Saturday, October 28, 2006

Dostoyevsky, science fiction writer

He dreamt that the whole world was condemned to a terrible new strange plague that had come to Europe from the depths of Asia. All were to be destroyed except a very few chosen. Some new sorts of microbes were attacking the bodies of men, but these microbes were endowed with intelligence and will. Men attacked by them became at once mad and furious. But never had men considered themselves so intellectual and so completely in possession of the truth as these sufferers, never had they considered their decisions, their scientific conclusions, their moral convictions so infallible. Whole villages, whole towns and peoples went mad from the infection. All were excited and did not understand one another. Each thought that he alone had the truth and was wretched looking at the others, beat himself on the breast, wept, and wrung his hands. They did not know how to judge and could not agree what to consider evil and what good; they did not know whom to blame, whom to justify. Men killed each other in a sort of senseless spite. They gathered together in armies against one another, but even on the march the armies would begin attacking each other, the ranks would be broken and the soldiers would fall on each other, stabbing and cutting, biting and devouring each other. The alarm bell was ringing all day long in the towns; men rushed together, but why they were summoned and who was summoning them no one knew. The most ordinary trades were abandoned, because every one proposed his own ideas, his own improvements, and they could not agree. The land too was abandoned. Men met in groups, agreed on something, swore to keep together, but at once began on something quite different from what they had proposed. They accused one another, fought and killed each other. There were conflagrations and famine. All men and all things were involved in destruction. The plague spread and moved further and further.

(Dostoyevsky: Crime and Punishment)

That comes from the preachy, dull epilogue of "Crime and Punishment". The protagonist has a vision while imprisoned in Siberia, just before his unconvincing conversion and redemption.

Actually, that part of the novel would be improved by inverting the scenario: making the dream real (the crime of the protagonist being the first outbreak of the memetic plague) and the conversion episode just a consoling hallucination, a cheap fantasy of Raskolnikov to evade himself from the apocalyptic wasteland mired in a total war of everybody against everybody else.

Many of the better parts of Dostoyevsky's novels are the ones bordering on the fantastic, anyway. The "Grand Inquisitor" and the conversation with the Devil in "Brothers Karamazov", for example. Or when Father Zossima describes hell:

Oh, there are some who remain proud and fierce even in hell, in spite of their certain knowledge and contemplation of the absolute truth; there are some fearful ones who have given themselves over to Satan and his proud spirit entirely. For such, hell is voluntary and ever consuming; they are tortured by their own choice. For they have cursed themselves, cursing God and life. They live upon their vindictive pride like a starving man in the desert sucking blood out of his own body. But they are never satisfied, and they refuse forgiveness, they curse God Who calls them. They cannot behold the living God without hatred, and they cry out that the God of life should be annihilated, that God should destroy Himself and His own creation. And they will burn in the fire of their own wrath for ever and yearn for death and annihilation. But they will not attain to death....

(Dostoyevsky: The Brothers Karamazov)

Maybe I have read too much science fiction.

Sunday, October 22, 2006

Testamento de un bibliófilo medieval

Testamento ético, para ser exactos.

Avoid bad society, make thy books thy companions, let thy book-cases and shelves be thy gardens and pleasure-grounds. Pluck the fruit that grows therein, gather the roses, the spices, and the myrrh. If thy soul be satiate and weary, change from garden to garden, from furrow to furrow, from sight to sight. Then will thy desire renew itself, and thy soul be satisfied with delight.

Claro que a veces los herederos no están por la labor:

I have honored your by providing an extensive library for your use, and have thus relieved your of the necessity to borrow books. Most students must bustle about to seek books, often without finding them. But you, thanks be to God, lend and borrow not. many books, indeed, you own two or three copies. I have besides made for your books on all sciences, hoping that your hand might find them all as a nest. [The father probably compiled reference books for the use of the son.]

Seeing that your Creator had graced your with a wise and understanding heart, I journeyed to the ends of the earth and fetched for your a teacher in secular sciences. I minded neither the expense nor the danger of the ways. Untold evil might have befallen me and your on those travels, had not the Lord been with us!

But you, my son! did deceive my hopes. You did not choose to employ your abilities, hiding yourself from all your books, not caring to know them or even their titles. Had you seen your own books in the hand of others, you would not have recognized them; had you needed one of them, you would not have known whether it was with your or not, without asking me; you did not even consult the catalogue of your library....

Sacado de aquí y aquí.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

First Post

The aftermath was a period of depression, during which Gersen spent long mornings and afternoons on the Avente Esplanade, gazing out over the Thaumaturge Ocean.

(Jack Vance: The Killing Machine)