shadows are the most real

It seems then that men and woman are equally at fault. It seems that a profound, impartial, and absolutely just opinion of our fellow-creatures is utterly unknown. Either we are men, or we are women. Either we are cold, or we are sentimental. Either we are young, or growing old. In any case life is but a procession of shadows, and God knows why it is that we embrace them so eagerly, and see them depart with such anguish, being shadows. And why, if this and much more is true, why are we yet surprised in the window corner by a sudden vision that the young man in the chair is of all things in the world the most real, the most solid, the best known to us -- why indeed? For the moment after we know nothing about him.

Such is the manner of our seeing. Such the conditions of our love.

Virginia Woolf, from Jacob's Room

mrs. dalloway

What she loved was this, here, now, in front of her; the fat lady in the cab. Did it matter then, she asked herself, walking towards Bond Street, did it matter that she must inevitably cease completely; all this must go on without her; did she resent it; or did it not become consoling to believe that death ended absolutely? but that somehow in the streets of London, on the ebb and flow of things, here, there, she survived, Peter survived, lived in each other, she being part, she was positive, of the trees at home; of the house there, ugly, rambling all to bits and pieces as it was; part of the people she had never met; being laid out like a mist between the people she knew best, who lifted her on their branches, as she had seen the trees lift the mist, but it spread ever so far, her life, herself.

Mrs. Dalloway, Virginia Woolf
Image by A Temporary Peace

past and future

For a long time, I wondered what the Zen concept of time was. It's like trying to turn your head fast enough to see your own face. You never can, because your face is your face and is not separate from you. Our past is only here now. It is not in some separate moment. There is a Zen saying: "Settle the self on the self." The past becomes settled in the present, the only place it really exists. We are only here right now. In The Experience of Insight, Joseph Goldstein said that the only moment is the present, that we have concepts of the past and future, but they are only concepts in the mind.

Natalie Goldberg

Image: by Top Left Pixel

when all the colours die

At night when all the colours die,
they hide in pairs

and read about themselves --
in colour, with their eyelids shut.

From "A Martian Sends a Postcard Home" by Craig Raine.
Photograph by Top Left Pixel.

postsecret: x

postsecret

atonement, my thoughts

I don't write film reviews, and I'm certainly not going to start now, but I want to rave for just a moment about Joe Wright's film adaptation of Atonement. It's brilliant. Having just finished Ian McEwan's novel, I was floored by the film's faithfulness to the book. The story is told in the same manner, at the same pace. Part I concerns Briony, Cecilia, and Robbie at the Tallis home, switching perspectives and backtracking through the narrative. Part II follows Robbie through WWII in France, and Part III finds the nurse Briony in a hospital during an outbreak of injuries. And Part IV... well, Part IV is ever-so short and sweet, just as it is in the book. I commend Wright and Christopher Hampton, the screenwriter, for their love of the novel and their attention to detail. Passing moments in the book are included in the film, such as Cecilia meticulously trying to arrange wildflowers to look naturally wild or a legion of plastic animals lined up on the floor, all facing in the same direction at their leader.

McEwan's novel is primarily internal, spoken by a sometimes omniscient, sometimes limited third-person narrator. But, of course, the film cannot have a voice-over. That would spoil everything that makes this story so compelling. The acting was beautiful and the score was perfect, but Wright's directing allowed hidden touches, purposeful marches, and the world of imagination to speak volumes without saying a word. His images said all that there was to be said. In fact, in lieu of words, I could almost hear McEwan's words in the background, setting up the scenes and filling me with the emotions and thoughts of the characters.


Two scenes in particular stand out for me. In one, Robbie and Cecilia meet briefly before he is shipped off to war. The novel describes the scene as awkward, almost stifling, with neither of the characters able to find the words for what has happened to them. Should there be an apology? Should they even speak of that which neither wants to revisit? Should they touch? Should they even still love each other? James McAvoy really stands out in this scene. His hand trembles and he speaks through tears. This scene conveys so much by saying so little. And the other scene is when the adult Briony, played by Romola Garai, is sent to speak with a French solider. In the novel, the narrator is able to explain that the soldier has confused her with someone else and that she goes along with the charade. The narrator is also able to explain that Briony realizes she was sent to this soldier because he was dying. In the film, these two seemingly important facts remain ambiguous, and it actually works for the scene. Even if I had not read the novel, this scene stills shows Briony's longing for forgiveness, unable to let go of the names and people she ruined. It also shows her growing up, having never been in love and understanding how the once foreign idea of it can keep a soldier holding on. This scene, specifically, was my favorite part adapted from the novel.

I could go on and on, but my opinion is of no importance. My only purpose is to profess my love for staying true to a wonderful novel. The characters, the scenes, the pacing... Joe Wright put the novel on the screen, and I thank him for that.

And lastly... the movie poster is the best one I've seen in a long, long time.