Oh, college. What other time in your life can you shamelessly begin your day by singing not just any duet, but "A Whole New World" with the guy in the neighboring shower stall (far from Pyramus and Thisbe, I assure you) and end it on a spirited discussion with a 50-something-year-old woman with a Ph.D. regarding the possibility of the soul being 5/16 of an inch too big for your body?
We're finally reading House of Leaves and I can barely contain myself. Reading that book isn't a light affair. It puts your mind in a different space with eerie echoes and manipulations of light and forever question marks winding inward. Some of my notes are:
*the manipulation of boundaries with drugs
*concept entering my head. how many corridors do you have? meaning how open-minded?
*pieces of writing as buildings. passages. passageways.
*communal thinking is better. webs. bricks.
*ear to shell to labyrinth
*reliance on echoes for our sense of space
That's enough for now. I don't know if I have anything left to spill.
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2 comments:
i don't remember any drugs in that book. But i certainly remember the house and the growing corridors.
I didn't really think about it at the time, but your notes point out that the house has got to be a metaphor for 'us', right?
Consider:
-House starts behaving oddly and unexpectedly once the family is living in it. As opposed to when it was a stranger and seemed perfectly normal.
-Size is not constrained by spacetime as we understand it.
-The guy's investment in the house increases the size of the house, and its unpredictability. Or if it does not cause the increased size, is certainly correlated with it.
-Seem like it's only by going deep into the house with no chance of coming back out that he falls (haha) in love with his wife.
Thanks for writing this.
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