Day 31, 7 Feb: Stef's Secret Library

Norfolk Terrace, Day 31. 23:59. Stef’s Secret Library

            I’m just going to leave you in suspense about the title until it comes up. Now onto business:

            Frustrated that I keep waking up late (college freshman habits have returned, unfortunately), I had the will power to wake up at 9 this morning and do laundry at 11. In the time between, I spent it reminiscing and going through old photos, on facebook and on my computer’s archives, and fell into a spell of nostalgia and awareness about how much I miss both Berkeley and Sacramento friends, family immediate and extended, etc. I kept coming across Joe Finney’s birthday photos of this year and last, my own 21^st birthday, Tahoe in the snow with my parents and Johnathan, the ever-lovely memory of my first (and only—going to change when I go back) visit to the UC Botanical Gardens all the way up Centennial Drive in Berkeley with Katya, New Years at Joel’s with the human positions of the numbers 2-0-1-1 in which I formed the “2”, Katie formed the “0”, Elsie a “1”, Emily a “1”—and Jason lying on the floor in front of us, the freshman roomie bonding, the Labyrinth pictures at our first party—the purple-themed one, etc. So many memories kept strongly alive by the captured photographic context of a visual moment. {sigh}

So then I did laundry, reading more of Balzac’s Old Man Goriot in the meanwhile, got back to my room, had lunch—and today I tried to make it a habit to remember memorable bits of conversation. One such happened while I was eating my 4 turkey-cheese-mayo half-sandwiches:

Dan: Why does Steff [Jen’s bf] think I’m Indie?

Jen:  It’s those two brown trousers you wear.

Stephen: And that jumper.

            I got into a productive mode in the library, reading Balzac and completing creative writing assignments, including a reading of the short story “The Last Day of Summer” written by Ian McEwan (one of the first alum of the Creative Writing graduate course here at UEA, in the 1970s). The child voice of the narrator reminded me of The Sound of the Fury’s Benny, and later in the discussion, it came up that the boy might be autistic. The thought did not surprise me, seeing how Benjy also had a similar mental handicap and was represented in his narration by highly empirical observations and little opinion or speculation, and also, as I mentioned in the discussion, marked by a fluidity of varying verb tenses within four lines or less.

            The Nineteenth Century Writing lecture was good, again led by Robert Clark, and this lecture brought in the element of realism that always trips up readers: the jargon of authenticity, as he termed it. Precise information that is in reality pseudo-scientific has all the appearance of being genuinely accurate. Balzac relies on pseudo- and real scientific discourse in his works, including such a simple thing as “plants breathing” (“A young man can see everything at a glance; he feels the radiant influence of woman as a plant discerns and absorbs its nutriment from the air” (III.) de Balzac, Honore. Old Man Goriot. Trans. Olivia McCannon. 2011 edition) in his description. I cite the example because it helps transition ever briefly into another topic: generalizations are everywhere in 19^th century literature and I haven’t really taken an explicit notice until the lecturer made the point. Something like “Like all narrow-minded people, Madame Vauquer…” (I.) is there in broad “page”-light. One last highlight was the hilarious arbitrariness of the particle “de” which is actually consciously added before French surnames when there is aristocratic rank involved, at least of that time period. Pertaining to even the author himself, he added on the “de” to his name in 1831 to up his reputation. Clark joked that we should all change our names.

              Creative Writing class focused on description today. We wrote from a choice of four topics—I chose my childhood bedroom, which I had to consciously try to envision since it doesn’t register as a sentimental place for some reason. The gap between the shower door and the ceiling was much more memorable in my childhood house: it took skill for Johnathan and I to aim a bouncy ball just right that it would pass through the just-big-enough gap and bounce in ecstasy on the empty shower tiles. Anyway, in the bedroom, there were a bunk bed, desk near the window, a white chest, glow-in-the-dark stars on the wall, and mirrored sliding closet doors? That’s what I wrote at any rate, and Bernard made everyone count how often we included references to the senses and which. I came up with 10 visual, 2 touch, and 2 sound. The class average was similar with great weight on the sense of sight. The next exercise was to write from four topics—I chose to describe a fight—without mentioning sight. I started the narrator off being blinded by a punch so it worked fairly well. He walked around by sound and blindly punched the air only to realize that he hit the bully miraculously enough and saved the girl Clare. Even in a short, I had to let the hero win.

Vinnie made a memorable dinner.

            After a pizza dinner—the kitchen was packed anyway—I walked off to the library and yes, now you see it, this is where the title of this blog arises. I had discovered that Stef was still in the library, slaving away at another author I have yet to read this week (Hazlitt) and she mentioned her floor as 02. Basement? I was curious.

            I walked down, levels of silence increasing with each staircase, and opened the glass door at the bottom. On two vacated chairs were fur coats. Another chair held Stef, welcoming me to her floor. There was literally no one else—during the day it probably fills up, but at least at this hour, it was just Stef and Helen, who made her appearance a minute later. I would call this “Stef and Helen’s Secret Library” but only Stef introduced it, so I guess it’s just Stef’s then. Sorry, Helen.

The 3-pronged is permanently attached.

     Stef played with a yellow goo smiley face ball as she read. Helen sat entranced at her screen, for reading or facebook no one knows. And I was amused by small things, like this: a Mac outlet plug but British-version! Ha! 

    Then here comes more memorable dialogue of the day:

            Me: < Oh, that’s interesting.

            Stef: > Interesting.

            Helen: >> You must have been a parrot in your past life, Stef.

Then came a demand:

            < Stef, you want me to put my watch across the room because it’s ticking too loudly?

            > Yes, please.

            < …I said that facetiously.

            > Ooh, I like that word.

            < Yeah, I like it too.

            >> …You guys are such English majors—ooh [in mock], I like that! I like that too! Define that word for me! Oh, I shall use that word!

I held up my pen in thought, receiving this (ironic) Helenic remark:

            << …What is this? Oh, my instrument of genius! How I would if I could have a quill instead of a pen! ...Life so short! Out, out, brief candle!

Nice Macbeth. Helen is a history major...but probably with a deep subconscious longing to study literature again too. But, ah, the ultimate penned remark:

            << Stef, we have an inflatable dolphin in our kitchen and you’re worried where that [smiley face toy] will go!?

I finished up another hour in the library after they left. As I exited the library, I passed by guys dressed like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, all decked out in green face and body paint and cardboard shells. An LCR Superhero-themed night it is. Vinnie has just returned now, actually. All right, I call it a night. Out, out, brief candle!