Subject: Re: fruits & nuts/what do you expect from Hemingway?
From: Jive Monkey (monkey_jive@hotmail.com)
Date: Fri Jul 27 2001 - 09:38:31 GMT
I want to agree with this one before the runaway train that this list has
grown into careens off into the wilderness. The fans of any kind of
entertainer are going to reflect the kind of work which that author, singer,
etc, has produced. And I think we'd all agree that there are quite a few
screws loose amongst Salinger's creations.
From: "Scottie Bowman" <rbowman@indigo.ie>
Reply-To: bananafish@roughdraft.org
To: <bananafish@roughdraft.org>
Subject: fruits & nuts
Date: Fri, 27 Jul 2001 08:45:04 +0100
In a recent post, Cecilia remarks:
'... There's very little I like more than butting heads
with someone who is willing to state, and support,
an opinion contrary to mine ...'
(And in a postscript suggests she should have written it
in green ink - the telltale mark of the psychotic.)
It struck me that here was a kind of answer to Paul’s enquiry
about the relative numbers of nuts on the Salinger,
as opposed to the Austen list. For you could surely find
nothing LESS green inky than Cecilia’s post. Her contributions
(& Tim’s & Will’s & Mattis’ & ... fill in your own candidates)
are - apart from their great literary intelligence - characterised
by balance, kindly decency & a sort of grown-up tolerance:
something notably lacking in mine, say, or (... round up
the usual suspects. How about Kozusko?)
I’d intended originally to point out the age spread as
the essential difference between the two lists. But, on
reflection, I think it has indeed more to do with this great
dichotomy among people in general: the reasonables &
the crazies.
At a superficial level at least, Jane Austen embodies sense &
sensibility. And she seems to attract people of a similar
disposition. There ARE no crazies on Austen-L. You DO
get so-called Fanny Wars on where mildly flushed disagreements
arise over Fanny Price viewed as a Christian Exemplar or
as Monumental Wimp; & tight lipped exchanges about how
forgiveable it was to wet Colin Firth’s shirt QUITE so enticingly.
But that’s about it. (The achingly kerrect American lady academics
who make up the bulk of the members seem never to have twigged
that she was, essentially, a comic writer.)
And while we haven’t had any real nasties on Bananafish (for these,
you have to go the Hemingway list), there IS the feeling that -
despite the civilising pressure from the above mentioned adults -
out there in the inverted forest you can hear some pretty chilling
cries from nameless beasts that could, at any moment, erupt out of
the undergrowth.
That’s really what appeals to me as a natural born head-banger:
the feeling that - you never know - it could suddenly go all
pear-shaped with tears & reproaches & hysterical laughter.
So reminiscent, after all, of the home life of our own dear author.
Scottie B.
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