Notes on Young Kim's 'A Year On Earth With Mr. Hell' (Part 2)

A Year on Earth With Mr. Hell (Fashion Beast Editions, 2022) 

ft. Miss Young Kim and Mr. Richard Hell

 

 

To read part one of this post, which offers a series of opening remarks and notes on subjects including amorous gifts, dirty handkerchiefs, cunnilingus, and the politics of fashion, please click here. 

 

May I also remind readers that page numbers given below refer to the Fashionbeast edition of A Year on Earth With Mr Hell (2022). 

 

 

Random Notes on Young Kim's A Year on Earth With Mr. Hell (cont.)

  

On (In)Fidelity 

 

Miss Kim is irritated by Mr. Hell's feeling guilty about the fact that he is cheating on his girlfriend: "I think the truth is, as unconventional and wild as Richard is [...] he is hampered with a puritanical streak." [153] 

 

He is, she says, an absurd and puerile coward, ashamed of his own polyamorous nature. 

 

But is this the truth? Or could it not be that "the profound instinct of fidelity in a man" is "just a little deeper and more powerful than his instinct of faithless sexual promiscuity"? [j]

 

After all, even Lady Chatterley's lover ultimately desires the peace that comes of fucking [k] and recognises that his underlying passion is for constancy, not to endlessly chase skirt - particularly as, like Mr. Hell, he is no longer a young man [l]. 

 

"'What a misery to be [...] impotent ever to fuck oneself into peace'", writes Oliver Mellors [m]. And what a misery also to remain, in Kim's own words, a "hapless adolescent in trouble with too many women" [160]. 

 

No wonder that by the end of the book Mr. Hell is looking "sad and torn and guilty and weary" [223] and eventually tells Miss Kim that he can't continue the affair: "'I have to go. I feel terrible doing this to my girlfriend. Being two-faced. My head hurts.'" [223] 

 

 

On Lurking 

 

Like Mr. Hell, I too prefer to wait outside a bar or restaurant when meeting someone, rather than sit passively (and anxiously) inside; a practice that Miss Kim finds curious and bizarre, though explains it to herself by deciding that he must like to anticipate and observe the arrival of his date - "like a predator waiting for its prey" [44].

 

That's possible: but I think there's another reason why Mr. Hell likes to stay lurking in the shadows for as long as possible. For is there anything worse than to be seen looking lonely at a bar or table, waiting for someone who may or may not arrive; one feels not only exposed, but emasculated. 

 

Only a masochist would find pleasure in this; in their subordination and being kept in a state of suspense by another. 

 

 

On Name Dropping 

 

Whilst at the Knickerbocker Bar and Grill, Miss Kim and Mr. Hell both name drop like crazy in order to assert their own status and, presumably, find common cultural territory with one another by identifying shared acquaintances and inspirations: Picasso, Agnes Martin, Francis Picabia, René Clair, Ian Fleming, Ian McEwan, Allen Ginsberg, Karen Blixen, Carole Bouquet, Peter Beard, Russ Meyer, are all casually alluded to over oysters. 

 

I know this will infuriate some people, but I found it kind of funny, rather than a sign of snobbery or narcissism. And besides, isn't name dropping a function of basic human interaction; don't we all do it, to some extent - even those whose only connection to famous names is via a box of chocolate liqueurs. 

 

 

On Punk Anthems 

 

According to Miss Kim, Richard Hell's 'Blank Generation' is "the ultimate nihilistic punk anthem" [9] [n]. But that's debatable. And, in fact, I have already discussed this song (and found it wanting) in contrast to the far more provocative (if less poetic) 'Pretty Vacant', by the Sex Pistols: click here. 

 

 

On Sex 

 

Ultimately, Miss Kim comes to the conclusion that sex is sex [169] - i.e., a fixed and never-changing reality which in some way provides the great clue to being. But we can't let this metaphysical notion pass without comment ... 

 

Like Foucault, I tend to see sex as a complex type of agency formed by regimes of power unfolding within time and place, or history and culture, rather than as an ideal anchorage point supporting various manifestations of what we term sexuality. The belief that it somehow eludes and resists power and resides deep within us over and above the material reality of bodies and possessing its own intrinsic properties and laws, is simply a piece of modern romance. 

 

Of course, this isn't to deny that the convenient fiction of sex hasn't proved to be extremely useful; or that it will cease to function in the immediate future. It seems certain that sex will continue to be thought of as a great causal principle long after novelists and lovers have abandoned older ideas of the soul as mere superstition. 

 

For the fact is, a very great number of men and women - including Miss Kim and Mr. Hell - have made their very intelligibility dependent upon their sex and it provides them with their most precious forms of identity. Which is why they talk about and think about sex endlessly and desire to "have access to it, to discover it, to liberate it, to articulate it, to formulate it in truth" [o]. 

 

Despite the popular belief that there have been centuries of repressive silence and shame surrounding the subject, sex has in fact been the most obsessively talked about thing of all. What is peculiar about modern societies, suggests Foucault, is not that they kept sex locked away in darkness, "but that they dedicated themselves to speaking of it ad infinitum, while exploiting it as the secret" [p]. 

 

In other words, what really distinguishes the world we live in is a polymorphous and increasingly pornographic incitement to discourse about sex. Those who are genuinely interested in libidinal pleasures might do best not to vainly attempt to extract further confessions from a shadow, but show how sex is - and has always been - a purely speculative element within the historical process of human subjectification. 

 

In a postmodern future - that is to say, in a time after the orgy - people will be unable to fathom our sex mania. And they will smile, says Foucault, when they recall that there were once people such as Miss Kim and Mr. Hell who believed that in sex resided a truth "every bit as precious as the one they had already demanded from the earth, the stars, and the pure forms of their thought" [q]. 

 

 

On Sexism and Gender Difference

 

Miss Kim is annoyed when her steak arrives well done, having "clearly specified rare" [44]. Surprisingly, she interprets this as an act of overt sexism rather than incompetance or poor service: "Do they think only men like bloody steaks?" [44] 

 

However, she still expects and considers it normal that Mr. Hell pay for the meal. Why? Because Miss Kim believes in male gallantry and thinks it "only fair that the man pay for the experience [of dinner] when a woman spends a fortune maintaining her appearance" [89].

 

Woe betide any man who dares to go Dutch: 

 

"When the bill came, I put down my credit card before I went to the bathroom. I was curious to see what he'd do. It was a test. It wasn't a big tab, but I'd saw he split the check in two. That was the last nail in the coffin." [68] 

 

In fact, Miss Kim - who openly declares herself a non-feminist (even whilst complaining that, as a single woman, she is often shown little respect by men) - subscribes to many traditional ideas and stereotypes concerning gender and sexual difference: 

 

"A man thinks so differently from a woman" [79] ... 

 

"Men are wonderfully bestial" [106] ... 

 

"Men never grow up" [177] ... 

 

And - my personal favourite -  "Men are strange" [181].

 

Amusingly, however, by the end of the book Kim realises that she's not merely like a man in many respects, but, thanks to all the hardship she's lived through, has in fact "become a man" [230]. 

 

By which she means that at times of crisis or emotional stress she enjoys watching a lot of TV. 

 

 

On Smell 

 

"Smell is a surprisingly powerful sense - far more powerful than sight and touch" [110], says Miss Kim. And whilst unable to remember it, there is, she insists, a "scientific reason for this" [110].

 

That's probably true. But there's also an interesting pollyanalytic reason which D. H. Lawrence outlines in Fantasia: 

 

"The nostrils are the great gate from the wide atmosphere of heaven to the lungs. [...] But the nostrils have their other function of smell [...] delicate nerve-ends run direct from the lower centres, from the solar plexus and the lumbar ganglion [...] There is the refined sensual intake when a scent is sweet. There is the sensual repudiation when a scent is unsavoury." [r] 

 

One recalls also something said by the narrator of Patrick Süskind's fabulous novel Perfume (1985): 

 

"Odors have a power of persuasion stronger than that of words, appearances, emotions, or will. The persuasive power of an odor cannot be fended off, it enters into us like breath into our lungs, it fills us up, imbues us totally." [s] 

 

I smiled to see Young Kim not only informing her readers that she always wears the same perfume - "pomegranate, from Santa Maria Novella" [111] - but that her vaginal fluid has a "distinctively sweet smell" [211] - although I accept that some might find that a little too much information. 

 

 

On Spanking 

 

Miss Kim writes: 

 

"I stretched myself out over his lap, he slapped my ass hard, but not hard enough to truly hurt, several times, maybe four. The slaps were surprisingly loud, crackling through the air, which made me uncomfortable, in case anyone heard. Then, his fingers explored my pussy and my asshole for a bit before his hand came down harder several times more [...] What fun." [122] 

 

The English vice, as it is known - and which includes all varieties of corporal punishment (caning, flogging, spanking, etc.) - remains ever-popular within the world of lovers. As a form of sensual discipline it is an ascetic practice which has a restorative effect on the soul. 

 

That is to say, if carried out with genuine passion, then chastisement establishes a circuit of polarized communication and produces as powerful a flash of interchange between parties as an act of sexual intercourse. It should, therefore, be regarded as a natural form of coition which makes a violent readjustment in the flow between lovers, allowing, like a thunderstorm, for a fresh start and a new feeling. 

 

Ultimately, corporal punishment is a vital necessity because man does not live by love and kindness alone and human culture is inscribed and cut into the flesh. To paraphrase Lawrence: As long as men and women have bottoms, they must surely be spanked ...

 

 

Notes

 

[j] D. H. Lawrence, A Propos of Lady Chatterley's Lover, in Lady Chatterley's Lover and A Propos of Lady Chatterley's Lover, ed. Michael Squires, (Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 318.   

 

[k] I have written on this key idea in Lawrence's late work in a post entitled 'Chastity' (19 Dec 2021): click here. 

 

[l] Age is always a significant issue - certainly for 67-year-old Mr. Hell, concerned he'll not be able to sexually satisfy a much younger woman. But when Richard tells Young that it would best if she forgot him, as he was too old, she dismisses the idea. Later, however, she wonders why it is she doesn't meet younger people, closer to her own age, with whom to form romantic relations, concluding she belongs to the wrong generation (see p. 141).

      Finally, note how when Mr. Hell breaks up with Miss Kim and expresses guilt over his infidelity, he again reminds her of his age: "'Next month I'll be sixty-eight! And I'm doing all this?!'" [229]

[m] D. H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover, op. cit., p. 301.

 

[n] Later, Kim describes 'Blank Generation' as a "powerful piece of poetry, art, and emotion packed like dynamite into a catchy paean" [215]. Which is fair enough, but I still prefer 'Pretty Vacant'. 

 

[o] Michel Foucault, The History of Sexuality 1: The Will to Knowledge, trans. Robert Hurley (Penguin Books, 1998), p. 156. 

 

[p] Ibid., p. 35.

[q] Ibid., p. 159.

 

[r] D. H. Lawrence, Fantasia of the Unconscious, ed. Bruce Steele, (Cambridge University Press, 2004), p. 100. 

 

[s] Patrick Süskind, Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, trans. John E. Woods, (Hamish Hamilton, 1986), p. 82. 

 

 

Notes on Young Kim's 'A Year on Earth With Mr. Hell' (Part 1)

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Aujourd'hui, Maman est morte

Last photo of my mother on her 96th birthday 

(10 July 2022)

 

 

My mother died today. Unlike Meursault, however, I'm pretty certain of that. 

 

Because today also happens to be my birthday and I'm accepting her death as a kind of final gift: a chance to live again and re-enter the world from the same woman who bore me sixty years ago. 

 

Funny how, at such a time, one thinks of a short French novel published 80-odd years ago (L'Étranger) and of a fictional character indifferent in the face of death, or, perhaps more precisely, accepting of la tendre indifférence (or absurdity) of the universe in which life unfolds and then quickly closes.    

And funny how one also (rather shamefully) recalls the words written by Schopenhauer following the death of a Putzfrau to whom he had been paying a monthly sum by court order after an altercation in which she was injured: Obit anus, abit onus ('The old woman dies, the burden is lifted').

But mostly I just remember the final lovely smile my mother gave me as she found the strength to say my name one last time.

For a follow up post to this one, please click here. 

Some Do the Deed With Many Tears and Some Without a Sigh: On Matricide

John Singer Sargent: Orestes Pursued by the Furies (1921):

This is what happens when you kill your mum ...

 

 

I. 

 

A recent piece by Yvonne Roberts in The Guardian on the subject of child to parent violence and abuse (CPVA), detailed the dramatic rise in the number of (often elderly) women murdered by their sons since 2016 [1]. 

 

Rarely spoken about and often misunderstood, matricide, it seems, is the crime du jour ...

 

 

II.

 

Now, whilst I'm no expert in this area and have only the vaguest familarity with the growing body of research, I have been caring full-time for my mother - who is in her 90s and has Alzheimer's - for the past seven years and this gives me, I would argue, a degree of insight into the subject based upon actual experience.      

 

The fact that I can comment upon the subject from a philosophical perspective informed by a reading of Nietzsche, also allows me to bring something different to the discussion - although not necessarily something that people might want to hear ...

III.

For example, I think that rather than view matricide as a gendered crime to be explained in terms of toxic masculinity, we might better understand it as often an ironic consequence of care; this is why Nietzsche warns against pity and describes it as more harmful than any vice. 

 

The fact is, being in the presence of the old, the weak, the sick, the demented and severley disabled for a prolonged period of time when one is still relatively young, healthy and strong, is not advisable; one eventually becomes infected with their misery and is driven towards atrocity. 

 

If this sounds like victim blaming [2], that's because, in some sense, that's precisely what it is. I know I've behaved monstrously towards my own mother at times. But I also know that she (inadvertently) gave birth to this monstrous me, just as she gave birth to a loving son. 

 

Nietzsche says that the only healthy response to the wretched of the earth is nausea (not pity). For nausea is a protective instinct; one that causes us to fear and move away from that which (and those whom) sicken us. Nausea keeps us safe and, also, it protects the one who repulses from our contempt and anger, by ensuring a safe distance between us and them.      

 

 

IV.

 

It has been suggested that one of the reasons that so many elderly women are being abused and killed by their sons is because there's a chronic lack of social care and a shortage of affordable housing; the latter end up living at home and having to provide care for the former, 24/7. 

 

Unable to go anywhere, do anything, see anyone - and unable even to think or breathe at times - is it any wonder violent - even murderous - thoughts arise?

 

Like Paul Morel, I can vouch for the sense of helplessness and horror that one feels when obliged to watch over one's mother, slowly dying (and choking) on a bed [3]. It's not easy, nor is it in any sense edifying; it is, rather, demoralising and distressing and it very often leads to the secret wish that the burden of providing palliative care is lifted sooner rather than later. 

 

Ultimately, says Nietzsche, the first principle of his charity is allowing the terminally sick to die - and assisting them in this [4]. Euthanasia, however, is illegal in the UK and only a very few will have the courage to actually do what needs to be done, thereby risking not only pursuit by the Furies (i.e., a lifetime of grief and guilt), but criminal prosecution for murder.

 

And so, most do nothing - until the crack-up - and then a very small number commit mad and terrible deeds; such as burning the bloody house down with their grey-haired mother locked inside, or frenziedly stabbing the latter over a hundred times with a kitchen knife. 

 

Not that I imagine Nietzsche approving of such actions ... 

 

Indeed, for Nietzsche the only human beings who are of any concern to him are those who manage to endure in the face of terrible hardship and suffering; individuals who learn to overcome perhaps even their own nausea and remain stoical in the face of adversity; individuals whose kindness and compassion is the mark of their own self-conquest.  

 

Ultimately, Nietzsche's is a tragic philosophy - but not a murderous one. And it is because Zarathustra deems his followers capable of committing every evil - including matricide - that he most demands goodness from them ... [5]

 

 

Notes 

 

[1] Yvonne Roberts, '"You had better be careful in your bed tonight": shock rise in women killed by their sons', The Guardian (15 Jan 2023): click here.

[2] Victim blaming is the act of holding the victim of a crime or misdeed either entirely or partially responsible for the harm that befell them. Adorno regarded it as characteristic of the fascist mindset, but I tend to agree with Roy Baumeister that blaming the victim is not necessarily always fallacious and that the fantasy of the wholly innocent victim and entirely malicious evil-doer lacks moral complexity. 

      See Baumeister's Evil: Inside Human Violence and Cruelty, (St. Martin's Press, 2000).

 

[3] Paul Morel is the protagonist of D. H. Lawrence's novel Sons and Lovers (1913). His mother is dying of cancer and in great pain. So Paul is overly generous with the amount of morphine he puts in her milk one evening. I have written about this in a post entitled 'Sons and Killers' (17 Sept 2016): click here.

      See also the related post - 'In Praise of Euthanasia as a Practice of Joy before Death' (16 Sept 2016): click here. 

 

[4] See Nietzsche, The Anti-Christ, §2. 

 

[5] See the section entitled 'On Those Who Are Sublime' in Thus Spoke Zarathustra, where Nietzsche writes: 

 

"When power becomes gracious and descends into the visible - such descent I call beauty.

      And there is nobody from whom I want beauty as much as from you who are powerful: let your kindness be your final self-conquest. 

      Of all evil I deem you capable: therefore I want the good from you. 

      Verily, I have often laughed at the weaklings who thought themselves good because they had no claws.

      You shall strive after the virtue of the column: it grows more and more beautiful and gentle, but internally harder and more enduring, as it ascends."

 

This is one of the loveliest - and most crucial - passages in Nietzsche's work, particularly for those who are concerned with his ethical philosophy. 

      I am quoting from Kaufmann's translation of Zarathustra, which can be found in The Portable Nietzsche, (Penguin Books, 1976).

 

 

Aloha! Should Johnny Rotten Mind His Language?

Johnny singing his heart out on The Late Late Show Eurosong 2023 Special 

RTÉ Television Centre, Dublin (3 Feb 2023)

 

 

I. 

 

Sadly, Johnny Rotten has failed in his bid to emulate Johnny Logan and will not be representing Ireland in this year's Eurovision Song Contest. Somewhat ironically, the 67-year former Sex Pistol and his post-punk outfit Public Image Ltd., were defeated by a group calling themselves Wild Youth.    

The song that Rotten safety-pinned his hopes on - 'Hawaii' [1] - is described as a love letter to his 80-year-old wife, Nora, who - as he never tires of telling us - has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. 

 

Whilst the track with its refrain of remember me, I remember you, is certainly touching, one can't help but find it a rather feeble response to his wife's condition when compared, for example, to the ferocious song written in response to the cancer that killed his 46-year old mother, Eileen, in 1978.

There's nothing nostalgic or sentimental about 'Death Disco', as Rotten rages in despair at the dying of the light in his mother's eyes and watches as she lies choking on a bed, surrounded by rotting flowers [2].

 

His Eurovision entry, by contrast, is much more accepting that all journeys end and that all one is ultimately left with are memories of happier times - if one's lucky, that is, and dementia doesn't rob you of the past as well as aggressively restrict your ability to think and carry out everyday activities in the present.     

Perhaps, being generous, we might say that 'Hawaii' is the song of a more mature and reflective songwriter, whereas 'Death Disco' was the composition of a young man almost insane with anger. 

 

However, for all its poignant charm, 'Hawaii' still wasn't selected for Eurovision: in fact, it finished fourth out of the six songs competing and was given a lukewarm reception by the judges. But then, the Irish have never really accepted London-born Lydon as one of their own; he was even arrested in Dublin once, in 1980, and spent a weekend in Mountjoy prison on a trumped up charge. 

 

Still, maybe it's for the best that PiL didn't win the vote. For in this age of political correctness, certain voices have been raised in woke circles about the problematic use (or appropriation) of the word aloha by non-Hawaiian speakers like Lydon ...

 

 

II.  

 

In a recent article publised in USA Today, David Oliver suggests that it's time to stop using culturally sensitive words out of context [3]. Just because you can say hello in Hawaiian, writes Oliver, that doesn't automatically give you the right to do so. 

 

For aloha isn't merely a simple greeting. It has a profound (some might say sacred) meaning for native speakers, referring to a spiritual force that might be described as love, peace, or compassion; a force that is fundamental to existence. Aloha means recognising this force in oneself, in others and in all things.

 

I suppose a Heideggerian might identify aloha as an elementary term - i.e., one that speaks Being [4] - and it might be argued that it is devalued when coming from the mouth of a tourist, or someone who uses it simply to add a little exotic colour to a song lyric.

 

Personally, I wouldn't want to take this argument too far. However, I can agree that we all need to be cautious and respectful when using words that we don't fully understand and which speak others in their otherness; i.e., we all need to mind our language, as it were - even Mr. Rotten.      

 

 

Notes

[1] 'Hawaii', by Public Image Limited (John Lydon / Bruce Smith / Lu Edmonds / Scott Firth), will be released on vinyl as a limited edition 7" single later this year. To watch the official promo video, click here. Or to watch the band performing the song on The Late Late Show, click here. 

[2] 'Death Disco', by Public Image Limited (John Lydon / Keith Levene / Jah Wobble / Jim Walker), was a single release in June 1979 on Virgin Records: click here for the official video. An alternative version entitled 'Swan Lake' can be found on Metal Box (Virgin Records, 1979).  

 

[3] David Oliver, 'Is it time to stop saying "aloha" and other culturally sensitive words out of context?', USA Today (13 Jan 2023): click here. 

 

[4] For Heidegger, the ultimate task of philosophy is to preserve the force of the elementary words in which Dasein expresses itself. See Being and Time, trans. John Macquarrie and Edward Robinson (Blackwell, 2001), p. 262.

Post 2000: From Journal to Mémoire

 Torpedo Girl: Valkyrie Crusade 

Wiki Fandom

 

 

I.

 

The first written entry on Torpedo the Ark was not a post as such, but a statement for the About page which began with an admission of failure:

 

"Having spent many years among the ruins writing nothing but fragments in praise of fragmented writing, there was finally nowhere else to go and nothing else to do but enter the blogosphere and embrace the postmodern recreation of that most charmingly sentimental of forms, the journal."

 

In other words, Torpedo the Ark marked a retreat. But still, no shame in that. If it becomes strategically necessary to withdraw so as to better engage the enemy at a future time from a more advantageous position, then retreat is precisely what you should do: He who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day ... [1]

II.

Of course, whether Torpedo the Ark can legitimately be described as a journal, is debatable. But I like this word. It seems to have a more literary resonance than diary and it's certainly preferable to the ugly little word blog, which Peter Merholz coined in 1999 (as a shortened form of weblog).

 

Journal, of course, also has an intellectual resonance which suits my purposes, as many of the posts are philosophicalish in nature. At any rate, I've never thought of Torpedo the Ark as a blog; nor of myself as a blogger. But then neither am I simply a journalist (even if some posts are based upon news items and press reports). 

 

I suppose, if pushed, the term I would use to describe myself would be scripteur, i.e., a non-authorial writer. Or, as the posts often combine fiction with theory, maybe I might even refer to myself as un romanciér. As the Torpedo the Ark tagline (borrowed from Barthes) indicates, I consider the posts as spoken by a character in a novel [2].

 

Lately, however, as my period of Essex exile grows ever longer and my isolation more acute, my mood and thinking has begun to change [3]. 

 

Not doing anything, not going anywhere, not seeing anyone in the present - and unable to even imagine a future life - obliges one to make a further retreat: first into the virtual realm of online publishing; and now into the past, exploiting one's own memories. 

Thus, Torpedo the Ark might best be described today as a mémoire, rather than a journal of events and ideas (although I have long sought to question such genre distinctions and wouldn't insist on any essential or absolute difference) [4].

 

By this I mean a text that is haunted by loss, though hopefully one that is still composed with a certain gaiety. For whilst I know one cannot recapture one's youth or recreate old joys via writing, I'm hoping that I may at least preserve something of the promise of these things (and remember where happiness once lay).        

 

Notes

 

[1] The origin of this saying can probably be traced back to the ancient Greek orator and statesman Demosthenes, who reputedly came up with it to justify his fleeing of the battlefield at Chaeronea, in 388 BC. 

 

[2] I say more on this idea in the post entitled 'Disclaimer' (8 Jan 2016): click here.        

[3] See the post 'On Self-Isolation' (6 Dec 2022): click here. 

[4] One consequence of the death of God and the subsequent collapse of values, is that genre distinctions and the dualistic hierarchies that support them become unprotected and thus vulnerable to challenge. So it is that, despite the best efforts of those still keen to preserve such distinctions - see, for example, Rasma Haidri's post of March 10, 2021, on Brevity's nonfiction blog which asks 'Are Journals Memoir?' - we witness today an increased level of intertextual promiscuity. 

Why You Should Never Wish Happy New Year to a Nietzschean

 

 

I. 

 

I don't know the origin of the zen fascist insistence on wishing everyone a happy new year, but I suspect it's rooted in the 18th-century, which is why in 1794 the Archange de la Terreur - Louis de Saint-Just - was able to proclaim: Le bonheur est une idée neuve en Europe ... [1]

 

Such a new idea of happiness - one concerned with individual fulfilment in the here and now and realised in material form, rather than a deferred condition of soul which awaits the blessed in heaven - had already become an inalienable right of citizens in the United States.

 

Whether Jefferson was inspired by the English empiricist John Locke - or by the French philosophe Jean-Jacques Rousseau - is debatable. But, either way, the pursuit of happiness was declared a self-evidently good thing that all Americans should uphold and practice [2].        

 

It might also be noted that 1776 was the year that Jeremy Bentham famously wrote that ensuring the greatest happiness of the greatest number was the mark of a truly moral and just society [3].   

 

 

II. 

 

So what's the problem?

 

Well, the problem for those who take Nietzsche seriously, is that this positing of happiness in its modern form as the ultimate aim of human existence makes one contemptible. 

 

That is to say, one becomes the kind of person who only seeks their own pleasure and safety, avoiding all danger, difficulty, or struggle; one becomes one of those letzter Menschen that Zarathustra speaks of [4].    

 

Nietzsche wants his readers to see that suffering and, yes, even unhappiness, play an important role in life and culture; that greatness is, in fact, more often than not born of pain and sorrow. This is why his philosophy is a form of tragic pessimism.

 

And this is why it's kind of insulting to wish a Nietzschean happy new year ... [5] [6] 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Louis de Saint-Just made this remark in a speech to the National Convention entitled Sur le mode d'exécution du décret contre les ennemis de la Révolution (3 March 3, 1794) - only four months before he went to the guillotine, aged 26, along with his friend and fellow revolutionary Robespierre.  

[2] The famous line written by Thomas Jefferson in the 1776 Declaration of Independence reads: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."

 

[3] This phrase - often wrongly attributed to J. S. Mill - can be found in the Preface to Bentham's A Fragment on Government (1776). 

[4] See Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, 'Zarathustra's Prologue', 5.

 

[5] Similarly, one should refrain from wishing happy new year to a devotee of Larry David; or, at any rate, be aware that there's a cut off after which it's no longer appropriate to do so. See episode 1 of season 10 of Curb Your Enthusiasm, entitled 'Happy New Year' (dir. Jeff Schaffer): click here.

 

[6] Having said that, see the post published on 1 Jan 2016 entitled 'Sanctus Januarius' for a Nietzschean new year's message: click here. 

Fond Memories of The Wicked Lady

Fig. 1: Portrait of Katherine Ferrers (c. 1848)
Fig. 2: Margaret Lockwood in The Wicked Lady (1945)

Fig. 3: Faye Dunaway in The Wicked Lady (1983)

 

 

I. 

 

According to popular legend, Lady Katherine Ferrers was a bored young gentlewoman and heiress by day, but a notorious highwaywoman by night; one who committed crimes for the sake of the danger, not the money. 

 

Known as the wicked lady, she terrorised the good people of Hertfordshire as they went about their business; apart from robbing travellers at gunpoint, an entire catalogue of wrongdoing was attributed to her, including arson, slaughtering livestock, and even the murder of a local constable.  

 

Sadly, Katherine was to succumb to a gunshot wound sustained on Nomansland Common during an attempted hold-up in 1660, aged 26. 

 

Her body - still disguised in male clothing - was  discovered by her loyal servants, who carried their mistress home to be buried. It is said, however, that Katherine's ghost continues to haunt the Common - just as she continues to feature in the cultural imagination ...

 

 

II. 

 

In 1944, Magdalen King-Hall published a novel - The Life and Death of the Wicked Lady Skelton - whose story was looslely based on the (contentious) events surrounding Katherine's life. 

 

The following year, a big-screen adaptation entitled The Wicked Lady - directed by Leslie Arliss and starring Margaret Lockwood in the lead role (here named Barbara Worth) and James Mason as her lover and partner in crime (Capt. Jackson) - smashed British box office records, pulling in an audience of over 18 million.

 

The British, it seems, have always loved a costume drama - even in wartime. 

 

Unfortunately, the American censors were none too pleased with the movie and several scenes had to be re-shot before it was given a US release; it seems the low-cut bodices worn by some of the more buxom actresses were a bit too much for our puritan cousins across the Atlantic.  

Ideas for a sequel were discussed, but came to nothing and the viewing public had to wait nearly forty years for a remake ...

 

III.

 

This infamous 1983 remake of The Wicked Lady, starring Faye Dunaway (as Lady Barbara Skelton) and Alan Bates (as Capt. Jackson), has all that one might hope for from a film written, produced and directed by Michael Winner - including, controversially, a whip fight between Dunaway's character and a topless Marina Sirtis as Jackson's (unnamed) girlfriend (or doxy) [1].     

 

Winner described his vision of the film as a period romp that combined elements from the story of Bonnie and Clyde with those of Tom Jones (I'm assuming he refers here to the 1963 film, rather than Fielding's classic novel of 1749).

 

Writing in a retrospective review, David Hayles pretty much nails the appeal of the movie:

 

"Winner updated the film the only way he knew how - with sex and violence: by the time the opening credits have rolled, the film has already earned its 18 rating. We see a crow pecking the brains out of a corpse in a gibbet, a man with a rope around his neck dragged across a field by a horse, and a naked couple copulating in a barn."

 

He continues:

      

"The tone is somewhere between the rustic horror of Witchfinder General and the softcore romp Young Lady Chatterley 2, with lavish costumes and beautiful shots of horses thundering across the countryside. The likes of John Gielgud and Denholm Elliot play it very straight, yet veer into overwrought camp melodrama filled with appalling stunt work and, as was Winner’s penchant, nude women at every opportunity. Somehow, it all comes together to make for a delightful feature." [2]

 

The movie premiered at the Odeon Luxe Leicester Square, on the 21st of April, 1983. Although we were not invited to either the screening or the party afterwards, my friend Kirk Field and I were hanging about Soho that day and happened to pass through the Square as some of the guests were arriving and someone - I don't know who - took this snap ... 

 

 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] The British censor insisted this scene - which is in the original film, although not the novel - be cut before The Wicked Lady could be given an X-certificate. An outraged Michael Winner encouraged friends and colleagues to write letters of protest to the censor; these figures included Lindsay Anderson, Kingsley Amis, Derek Malcolm, and Fay Weldon.

      Although at the time Marina Sirtis said that filming the scene didn't bother her in the slightest - and despite the fact that she appeared nude two years later in Winner's Death Wish 3 (1985) during a brutal rape scene - she later complained about her treatment by the director, accusing him of sexual exploitation and expressing the hope he would rot in hell for all eternity. 

      In contrast, Faye Dunaway would insist that The Wicked Lady was the only movie she ever truly enjoyed making.           

 

[2] David Hayles, 'The scandalous folly of Michael Winner's The Wicked Lady', published on the Little White Lies website (1 July 2016): click here.

 

 

To watch the trailer for The Wicked Lady (1945): click here. 

 

To watch the trailer for The Wicked Lady (1983): click here. 

 

Reflections on the Death of a Footballer

Dominic Snow: Saint Pelé (2007)

Oil on canvas (51 x 77 cm)

saatchiart.com

 

 

Have you heard the news? 

 

The great Brazilian footballer Pelé is dead ...!

 

Actually, it's hard not to be aware of his passing, as his face and name is everywhere at the moment, even though he hasn't kicked a ball for forty-five years and even though kicking a ball is essentially what he's known for - that, and for being the public face of erectile dysfunction [1].

 

Judging from the press and media coverage, however, you would think he was a veritable saint among men; a bit like Nelson Mandela, only with the number 10 on his back, rather than 46664.

 

White liberals in particular can hardly contain themselves when talking about him and one can't help thinking that it's not because they care about football or remember him playing, but because he's a sporting version one of those figures that film director Spike Lee called magical negroes ...

That is to say, a black man who is pure and noble of soul and in possession of great wisdom or insight; a reassuring figure who upholds the ideal of a universal humanity and teaches us how to be better people.  

 

It's basically an inverted (and romantic) racism and if, like Lee, I was black, it would make me mad as hell (indeed, even without being black it irritates me).  

 

So, I'm sorry that Pelé is dead; maybe he was a great man as well as a great footballer. I don't know and I don't care. What I do know is that I'll be glad when the world's media turns its attention elsewhere. 

 

And, just one final point ... 

 

I think it revealing that the media here in the UK are giving more attention to the death of an ex-footballer from a far away land than to the passing of a truly iconic national figure - Vivienne Westwood  - who also died yesterday.  

 

It shows that the world of fashion - and, indeed, the world of contemporary art - remains something the Great British Public are not only indifferent to, but suspicious, scornful, and fearful of [2], whilst football, on the other hand, is now supposed to be played, watched, and enjoyed by everyone, from rough girls to delicate boys the whole world over.

 

The so-called Beautiful Game has become an opiate of the masses [3].   

 

 

Notes 

[1] Hired by Pfizer Pharmaceuticals in 2002, Pelé was the first celebrity ambassador for Viagra, although he insisted in 2011 that he had never needed to take the little blue pills himself. His main role was to raise awareness around erectile dysfunction and encourage men to openly discuss their problems. Perhaps unsurprisingly, this had some humorous consequences (see spoof image below).

 

[2] One recalls, for example, the shameful reaction of the Wogan audience - egged on by the ghastly Sue Lawley and fellow guest, the equally ghastly Russell Harty - to Westwood's Time Machine collection back in 1988: click here. Well done Janet Street-Porter for sticking up for Westwood, but what a pity Grace Jones wasn't on hand to give Harty and Lawley both a few hard slaps. 

 

[3] Marx, of course, originally used this dictum with reference to religion: "Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people." See the Introduction to his Critique of Hegel's Philosophy of Right, trans. Annette Jolin and Joseph O’Malley, (Cambridge University Press, 1970). 

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