Day 28: “Ad pulchitudinem tria requiruntur integritas, consonantia, claritas”

@B-14, Varanasi.

New year is around the corner. One more day to go.  But if I say it frankly, changing of dates has never encited me. Especially all the associated hoo-haa with it, defeats me everytime. The world going beserk, the crazy parties, more like a forced entertainment. Nay do not yield to this force. Ilegtimiti-non-carborundum.

Now that I have started playing scrabble, I really should store the words with q,z,x and w. I obtained another Ayn Rand’s magnificence- Fountain head. And thanks to Knight, biography of Steve Jobs by Waterson. Believe me it is as thick as a stump of tree. It shows 3:02 AM at digital clock below, and 12:40ish on the analog wall clock. What is the deal with this world time. I still do not understand.

While I was driving scooter to Rishi’s palce, in a parallel world some guy was riding an Italian scooter, probably white with hint of blue in Italy. I should really go to Italy. May be it is time to apply for PhD @ ETH. And euro-tour is done. Amen !

Coming back to joy of reading, there is a certain pleasure in reading classics, the joy of raw writing, the intertwined piece of beauty in the alphabets. They don’t write like that anymore. Its beauty, sheer beauty.

As Joyce paraphrased,

“Ad pulchitudinem tria requiruntur integritas, consonantia, claritas”…Aquinas

Three things are needed for beauty, wholeness, harmony and radiance.

1)   Wholeness aka integritas:

the quality of writing, It is a world of its own, it has a certain flavor, a certain charm, a certain manner. Each pertaining to its writer.Its like the verses have a solu of their own.

2) Harmony aka consonantia:

A piece of writing is suppose to bring out the time, the feeling, the truth of the era in which it was written. It is in harmony with the space and time.

3)  Radiance aka claritas

Now radiance is kind of vague, but it is the feeling of ‘whatness of the thing’- the quiddatas. When the heart feels about the art, and is left enchanted with it. Like the mine was enchanted by the “A portrait of the artist as a young man”.

Book-tender, Pour in  more Joyce for me please !!

day 12 : Art of reading novels – an introduction.

A word about Kazuo Ishiguro, now since I have finished “remains of the day”. His reads are evocative ones, there is a storyline, but the way he hides the emotions among words. Its like the way one reads human emotions, you got to have a certain level of EQ to decipher emotions. That is what which makes his books contemporary classics. The intertwined feeling of love, that never comes fully to surface, you have to dive deep to fathom its depth. Like a tip of the iceberg. You read pages, you get some feeling, you think on it  and then you can actually feel it. Not like our times where you write love few times to convey the feeling, I wonder that is why they have genre classics and contemporary.

Well I also think winters are the best times to read up such novels, when temperature outside are dropping, there is moisture and cold in air, and the canopy of quilt gives the requisite shelter and environment to read a novel. And yes there is no one in home to chain-pull your train of thoughts. Someday I might write something on “art of reading”, let this post be an introductory one .

Which reminds me of Ishiguro’s first novel I read, “never let me go”. It was by the seaside of old-french ambiance of Pondicherry I finished the book. Amid the vast expanse of sea, the unending horizon and the shrieks of sea-birds. But this one, ‘remains of the day’ extended well beyond six months. I think it is like a aged scotch, you sip a little, relish it, savor it, and then pass into the state of thinking that only fine scotch can induce. And once you are satisfied and contended, you move on to another sip. A fine book is similar species,(if Darwin would have been alive few more years then definitely fine scotch and fine books would have been classified under same genus) So talking of a fine read, you try to save it for the best of times, and not waste it like a prodigal son, but more like Aisan son.Believe me it is very difficult to get over a hangover after reading a good read. For scotch you have ginger ale, full course meal, and if I remember correct an acquaintance once (impossibly) suggested red-bull. I think jotting your feelings down is the best cure, god save the ones who cant/dont and move around in time-space with an incomplete feeling of something needs to be done. I wont say that I had been stuck by that feeling quite a times, but this time nay !

There are few books which leave a deep impact on your psyche and way of living, like Atlas Shrugged, it inspires you to search the hero in you. Not the google search but rather searching for oneself among the layers of life. The characters larger than life which are heroic and have the charm and integrity. Indeed I should thank my aunt, who gave me my first novel when I was 10 years old. It has been like 16 years now since I got entangled in this hobby, infact it has ceased to be hobby anymore. It is the way of life, and all I can think about when I will be able to write as eloquent as these great writers. Amen.

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