maison des Lunes carriage and finally escaping. The storming of the castle. Mme. de Garderobe singing her solo as she throws herself down a ledge. Gaston treacherously striking the Master down in the back, and then falling to his death from a parapet. The Master dying in Belle's arms, suddenly disenchanted, as well as all the objects... and that final dance that crowns it all. Seeing all of these scenes take place in live action is astounding, and besides it has also awakened old memories within me..."

What does all of this say about reading strategies and yours truly?

Close reading of texts rife with transparent immediacy has always been my favourite reading strategy since early childhood and even up to right now in my twenties.
I offered myself as a hostage to the Beast in exchange for my father's freedom. I shuddered when Mufasa did not even flinch after falling down that cliff. I carried on with Gerda searching for Kai across the wide world from south to north, with the Duchess of Norroway searching for her Duke as she wore out those heavy iron shoes, with Marco searching for his mum across the ocean and the pampas. And it felt to me that these young people had well deserved and earned their happy ending.
I have mourned for Romeo and Juliet, for Desdemona, Ophelia, Mercutio, Mufasa, Bambi's mum, Atreyu's horse, Sirius Black, Fred Weasley, Remus and Tonks and their unborn baby... When GoT came along as I reached my twenties, I was already prepared for Ygritte, Renly, and Oberyn surprisingly and violently passing away, and I did not feel as much grief as I feel shock.
I have seen and still see myself in Tyrion Lannister, Brienne of Tarth, Luna Lovegood, Rainbow Dash, Cassio (Othello's lieutenant), Portia...
I have loved Jasper Whitlock and Finnick Odair, sitting on the fence with my kind-hearted favourite male characters as the world around me warred whether the gradually more insipid heroine should wind up with the boy next door or the troubled bad boy; I choose a third option in both cases, that of the gentlemanly blond who is only relegated to the role of "friend" as a major secondary character. Following my own heart and preferences instead of the trends. I don't give a hoot about trends.
I have always been a close reader and will always be. Because of the emotions that were, are, and will be aroused within me; no matter if I am elated because the clever princess in Story the Fourth of The Snow Queen has found Mr. Right and their kindness to a common stranger exemplifies how good people are (or rather can be), or in wrenching sorrow when Eugene Onegin and Apollo have violently killed their more-than-friends Vladimir Lensky and Hyacinthus respectively (by accident, in the springtime of youth, and by the hands of the ones they loved!), or if a shudder is running down my spine when the locusts in Gautier's rendition of the Eighth Plague get into people's mouths and nostrils and "on en respirait" (these locusts got breathed in).
It's these feelings that make it worthwhile. To sum it up quoting a certain young boy called Jojen Reed: WHO HAS NEVER READ LIVES ONLY ONE LIFE; A READER LIVES A THOUSAND LIVES.

FOREIGN OBJECTS

Here's a little article I wrote on FutureLearn about Théophile Gautier's Roman de la momie:

Sandra Elena Dermark Bufi

16 MAR

For me, close reading and contextualisation allow for the best dialogue when put together, especially when it comes to spotting intertextual references. To put an example: Let us take two examples of the same story --a biblical episode and its French 19th-century retelling. 
...and the LORD brought an east wind upon the land all that day, and all that night; and when it was morning, the east wind brought the locusts. 
And the locusts went up over all the land of Egypt, and rested in all the coasts of Egypt: very grievous were they; before them there were no such locusts as they, neither after them shall be such. 
For they covered the face of the whole earth, so that the land was darkened; and they did eat every herb of the land, and all the fruit of the trees which the hail had left: and there remained not any green thing in the trees, or in the herbs of the field, through all the land of Egypt. 
Book of Exodus, King James Version

Now on to Théophile Gautier's version of the Eighth Plague:

 [···] elles se succédaient par tourbillons, comme la paille que disperse l’orage ; l’air en était obscurci, épaissi ; elles comblaient les fossés, les ravines, les cours d’eau, éteignaient sous leurs masses les feux allumés pour les détruire ; elles se heurtaient aux obstacles et s’y amoncelaient, puis les débordaient. Ouvrait-on la bouche, on en respirait une; elles se logeaient dans les plis des vêtements, dans les cheveux, dans les narines; leurs épaisses colonnes faisaient rebrousser les chars, renversaient le passant isolé et le recouvraient bientôt...

They followed each other in swarms like the straw blown about by the storm; the air was darkened; they filled up the ditches, the ravines, the streams; they put out by their mere mass the fires lighted to destroy them; they struck against obstacles and then heaped up and overcame them. If a man opened his mouth, he breathed one in; they found their way into the folds of the clothing, into the hair, into the nostrils; their dense columns made chariots turn back; they overthrew the solitary passer-by and soon covered him.

The second version, in which Gautier elaborates upon the biblical context, is even more vivid... Ouvrait-on la bouche, on en respirait une/If a man opened his mouth, he breathed one in... that is not in Exodus, that simply details that there was not a single plant --neither blade of grass nor fruit in treetop-- left after the plague. "Ouvrait-on la bouche, on en respirait une/If a man opened his mouth, he breathed one in" is truly nightmare fuel, with locusts getting inside mouths and nostrils--- the trope of orifice invasion at its finest, brought to make the description more vivid and explain how the plague would affect the animal kingdom in general and its sapiens province in particular. The sole thought of letting foreign things, especially bugs, inside our system --whether guts, lungs, or hearts-- has always induced an intensely horrifying feeling...!

THE EIGHTH PLAGUE: TH. GAUTIER

This weekend, I came by chance upon Théophile Gautier's Roman de la momie.
I was hooked indeed, but what struck me the most was (as in other Exodus retellings) the Eighth Plague. Never had I read of a more sinister and graphic description of this locust invasion until I came across this novel...
The way this nineteenth-century Frenchman describes it is so sinister that I regard it as pure hardcore nightmare fuel. It's just like that Hitchcock film, but retitled The Locusts (dear sensitive readers, you have been warned):

[···] elles se succédaient par tourbillons, comme la paille que disperse l’orage ; l’air en était obscurci, épaissi ; elles comblaient les fossés, les ravines, les cours d’eau, éteignaient sous leurs masses les feux allumés pour les détruire ; elles se heurtaient aux obstacles et s’y amoncelaient, puis les débordaient. Ouvrait-on la bouche, on en respirait une ; elles se logeaient dans les plis des vêtements, dans les cheveux, dans les narines ; leurs épaisses colonnes faisaient rebrousser les chars, renversaient le passant isolé et le recouvraient bientôt...

They followed each other in swarms like the straw blown about by the storm; the air was darkened; they filled up the ditches, the ravines, the streams; they put out by their mere mass the fires lighted to destroy them; they struck against obstacles and then heaped up and overcame them. If a man opened his mouth, he breathed one in; they found their way into the folds of the clothing, into the hair, into the nostrils; their dense columns made chariots turn back; they overthrew the solitary passer-by and soon covered him.

they succeeded each other by whirlwinds like the straw which the storm disperses; the air was obscured, darkened by them; they filled the ditches, the ravines, the water-courses, extinguishing beneath their masses, the fires kindled to destroy them; they encountered obstacles and piled themselves up against them, then overflowed them. If one opened one's mouth, they entered it; they lodged themselves in the folds of garments, in the hair, in the nostrils; their dense columns obstructed the passage of chariots, overthrew the solitary passenger and quickly covered him;

la langosta venía en torbellinos, como la paja que la tormenta dispersa; la atmósfera se oscurecía, se espesaba y la langosta llenaba los fosos, los barrancos, los ríos, y apagaban con su masa los fuegos que se encendían para destruirla; cuando tropezaba en un obstáculo se amontonaba, y después desbordaba; si se abría la boca para respirar, una entraba; se metían entre los pliegues del vestido, entre el pelo, en las ventanas de las narices; sus espesas columnas hacían retroceder a los carros, tiraban a los caminantes aislados y pronto los cubrían;