Welcome to Week 13, regarding matters that concern and pertain to this adventure and this memorable online reading group.
Almost caught up — got to about the halfway point in this week’s reading. Over the last week or two the thing I keep coming back to is the feeling that DQ is really living the dream. He’s not just a knight errant, standing up to lions, spelunking into the unknown, “brandish(ing) his lance with so much strength and dexterity that he filled all who did not know him with fear” — but even better, he’s become a knight errant of legend, literally a character in a book, which mebbe was his real dream all along.
Like I think just about everyone on the ‘march, I’m finding Part II much more compelling and flat out fun than Part I. Besides all the neat meta moments, even the language has become more lively — I find myself underlining some cool phrase on just about every page. Looking forward to seeing where this all lands. Next Wednesday: Let’s meet up at the end of Chapter XXXV (696 Grossman) where I’m thrilled to report that “there really was nothing that gave them greater pleasure.”
13 comments for “The Don Quixote Deathmarch, Week 13”
rodney k.
June 22, 2006 at 1:32 pm
Feeling Grinchy, so picture me writing this with a teensy dog pulling an immense sled and me atop it in a shabby Santa’s hat, reading DQ. Strange metaphor—it’s the hottest day of the year here—but there you go.
The Grinch who’s writing this is feeling, today anyway, that the things making Part II initially more pleasant than Part I are starting to cloy. There’s is a kinder, gentler Cervantes at work here who seems more interested in delighting than in working out his inner demons. Part I’s Lennon, Part II’s McCartney. Part I’s the Brady Bunch, widowers & stepkids trying to make a home; Part II’s A Very Brady Christmas, where the characters reunite 17 years later to gently reminisce about the grand old times.
If I were an illustrator, most of the scenes I’d choose to picture from DQ are in Part II: the Don destroys a puppet show, the Don attends an abundant country wedding, the Don finds a noble who indulges his knightly fantasy & nyuks ensue. But over time I’m starting to miss those tight, knotty narrative sequences, where tales weave into tales all hung on a single dark motif—jealous lovers, unfaithful wives, etc. I miss the Don’s dreamy fantasies having real-world, broken-molar type consequences. I miss Sancho’s hope of an insula, where you worried he was being exploited or duped. And I haven’t read anything in Part II as direct or affecting as Cervantes’s story about the Moor’s daughter, which read like an autobiography and had that chilling scene where the rich Moor looks at his daughter’s clothes and realizes she’s betrayed him, she’s complicit in the kidnap.
I dunno. Maybe it’s something I ate. But today I’m thinking … Part I is Don Quixote, Part II is Man of La Mancha.
Talk me down!
Basilio’s suicide scene – it’s complete Python. “I’ve fallen on my sword, but I’m not dead yet.� While Sancho is eating a pot full of fowl as the “skimmings� from Comacho’s cauldron. No wonder Gilliam wanted to direct this.
New favorite quotation p. 612 “Since I know you, Sancho, I shall ignore your words.�
What’s up with ch. 24? It begins with an admission of the impossibility of part of the story and has DQ retracting one of his tales as the result of his knowledge of chivalric stories. When it ends, DQ arrives at an inn which he does not think is a castle. When did he get all realistic on us? More and more, the world is encouraging DQ to be a larger than life mythological figure and he is realizing that he is just a man living among his fantasies IMO.
I’m looking through the assigned pages so I can make my weekly insightful comment while NPR’s Weekend Edition is on in the background. I think I hear “Cervantes” and “Don Quixote” being said on the radio & quickly turn up the sound. I catch the end of an interview with Leo Allen, who is identified as a stand up comedian in New York. He talking about having read Part 1 of DQ some time ago & recently read Part 2. He comments on how long it is, and how relevant & postmodern it is for something written so long ago.
Is Leo Allen one of our marchers?
I am actually enjoying the knotless, smooth feel of Part II. I admit there’s a difference, Mr. Grinch, in tension between the two parts. Pardon my crudeness, but perhaps: Part I is the foreign film – less formulaic and seemingly unconscious of its rough edges and slow parts; Part II is the polished Brian Grazer / Desilu Production? In keeping with the Hollywood theme (and again I apologize for it), my good friend Patrick once told me that an easy fix for a slow screenplay is a crazy monkey. I posit, however, that a soothsaying monkey is a touch of genius. And I love the braying councilmen – to me that was subtle, sophisticated and very, very funny. I do agree with missing Sancho’s innocence – it seems to have gone the way of the innkeeper’s blanket, but it makes sense: he’s been with the Don for what seems like a lifetime now.
Ms. Sauce,
You did it! You managed to talk me down. The Hollywood comparison makes a heck of a lot of sense to me. Thinking about it in the, ahem, corporate washroom, it got me thinking about how enduring that Quixote/Sancho dynamic is in film. Zero Mostel, yes (tip of the hat to Cecil) but also maybe Eddie Murphy? I’m thinking of those cop movies where a straight white tough guy gets paired with a salty, vernacular African-American comedian who “keeps it real.” But in the end always follows his partner into the action, even though he knows it’s crazy.
And (second tip to Cecil) it is pretty cool to be watching a sequel where the characters in the movie have all seen the original, and contrive to make the Don’s fantasies seem real at just the moment when the Don himself is starting to doubt (I’m thinking the Cave of Montesinos). As the Don gets transformed into a character, the people around him are sort of becoming authors, creating the conditions to sustain his imaginings. They kind of own the fiction, like we get annoyed with the X-men sequels or something: They’re *our* X-men, after all. I wonder (thinking about all the hijinks with the Duke and Duchess): how much does the Don really own his creation anymore?
“an easy fix for a slow screenplay is a crazy monkey.”
That’s one for the ages. Gotta try that sometime.
“an easy fix for a slow screenplay is a crazy monkey.”
coincidentally, so-called Bill and I have this longstanding theory that just about any story (or really, any situation) can be improved with the addition of a time-travelling monkey.
Would a crazy time-travelling monkey be too much of a good thing?
-Cecil
There was a good stretch where it seemed like DQ was becoming the hero he fantasizes he might become. He shows bravery with the lion and in getting Basilio’s back, even while uncharacteristically assessing accurately the dangers. And almost to directly contrast with the DQ of early part I, he sees the inn as an inn and not a castle. And Im really rooting for him and happy for him. And Im liking that. And then, he starts attacking the puppets and being his old self. And Im still liking it.
And definitely continuing to enjoy the self consciousness of the book. “And since the how and when of that theft (Sancho’s donkey) were not included in the first part through an error of the printers…” Ah yes, the printers.
These are wonderful comments this week–you marchers have all helped me put some things into perspective with regards to the narrative flow of Part II. I’m still a tad behind and just crawling out of Montecino’s (sp) Cave. I have especially liked the notion that the “enchanter” in this section is actually attributed to a specific individual, namely Merlin. Knowing your enchanter is almost like “the devil you know.”
Away at a conference, in the wrong time zone, and feeling the curds of my brain leaking down, I’m sending a mugnet-related thank you to all of you this week, especially Rodney.
Mr. Grinch,
Yes! I think Cervantes is playing with the tension between fact and fiction, and asking who is the real creator of myths, legends and stories. Most obvious, he toys with the myth of knighthood, stories of courtly love of that time, questioning whether it’s all just hogwash or not. But not so obvious are – as you point out – the characters who join in to keep DQ’s delusions alive; the legend that begins to preceed DQ in the second part (much to our amazement as readers – “hey wait a minute – people are starting to hear about DQ now. I thought he was merely a legend in his own lunchtime”), and the stories that come not from Cervantes as the author, but everyone in the book: the narrator, anonymous authors of letters left behind at inns, stories relayed by word of mouth between characters. All this in one book written hundreds of years ago – it’s so post-modern it’s crazy. And this is all in addition to the archetypal pairing of DQ-Sancho that I – like you – now see everywhere – in movies old and new, Monty Python, Spinal Tap, etc., etc.
The Reader of the Sorrowful Face is way further behind than the rest of you: I just past the lions.
However, I will share one observation that struck me while in the shower this morning, another Sancho/DQ pairing: “My Dinner With Andre.”
Andre Gregory is DQ– the dreamer, the philosopher, the idealistic and unrealistic vision of life, while Wallace Shawn is Sancho–the foil, earthy, funny, bringing Andre’s idealism crashing back to the real world.
Even in physical appearance they resemble their archetypes. You could see them on stage in these roles. Andre Gregory, tall, gaunt, skinny, serious. Wally–short, chubby, goofy twinkle in his eye.
Well, it sounded good in the shower anyway.
I’m having mysterious technical problems that have heretofore prevented me from posting my many illuminating insights…and now I don’t have time…but I’m still here.
And Andre tells Wally about his hallucinations – the one of the monster at Easter mass – and his mad bout in the desert where he was reduced to eating sand. Very Don-esque. I think that’s a brilliant shower epiphany.
Feeling Grinchy, so picture me writing this with a teensy dog pulling an immense sled and me atop it in a shabby Santa’s hat, reading DQ. Strange metaphor—it’s the hottest day of the year here—but there you go.
The Grinch who’s writing this is feeling, today anyway, that the things making Part II initially more pleasant than Part I are starting to cloy. There’s is a kinder, gentler Cervantes at work here who seems more interested in delighting than in working out his inner demons. Part I’s Lennon, Part II’s McCartney. Part I’s the Brady Bunch, widowers & stepkids trying to make a home; Part II’s A Very Brady Christmas, where the characters reunite 17 years later to gently reminisce about the grand old times.
If I were an illustrator, most of the scenes I’d choose to picture from DQ are in Part II: the Don destroys a puppet show, the Don attends an abundant country wedding, the Don finds a noble who indulges his knightly fantasy & nyuks ensue. But over time I’m starting to miss those tight, knotty narrative sequences, where tales weave into tales all hung on a single dark motif—jealous lovers, unfaithful wives, etc. I miss the Don’s dreamy fantasies having real-world, broken-molar type consequences. I miss Sancho’s hope of an insula, where you worried he was being exploited or duped. And I haven’t read anything in Part II as direct or affecting as Cervantes’s story about the Moor’s daughter, which read like an autobiography and had that chilling scene where the rich Moor looks at his daughter’s clothes and realizes she’s betrayed him, she’s complicit in the kidnap.
I dunno. Maybe it’s something I ate. But today I’m thinking … Part I is Don Quixote, Part II is Man of La Mancha.
Talk me down!
Basilio’s suicide scene – it’s complete Python. “I’ve fallen on my sword, but I’m not dead yet.� While Sancho is eating a pot full of fowl as the “skimmings� from Comacho’s cauldron. No wonder Gilliam wanted to direct this.
New favorite quotation p. 612 “Since I know you, Sancho, I shall ignore your words.�
What’s up with ch. 24? It begins with an admission of the impossibility of part of the story and has DQ retracting one of his tales as the result of his knowledge of chivalric stories. When it ends, DQ arrives at an inn which he does not think is a castle. When did he get all realistic on us? More and more, the world is encouraging DQ to be a larger than life mythological figure and he is realizing that he is just a man living among his fantasies IMO.
I’m looking through the assigned pages so I can make my weekly insightful comment while NPR’s Weekend Edition is on in the background. I think I hear “Cervantes” and “Don Quixote” being said on the radio & quickly turn up the sound. I catch the end of an interview with Leo Allen, who is identified as a stand up comedian in New York. He talking about having read Part 1 of DQ some time ago & recently read Part 2. He comments on how long it is, and how relevant & postmodern it is for something written so long ago.
Is Leo Allen one of our marchers?
I am actually enjoying the knotless, smooth feel of Part II. I admit there’s a difference, Mr. Grinch, in tension between the two parts. Pardon my crudeness, but perhaps: Part I is the foreign film – less formulaic and seemingly unconscious of its rough edges and slow parts; Part II is the polished Brian Grazer / Desilu Production? In keeping with the Hollywood theme (and again I apologize for it), my good friend Patrick once told me that an easy fix for a slow screenplay is a crazy monkey. I posit, however, that a soothsaying monkey is a touch of genius. And I love the braying councilmen – to me that was subtle, sophisticated and very, very funny. I do agree with missing Sancho’s innocence – it seems to have gone the way of the innkeeper’s blanket, but it makes sense: he’s been with the Don for what seems like a lifetime now.
Ms. Sauce,
You did it! You managed to talk me down. The Hollywood comparison makes a heck of a lot of sense to me. Thinking about it in the, ahem, corporate washroom, it got me thinking about how enduring that Quixote/Sancho dynamic is in film. Zero Mostel, yes (tip of the hat to Cecil) but also maybe Eddie Murphy? I’m thinking of those cop movies where a straight white tough guy gets paired with a salty, vernacular African-American comedian who “keeps it real.” But in the end always follows his partner into the action, even though he knows it’s crazy.
And (second tip to Cecil) it is pretty cool to be watching a sequel where the characters in the movie have all seen the original, and contrive to make the Don’s fantasies seem real at just the moment when the Don himself is starting to doubt (I’m thinking the Cave of Montesinos). As the Don gets transformed into a character, the people around him are sort of becoming authors, creating the conditions to sustain his imaginings. They kind of own the fiction, like we get annoyed with the X-men sequels or something: They’re *our* X-men, after all. I wonder (thinking about all the hijinks with the Duke and Duchess): how much does the Don really own his creation anymore?
“an easy fix for a slow screenplay is a crazy monkey.”
That’s one for the ages. Gotta try that sometime.
“an easy fix for a slow screenplay is a crazy monkey.”
coincidentally, so-called Bill and I have this longstanding theory that just about any story (or really, any situation) can be improved with the addition of a time-travelling monkey.
Would a crazy time-travelling monkey be too much of a good thing?
-Cecil
There was a good stretch where it seemed like DQ was becoming the hero he fantasizes he might become. He shows bravery with the lion and in getting Basilio’s back, even while uncharacteristically assessing accurately the dangers. And almost to directly contrast with the DQ of early part I, he sees the inn as an inn and not a castle. And Im really rooting for him and happy for him. And Im liking that. And then, he starts attacking the puppets and being his old self. And Im still liking it.
And definitely continuing to enjoy the self consciousness of the book. “And since the how and when of that theft (Sancho’s donkey) were not included in the first part through an error of the printers…” Ah yes, the printers.
These are wonderful comments this week–you marchers have all helped me put some things into perspective with regards to the narrative flow of Part II. I’m still a tad behind and just crawling out of Montecino’s (sp) Cave. I have especially liked the notion that the “enchanter” in this section is actually attributed to a specific individual, namely Merlin. Knowing your enchanter is almost like “the devil you know.”
Away at a conference, in the wrong time zone, and feeling the curds of my brain leaking down, I’m sending a mugnet-related thank you to all of you this week, especially Rodney.
Mr. Grinch,
Yes! I think Cervantes is playing with the tension between fact and fiction, and asking who is the real creator of myths, legends and stories. Most obvious, he toys with the myth of knighthood, stories of courtly love of that time, questioning whether it’s all just hogwash or not. But not so obvious are – as you point out – the characters who join in to keep DQ’s delusions alive; the legend that begins to preceed DQ in the second part (much to our amazement as readers – “hey wait a minute – people are starting to hear about DQ now. I thought he was merely a legend in his own lunchtime”), and the stories that come not from Cervantes as the author, but everyone in the book: the narrator, anonymous authors of letters left behind at inns, stories relayed by word of mouth between characters. All this in one book written hundreds of years ago – it’s so post-modern it’s crazy. And this is all in addition to the archetypal pairing of DQ-Sancho that I – like you – now see everywhere – in movies old and new, Monty Python, Spinal Tap, etc., etc.
The Reader of the Sorrowful Face is way further behind than the rest of you: I just past the lions.
However, I will share one observation that struck me while in the shower this morning, another Sancho/DQ pairing: “My Dinner With Andre.”
Andre Gregory is DQ– the dreamer, the philosopher, the idealistic and unrealistic vision of life, while Wallace Shawn is Sancho–the foil, earthy, funny, bringing Andre’s idealism crashing back to the real world.
Even in physical appearance they resemble their archetypes. You could see them on stage in these roles. Andre Gregory, tall, gaunt, skinny, serious. Wally–short, chubby, goofy twinkle in his eye.
Well, it sounded good in the shower anyway.
I’m having mysterious technical problems that have heretofore prevented me from posting my many illuminating insights…and now I don’t have time…but I’m still here.
And Andre tells Wally about his hallucinations – the one of the monster at Easter mass – and his mad bout in the desert where he was reduced to eating sand. Very Don-esque. I think that’s a brilliant shower epiphany.