A rather tired day, as a result of the usual gastro problems. (I've been impressed by my secretary Jane's recent adventures with a homeopath, who has hugely reduced her long-term allergies – I may try that myself.) To brighten myself up, I did various at-home things:
Henry James, Washington Square. I'd never read this short novel all the way through – over the past week, mostly on the bus, I was actually getting fascinated with it; I suppose as one gets older the Jamesian aesthetic gets considerably more attractive (long, complicated sentences; intricate relationships; and the sense of what time does to people). I was surprised to find myself actually experiencing suspense: as though the winding path towards a fairly obvious ending was as exciting as any action movie. Strange: it means that perhaps it's time to finally launch into his longer novels – if I've read any of them, it was so long ago, and so duty-oriented (a shame that so many powerful writers end up with their work turning into a demanding task – for instance I never have the patience for Conrad, or Meredith), that I've forgotten everything that mattered about them; but maybe now I would enjoy Golden Bowl and suchlike. Have to watch it, though: the inevitable, Jamesian, fall of dreams and loss of hopes might be a bit hard to take....
Kaidan, or Kwaidan, the Japanese movie (on my computer). Gorgeous, slow, fascinating: so many beautiful pictures, so many eerie turns in the tales. Since it's basically four ghost stories, it reminds me of how peculiar Japanese ghost stories always seem to me – although I'm finally getting used to some of their basic principles: ghosts are really, physically, dangerous; they prey on living beings with an arrogant, aristocratic hauteur that suggests samurai culture; and the transformations can be anticipated, as they almost always fall into certain patterns (fox into woman, badger into warrior, black hair, white skin, distorted faces; and of course beautifully appointed houses that are seen to be rotted ruins when daylight touches them – all homes for the ghosts that drove the capitol from Kyoto hundreds of years ago).
Such a wonderful movie – the ending so wittily inconclusive – but my favorite passage by far was the climax of the third tale, 'Hoichi the Earless', when the long-dead clan of the Heike recreate their haughtily beautiful court to listen to Hoichi tell them their own epic story. There is the amazing use of red banners – torn, rotting; whole; changing from moment to moment as the ghosts remember different times, or as they gain or lose power with the dawn. Such beautiful, vast pictures – touched with cold, of course: all of the memories of Dan-no-Ura (the famous place of the final battle of the Heike and the Genji – sort of the Japanese War of the Roses, except considerably more violent and tragic for the losers), all the formal arrangements of seated courtiers, are slightly blue, and the acting seems to come as though from a deep well – but then of course: they are all seven hundred years dead....
Candles and incense. The bowl of joss sticks next to Hoichi reminded me to burn some of my own incense; the picture of my fireplace, with its background of tiles that were an inexpensive 1930s imitation of the arts and crafts style, with the two candles and incense smoke wreathing upwards, was as beautiful as anything in the movie.
Dinner was also somewhat Japanese: there was leftover rice, with too much soy sauce in it; so I mixed it with leeks, cherry tomatoes, and eggs, and baked the whole into a small meal, with some roasted pumpkin seeds on the side. I should cook that way more often: vegetables, small things, in small combinations – I am usually too impatient and too hungry to eat that way, but it's certainly better for me. And, as with most real Japanese (restaurant) food, I feel a lot more alert afterward.
Then, having finished the almond butter turrón from Barcelona, I opened the last of the egg-yolk turrón. If you've never seen this, it's basically a sweet made from egg yolks and sugar, all roasted into a dark golden slab of candy – actually, I don't know if there are any other ingredients in it at all; in any case it's pretty wonderful. V., last year, had warned me that the egg one doesn't keep forever – since I bought it about two months ago now, it should be fine for another month I think.
And reading stories, in comfort on the couch. Naturally the movie led me back to Lafcadio Hearn's Kwaidan stories (I assume they transliterated the movie's Japanese title with the W, because of the Hearn stories?) – which, for all their slow movements, are really enjoyable now. (Try them on Gutenberg.) And another book of old stories I found in a charity shop last week – Somadeva's Kathasaritsagara (excerpts only I'm afraid – the whole original is apparently ten volumes of Sanskrit – thank goodness for Penguins). A lighter touch than the Japanese tales, and more comical – though it has a lot of peculiar moments (and can they really say those things about Parvati? – they seem to verge on heresy – of course that's what's so nice about polytheism: you don't have to like your gods).
And that's how I'm spending my winter night.
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