Literary Goodness

"I could only say again, 'You ought to take him home,' but I wondered what would have happened if I had said, "You are married to a man who only likes men and he's off now picnicking with his boy friends. I'm thirty years older than you at least I have always preferred women and I've fallen in love with you and we could still have a few good years together before the time comes when you want to leave me for a younger man.' All I said was, 'He probably misses the country -- and the riding.'

'I wish you were right, but it's really worse than that.'

Had she, after all, realized that nature of her problem? I waited for her to explain her meaning. It was a little like a novel which hesitates on the verge between comedy and tragedy. If she recognized the situation it would be a tragedy; if she were ignorant it was a comedy, even a farce -- a situation between an immature girl too innocent to understand and a man too old to have the courage to explain. I suppose I have a taste for tragedy. I hoped for that."

-- "May we Borrow your Husband" by Graham Greene

The word of the day today: venial \VEE-nee-uhl\, adjective: Capable of being forgiven; not heinous; excusable; pardonable.

Seemingly, in the past week I've been overtly concerned with the nature of things venial and farcical. I suppose that life has a way of mocking you, as it rightly should, when you have great worry or concern over things outside your control.

Graham Greene here is writing of an aged writer, vacationing in Antibes, who watches two homosexual interior decorators seduce an unhappily, newly married man. The woman, who is inexplicable known only as Poopy, is convinced that they have not consummated the marriage only because her naked body is abhorrent to him. And although, in a manner, she is correct, her assumption misses the reality of the fact by a lot. Thus, farce here is determined as a consequence of her sweet and innocent obliviousness. Of course, there are no aspects of her situation which make the husband's and interior decorators' actions seem venial. The aged writer also implicates himself but fails to even make an attempt at seduction.

I like a lot of the things that I've done as a result of being oblivious to the world around me. Not to brag or anything, but I thought this brought an interesting aspect to myself which typifies the charmed sort of existence that I have grown accustomed to and heartily enjoy. I also think that gaining knowledge of my obliviousness is a primary reason for committing acts which are ultimately unforgiveable. The shame of knowing, of wanting to know, and of stopping to no ends in search of that knowledge does nothing but cause coerced separation and hurt. So knowledge seemingly can do more to separate people, rather than bring them together. And I think that this is a point that is often well-known and at least somewhat understood. Typically though, nothing hurts more than the realization that some great shame caused one to hide knowledge of his actions from the other. The deception is probably more unforgiveable than the act itself, oftentimes. So when you finally 'know,' please don't run and hide and be nice out of obligation.

Ben Folds writes a lot of beautiful music and tells poignant stories and creates wonderful character sketches. On his first solo project, "Fear of Pop," there is a collaboration with William Shatner titled "In Love." This spoken word piece is quite funny and farcical, in that this character seems completely ridiculous. He's knowledgeable of all the self-help books on love and emotion, and he uses this knowledge to seduce a woman who recounts for him all her experiences with relationships. It's completely cruel and unforgiveable that he does this, but the tragic element of the hurt felt at the end of the song by the character himself coupled with his reaction to her words is a farce.

When I was a senior in high school, after three years of not meeting anyone, I finally managed to find myself a girlfriend: Christian Baker. After about a month of dating, Valentine's Day rolled around, and I thought that I would be really creative-like and make a mix cd of nothing but love songs. Apparently, I like to be as ironic as possible, so I put that song on the cd as well, because that's how my backwards sense of humor works sometimes.

Here's a sample of the lyrics, done beautifully in spoken word by the inimitable William Shatner:

"So now you have me completely figured out. You feel sorry for me. I can't express my feelings. I can't tell the truth. We are all alike. At puberty, I was sworn to secrecy by the brotherhood of 'LYING FICKLE MALES.' I can't tell you anything, and I CAN'T COMMIT. You're right! I can't commit...to you."

I'm not sure why anyone would not be able to find the humor in that...

It should not have come as a surprise when she broke up with me a week later.

Aye, but the rub is this: if I actually had the courage to say something to the effect as those lyrics, maybe I wouldn't have dated Tonya or Erin past the 'shelf-life.' It does not always pay to be nice. On top of that, no one wants to be pitied. One of the hardest things to come to grips with is that if you can't do something for someone out of love, perhaps you should just walk away. No one wants to be seen as an obligation.