June 23, 2005

“A Sane Man Gone Mad and a Madman Edging Toward Sanity”

 


SPOILERS ALERT (I’ll try not to reveal much, but there may be spoilers here)


As I close in with less than a quarter of the book remaining, I thought it worthwhile to collect randomly a few observations I’ve had on the second half – or third sally – of Don Quixote’s journey. Book two feels radically different than book one as the reception Our Ingenious Gentleman and his squire receive is far more peaceful than before. There is less violence and what little there is has tended to favor Quixote rather than harm him (for example the joust with the Knight of the Mirrors). The Knight of the Mirrors is an apt name, I think, because in part two there are many people disguising themselves in one way or another, such as the Knight of the Mirrors himself; Pedro who has reappeared from book one; Basilio’s death, which is the third mock suicide by blade for the sake of a love in the book as a whole, with the others being Luscinda and Camila; there is the enchanted Dulcinea, although she is only disguised by Sancho’s guile; and lastly, the Duke and Duchess, who are only in disguise in so far as their sincerity is concerned.


Sancho Panza is becoming something of a caricature of himself in book two – his subtle observations from part one have given way to strings of barely relevant proverbs and self-serving proclamations. I had long thought that the quote “there are but two families in this world, the haves and the have-nots” was attributed to Don Quixote, but on page 594 I found that line streaming from Sancho’s mouth as he reverses his loyalty to someone because they are rich and therefore have food for him:


And he showed him the pot full of geese and chickens, and seizing one of them, he began to eat with great verve and enthusiasm, saying:




“To hell with Basilio’s talents! You’re worth what you have, and what you have is what you’re worth. There are only two lineages in the world, as my grandmother used to say, and that’s the haves and the have-nots, though she was on the side of having; nowadays, Señor Don Quixote, wealth is better than wisdom: an ass covered in gold seems better than a saddled horse. And so I say again that I’m on the side of Camacho, whose pots are overflowing with geese and chickens, hares and rabbits, while Basilio’s, if they ever show up, and even if they don’t, won’t hold anything but watered wine.”


Sancho’s boldness has grown with his skepticism, which instead of showing any sense of perspicacity instead has made him seem more simpleminded. It’s confusing in a way, as both Sancho and Don Quixote have an awareness of Quixote’s madness and what is looking more and more like Sancho’s madness, but they refuse to accept any one else’s recognition of it.


The emphasis on language is also interesting here and more prominant in book two. Sancho’s bold pronouncements are usually countered by his malaprops. Malapropism is a term used to describe a person’s use of a (typically polysyllabic) word incorrectly, primarily with the effect of contradicting themselves or making them look foolish or comical. The word was coined from Mrs. Malaprop in an 18th century play called The Rivals by Richard Brinsley Sheridan. My handy dictionary of literary terms credits Shakespeare as using them (not called malaprops) in Much Ado About Nothing, but I would say that Sancho’s malaprops are a prime example too.


James Wood in his essay on Don Quixote in The Irresponsible Self, says that “A rough analogy of the action in the second book might go like this: Jesus Christ is wandering around first-century Palestine trying to convince people that he is the true Messiah.” That seems to me as though (and Wood does address this in a more thoughtful way) the New Testament had been written before Christ’s journey and he was only forming part two. I bring this up mostly because of the religious aspects I’ve noticed in part two. Of course, religion is a theme throughout the book because religious life and religious delineations were a significant part of life then and a part of the racial landscape. But I’m thinking more of personal terms, where for example, Sancho performs a catechism of sorts on page 515. Quixote uses biblical language to describe his journey on page 495:


“I know that the path of virtue is very narrow and the road of wickedness is broad and spacious; I know that their endings and conclusions are different, because the expansive, spacious road of wickedness ends in death, and the road of virtue, so narrow and difficult, ends in life, not the life that ends, but life everlasting…”


The quote above looks very much like this from Gospels of St. Matthew in the King James Bible:


7:13 Enter ye in at the strait gate: for wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction, and many there be which go in thereat: 7:14 Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.


And that, interestingly, is followed by another line appropriate to many of the people that Don Quixote encounters:


7:15 Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.


But most significantly I think Quixote’s experience in the Cave of Montesinos is very much like the experiences of Galahad and Lancelot in The Quest for the Holy Grail, which I read in its “original” form before reading Don Quixote. I say original as opposed to, say, Sir Malory’s version because this so-called original is much more an allegory for the quest for nearness to God than a tale of errant knights. Book two of Don Quixote is much closer to the religious aspect of the quest, where Quixote is a lancelot character, a searcher, rather than a Galahad character, who is much closer to pureness than even Quixote would give himself credit for.


Quixote’s experience in the cave could be taken straight from the Quest, and Dulcinea’s enchantment, as false as it is (another theme!), looks much more now like the Lady in the Lake from the Arthurian tales. None of that should come as any great surprise, but in my mind, it is the religious aspect of the quest that is most striking and I think from what I know of the ending of the book, that idea will bear out, but I’ll have to wait and see.


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Page references are to the hardback edition of the Grossman translation



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Hi Bud,

This is so bittersweet to read. I wish U of Penn more than luck in tackling the collection and making an exhibit for the books. I can’t wait to see the store again. I used to work at Gotham (all too) briefly, from the summer of 2001 to the fall of 2002 when I was 19 and in school for illustration. The building, the books, and especially the people (I had amazing co-workers, plus some really lovely customers) have a special place in my heart. I’m was hoping the link would mention Andreas (Andy) Brown, the last owner of GBM, but no such luck.

I was going to venture a guess that if the old man you met at the store was a GBM employee it might have been Phillip Lyman, but my understanding was Mr. Lyman was notoriously well-read (and had substantial library himself) so I suppose he would not have been reading Dante for the first time when you met him. More likely it was one of our splendid customers. It happened more than once that one customer on the floor would ask me about an author or title and I would meet them with my perfectly hopeless stare ‘n stammer—until another customer that had overheard the plea would effortlessly proffer the desired answer or suggestion. I learned so much working there, from everyone, but was a pretty useless specimen while the learning percolated. One of the more useful employees (our resident poetry expert) recently got a shout-out over at the New Yorker’s book blog after being made famous at the splendiferous Kwik Meal #1 cart:

New Yorker Link

One more book nerdy bit before I cut off the nostalgia trip. The above-mentioned Marc was the first person to Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino in my hands; I read it up in the 2nd floor gallery on my lunch breaks (lunch from Kwik Meal #1, of course), surrounded by art books and Edward Gorey paraphernalia. That book took (and takes, I’ve re-read it many times) me so many places, but when I’m lucky it takes me back to Gotham’s gallery, by the 2nd floor window where the constant refrain of the gold and diamond sellers coming in through the window mingled with the dulcet tones of NPR from a radio bigger than a microwave and the smell of old paper—all unchanged almost more than a decade later. At least in my mind. It’s still one of my favorite books (and authors), ever. Marc also blessed me with recommendations of Wallace Stevens’ Palm At The End of the Mind, Moby Dick with the Rockwell Kent illustrations, and my first ever NYC apartment: a little studio over in Astoria, Queens. Everyone at that store was overflowing and generous with knowledge, stories and history.

Places like Gotham do more than provide fodder for sentimental blog comment drivel though; I hope the lessons learned from the ongoing troubles are shaping a new generation of booksellers and customers that can find ways to thrive. Bookstores don’t belong in museums. Wise men fish there.

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on “Well That's That”


Best wishes for the holidays, Bud.

I used to work in the Pan Am/Met Life Building in Manhattan.  I would walk over to Gotham at lunch and browse, browse, browse.  Books were the only thing I ever bought on that stree.  It’s a shame it’s gone.  Thanks for the update for those of us no longer living in NYC.  Atlanta is not so much a book haven.

Best,
Jim H.

Jim H.
on “Well That's That”


Yeah, for all of our technology - which is great - I mean you and I are talking about this from two ends of the country - but there’s nothing like being there.

Bud Parr
on “Well That's That”