tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916332485223671615.post7278771079320592021..comments2023-09-30T08:53:15.486-07:00Comments on Shelly Lowenkopf's Blog: The Safety Net.lowenkopfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05198658136254028258noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916332485223671615.post-86437757663695090332008-03-02T11:08:00.000-08:002008-03-02T11:08:00.000-08:00I love this post. Not blogging doesn't mean not wr...I love this post. Not blogging doesn't mean not writing. You are still my teacher. Just wanted you to know - GloriaAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916332485223671615.post-40534797823171384072008-03-02T10:42:00.000-08:002008-03-02T10:42:00.000-08:0018 and 19 strike home with me. I am often hesitant...18 and 19 strike home with me. I am often hesitant to write of the things I wish to, for fear of shocking and disgusting readers. But I look back at the author's whose works are still discussed with either horror or fondness, and find that they are the ones who dared to venture forward, and say the things that are in everyone's minds, but that we work to bury and hide so well. One specific example called to my mind is the Marquis De Sade. I am forcing myself through "Justine" at the moment, just to say that I have read a piece of his writing. It will probably be the last that I read, but the fact that it is still being read today, long after his insanity has blinked out of existence in the physical world, says something to what readers are looking for. No, we don't want the mundane, we don't want the predictable, or the comfortable. We can turn to our own personal stories for those things, but the things that take us outside the sphere of our own lives, and into other venues, are the ones that will last. Tolkien and Lewis take us to other worlds, De Sade takes us to the most abhorrent depravities of the human mind, Orwell and Huxley both take us into a ghastly future while reminding us of our ghastly present, Braham Stoker and Mary Shelly take us deep into our fears of the dark and what we think may lurk there. And on it goes, where authors reveal dimensions of ourselves that we have locked the doors to, and conveniently misplaced the keys. They are skilled locksmiths, those authors. We long to be taken away from our perceived mundane world, and also to realize that the author has done nothing more than hold up a mirror to who we are, which is not quite as mundane as we originally thought.Square1https://www.blogger.com/profile/13559171378908608414noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916332485223671615.post-56208788852845077882008-03-01T22:30:00.000-08:002008-03-01T22:30:00.000-08:0010. I splendid jape indeed, monsieur Lowenkopf. Te...10. I splendid jape indeed, monsieur Lowenkopf. Tell me - do you like braised duck, Moroccan style?R.L. Bourgeshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02850533057828782722noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916332485223671615.post-27611772476861707992008-03-01T20:55:00.000-08:002008-03-01T20:55:00.000-08:00This made me think of American Psycho . As a read...This made me think of <I>American Psycho </I>. As a reader, I am difficult to shock or disgust, on an emotional level. That book did both. I admired it enormously, and still do. Ditto <I> Sabbath's Theater </I>, much the same kind of book, about pushing a character further than anyone ever dreamt he would go, and letting the reader squirm at his own voyeuristic pleasure, and the knowledge that if faced with the same situation, he wouldn't do the same things ... except that if he could get away with it, he absolutely would do the same things. <BR/><BR/>I sometimes have a curious notion that fictional characters serve as the modern equivalent of the Celtic Sin Eaters. <BR/><BR/>But that's not a notion I really talk about ... although at my funeral, I rather hope that Magnus Eisengrim shows up to consume my wrongdoings. I would consider that a fitting end.David Rochesterhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07084315223515340046noreply@blogger.com