Umberto Eco

Misreadings

Translated from the Italian

by William Weaver

A HARVEST ORIGINAL
A HELEN AND KURT WOLFF BOOK
HARCOURT BRACE

San Diego

&

COMPANY

New York

London

 1963 Arnoldo Mondadori Editore S.p.A., Milano

English translation copyright 1993 by
Harcourt Brace & Company and Jonathan Cape Limited

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced

or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechani
cal, includin

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Eco, Umberto.
[Diario minimo. English]
Misreadings/Umberto Eco: translated from the Italian
by William Weaver.
cm.
p.
"A Helen and Kurt Wolff book."
ISBN 0-15-660752-2
I. Title.
PQ4865.C6D513

1993

854'.914-d,o 93-249
D

igned by Lori}. McThomas

Printed in the United States of America

First edition
ABCDE

OCT 2 q 1993

Contents
Preface 1
Granita 7
Fragments 1 5
The Socratic Strip 2 7
Regretfully, We Are Returning Your .

Esquisse d'un nouveau chat

. 33

47

The Latest from Heaven 53

The Thing 62
Industry and Sexual Repression
in a Po Valley Society 69
The End Is at Hand 94
Letter to My Son 1 1 7
Three Eccentric Reviews 1 2 6
The Discovery of America 13 5
Make Your Own Movie 145
The Phenomenology of Mike Bongiorno 156
My Exagmination ... 1 65

Music-hall, not poetry, is a criticism of life.

-James Joyce

Misreadings

Preface

In 1959, for fl Verri, a literary magazine whose

contributors comprised many of the writers later to
form the "Gruppo 63," I b egan writing a monthly
column entitled Diario minima, a title dictated as
much by prudence as modesty. Into a pblication
filled with linguistic experiments of the neo-avant
garde and impressive essays on Ezra Pound and
Chinese ideograms, I was introducing pages of free
wheelir,ig reflections on some minor subjects that,
often, were meant to parody the writings of other
contributors to the magazine, more zealous than I.
So, right at - the outset, I wanted to apologize to the
readers for having written those pages, pages delib
erately comic and grotesque, and therefore less dig
nified than the rest of the magazine.
The first texts, whether by me or by my friends,
from the point of view of literary genre resembled
the Mythologies of Roland Barthes. Barthes' book
had appeared in 1957, but at the time I began writing
for Diario minima I was not yet acquainted with it.

MISREADINGS

Otherwise I would never have dared devote, in 1960,

an essay to striptease. And, I believe, it was after
reading Barthes that, out of humility, I abandoned
the Mythologies style and moved on, gradually, to
pastiche.
I had a further, deeper reason for adopting pas
tiche : If the work of the neo-avant-garde consisted
in turning inside out the languages of daily life and
of literature, the comic and the grotesque should be
a part of that program. The tradition of pastiche
which in France could boast such illustrious practi
tioners as.Proust, Queneau, and the Oulipo group
had been generally less fortunate in Italian literature.
Hence the presence of Diario minima in the pages
of fl Verri. Later, in 1963, when the pieces I had
published in the magazine were collected in a volume,
it was given the same title, even though the contents
were not a diary in the accepted sense. That volume
went through several editions, and now serves as the
basis for this English-language version. Since a literal
translation of the title, Minimal Diary, would be
meaningless, I have preferred to call it Misreadings.
Parody, like all comic writing, is linked to space
and time. The tragic stories of Oedipus and of An
tigone move us still, but if we lack a knowledge of
classic Athens, we will be baffled by many of the
allusions in Aristophanes. I apologize for employing
such eminent_ examples, but it is easier to make my
point through them.
Though the contents of this volume represent a
choice, and though a couple of the most "Italian"
pieces have been omitted, I feel I owe the foreign
2

Preface

reader a few words of explanation. Explaining a joke

inevitably kills its effect; but-si parva licet compo
nere magnis-many of Panurge's words remain in
comprehensible without a footnote explaining that
his was the language of the Sorbonne.
"Granita" was meant as a parody of Nabokov's
Lolita, exploiting also the fact that the translation of
the protagonist's name is Umberto Umberto. Of
course, my piece is not so much a parody of Nabokov
as of the Italian translation of his novel ; but what I
wrote, even translated from Italian, is still readable,
I think. The parody is set in the sll).all towns of
Piedmont, the region where I was born.
In "Fragments, " obviously, I used the words of
Italian popular songs, which in the translation have
been replaced by American equivalents. In the final
quotation, however, Shakespeare and Italian songs
mix (in the original, instead of Shakespeare I used
D' Annunzio ).
As my translator indicates in a prefatory note,
Mike Bongiorno, while unknown to non-Italians, be
longs to a familiar, international category ; and, per
sonally, I continue to consider him a genius.
Obviously "Esquisse d'un nouveau chat" refers to
Alain Robbe-Grillet and the nouveau roman. As in
other instances, the parody here is meant as a tribute.
"The Latest from Heaven" reports from the next
world in terms of current political jargon. It was
written several decades ago, but I think it will be
comprehensible also in the age of Ross Perot and Pat
Buchanan.
The classics of Anglo-Saxon anthropology (Mar-

MISREADINGS

garet Mead, Ruth Benedict, Kroeber, etc.) were the

inspiration for "Industry and Sexual Repression in a
Po Valley Society, " the title borrowed from a work
by Malinowski. Its philosophical parts are enhanced
by some quotations (suitably modified) from Hus
serl, Binswanger, Heidegger, and others. The Porta
Ludovica paradox has become, in Italy, a set subject
for study in the architecture departments of several
universities.
In the same vein, "The End Is at Hand" is inspired
by the social criticism of Adorno and the school of
Frankfurt. Certain passages are indirect quotations
from Italian authors who were given to "Adornizing"
in those years. Like the piece that precedes it, this
text is an exercise in what is called today "alternative
anthropology" (not the world of others as seen by
us, but our world as seen by others). Montesquieu
already did this with Les Lettres Persanes. Some time
ago, a group of anthropologists invited African re
searchers to France so that they could observe the
French way of life. The Africans were amazed to
find, for example, that the French were in the habit
of walking their dogs.
The TV coverage of the first moon walk suggested
"The Discovery of America. " In the original, the
names of Italian anchormen were used ; familiar
American names have been substituted.
The title "My Exagmination . . . " repeats almost
literally that of a famous collection of essays on
Finnegans Wake. Bearing in mind all the critical styles
in fashion at American universities a few decades ago
(from New Criticism to various forms of symbolic

Preface

cnttc1sm, and also a few hints at the criticism of

Eliot), I adapted these attitudes of overinterpretation
to the most famous Italian novel of the nineteenth
century. Most English-language readers will not be
familiar with I promessi sposi (though an English
translation exists, The Betrothed), but it should suf
fice to know that my J oycean reading is applied to a
classic that dates from the early nineteenth century,
its style and narrative structure recalling Walter Scott
(for example) more than J oyce. Today I realize that
many recent exercises in "deconstructive reading"
read as if inspired by my parody. This is parody's
mission : it must never be afraid of going too far. If
its aim is true, it simply heralds what others will later
produce, unblushing, with impassive and assertive
gravity.
Umberto Eco

Granita

The present manuscript was given to me by the warden of

the local jail in a small town in Piedmont. The unreliable
information this man furnished us about the mysterious
prisoner who left these papers behind in his cell, the
obscurity that shrouds. the writer's fate, a widespread,
inexplicable reticence in all whose paths crossed that of the
author of the following pages oblige us to be content with
what we know; as we must be content with what is left of
the manuscript-after the voracity of the prison rats
since we feel that even in these circumstances the reader
can form a notion of the extraordinary tale of this Umberto
Umberto (unless the mysterious prisoner is perhaps Vla
dimir Nabokov, paradoxically a refugee in the Langhe
region, and the manuscript shows the other face of that
protean immoralist) and thus finally can draw from these
pages the hidden lesson: the libertine garb conceals a higher
morality.

Granita. Flower of my adolescence, torment of my

nights. Will I ever see you again ? Granita. Granita.
7

MISREADINGS

Gran-i-ta. Three syllables, the second and third

forming a diminutive, as if contradicting the first.
Gran. Ita. Granita, may I remember you until your
image has become a shadow and your abode the
grave.
My name is Umberto Umberto. When the crucial
event occurred, I was submitting boldly to the triumph
of adolescence. According to those who knew me
then, and not those who see me now, Reader, in this
cell, haggard, with the first traces of a prophet's beard
stiffening my cheeks . . . according to those who
knew me then, I was an ephebe of parts, with that
hint of melancholy due, I believe, to the Mediterra
nean chromosomes of a Calabrian ancestor. The young
girls I met desired me with all the violence of their
burgeoning wombs, transferring me into the telluric
anguish of their lonely nights. I scarcely remember
those girls, as I myself was the horrible prey of quite
another passion; my eyes barely grazed their cheeks
gilded in the slanting sunset light by a silken, trans
parent down.
I loved, dear Reader, dear friend ! And with the
folly of my eager years, I loved those whom you
would call, in your sluggish thoughtlessness, "old
women." From the deepest labyrinth of my beardless
being, I desired those creatures already marked by
stern, implacable age, bent by the fatal rhythm of
their eighty years, horribly undermined by the shadow
of senescence. To denote those creatures ignored by
the many, forgotten in the lubricious indifference of
the customary usagers of sturdy Friulan milkmaids
of twenty-five, I will employ, dear Reader-op-

Granita

pressed here again by the reflux of an intrusive

knowledge that impedes, arrests any innocent act I
might venture- a term that I do not despair of having
chosen with precision : nornettes.
How can I describe, 0 you who judge me (toi,
hypocrite lecteur, mon semblable, mon frere!), the
matutinal prey offered the crafty fancier of no'rnettes
in this swamp of our buried world ? How can I
convey this to you, who course through afternoon
gardens in banal pursuit of maidens beginning to
bud? What can you know of the subdued, shadowy, ,
grinning hunt that the lover of nornettes may conduct
on the benches of old parks, in the scented penumbra
of basilicas, on the graveled paths of suburban cem
eteries, in the Sunday hour at the corner of the
nursing home, at the doors of the hospice, in the
chanting ranks of parish processions, at charity ba
zaars : an amorous, intense, and-alas-inexorably
chaste ambush, to catch a closer glimpse of those
faces furrowed by volcanic wrinkles, those eyes
watering with cataract, the twitching movement of
those dry lips sunken in the exquisite depression of
a toothless mouth, lips enlivened at times by a glis
tening trickle of salivary ecstasy, those proudly gnarled
hands, nervously, lustfully tremulous, provocative,
as they tell a very sfow rosary !
Can I ever recreate, Reader-friend, the sinking
desperation on sighting that elusive prey, the spas
modic shiver at certain fleeting contacts : an elbow's
nudge in a crowded tram- "Excuse me, madam,
would you like a seat?" Oh, satanic friend, how
dared you accept the moist look of gratitude and the
9

MISREADINGS

"Thank you, young man, how kind !", when you

would have have preferred to enact on the spot a
bacchic drama of possession ?-the grazing of a ven
erable knee as your calf slides between two rows of
seats in the pomeridian solitude of a neighborhood
cinema, or the tender but controlled grasp-sporadic
moments of extreme contact !-of the skeletal arm of
a crone you helped cross at the light with the prim
concern of an eagle scout.
The vicissitudes of my idle youth afforded me
other encounters. As I have said, I had a reasonably
engaging appearance, with my dark cheeks and the
tender countenance of a maiden oppressed by a del
icate virility. I was not unaware of adolescent love,
but I submitted to it as if paying a toll, fulfilling the
requirements of my age. I recall a May evening,
shortly before sunset, when in the garden of a patri
cian villa-it was in the Varese region, not far from
the lake, red in the sinking sun- I lay in the shade
of some bushes with a fledgling sixteen-year-old, all
freckles and powerless in the grip of a dismaying
storm of amorous feelings toward me. And it was at
that moment, while I was listlessly granting her the
desired wand of my pubescent thaumaturgy, that I
saw, Reader, at a window of the upper floor, the
form of a decrepit nanny bent almost double as she
unrolled down her leg the shapeless mass of a cotton
stocking. The breathtaking sight of that swollen limb,
with its varicose marbling, stroked by the clumsy
movement of the old hands unrolling the lumpy
article of clothing, seemed to me (to my concupiscent
eyes !) a brutal and enviable phallus soothed by a

Granita

virginal caress : and it was at that moment that, seized

by an ecstasy redoubled by distance, I exploded,
gasping, in an effusion of biological assent that the
maiden (foolish tadpole, how I hated you !) wel
comed, inoaning, as a tribute to her own callow
charms.
Did you then ever realize, my dull-witted instru
ment of redirected passion, that you had enjoyed the
food of another's repast, or did the dim vanity of
your unripe years portray me to you as a fiery,
unforgettable accomplice in sin ? After leaving the
next day with your family, you sent me a week later
a postal card signed "Your old friend. " Did you
perceive the truth, revealing to me your perspicacity
in the careful employment of that adjective, or was
yours simply a bravado use of jargon, the mettlesome
high-school girl rebelling against correct epistolary
1
style ?
Ah, after that, how I stared, trembling, at every
window in the hope of glimpsing the flaccid silhou
ette of an octogenarian in the bath ! How many
evenings, half hidden by a tree, did I consummate
my solitary debauches, my eyes trained on the shadow
cast against a curtain, of some grandmother sweetly
engaged in gumming a meal ! And the horrid disap
pointment, immediate and destructive (tiens, done, le
salaud!), when the figure, abandoning the falsehood
of those ombres chinoises, revealed itself at the sill
for what she was, a naked ballerina with swelling
breasts and the tanned hips of an Andalusian mare !
So for months and years I coursed, unsated, in
the deluded hunt for adorable nornettes, caught up

11

MISREADINGS

in a pursuit that was born, indestructible, I am sure,

at the moment of my birth, when a toothless old
midwife-my father's desperate search at that hour
of the night had produced only this hag, with one
foot in the grave !-rescued me from the viscous
prison of the maternal womb and revealed to me, in
the light of life, her immortal countenance : a jeune

parque.

I seek no justification from you who read me (a

la guerre comme a la guerre); I am merely explaining

to you how inevitable was the concurrence of events

that brought me to my triumph.
The soiree to which I had been invited was a
sordid petting party with young models and pimply
university students. The sinuous lewdness of those
aroused maidens, the negligent offering of their breasts
through unbuttoned blouses in the swirl of the dance,
disgusted me. I was already thinking to run away
from that place of banal traffic among crotches as yet
intact, when a shrill, strident sound (will I ever be
able to express the dizzying pitch, the hoarse descent
of those vocal cords, long exhausted, the allure su
preme de ce cri centenaire?), the tremulous lament of
an ancient female, plunged the assembly into silence.
And in the frame of the doorway I saw her, the face
of the rmote Norn of my natal shock, the cascading
enthusiasm of her lasciviously white locks, the stiff
ened b ody that stretched the stuff of the little, thread
bare black dress into acute angles, the legs now thin
and bent opposing arcs, the fragile line of her vul
nerable femur outlined under the ancient modesty of
the venerable skirt.

12

Granita

The insipid maiden who was our hostess made a

show of tolerant politeness. She raised her eyes to
heaven as she said, "She's my granny . . .
"

At this point the intact part of the manuscript ends. What

can be inferred from the scattered lines that follow suggests
that the story continued more or less in this fashion: A
few days later, Umberto Umberto abducts his hostess's
grandmother, carrying her off on the handlebars of his
bicycle, toward Piedmont. At first he takes her to a home
,
for the aged poor, where, that same night, he possesses
her, discovering among other things that the woman is not
without previous experience. At daybreak, as he is smoking
a cigarette in the semidarkness of the garden, he is ap
proached by a dubious-looking youth who asks him slyly
if the old woman is really his grandmother. Alarmed,
Umberto Umberto leaves the institution with Granita and
begins a dizzying race over the roads of Piedmont. He
visits the wine fair at Canelli, the annual truffle festival at
Alba, participates in the historical pageant at Caglianetto,
inspects the livestock market at Nizza Monferrato, and
follows the election of Miss Milkmaid in lvrea and the sack
race in honor of the patron saint's day in Condove. At the
end of his mad odyssey through that northern region, he
realizes that for som time his bicycle has been slyly
followed by an eagle scout on a motorscooter, who eludes
every attempt to trap him. One day, at lncisa Scapaccino,
when he takes Granita to a chiropodist, leaving her alone
for a few minutes while he goes to buy cigarettes, he
discovers, on returning, that the old woman has abandoned
him, running off with her new kidnapper. For several
months he sinks into deep depression, but finally finds the

13

MISREADINGS

old woman agam, fresh from a beauty farm where her

seducer has taken her. Her face is without a wrinkle, her
hair is a coppery blond, her smile is dazzling. Umberto
Umberto is overwhelmed by a profound sense of pity and
a resigned despair at the sight of this destruction. Without
a word, he purchases a shotgun and sets out in search of
the villain. He finds the young scout at a campsite rubbing
two sticks together to light a fire. He shoots once, twice,
three times, repeatedly missing the youth, until finally two
priests wearing leather jackets and black berets overpower
him. Promptly arrested, he is sentenced to six months for
illegal possession of firearms and hunting out of season.
1 959

1 J.

Frgments

Proceedings, JV Intergalactic Congress of Archeological

Studies, Sirius, 4th section, Mathematical Year 121. Paper
read by chair Prof Anouk Ooma of the Department of
Archeology, Prince Joseph's Land University, Arctica, Earth.

Distinguished colleagues,
You are surely not unaware that for some time Arctic
scholars have been engaged in intense research and
have, as a result, brought to light numerous relics of
the ancient civilization that flourished in the temper
ate and tropical zones of our planet before the catas
trophe of the year the known as 1980, in the ancient
era, or, more correctly, Year One, after the Explo
sion destroyed every trace of life in those zones. For
millennia afterward, as everyone krtows, they re
mained so contaminated by radioactivity that until a
few decades ago our expeditions could approach these
territories only at extreme risk, despite the eagerness
of scientists to reveal to the whole Galaxy the degree
15

MISREADINGS

of civilization achieved by our remote ancestors. One

mystery will always remain with us: How could
human beings inhabit areas so unbearably torrid, and
how could they adapt to the insane way ()f living
necessitated by the alternation of brief periods of
light with equally brief periods of darkness? And yet
we know that the ancient earthlings, in that blinding
vertigo of obscurity and clarity, managed to establish
efficient biorhythms and develop a rich and articulate
civilization. About seventy years ago (to be precise,
in the year 1745 post explosion), from the advanced
base at Reykjavik, the legendary southernmost point
of terrestrial life, an expedition led by Professor
Amaa A. Kroak advanced as far as the desert once
known as France. There, that unparalleled scholar
proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that the com
bined_ effects of radioaction and time had destroyed
all fossil evidence. There seemed no hope, then, that
anything would ever be known about our distant
progenitors. Previously, in 17 10 P.E . , the expedition
led by Professor Ulak Amjacoa, thanks to generous
support provided by the Alpha Centauri Foundation,
had taken soundings in the radioactive waters of Loch
Ness and recovered what is today generally con
sidered the first "cryptolibrary" of the ancients. En
cased in an enormous block of cement was a zinc
container with the words incised on it : BERTRAND US
RUSSELL SUBMERSIT ANNO H O MINIS MCMLI. This con
tainer, as all of you know, held the volumes of the
Encyclopaedia Britannica, and finally supplied us
with that enormous body of data about the vanished
civilization that have, to a great extent, formed the
1 t..

Fragments

basis of our present historical knowledge. It was not

long before other cryptolibraries were discovered in
other areas (including the famous one in a sealed case
in the Deutschland Territory with the inscription
TENEBRA APPROPINQUANTE). It soon became clear
that among the ancient earthlings only men of culture
sensed the approaching tragedy. They tried to offer
some remedy in the only way available to them: that
is, saving for posterity the treasures of their civili
zation. And what an act of faith it was, for them to
foresee, despite all evidence to the contrary, any
posterity at all !
Thanks t o these pages, which w e cannot regard
without emotion today, distinguished colleagues, at
last we are able to know how that world thought,
how its people acted, how the final drama unfolded.
Oh, I realize full well that the written word pro
vides an inadequate testimony of the world in which
it was written, but think how handicapped we are
when we lack even this valuable aid ! The "Italian
problem" offers us a typical example of the enigma
that has fascinated archeologists and historians, none
of whom has yet been able to give an answer to the
familiar question: Why, in that country, the seat of
an ancient civilization, as we know and as books
discovered in other la;ds amply demonstrate-why,
we ask, has it been impossible to find any trace of a
cryptolibrary? You know that the hypotheses for
warded in answer to this question are as numerous
as they are unsatisfactory; but at the risk of repeating
what you already know, I will list them for you
briefly:
17

MISREADINGS

1) The Aakon-Sturg Hypothesis, proposed with

admirable erudition in The Explosion in the Mediter
ranean Basin, Baffin, 1750 P. E. A combination of
thermonuclear phenomena destroyed the Italian
cryptolibrary. This hypothesis is supported by sound
argument, because we know that the Italian peninsula
was the most heavily hit when the first atomic mis
siles were fired from the Adriatic coast, initiating the
total conflict.
2) The Ugum-Noa Noa Hypothesis, expounded in
the widely read Did Italy Exist? (Barents City, 1712
P.E. ) . Here, on the basis of careful examination of
the reports of high-level political conferences held
before the total conflict, the author reaches the con
clusion that "Italy" never existed. While this hy
pothesis neatly resolves the problem of cryptolibraries
(or, rather, of their absence), it seems contradicted
by a series of reports provided in the English and
German languages concerning the culture of the
"Italian" people. Documents in the French language,
on the other hand, Ugum-Noa Noa reminds us,
ignore the subject altogether, thus lending some sup
port to his bold idea.

3) The Hypothesis of Professor Ixptt Adonis (cf.

Italia, Altair, 22nd section, Mathematical Year 120).

This is without doubt the most brilliant hypothesis

of all, but also the least substantiated. It argues that
at the time of the Explosion the Italian National
Library was, for unspecified reasons, in a state of
extreme disarray; that Italian scholars, rather than
concern themselves with establishing libraries for the

Fragments

future, were seriously worried about their library of

the present, having to make enormous efforts just to
prevent the collapse of the building that actually
housed the volumes. This hypothesis betrays the
ingenuousness of a modern, non-earthling observer
quick to weave a halo of legend around everything
regarding our planet, accustomed to considering
earthlings as a people who lived in idle bliss, gorging
on seal pie and strumming reindeer-horn harps. On
the contrary, the advanced degree of civilization
reached, by the ancient earthlings before the Explo
sion makes such criminal neglect inconceivable, the
more so since exploration of the other cisequatorial
countries has revealed the existence of quite advanced
techniques of book conservation.
And so we come full circle. The darkest mystery
has always enshrouded Italian pre-Explosion culture,
even though for he early centuries the cryptolibraries
of other countries supply adequate documentation.
True, in the course of careful excavation some inter
esting if puzzling documents, highly fragile, have
been discovered. I will cite here the small paper
fragment unearthed by Kosamba. Its text, he rightly
considers, illustrates the Italian taste for brief and
pithy poems. I quote- the text in its entirety : "In the
middle of the pathway of this our life. " Kosamba
also found the jacket of a volume, obviously a treatise
on horticulture, entitled The Name of the Rose, by
a certain Ache or Eke (the upper part of the relic is
unfortunately torn, so the exact name is uncertain,
as Sturg indicates). And we must remember how

19

MISREADINGS

Italian science in that period had clearly made great

progress in genetics, even though this knowledge was
employed in racial eugenics, as we can infer from the
lid of a box that must have contained a medicine for
the improvement of the race, bearing only the words
WHITER THAN WHITE accompanied by the letters AJAX
(a reference to the first Aryan warrior).
Despite these valuable documents, no one has yet
been able to form a precise picture of the spiritual
level of that people, a level, if I may venture to say
so, distinguished colleagues, that is fully communi
cated only by the poetic word, by poetry as imagi
native awareness of a world and of a historical position.
If I have permitted myself this long but I hope
not unhelpful preface, it is because I wish to report
to you now, with great emotion, how I and my
accomplished colleague B aaka B. B . Baaka A.S. P.Z.
of the Royal Institute of Literature of Bear Island
made an extraordinary find in a forbidding region of
the Italian peninsula, at a depth of three thousand
meters. Our trove was sealed fortuitously in a stream
of lava and providentially sunk into the depths of the
earth by the frightful upheaval of the Explosion.
Worn and tattered, with many sections missing, al
most illegible and yet filled with breathtaking reve
lations, this small book is of modest appearance and
dimensions, bearing on the title page the words:
Great Hit Songs of Yesterday and Today. (Consid
ering the site of the discovery, we have called it
Quaternulus Pompeianus). We all know, my dear
colleagues, that the word "song" corresponds to the
Italian canzone or canzona, an archaic term indicating
20

Fragments

certain poetic compositions of the ancient fo urteenth

century, as the Encyclopaedia Britannica confirms;
and we assume that the word "hit, " like the word
"beat" (found elsewhere), must be associated with
rhythm, a characteristic that music shares with the
mathematical and genetic sciences. Among many
peoples rhythm had assumed also a philosophical
significance and was used to indicate a special quality
of artistic structures (cf. the volume found in the
Cryptobibliotheque National de Paris, M. Ghyka,
Essai sur le rhythme, N.R.F . 1938). Our Quaternulus
is an exquisite anthology, then, of the most worthy
poetic compositions of the period, a compendium of
lyric poems and songs that open to the mind's eye
an unparalleled panorama of beauty and spirituality.
Poetry of the twentieth century of the ancient era,
in Italy as elsewhere, was a poetry of crisis, boldly
aware of the world's impending fate. At the same
time, it was a poetry of faith. We have here a line
alas, the only legible one-of what must have been
an ode condemning terrestrial concerns : " It's a ma
terial world. " Immediately after that we are struck
by the lines of ail.other fragment, apparently from a
propitiatory or fertility hymn to nature : "I'm singing
in the rain, just singing in the rain, it's a glorious
feeling . . . " It is easy to imagine this sung by a
chorus of young girls: the delicate words evoke the
image of maidens in white veils dancing at sowing
time in some pervigilium. But elsewhere we find a
sense of desperation, of clear awareness of the critical
moment, as in this merciless depiction of solitude
and confused identity, which, if we are to believe

21

MISREADINGS

what the Encyclopaedia Britannica says of the dra

matist Luigi Pirandello, might lead us to attribute the
text to him: "Who? Stole my heart away ? Who?
Makes me dream all day" ? Who . . . " Another can
zona ("Mine in May, his in June. She fo rgot me
mighty soon") suggests a worthy correlative to some
English verses of the same period, the song of James
Prufrock by the poet Thomas Stearns, who speaks
of an unspecified "cruellest month. "
Did this searing anguish perhaps drive some ex
ponents of poetry to seek refuge in the georgic or
the didactic? Take, for example, the pristine beauty
of this line : "A sleepy lagoon, a tropical moon . . . "
Here you have the familiar and symbolic use of water
imagery, then the regal and sublime presence of the
moon, hinting at human frailty in the face of the
mysterious immensity of nature. And I'm sure you
will share my admiration for these verses: "June is
bustin' out all over, all over the meadow and the
plain; the corn is as high as an elephant's eye . . . "
Clearly the text derives from the rites of fertility, the
spirit of spring and of human sacrifice, perhaps a
maiden's heart offered to the earth mother. Such rites
were, in their day, analyzed in the England Region
in a book of uncertain attribution usually called The
Golden Bough, though some read the title as The
Golden Bowl (cf. passim the study, as yet untran
slated, by Axbzz Eowrrsc, "Golden Bough or Golden
Bowl? Xpt Agrschh Clwoomai, " Arcturus, 2nd sec
tion, Mathematical Year 120).
It is tempting to link the same fertility rites or,
more precisely, the Phrygian rite of the death of
22

Fragments

Atys, with another beautiful song that begins: "I

went down to the St. J ames Infirmary, to see my
baby there, laid out on a cold white table . . . " The
reference to Saint J ames suggests the Spanish San
tiago, and a happy intuition led us to recognize this
also as the name of a celebrated pilgrimage city. We
then realized that we had come upon an uncompleted
translation of an Iberian poem. As we all are sadly
aware, no Spanish text has ever been recovered, since,
as the Encyclopaedia Britannica informs us, about
twenty years before the Explosion the religious au
thorities of that nation ordered the burning of all
books that did not have a particular nihil obstat. But
for some time now, thanks to brief quotations found
in foreign volumes, we have formed a fairly clear
idea of the figure of the mythic Catalan bard of the
nineteenth or twentieth century, Federico Garcia,
also identified as Federico Lorca, barbarously mur
dered, the legend goes, by twenty-five women whom
he had coldly seduced. A German writer of 1966
(C. K. Dyroff, Lorca: Ein Beitrag zum Duendege
schichte als flamencowissenschaft) speaks of Lorca's
poetry as of a "being-in-death-rooed-like-love,
wherein the spirit of the time is named revealing itself
to itself through funereal danced cadences under an
Andalusian sky. " These words, unusually suited to
the abovementioned text, allow us also to attribute
to the same author other magnificent verses, of hot
Iberian violence, printed in the Quaternulus: "Cuando
caliente el sol su esta playa . . " If I may take the
liberty, dear friends, today, when spatiovision sets
are bombarding us constantly with an avalanche of
.

23

MISREADINGS

murky and dreadfully imitative music, today, when

the irresponsible bawlers of drivel teach their children
songs with absurd words, of recalling the crucial
essay "The Decline of Arctic Man, " which describes
how an unknown bandleader actually set to music an
obscene verse typical of drunken sailors ("No, I will
not see it, Ignacio's blood on the sand"), the latest
product of industrial nonsense. Let me now say that
those immortal lines of Lorca, which reach us from
the dark night of time, testify to the moral and
intellectual stature of an earthling of two thousand
years ago. We have before us a poem that is not
based on the tortuous, labyrinthine research of an
intellect bloated with culture but employs rhythms
that are spontaneous and elementary, pure in their
youthful grace ; a poem that leads us to think that a
God, not creative travail, is responsible for such a
miracle. Great poetry, ladies and gentlemen, is uni
versally recognizable ; its stylemes cannot be mis
taken ; there are cadences that reveal their kinship
even if they resound from opposite ends of the cos
mos. So it is with joy and profound emotion, distin
guished colleagues, that I have finally succeeded in
making a scholarly collation, by placing an isolated
verse found on a scrap of paper two years ago among
the ruins of a Northern Italian city into the context
of a more extensive song whose complete text I
believe I have now assembled on the basis of two
pages in the Quaternulus. An exquisite composition,
rich in learned references, a jewel in its Alexandrine
aura, perfect in its every turn of phrase:

24

Fragmems
Ciao ciao bambina
Get thee to a nunnery
Nunnery, hey nonny!
Come back to Sorrento
As dreams are made on

I'm afraid the time allowed me for this paper is

up. I would like to discuss the material further, but
I am confident that I will be able to translate and
publish, once I have solved a few delicate philological
problems, the fruits of my invaluable discovery. In
conclusion, I leave you with the image of this lost
civilization that, dry-eyed, sang its own destruction
of values, and with lighthearted elegance uttered dia
mond words that depicted for all time a world of
grace and beauty. But with a presentiment of the end
there was also a prophetic sensitivity. From the bot
tomless, mysterious depths of the past, from the
worn and defaced pages of the Quarternulus Pom
peianus, in one verse isolated on a page darkened by
radiation we find perhaps a presage of what was to
happen. On the very eve of the Explosion, the poet
saw the destiny of the earth's population, which
would build a new and more mature civilization on
the icecap of the pole and find in Inuit stock the.
superior race of a renewed and happy planet. The
poet saw that the way of the future would lead from
the horrors of the Explosion to virtue and progress.
Seeing this, he no longer felt fear or remorse; and so
into his song poured out this verse, direct as a psalm:

25

MISREADINGS

"Button up your overcoat if you're on a spree. Take

good care of yourself. "
Just one verse; but to us, children of the prosper
ous and progressive Arctic, it comes as a message of
faith and solidarity from the chasm of pain, beauty,
death, and rebirth, in which we glimpse the beautiful
and beloved countenance of our fathers.
1 959

26

The Socratic Strip

When she appears on the little stage of the Crazy

Horse, shielded by a black mesh curtain, Lilly Ni
agara is already naked. Something more than naked :
she is wearing an undone black bra and a garter belt.
During the first part of her number she dresses in-,
dolently, or rather, she slips on stockings, and fastens
them to the casual harness that dangles over her
limbs. She devotes the second part of her act to
returning to the initial situation. Thus the audience,
uncertain whether this woman has dressed or un
dressed, does not realize that practically speaking she
has done nothing, because the slow, pained move
ments, delicately underlined by the anguish of her
facial expression, simply declare her determined pro
fessionalism and faithfully follow a grand tradition
now codified even in instruction manuals ; and thus
nothing is unexpected, nothing is seductive. Com
pared to the techniques of other grand mistresses of
striptease, who know how to gauge accurately their
offer of an introductory innocence, which they con-

27

MISREADINGS

elude with abundant, unpredictable slyness, lascivi

ousness kept in reserve, with savage twists for the
final outrage (mistresses, in sum, of a dialectic, Oc
cidental strip), the technique of Lilly Niagara is al
ready beat and hard. It recalls, on sober consideration,
the Cecilia of Moravia's La noia, a bored sexuality
composed of indifference, here spiced by an expertise
borne like a penance.
Lilly Niagara, then, wishes to achieve the ultimate
level of striptease. She does not present the spectacle
of a seduction directed at no one, that makes prom
ises to the crowd but withdraws the offer at the last
moment; rather, she crosses the final threshold and
denies even the promise of seduction. So if the tra
ditional striptease is the suggestion of a coitus that
suddenly proves to be interruptus, provoking in dev
otees a mystique of privation, the strip of Lilly Ni
agara chastises the presumption of her new disciples,
revealing to them that the promised reality is only to
be contemplated, and that even the complete enjoy
ment of that contemplation is denied, for it must
take place in silent immobility. Lilly Niagara's Byz
antine art preserves, however, the habitual structure
of conventional striptease and its symbolic nature.
It is only in some boites of the most total ill fame
that at the end of the performance you can induce
the performer to sell herself. At the Crazy Horse
you are instructed, with the greatest urbanity, that it
is not considered proper to ask to purchase photo
graphs. What can be seen appears only for a few
minutes within the magic area of the stage. And if

?R

The Socratic Strip

you read the articles on stripping that enrich some

of the publications on sale in the leading theaters,
you realize that the nude dancer typically exercises
her profession with strict diligence, dedicating herself
in her private life to domestic affections, to the young
fiance who accompanies her to her job, or, totally
submissive, to a jealous husband within impervious
walls. Nor should this be thought merely a cheap
device. In the bold and more innocent Belle Epoque,
however, managers went to great lengths to convince
the customers that their divas were insatiable mon
sters in private as in public, devourers of men and
wealth, priestesses of the most unspeakable refine
ments in the boudoir.
But the Belle Epoque staged its sumptuous sinful
ness for a well-to-do ruling class, to whm the theater
and the after-theater had to bow, a class who enjoyed
the total possession of objects, the inalienable privi
lege of money.
The striptease you can see for quite reasonable
sums and at any hour of the day, even in your shirt
sleeves-no dress code-and even twice, because the
spectacle is nonstop, this striptease is addressed to
the average citizen. And in offering him those min
utes of religious concentration, its theology is im
plied, introduced in the form of hidden persuasion
and displayed through quaestiones. The essence of
this theology is that the faithful worshiper can admire
the luxurious goods of female plenitude but cannot
make use of them, because such dominion is not his
to command. He can use, if he wishes, the women

29

MISREADINGS

that society grants him and that destiny has assigned

him. But a crafty notice at the Crazy Horse warns
him that if, when he goes home, he finds his wife
unsatisfactory, he can enroll her in the afternoon
courses in deportment and mime that the manage
ment organizes for students and housewives. It is not
certain such courses actually exist or that the cus
tomer would dare make such a suggestion to his
better half ; what matters is that the seed of doubt is
planted in his mind, the suspicion that if the strip
teaseuse is Woman, then his wife is something else,
whereas if his wife is Woman, then the stripteaseuse
must be something more, the Female Principle or sex
or ecstasy or sin or glamor. She is, in any case, that
which is denied him, the spectator; the basic element
that eludes him, the goal of ecstasy that he cannot
achieve, the sense of triumph that is arrested in him,
the fullness of the senses and the dominion of the
world that he knows only from hearsay. The typical
striptease relationship demands that the woman, who
has offered the definitive spectacle of her possibilities
of satisfaction, is absolutely not for consumption. A
booklet distributed at the Concert Mayol contains a
wearily rakish introductory essay, which concludes,
nevertheless, with a revealing intuition. It says,
roughly, that the triumph of the naked woman in the
spotlights, as she exposes herself to the gaze of a
frustrated and yearning audience, consists of the art
ful awareness that at that moment they are comparing
her with their familiar fare, and so her triumph
consists also of the humiliation of others, while the

30

The Socratic Strip

pleasure of those who watch consists mainly of their

own humiliation, felt, suffered, and accepted as the
essence of the ritual.
If, psychologically speaking, the striptease rela
tionship is sadomasochistic, sociologically this sado
masochism is essential to the educational rite that is
being fulfilled. The striptease unconsciouly teaches
the spectator, who seeks and accepts frustration, that
the means of production are not in his possession.
But if sociologically it introduces an undeniable
hierarchy of caste (or, if you prefer, of class), meta
physically the striptease leads the spectator to com
pare the pleasures at his disposal with those that by
their very nature he cannot have : his reality compared
with the ideal, his women compared with Woman
hood, his experience of sex compared with Sex, the
nudes he possesses compared with the hyperuranian
Nudity he will never know. Afterward, he will have
to go back to the cave and be content with the
shadows on the wall : those are granted to him. And
thus, with unconscious synthesis, the striptease re
stores the Platonic situation to the sociological reality
of oppression and other-direction.
Sustained by the fact that the command buttons
of political life do not belong to him and that the
pattern of his experiences is sanctioned by a realm of
ideas he cannot alter, the striptease spectator can
peacefully return to the responsibilities of every day,
after the cathartic ritual that has confirmed his posi
tion as a fixed and solid element in the existing order;
and locales less ascetic than the Crazy Horse (mon-

31

MISREADINGS

astery for Zen monks, last stage of perfection) will

allow him to carry away the images of what he sees
there, to console his human condition with the wicked
practices that his devotion and his solitude will sug
gest.
1960

32

Regretfully, We
Are Returning Your .
Readers) Reports

Anonymous, The Bible

I must say that the first few hundred pages of this
manuscript really hooked me. Action-packed, they
have everything today's reader wants in a good story.
Sex (lots of it, including adultery, sodomy, incest),
also murder, war, massacres, and so on.
The Sodom and Gomorrah chapter, with the
transvestites putting the make on the angels, is wor
thy of Rabelais ; the Noah stories are pure J ules
Verne; the escape from Egypt cries out to be turned
into a major motion picture . . . In other words, a
real blockbuster, very well structured, with plenty
of twists, full of invention, with just the right amount
of piety, and never lapsing into tragedy.
But as I kept on reading, I realized that this is
actually an anthology, involving several writers, with
many-too many- stretches of poetry, and passages
that are downright mawkish and boring, and jere
miads that make no sense.

33

MISREADINGS

The end result is a monster omnibus. It seems to

have something for everybody, but ends up appealing
to nobody. And acquiring the rights from all these
different authors will mean big headaches, unless the
editor take cares of that himself. The editor's name,
by the way, doesn't appear anywhere on the manu
script, not even in the table of contents. Is there some
reason for keeping his identity a secret?
I'd suggest trying to get the rights only to the first
five chapters. We're on sure ground there. Also come
up with a better title. How about The Red Sea

Desperadoes?
Homer, The Odyssey
Personally, I like this book. A good yarn, exciting,
packed with adventure. Sufficient love interest, both
marital fidelity and adulterous flings (Calypso is a
great character, a real man-eater) ; there's even a Lo
lita aspect, with the teenager Nausicaa, where the
author doesn't spell things out, but it's a turn-on
anyway. Great dramatic moments, a one-eyed giant,
cannibals, even some drugs, but nothing illegal,
because as far as I know the lotus isn't on the Nar
cotics Bureau's list. The final scene is in the best
tradition of the Western : some heavy fist-swinging,
and the business with the bow is a masterstroke of
suspense.
What can I say ? It's a page turner, all right, not
like the author's first book, which was too static, all
concerned with unity of place and tediously over
plotted. By the time the reader reached the third

34

Regretfully, We Are Returning Your .. .

battle and the tenth duel, he already got the idea.

Remember how the Achilles-Patroclus story, with
that vein of not-so-latent homosexuality, got us into
trouble with the Boston authorities? But this second
book is a totally different thing: it reads as smooth
as silk. The tone is calmer, pondered but not pon
derous. And then the montage, the use of flashbacks,
the stories within stories . . . In a word, this Homer
is the right stuff. He's smart.
Too smart, maybe . . . I wonder if it's all really
his own work. I know, of course, a writer can
improve with experience (his third book will proba
bly be a sensation), but what makes me uncomfort
able- and, finally, leads me to cast a negative vote
is the mess the question of rights will cause. I broached
the subject with a friend at William Morris, and I get
bad vibes.
In the first place, the author's nowhere to be
found. People who knew him say it was always hard
to discuss any changes to be made in the text, because
he was blind as a bat, couldn't follow the manuscript,
and even gave the impression he wasn't completely
familiar with it. He quoted from memory, was never
sure exactly what he had written, and said the typist
added things. Did he really write the book or did he
just sign it?
No big deal, of course. Editing has become an art,
and many books are patched together in the editor's
office or written by several hands (like Mommy Dear
est) and still turn out to be bestsellers. But this second
book, there is too much unclear about it. Michael
says the rights don't belong to Homer, and certain

35

MISREADINGS

aeolian bards will have to be paid off, since they are

due royalties on some parts.
A literary agent who works out of Chios says the
rights belong to the local rhapsodists, who virtually
ghosted the book ; but it's not clear whether they are
active members of that island's Writers' Guild. A PR
in Smyrna, on the other hand, says the rights belong
exclusively to Homer, only he's dead, and therefore
the city is entitled to all royalties. But Smyrna isn't
the only city tat makes such a claim. The impossi
bility of establishing if and when Homer died means
we can't invoke the '43 law regarding works pub
lished fifty years after the author's death. At this
point a character by the name of Callinus pops up,
insisting not only that he holds all rights but that,
along with The Odyssey, we must buy a package
including Thebais, Epigoni, and The Cyprian Lays.
Apart from the fact that these aren't worth a dime,
a number of experts think they're not even by Homer.
And how do we market them? These people are
talking big bucks now, and they're seeing how far
they can push us. I tried asking Aristarchus of Sam
othrace for a preface ; he has clout, and he's a good
writer, too, and I thought maybe he could tidy the
work up. But he wants to indicate, in the body of
the book, what's authentic and what isn't ; we end
up with a critical edition and zilch sales. Better leave
the whole thing to some university press that will
take twenty years to produce the book, which they'll
price at a couple hundred dollars a copy, and maybe
a few libraries will actually buy it.
Bottom line : If we take the plunge, we're getting

36

Regretfully, We Are Returning Your .. .

ourselves into an endless legal hassle, the book will

be impounded, but not like one of those sex books,
which they then sell under the counter. This one will
just be seized and forgotten. Maybe ten years from
now Oxford will buy it for The World's Classics,
but in the meantime you'll have spent your money,
and it'll be a long wait before you see any of it again.
I'm really sorry, because the book's not bad. But
we're publishers, not detectives. So I'd say pass .

Alighieri, Dante, The Divine Comedy

Alighieri is your typical Sunday writer. (In every
day life he's an active member of the pharmacists'
guild. ) Still, his work shows an undeniable grasp of
technique and considerable narrative flair. The book,
in the Florentine dialect, consists of about a hundred
rhymed chapters, and much of it is interesting and
readable. I particularly enjoyed the descriptions of
astronomy and certain concise, provocative theo
logical notions. The third part of the book is the best
and will have the widest appeal ; it involves subjects
of general interest, concerns of the common reader
Salvation, the Beatific Vision, prayers to the Virgin.
But the first part is obscure and self-indulgent, with
passages of cheap eroticism, violence, and downright
crudity. This is a big problem : I don't see how the
reader will get past this first "canticle," which doesn't
really add much to what has already been written
about the next world in any number of moral tracts
and treatises, not to mention the Golden Legend of
J acopo da Varagine.

37

MISREADINGS

But the greatest drawback is the author's choice

of his local dialect (inspired no doubt by some crack
pot avant-garde idea). We all know that today's Latin
needs a shot in the arm- it isn't just the little literary
cliques that insist on this. But there's a limit, after
all, if not in the rules of language then at least to the
public's ability to understand. We have seen what
happened with the so-called Sicilian poets : their pub
lisher went around on bicycle distributing the books
among the various outlets, but the works ended up
on the remainders counter anyway.
Further, if we publish a long poem in Florentine,
we'll have to publish another in Milanese and <l:nother
in Paduan : otherwise we lose our grip on the market.
This is a job for small presses, chapbooks, etc. Per
sonally I have nothing against rhyme, but quantita
tive metrics are still the most popular form with
poetry readers, and I doubt that a normal reader
could stomach this endless sequence of tercets, es
pecially if he comes from Bologna, say, or Venice.
So I think we'd do better to launch a series of really
popular titles at reasonable prices : the works of Gil
das or Anselm of Aosta, for example. And leave to
the little avant-garde magazines the numbered edi
tions on handmade paper. "For there neid faere,
naenig uuirthit . . . " The linguistic hash of the post
moderns.

Tasso, Torquato, Jerusalem Liberated

As a "modern" epic of chivalry, this isn't bad. It's
written gracefully, and the situations are fairly fresh :

38

Regretfully, We Are Returning Your . . .

high time poets stopped imitating the Breton or Car

olingian cycles. But let's face it, the story is about
the Crusaders and the taking of J erusalem, a religious
subject. We can't expect to sell such a book to the
younger generation of "angries. " At best we'll get
good reviews in Our Sunday Visitor or maybe The
Tablet. Even there, I have doubts about the reception
of certain erotic scenes that are a bit too lewd. So
my vote would be "yes," provided the author revises
the work, turning it into something even nuns could
read. I've already mentioned this to him, and he
didn't balk at the idea of such a rewrite.

Diderot, Denis, Les bijoux indiscrets

and La Moine I confess I haven't unwrapped these two manu
scripts, but I believe a reader should sense immedi
ately what's worth devoting time to and what isn't.
I know this Diderot ; he makes encyclopedias (he
once did some proofreading for us), and he's involved
in some dreary enterprise in God knows how many
volumes which will probably never see the light of
day. He goes around looking for draftsmen to draw
the works of a clock for him or the threads of a
Gobelin tapestry, and he'll surely bankrupt his pub
lisher. The man's a snail, and I don't really think
he's capable of writing anything amusing in the fic
tion field, especially for a series like ours, which has
some juicy, spicy little things like Restif de la Bre
tonne. As the old saying goes, he should stick to his
last.

39

MISREADINGS

Sade, D . A . Frarn;ois, Justine

The manuscript was in a whole pile of things I
had to look at this week and, to be honest, I haven't
read it through. I opened it at random three times,
in three different places, which, as you know, is
enough for a trained eye.
Well, the first time I found an avalanche of words,
page after page, about the philosophy of nature, with
digressions on the cruelty of the struggle for survival,
the reproduction of plants, and the cycles of animal
species. The second time : at least fifteen pages on the
concept of pleasure, the senses and the imagination,
and so on. The third time : twenty pages on the
question of submission between men and women in
various countries of the world . . . I think that's
enough. We're not looking for a work of philosophy.
Today's audience wants sex, sex, and more sex. In
every shape and form. The line we should follow is
Les Amours du Chevalier de Faublas. Let's leave the
highbrow stuff to Indiana.

Cervantes, Miguel, Don Quixote

The book-the readable parts of it, anyway
tells the story of a Spanish gentleman and his man
servant who roam the world pursuing chivalrous
dreams. This Don Quixote is half crazy (the character
is fully developed, and Cervantes knows how to spin
a tale). The servant is a simpleton endowed with
some rough common sense, and the reader identifies
with him as he tries to deflate his master's fantasies.

40

Regretfully, We Are Returning Your . ..

So much for the story, which has some good dramatic

twists and a number of amusing and meaty scenes .
My objection is not based on my personal response
to the book.
In our successful low-price series, "The Facts of
Life, " we have published, with admirable results,

Amadis of Gaul, The Legend of the Graaf, The

Romance of Tristan, The Lay of the Little Bird, The
Tale of Troy, and Erec and Enid. Now we also have
an option on The Kings of France by that promising

young Barberino, and if you ask me, it'll be the book

of the year and maybe even a book of the month,
because it has real grass-roots appeal. Now, if we do
this Cervantes, we'll be bringing out a book that, for
all its intrinsic value, will mess up our whole list,
because it suggests those novels are lunatic ravings.
Yes, I know all about freedom of expression, political
correctness, and what have you, but we can't very
well bite the hand that feeds us. Besides, this book
seems a one-shot deal. The writer has just got out of
jail, he's in bad shape, I can't remember whether it
was his arm or his leg they cut off, but he certainly
isn't raring to write something else. I'm afraid that
in rushing to produce something new at all costs we
might jeopardize a publishing program that has so
far proved popular, moral, and (let's be frank) prof
itable. I say no.

Manzoni, Alessandro,

Promessi sp osi

These days the blockbuster novel is apparently the

rage, if you have any faith in print-run figures. But

41

MISREADINGS

there are novels and there are novels. If we had

bought Doyle's The White Company or Henty's By
Pike and Dyke, at this point we'd know what to put
in our paperback line. These are books people read
and will be reading two hundred years from now,
because they tug at the heart, are written in simple
and appealing language, don't try to hide their re
gional origin, and they deal with contemporary themes
like feudal unrest and the freedom of the Low Coun
tries. Manzoni, on the contrary, sets his novel in the
seventeenth century, a period that is a notorious turn
off. Moreover, he engages in a very dubious linguistic
experiment, inventing a kind of Milanese-Florentine
language that is neither fish nor fowl. I certainly
wouldn't recommend it as a model for young
creative-writing students. But that's not the worst.
The fact is that our author sets up a lowbrow story,
the tale of a poor engaged couple whose marriage is
prevented by the conniving of some local overlord.
In the end they do get married and everybody's
happy. A bit thin, considering that the reader has to
digest six hundred pages. Further, while ostensibly
delivering an unctuous sermon on Providence, Man
zoni actually unloads whole bundles of pessimism on
us (he's a J ansenist, to call him by his right name).
He addresses the most melancholy reflections on
human weakness and national failings to today's pub
lic, who want something quite different, more heroic
yarns, not a narrative constantly interrupted to allow
the author to spout cheap philosophy or, worse, to
paste together a linguistic collage, setting two sev
enteenth-century edicts between a dialogue half in

42

Regretfully, We Are Returning Your . . .

Latin and adding pseudo-folk talk that is hardly

proper for the positive heroes the public is eager for.
Having just finished that fluent and flavorsome little
book, Hewlett's The Forest Lovers, I read this Pro
messi sposi with considerable effort. You only have
to turn to page one to see how long it takes the
author to get to the point. He starts with a landscape
description whose syntax is so dense and labyrinthine
that you can't figure out what he's saying, when it
would have been so much easier to write, "One
morning, in the Lecco area . . . " Well, so it goes:
not everybody has the narrative gift, and even fewer
have the ability to write in good Italian.
Still, the book is not totally without merit. But I
warn you : it would take forever to sell out a first
printing.

Proust, Marcel,
A la recherche
du temps perdu
This is undoubtedly a serious work, perhaps too
long, but as a paperback series it could sell.
But it won't do as is. It needs serious editing. For
example, the punctuation has to be redone. The
sentences are too labored ; some take up a whole
page. With plenty of good in-house work, reducing
each sentence to a maximum of two or three lines,
breaking up paragraphs, indenting more often, the
book would be enormously improved.
If the author doesn't agree, then forget it. As it

43

MISREADINGS

stands, the book is too-what's the word? -asth

manc.

Kant, Immanuel,
Critique of
Practical Reason
I asked Susan to take a look at this, and she tells
me that after Barth es there's no point translating this
Kant. In any case, I glanced at it myself. A reasonably
short book on morality could fit nicely into our
philosophy series, and might even be adopted by
some universities. But the German publisher says
that if we take this one, we have to commit ourselves
not only to the author's previous book, which is an
immense thing in at least two volumes, but also to
the one he is working on now, about art or about
judgment, I'm not sure which. All three books have
more or less the same title, so they would have to be
sold boxed (and at a price no reader could afford) ;
otherwise bookshop browsers would mistake one for
the other and think, "I've already read this. " Re
member the Summa of that Dominican? We began
to translate it, and then we had to pass the rights on
to Sheed and Ward because it ran way over budget.
There's another problem. The German agent tells
me that we would also have to publish the minor
works of this Kant, a whole pile of stuff including
something about astronomy. Day before yesterday I
tried to phone him directly in Koenigsberg, to see if
we could do just one book, but the cleaning woman

44

Regretfully, We Are Returning Your .

said the master was out and I should never call

between five and six because that's when he takes his
walk, or between three and four because that's nap
time, and so on. I would advise against getting in
volved with a man like this: we'll end up with a
mountain of his books in the warehouse.

Kafka, Franz, The Trial

Nice little book. A thriller with some Hitchcock
touches. The final murder, for example. It could have
an audience.
But apparently the author wrote under a regime
with heavy censorship. Otherwise, why all these
vague references, this trick of not giving names to
people or places? And why is the protagonist being
put on trial? If we clarify these points and make the
setting more concrete (facts are needed: facts, facts,
facts), then the action will be easier to follow and
suspense is assured.
These young writers believe they can be "poetic"
by saying "a man" instead of "Mr. So-and-so in
such-and-such a city. " Genuine writing has to keep
in mind the old newspaper man's five questions :
Who? What? When? Where? Why? If we can have a
free hand with editin g, I'd say buy it. If not, not.

Joyce, James, Finnegans Wake

Please, tell the office manager to be more careful
when he sends books out to be read. I'm the English-

45

MISREADINGS

language reader, and you've sent me a book written

in some other, godforsaken language. I'm returning
it under separate cover.
1 9 72

46

Esquisse d'un nouveau chat

Count six paces from the corner of the room to the

table. From the table to the rear wall, five paces.
There is an open door opposite the table. From the
door to your corner, six paces. If you look ahead,
your gaze crossing the room diagonally toward the
opposite corner, when you are crouched against the
wall, your mask to the room, your curved tail brush
ing both walls where they meet to form the corner,
you will then see, six paces before you, at the level
of your eyes, a cylindrical form, shiny, dark brown,
carved in a series of fine furrows with a whitish line
in the cleft. A peeling surface about five centimeters
from the ground spreads in an irregular circumfer
ence, tending to an im-precise polygon, its maximum
diameter six centimeters. It has a base, also whitish,
but a dimmer white than that of the furrows, as if
the dust had settled there for a longer period and at
a greater rate over the days or months, centuries or
millennia. Over the peeling surface the cylinder rises,
its shiny brown still marked by furrows, until, at a

47

MISREADINGS

median height of one hundred twenty centimeters

from the ground, it ends, surmounted by a much
larger form, apparently rectangular, although your
eye, beholding the object along the diagonal that runs
from your corner to the corner opposite, sees it as a
rhomboid. And now, extending your field of vision,
you discern three other cylindrical bodies arranged
in symmetry with one another and all symmetrical
with respect to the first, so that they seem the three
vertices of another rhomboid, and therefore if they
all support, as you believe they do, the large rectan
gular object at one hundred twenty centimeters from
the ground, they are probably pd'foioned also at the
four corners of a perfect rectangle.
Your gaze does not see precisely what is resting
on the rectangular surface. From it, in your direction,
a reddish mass protrudes, its entire width surrounded
by a whitish material. The reddish mass rests on a
yellow, wrinkled sheet of paper dotted with red at
several points, as if the mass were something live that
has left part of its vital humor on that rough yellow
surface.
You, who have constantly before your pupil the
filiform and confused curtain of the hairs of your
brow, which descend to protect the almond-shaped
eyeball, and, farther, as if in perspective, the imper
ceptibly vibrating long whiskers, now suddenly and
obliquely see beneath your nose a red and wrinkled
mobile surface, a brighter red than the red of the
mass that rests on the rectangle.
Now you lick your whiskers at the lure of the
large reddish mass ; now the reddish mass, prompted

48

Esquisse d'un nouveau chat

by your gaze, lets fall drops of humoral liquid on

the crinkly yellow sheet; now both you and the
reddish mass participate in a reciprocal attraction. It
is futile for you to be hypocritical : once again you
are staring at the meat on the table.
So you are about to make a leap that will enable
you to take possession of the meat. From the epicn
ter of your leap to the surface of the table is six
paces ; but if you turn your gaze again to the table
leg, you will now see, beside it, two other tubular
surfaces also brown but less solid in appearance,
more fluctuating. Now you become aware of the
presence of a complementary entity that is not the
table and not the meat. Below this entity you note
at ground level a pair of vaguely ovoid brown shapes,
the upper surface breached by a broad gap , whose
lips are connected by a pattern of strings, also brown.
Now you know him. He is beside the table, he is
beside the meat. You do not leap.
YQU ask yourself if you have not been in this
situation once before, and if you have not witnessed
a similar scene in the large picture that decorates the
wall opposite the table. The picture shows a crowded
tavern with a child in the corner; in the center there
is a table with a big piece of meat on it, and beside
the table the figure -of a soldier is visible, erect,
wearing loose, flapping trousers and brown shoes. In
the far corner a cat can be seen preparing to leap. If
you take a closer look at the picture, you will discern,
in the cat's pupil, the image of an almost empty
room, in whose center stands a table with cylindrical
legs, and on it is a large piece of meat on a sheet of

49

MISREADINGS

butcher's paper, yellow and rough, stained here and

there with the meat's bloody traces. There is no one
beside the table.
Suddenly the cat that appears in the clear reflection
of the pupil of the cat in the picture makes a leap
toward the meat; but at the same time the man beside
the table in the picture grabs at the cat, and now you
do not know if the cat that flees is the cat reflected
in the pupil of the cat in the picture or if, instead, it
is the cat in the picture. Probably it is you, who now
flee with the meat in your outh after you have
made the leap. The one chasing you is the child who
was standing in the corner of the taven, diagonally
opposite the cat in the picture.
From your eyes to the table it is five paces; from
the table to the far wall, six paces; from the wall to
the door, eight paces. On the table the large reddish
mass of meat, still intact, cannot be seen. On the
table in the picture the meat is still visible, but beside
the table now you see two men in baggy brown
trousers. In the corner opposite the cat in the picture
the child can no longer be seen. In the reflection of the
pupil of the cat in the picture you no longer see the
cat in the corner, five paces from the table. This is
not reality.
You would seek desperately an eraser to rub out
this memory. Your tail drags in a slovenly way
against the ninety-degree angle formed by the two
walls that meet behind your back. You ask yourself
if it is your feline condition that leads you to see the
world in this objective way, or if the maze in which
you find yourself is your habitual space and also the

50

Esquisse d'un nouveau chat

maze of the man beside the table. Or if you both are

only the image in the eye above you, which subjects
you both to this tension as a purely literary exercise.
If that is the case, it is not fair. There should be a
relationship that will allow you to unify the things
that you have witnessed, the things that have wit
nessed you, and the things you have been. The things
in which you have seen yourself motionless mut
have some ambiguous connection with both the things
that have been seen and with you who have seen. If
the man made a leap toward the picture and gripped
the child with his teeth, you then pursued him into the
picture, beyond the door of the tavern and into the
road over which whitish flakes of snow flutter, first
slanting then increasingly straight and closer to your
eyes, Jike filiform, darting shadows, vague dots that
vibrate before you. They are your whiskers. If the
man took the meat, if you made your leap, if the
meat was on the table, and the child fled among
the flakes of snow, who has taken the meat that you
will devour and that now remains on the table where
you did not see it?
But you are a cat, probably, and you remain an
object in this situation. You cannot alter it. You want
the situation altered, but that would mean an altera
tion of yourself. This i-s your universe. What you are
contemplating is a human universe of which you
know nothing, just as They know nothing of yours.
Still, the idea tempts you.
You contemplate a possible new novel, with yours
as the ordering mind, but you do not dare carry this
further, because you would inevitably introduce the

51

MISREADINGS

horrible disorder of the evident into the tranquil

improbability of your maze.
You consider the story of a cat, a respectable cat
of noble birth, whom no one would expect so many
and such dreadful adventures to befall, though in fact
they do. This cat suffers various vicissitudes and
surprises, unexpected agnitions (he has lain with his
own mother, or killed his own father to gain posses
sion of the large red chunk of meat), and as these
trials multiply, the audience of cats witnessing the
play feels pity and terror; until the logicar develop
ment of events culminates in a sudden catastrophe, a
final denouement of all tensions, after which the cats
present, and you who have ordered their emotions,
enjoy a purification, a catharsis.
Now you know that such a resolution would make
you master of the room, and of the meat, and perhaps
of the man and the child. No denials : you are mor
bidly drawn by this path for a future cat. But then
you would be tagged a member of the avant-garde.
You know you will never write this story. You have
never even considered it, never told anyone you
might have considered it while watching a piece of
meat. You have never crouched in the corner of this
room.
Now a cat is in the corner of the room where the
walls meet to form a ninety-degree angle. From the
tip of his whiskers to the table it is five paces.
1 961

52

The Latest from Heaven

The passages that follow are taken from the notebook of

the reporter J ohn Smith, whose lifeless body was found
on the slopes of Mount Ararat. The newspaper that em
ployed Smith confirms that he was sent to Asia Minor on
a special assignment, but refuses to disclose the nature of
that assignment. Since Ararat is on the Armenian frontier,
the media blackout was probably imposed by the State
Department, anxious to avoid an international incident.
Smith's body showed no wound beyond some severe burns,
"like he'd been struck by lightning, " to quote the shepherd
who found him. But the Erzurum Meteorological Bureau
informs us that for the past six months the area has had no
storms of any kind, not even heavy rains. This text evi
dently represents a series of statements made to Smith by
an unidentified source not named elsewhere in the note
book.

Rain ! It's this damn government ! You see? That

cloud over there. It never stops dripping. But just
try complaining. There must be more than a hundred
53

MISREADINGS

of them around here. They spend a fortune to set up

those big picturesque cirrus. Public relations, they
say. While everything's going to pot around here,
falling apart. Look, I'm telling you these things, but
don't put down my name: I'm not asking for trouble.
Besides, I'm the lowest rung on this ladder. I've been
here two thousand years, but I arrived with that
whole batch of Christian Martyrs, and they treat us
like dogs. It's no merit of yours, they say, you have
the lions to thank. You know what I mean? Except
for the Holy Innocents, we're really the bottom of
the heap., But what I'm saying now you can hear
from ten thousand times ten thousand others, even
higher up, because discontent has spread everywhere.
So write it down, write it down.
Falling apart, I say. This huge bureaucracy, but
nothing solid, concrete. That's the story.
And He doesn't know. Not one thing. It's all run
by the Higher Echelons ; their word is law, and they
never let us in on anything. The machine just keeps
cranking along.
You want to know something? Even today anyone
who's killed ten Moslems can get in automatically:
it's a rule that dates back to the First Crusade and
nobody's ever bothered to repeal it. So every day
twenty, thirty parachute troops come marching in,
and nobody lifts a finger. I'm telling you. And there's
still a Bureau for the Elimination of the Albigenses.
There's no knowing what goes on there, but it exists,
with its own letterhead and all the special benefits.
Try doing something about it. The Domina
tions - they're a terrible clique-won't let anybody

54

The Latest from Heaven

get a foot in the door. Big or little, all requests get

the same treatment. Consider the fuss raised over the
rehabilitation of Satan. Easy enough, wouldn't you
think? You open a communicating passage below,
and the whole problem of evil is settled. Actually,
this is what the young Thrones are after, but you see
how they've been shut up. And the Guardians? Have
you read about that? They were far down, very close
to humans ; they understood them, and naturally took
their part. Well, some Guardians may have gone too
far in fraternizing; class solidarity, it's only natural.
So? Off they went, reassigned to the Boiler Room of
the Primum Mobile. And nobody knows-I repeat,
nobody ! - if He was told anything. They do as they
like, issuing their decrees and their letters, and noth
ing budges. Not an inch.
Look how many centuries it took them to accept
the Ptolemaic reform. When Ptolemy died, they still
hadn't ratified the Pythagorean reform, holding on
to that barbaric model with the Earth flat as a dish
and the edge of the abyss right beyond the Pillars of
Hercules. And you know something else? When
Dante arrived here, they were barely finishing with
Ptolemy, there was still a Music of the Spheres De
partment-they hadn't realized that if each planet in
its revolutions made a different sound of the scale,
then all together they'd be like a kitten on the key
board, one hell of a racket. Pardon the expression. I
meant to say : infernal din.
And another thing. Just listen to this : When Gal
ileo published the Saggiatore, here they were still
circulating a pamphlet denouncing the Counterearth

55

MISREADINGS

of Pythagoras. But He never heard the story of the

Counterearth- I know this from a thoroughly reli
able source. Throughout the entire Middle Ages He
was kept in ignorance ; the Seraphim gang worked
hand-in-glove with the Theology Faculty in Paris,
and they took charge of the whole question.
In the old Eden days He was a different being.
He was something to be seen, they say ! He rose in
person, descended upon Adam and Eve, and you
should have heard Him ! And earlier still? Totally
self-made, He is, with His own hands. That talk
about resting on the seventh day? Ha ! That's when
He did His filing.
But even then, yes, even then . . . To put His
hands on Chaos, what He had to go through ! There
was Raphael and another ten or twelve bigwigs who
were opposed; they had inherited Chaos, which was
then divided into estates. It was their reward for
driving out the Rebels . . . So He had to use force !
You should have seen Him ! Moving on the face of
the waters and all that: like the cavalry arriving in an
old Western. Nobody who saw it has ever forgotten.
Ah, the good old days.
The Rebels, you ask? Well, you know how these
things go. There's the Official History now, so there's
just one version, the Choirs', but as far as the truth
is concerned . . . They've turned Lucifer into a
premature anti-Fascist, a crypto-Communist. At most
he was a Social Democrat. An intellectual with ideas
about reform, that's what he was, the kind who
always gets killed in revolutions. What did Lucifer
want, actually? A broader representation, and the

56

The Latest from Heaven

fair division of Chaos. And wasn't He then the very

one who then divided up Chaos? You see how it
goes, He catches on Himself finally, but nothing
must be said to Him directly. Enlightened, oh yes,
He's that, to be sure ; but paternalistic, first and
foremost.
Representation, on the other hand, is still far in
the future, and that's where it'll stay. I think He'd
favor change. But the Higher Orders, they whisper
in his ear. Just look at what's happening with this
Relativity. Would issing a decree be all that much
trouble? He knows that the space-time observations
made in the Crystalline are different from those made
in the Sky of Mercury. You know what I mean? Of
course He knows. He made the Universe, right? But
try saying so. They'll send you straight to the Pri
mum Mobile Boiler Room. There's no way out:
Once He admits the expanding universe and curved
space, He'll have , to abolish the departments of the
Heavens and replace the Primum Mobile with a con
stant and diffused energy source. And then all the
positions and posts will be superfluous : the Powers
of the Sky of Venus, the Central Cherubinium for
Firmament Maintenance, the Chief Executive Offi
cers of the Heavens, the Seraphic Foundation of the
Primum Mobile, and the Wardens of the Mystic
Rose ! You see what I mean? The old organization is
out and a new decentralized staff chart has to be
established. Ten big Archangels without portfolio:
that's what'll happen. In other words, nothing will
happen.
Just drop by the Prim um Mobile control room

57

MISREADINGS

and try mentioning E mc2 They'll put you on trial

for sabotage. Do you realize that the directors of the
Boiler Room are still trained from a textbook written
by Albert of Saxony, The Theory and Practice of
Impetus, and the Handy Guide to the Vis Movendi
commissioned by Buridan?
And this is where the mixups come from. Only
yesterday the Bureau of Planetary Initiative set up a
system near the Nebula of the Swan. You should
have heard them. They talked about a stabilization
of the epicycle. Well, a nova exploded that they'll
remember for a millennium. The whole zone radio
active. And try to find out who's res.ponsible. An
accident, they say. But an accident means Chance,
you know, and Chance means casting doubt on the
Old Man's power. These are hardly trifling matters,
and He knows it. He's very alert to such things. He
personally wrote a memo to the joint Seven Heavens
on the subversive theory of the statistics of Chance.
What can be done, you ask? Why, with radical
reorganization and a new expanding structure every
thing can be worked out. You epand and expand,
and one fine day you incorporate Hell again. And
that's what they say they all want. Harmony, celestial
harmony, all-embracing Love. You should hear them.
But it's only talk. Gabriel, in his Jupiter address,
spoke about our Heaven First policy. If you take a
closer look, it means a contracting universe. Gabriel !
What a character! If he could, he'd declare Earth out
of bounds, like Hell. He's never been able to bear
'
E,arth. He handled the Annunciation, but his teeth
were clenched the whole time. He could hardly re=

58

The Latest from Heaven

fuse. If you only knew what he went around saying

afterward, about that girl . . . For him, the Son is
too far to the left. You follow me? And he's never
forgiven the Paraclete for Pentecost. Those twelve
guys were already too smart, he says, all they needed
was the gift of tongues !
He's tough, and a demagogue. Hand-in-glove with
Moses. For Gabriel, the aim of creation was the
freeing of the chosen people from bondage in Egypt.
Now we've done it, he says, so that's that. We should
shut down the firm : it's not bringing in anything. If
it weren't for the Son, by now Gabriel would have
pulled it off.
You might say : Well, Jet's back the Son, and at
the right moment he will make his move. But it's
risky. The 0 Id Man is smarter than they think, and
He never forgives. And the idea of another fall of
the angels scares everybody in this place. I mean
everybody. Then there's the Ghost, he blows where
he lists, the saying goes, so you never know what
side he's on: Maybe when the right moment comes,
he'll back out, and then where are we?
The Son, too . . . let me tell you. He's left-wing,
true enough. Everybody's to the left, to hear them
talk. But do you think he'd accept-for example
the uncertainty principle? "If you like, you can es
tablish the position of an electron, its energy, and
even the year of its birth ! Just watch me!" Doesn't
he realize that for others it's not so easy? But to him
this is all intellectuals' hot air : "The present state of
the Heavens, " he said in his Christmas message this
year, "represents the best organizational plan with

59

MISREADINGS

which the Kingdom can advance toward the future

while preserving respect for tradition : in short, prog
ress without risk !" You get it?
This may all seem nonsense to you. The Earth
goes ahead on its own, anyway; these characters
quarrel among themselves, but nobody lays a finger
on Earth for fear somebody else will want to get into
the act. For us, however, it's a vital question. Those
who live on the colony planets are virtually excluded
from the Kingdom. And if not excluded, they have
to go through torments, apply for citizenship in one
of the Heavens - and then, forget it. You know: all
day dancing in a ring and the only news you get is
from the Blessed Vision. Yes, the one that extends
all over the universe. What the Choirs want to be
seen, what the Archangelic Union passes off as the
Blessed Vision, that's all they see ! The rest is fog. I
tell you, they treat us like children.
And He knows nothing about it. He thinks of
Himself thinking and therefore believes everything is
fine. So they won't touch the Aristotelian model ;
they flatter Him with the story of the First Cause,
of absolute transcendence, and they keep everything
from Him.
Mind you, I'm not some kind of pantheist weirdo.
Really, I'm not. I wouldn't want you to take me for
a subversive or think I'm simply envious. We all
agree that an Order is necessary, and He has every
right to handle it. Still, He has to make some conces
sions. Times have changed, right?
I tell you, it can't go on like this. Too much

60

The Latest from Heaven

unrest. The people are on the move. We've come to

the boiling point.
I give this another ten thousand years. Then you'll
see.
1 961

61

The Thing

"Well, Professor?" the General asked, with a hint

of impatience.
"Well what?" Professor Ka said. He was clearly
stalling for time.
" You've been working down here for five years,
and nobody's disturbed you. We've demonstrated
our faith in you. But we can't rely only on your
word forever. The time has come when we must see
for ourselves. "
There was a threatening edge in the General's
voice.
With a weary gesture, Ka smiled and said : "You
catch me at my weakest moment, General. I wanted
to wait a little longer, but you put me on the spot. I
have made something . . . " His voice sank almost
to a whisper. "Something enormous. And, by the
Sun, people must know about it!"
He waved, as if to usher the General into the cave.
He led him to the back, to a place illuminated by a
shaft of light that entered through a narrow aperture

62

I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
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The Thing

the wall. Here, on a smooth ledge, Ka showed

him the Thing.
It was an almond-shaped object, nearly flat, its
surface many-faceted, like a huge diamond, only
opaque, with almost metallic glints.
"Good, " the General said, puzzled. "It's a stone . "
There was a sly flash i n the Professor's blue eyes,
beneath their bushy, bristling brows. "Yes, " he. said,
"it's a stone. But not a stone to be left lying on the
ground, among other stones. It is meant to be grasped. "
"To be- ?"
"Grasped, General. This stone contains all the
power that man has ever dreamed of, the secret of
Energy, a million manpower. Look . . . "
Cupping the palm of his hand, he crooked his
fingers and placed them on the stone until he was
clasping it, then raised his hand and, with it, the
stone. The stone stuck to the hand, its thickest part
stuck to the palm and the fingers, while the tip pro
truded and pointed at the ground or upward, or at
the General, depeding on how the Professor moved
his wrist. The Professor swung his arm violently,
and the tip of the stone drew a trajectory in space.
The Professor brought his arm up and down, and the
tip of the stone met the friable rock of the ledge.
Then the wonder occurred: the tip struck the rock,
penetrated it, scratched it, chipped it. As the Profes
sor repeated this movement over and over, the tip
bit the rock and m'ade a furrow in it, then a hole,
finally a crater; it wounded, it broke, it pulverized.
The General looked on wide-eyed, holding his
breath. "Phenomenal !" he murmured, gulping.
m

63

MISREADINGS

"And that's nothing, " the Professor said, with an

expression of triumph. "Of course, striking the ledge
with your hand alone, you would accomplish noth
ing. Now watch !" From a corner he picked up a big
coconut, rough, hard, impenetrable, and handed it
to the General.
"Go ahead, " the Professor said. "Use both hands.
Break it!"
"Oh, come now, Ka, " the General said in a shaky
voice. "You know very well that's impossible. None
of us can do it . . . Only a dinosaur can, with a
blow of his hoof. Only dinosaurs can eat the coco
nut's meat and drink its milk . . . "
"Well, now you can, too. " The Professor's voice
was filled with excitement. "Watch !"
He took the coconut and set it on the ledge, in
the freshly dug crater, then grasped the stone at its
opposite end, holding it now by the tip. His arm
made a rapid swing, with no apparent effort, and the
stone's thick bottom struck the nut, shattering it.
The liquid poured onto the ledge, and bits of shell
remained in the furrow, revealing the meat inside,
white, cool, luscious. The General seized one of the
pieces and greedily thrust it into his mouth. He
looked at the stone, at Ka, at what until recently had
been a coconut, and he seemed robbed of the power
of speech.
"By the Sun, Ka ! This is a wonderful thing. With
this Thing of yours, man has multiplied his strength
a hundred times. He will be able to face any dinosaur
on equal terms. He's become master of rock and

64

The Thing

trees, has gained an extra arm . . . no, a hundred

extra arms, an army of arms ! Where did you find
it?"
Ka smiled smugly. "I didn't find it. I made it. "
"Made it? 'What do you mean?"
"I mean, it didn't exist before. "
"You're crazy, Ka, " the General said, quivering.
"It must have fallen from the sky. An envor of the
Sun must have brought it here, a spirit of the air
. . . How could anybody make what does not al
ready exist?"
"It's possible, " Ka replied calmly. "It's possible
to take a stone and strike it against another stone
until you've made it the shape you want. It's possible
to shape it in such a way that your hand can grasp
it. And with such a stone in your hand, it's possible
to make many others, even bigger, sharper. I've done
it, General. "
The General was sweating copiously. "Why, we
must tell everyone, Ka! The whole Horde must know
about this. Our men will become invincible. You
understand? We can take on a bear, now. A bear has
claws, but we have this Thing. We can tear him to
pieces before he tears us to pieces. We can stun him,
kill him. We can kill a snake, crush a tortoise, kill
even . . . Great Sun-1 . . . kill . . . another man !"
The General broke off, thunderstruck by this idea.
Then he resumed speaking, with a cruel gleam in his
eyes. "This way, Ka, we can attack the Koammm
Horde. They are more numerous and stronger than
us, but now we'll have them in our power. We'll

65

MISREADINGS

destroy them to the last man ! Ka, Ka !" The General

seized the Professor by the shoulders . "Victory is
ours !"
But Ka was grave, wary. He hesitated before
speaking. "That's the reason I didn't want to show
it to you. I realize I've made a terrible discovery.
Something that will change the world. I know. I've
discovered a source of frightening energy. Nothing
like it has ever been seen on earth. Which is why I
don't want others to know about it. With such a
weapon, war would become suicide, General. The
Koammm Horde would quickly learn to make it,
and in the next war there would be no victors. I had
conceived of this Thing as an implement of peace and
progress, but now I see how dangerous it is. I'm
going to destroy it. "
The General was beside himself. "You're out of
your mind, Ka ! You've no right. You scientists and
your stupid scruples ! For five years you've been shut
up in here and you don't know what the world is
like anymore. You don't know that civilization is at
a turning point. If the Koammm Horde wins, it will
mean the end of peace, freedom, and joy for the
human race. We have a sacred duty to possess this
Thing ! We won't necessarily use it, Ka. So long as
everyone knows we possess it. We'll j1:1s give an
experimental demonstration in the presence of our
enemies. Then its use will be regulated. Nobody will
dare attack us. Meanwhile, we can use it to dig
graves, build new caverns, break fruit, level land.
But as a weapon, we only need to possess it, not use

66

The Thing

it. It's a deterrent, Ka. It'll keep those Koammm

barbarians at bay for years to come. "
"No, no, " Ka replied. "It must b e destroyed. "
"You're a bleeding-heart liberal, Ka, and also an
idiot !" The General was livid. "You're playing into
their hands. You're a Koammmite sympathizer, like
all intellectuals, like that bard the other day who was
preaching about a union of humans. You don't be
lieve in the Sun !"
Ka shuddered. He bowed his head, his eyes nar
row and sad under their bushy brows. "I knew we'd
come to this. I'm no Koammmite, and you know it.
But by the Fifth Rule of the Sun, I refuse to incrim
inate myself : it might bring down the wrath of the
spirits on my head. You may think what you please,
but the Thing does not leave this cavern !"
"Yes, it does, and quickly, too, for the glory of
our Horde, for the sake of civilization and prosper
ity, and for Peace, " the General yelled. With his
right hand he grasped the Thing, as he had seen Ka
do, and brought it down, hard, with anger, with
hatred, on the head of the Professor.
Ka's skull split at the impact, and a stream of
blood issued from his mouth. Without a moan, he
slumped to the ground, reddening the rock around
him.
The General, awed, stared at the device he held in
his hand. Then he smiled, and it was a smile of
triumph, cruel, merciless .
"Who's next?" he said.

67

MISREADINGS

The circle of motionless men, crouched around the

great tree, fell silent, thinking. Baa, the bard, wiped
away the sweat that had poured from his naked body
during the exertion of his narration. Then he turned
to the tree under which the Chief was seated and
eating a thick root with evident relish.
"O mighty Szdaa, " he said humbly, "I trust my
story was to your liking. "
Szdaa made a gesture of boredom. "I don't un
derstand you young people. Or maybe I'm just getting
old. You have a great imagination, my boy, no two
ways about that. But I don't like science fiction . . .
I prefer historical novels. " He signaled to an old man
with parchmentlike skin to come to him. "Good old
Kgru, " the Chief said. "You may not be a master of
the New Song, but you still know how to tell stories
that have some flavor. Your turn. "
" Yes, mighty Szdaa, " said Kgru. "I will now tell
you a story of love, passion, and death. It's a tale that
dates back to the last century and is called The Pri
mate's Secret or The Mystery of the Missing Link.
1 961

68

Industry and
Sexual Repression
in a Po Valley Society

The following study takes as its field of investigation

the urban agglomerate of Milan at the northern end
of the Italian peninsula, a protectorate of the Medi
terranean Group. Milan is located at latitudes about
45 north of the Melanesian Archipelago and 35
south of the Nansen Archipelago in the Arctic Glacial
Sea. Therefore it is more or less centrally situated as
far as the civilized world is concerned ; but even
though it is fairly easily reached by the Inuit, it still
remains outside the purview of established ethno
graphic research. I must thank Professor Korao Pal
iau of the Anthropological Institute of the Admiralty
Islands for first suggesting I study Milan. Also, I was
able to pursue my ffeldwork thanks to a generosity
of the Aborigine Foundation of Tasmania, which
awarded me a travel grant of twenty-four thousand
dog's teeth, enough to underwrite my expenses and
the purchase of required equipment. Nor could I
have written up my observations with the necessary
tranquillity had Mr. and Mrs. Pokanaou of Manus

69

MISREADINGS

Island not placed at my disposal a stilt house well

away from the usual noise of the trepang fishermen
and the copra merchants, who unfortunately have
made certain areas of our once-peaceful archipelago
uninhabitable. Nor could I have read my proofs and
collated my bibliographical notes without the affec
tionate assistance of my wife, Aloa, always willing
to interrupt her work of making pua garlands to rush
to meet the mail boat, and bring to the stilt house
the enormous cases of documents I regularly re
quested from the Anthropological Documentation
Center of Samoa. Those cases would have been far
beyond my strength.
For years investigators of the daily life and tradi
tional customs of Western peoples have been guided
by a priori theory, which effectively prevented the
possibility of any real understanding. Dismissing
Western peoples as primitive only because they prac
tice machine worship and are still far from any direct
contact with nature is a prime example of the false
assumptions our ancestors made about peoples of no
color, particularly Europeans. Holding to the erro
neous historicist belief that in all civilizations analo
gous cultural cycles occur, the scientists thought, in
examining the behavior of an Anglo-Saxon commu
nity, for example, that they were dealing simply with
an earlier phase and that in the community's later
development an inhabitant of, say, Glasgow would
behave much like a Melanesian. We are therefore
deeply indebted to the enlightened studies of Profes
sor Poa Kilipak, who essayed the concept of "cultural
model" and drew her brilliant conclusions. An in-

70

Industry and Sexual Repression in a Po Valley Society

habitant of Paris lives by a code of norm and habits

that are part of an organic whole and constitute a
given culture as valid as our own though very differ
ent. This new perception opened the way for an
objective anthropological study of colorless man and
an understanding of Western civilization. For-and
I may be accused of cynical relativism- we are in
deed dealing with a civilization, even if it does not
conform to the ways of our own civilization. (Gath
ering coconuts by climbing a palm tree with bare feet
is not necessarily a form of behavior superior to that
of the primtive who travels by jet aircraft and eats
fried potatoes from a plastic bag. )
The methods of the new anthropology, however,
can also give rise to serious misinterpretations, es
pecially when the researcher, precisely because he
recognizes as an authentic culture the "model" he
has investigated, bases his work on historical docu
ments produced directly by its natives, attempting to
derive from these the characteristics of that society.
1.

The Hypothesis of Dr. Do bu

of Dobu (Dobu)

A typical example of this "historiographic illu

sion" is furnished us, -in fact, by the village of Milan,
in a book published in 19 10 by Dr. Dobu of Dobu
(Dobu) entitled Italian Villages and the "Risorgi
mento " Cult. In this volume the well-known scholar
attempts to reconstruct the history of the peninsula
from documents written by the natives.
In the view of Dr. Dobu, the peninsula in the

71

MISREADINGS

course of the last century was the scene of fierce

fighting aimed at bringing all the various villages
under a single ruler. Some communities fought for
this goal, while others opposed unification with equal
ferocity. Dr. Dobu calls the former communities
revolutionary or "risogimental" (a local dialect term
referring perhaps to a rebirth cult, widespread in this
period, surely shamanic), and the latter reactionary.
This is how Dr. Dobu, in his highly individual
style, distinguished more by its ornate literary quality
than by any scientific precision, describes the situa
tion:
A risorgimental flame burned throughout the penin
sula, but the reactionaries lay in wait, determined to
keep patriots and the entire citizenry crushed beneath
the heel of the Austrian. To be sure, not all the
Italian states yearned for unification ; but, fi_rst among
them all, the kingdom of Naples was the one that
held aloft the torch of freedom. According to the
documents it was, in fact, the King of the Two
Sicilies who founded the military academy of the
Nunziatella, in whose halls were educated the fervent
patriots Morelli, Silvati, Pisacane, and De Sanctis.
This enlightened monarch was thus the prime mover
of Italian rebirth; but in the shadows an obscure
conspirator was weaving his sinister web : Mazzini,
who is infrequently mentioned in the histories of the
time, and then only in descriptions of the false plots
he organjzed, always, curiously, discovered and foiled
in time, so that the best and bravest patriots, cyni-

72

Industry and Sexual Repression in a Po Valley Society

cally instigated by Mazzini, fell into the hands of the
Austrian oppressor and were either imprisoned or
executed. Another great enemy of risorgimento was
Silvio Pellico. Even the most casual reader of Pellico's
diary, written during his confinement in an Austrian
prison, has the distinct impression that this book
cost Italian unification more than one battle. The sly
narrator paints

an

idyllic picture of a Moravian prison,

a place of chaste repose where great human questions

are debated with amiable jailers, where prisoners
flirt, however platonically, with young ladies, and
insects become pets. The prisoner welcomes an am
putation, so impressed is he by the supreme skill of
the Austrian surgeons, a skill which the amputees
reward with floral offerings. And in his little work
Pellico gives a subtle, "cunning, and most dispiriting
image of the Italian patriot, making him seem so
alien to violence and combat, and, in the end, so
impervious to any passion, so timid and sanctimon
ious, that the reading of these pages must surely have
dissuaded legions of vigorous youths from :fighting
for national rebirth ( just as in the lands of North
America a little book entitled Uncle Tom's Cabin
cast such discredit on the black slaves, making them
seem foolish, ingenuous, and without initiative, that
even today its influence is perceptible among the
colorless in the southern states, who are irrevocably
opposed to so inferior a race).
The Kingdom of Sardinia found itself in a singular
position, apparently uninterested in the problems of
national unification. It is known that the Pied-

73

MISREADINGS

montese army intervened in Milan during a local

insurrection, but succeeded in confusing the situation
to such a degree that they caused the revolt to fail
and abai;i doned the city and the rebels to the occu
pying Austrian forces. The prime minister, Cavour,
was more concerned with serving the interests of
other countries; first he helped the French against
the Russians in a war to whose aims Piedmont was
absolutely indifferent, then he went to great pains to
provide foreign monarchs with the sexual favors of
Piedmontese noblewomen. It is not evident that any
other real effort was made to unify Italy beyond that
of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. According to
some texts, it was their inflexible devotion to rebirth
that drove Piedmont to unleash against them an
adventurer from Uruguay.
All these machinations had finally a single pur
pose : to clip the wings of the Italian power that,
even more than the Two Sicilies, had been working
ceaselessly toward unity not so much on the military
level as through persuasion and philosophy. I refer
to the Papal States. Exploiting the work of men of
faith and intellect, the Papal States acted tirelessly to
bring Italy toget.her under a single government. It
was a hard, impassioned struggle, in the course of
which the Papacy had recourse even to subterfuge,
luring, for example, crack Piedmontese troops to
Rome to acquire a strong army for itself. This long
and relentless struggle was concluded definitively
only after a hundred years, on 1 8 April 1 948, when
finally the entire peninsula flocked to vote for the
Papal party, whose Sign was the Cross.

74

Industry and Sexual Repression in a Po Valley Society

Now, when the researcher approaches today's

Milan, what does he see of the barbarian but politi
cally complex situation that Dr. Dobu's ridiculous
historiography would have us imagine ? Alas, what
the researcher sees leaves him a choice between only
two hypotheses : one, that in the last fifty years some
regressive phenomenon has taken place whereby every
vestige of the political structure described by Dobu
has disappeared; or two, that the community of
Milan has not participated in the great developments
that involved the rest of the Italian peninsula, because
of the inhabitants' peculiarly colonial and congeni
tally passive nature, which is resistant to any accul
turation and doomed to a frenetic social mobility
quite common, for that matter, amng pr1mltlve
communities.
2. La Pensee Sauvage
(A Report on Field Research)

The typical day of the Milanese native obeys ele

mentary solar rhythms. At an early hour he wakes
and sets off to perform the tasks characteristic of this
people : the gathering of steel in the plantations, the
cultivation of metallic parts, the tanning of plastic
materials, the barter of chemical fertilizers with the
inhabitants of the interior, the sowing of transistors,
the putting of motor scooters out to graze, the breed
ing of alfaromeos, and so on. The native, however,
does not like his work and will do everything possible
to postpone the moment when he has to start. Cu
riously, the village chiefs seem to assist him in this,

75

MISREADINGS

eliminating, for example, the customary methods of

transportation, digging up the tracks of the primitive
tramways, confusing traffic with broad yellow stripes
painted along mule tracks (with an obvious taboo
power), and making deep holes in the least conve
nient places, where many natives are engulfed, prob
ably sacrificed to local deities. It is hard to explain
psychologically the attitude of the village chiefs, but
this ritual destruction of transportation is no doubt
linked with rebirth rites (obviously forcing hordes of
inhabitants intQ the bowels of the earth, this human
sacrifice considered seed to produce stronger, more
vigorous individuals). But the population's reaction
to this is a clearly neurotic syndrome, the attitude of
the chiefs affording a genuine example of collective
frenzy : "the tube cult. " At regular periods the Ru
mor spreads through the community, and the natives
are possess,ed by the quasi-mystic faith that one day
enormous vehicles will move beneath the earth car
rying individuals at miraculous speed to any part of
the village. Dr. Muapach, a serious and learned mem
ber of my team, asked himself if the Rumor had
originated with some real event, and then he de
scended into those caverns, but found nothing that
could remotely justify this suppositiqn.
A morning ritual shows how important the chiefs
believe it is to keep the populace in a state of uncer
tainty. Every morning the members of the tribe read
a hieratic message that the village headmen have
distributed among the populace shortly after dawn,
though the sheet bears the bewildering name of Il
Corriere della sera, which in local dialect means

76

Industry and Sexual Repression in a Po Valley Society

courier of the evening. The hieratic nature of the

message is underlined by the fact that what is com
municated is totally abstract and has no relation to
reality, though sometimes there is, as we have been
able to verify, an apparent relevance, so that the
native is given a kind of counter-reality or ideal
reality in which he thinks he lives, as in a forest of
living print: a world, in short, that is eminently
symbolic and heraldic.
Kept always in this state of bewilderment, the
native suffers a constant tension, which the headmen
allow him to release only during collective feasts,
when the whole population crams into immense con
structions, ellipsoid in shape, from which an unin
terrupted and frightful din is heard.
We tried, without success, to gain admission to
one of these constructions ; but with primitive yet
shrewd diplomacy, the natives kept us out, demand
ing that we produce certain symbolic messages, which
we learned were on sale. The sum we were asked,
however, was such an exorbitant number of dog's
teeth that, had we paid, we would have then had to
curtail our research. Forced in this way to follow the
ceremony from outside, we formed, on the basis of
the loud and hysterical cries, a first hypothesis : that
orgiastic rites were in p rogress. But as time went ,on,
the horrible truth became clear. In these enclosures
the natives devote themselves, with the chiefs' assent,
to cannibalism, devouring human beings acquired
from other tribes. The news of such gastronomic
purchases is in fact circulated in the usual morning
messages, where one can read daily a chronicle of

77

MISREADINGS

them. From this chronicle it emerges that foreigners

of darker skin colors are most highly prized, but also
those from certain Nordic tribes. and, in greatest
quantity, Hispano-Americans. From what we could
piece together, the victims are devoured in enormous
collective courses according to complicated formulas
publicly heralded in the streets, in which there are
recommended recipes not unlike certain alchemistic
numbers : 3 to 2, " for example, or "4 to O , " or "2
to 1." Cannibalism, however, is not merely a reli
gious practice but a widespread vice to which the
whole population is addicted, as is demonstrated by
the huge sums the natives seem prepare.cl to spend on
the purchase of human flesh.
Nevertheless, in some more affluent groups these
Sunday banquets apparently inspire genuine horror,
so that while the larger part of the population heads
for the collective refectories, the dissidents flee des
perately along all the roads leading out of the village,
jostling one another in disorder, crushing one another
with their vehicles, losing their lives in bloody brawls.
As if, in the grip of a kind of maenadism, they viewed
the path to the sea as their only escape, because the
word most repeated during this sanguinary exodus is
the local term for boat.
The low intellectual level of the natives is dem
onstrated by the fact that they are clearly unaware
that Milan is not on tpe sea; and their mnemonic
capacity is so scant that every Sunday morning they
endure the same precipitous flight only to reenter the
city that same evening in alarmeq throngs, seeking
"

78

Industry and Sexual Repression in a Po Valley Society

refuge in their hovels, ready to forget, the following

day, their blind adventure.
For that matter, virtually from birth, the young
native is so trained that bewilderment and uncertainty
inform his every act. In this respect the "rites of
passage" are indicative. These take place under
ground, in chambers where the young are initiated
into a sexual life characterized by an inhibitive taboo.
Their tribal dancing is particularly instructive in this
context. The young man and young woman stand
face-to-face, shaking their hips, stepping first for
ward then backward, their arms bent at right angles,
and they take care that their bodies never touch at
any point. In these dances both participants demon
strate a total lack of interest in each other, and they
move in reciprocal detachment. In fact, when one of
the dancers bends to assume the usual position of the
sexual act and imitates its rhythmic phases, the other
draws back in apparent fear, bending at times, to
elude the partner, all the way to the ground. When
one dancer finally reaches the other and union can
take place, the partner suddenly moves away, rees
tablishing the distance. The clear absence of sexual
content in the dance (an authentic initiatory rite based
on ideals of total abstinence) is complicated, how
ever, by certain obscene details. Rather than display
normally his naked member and swing it in a circle
while the onlookers cheer (as one of our youths
would do, in a ritual on the island of Manus or
elsewhere), the male dancer keeps his scrupulously
covered (I leave to the reader's imagination how

79

MISREADINGS

repulsive this practice is even to the most sophisti

cated observer). Similarly, the female dancer never
allows her breasts to be glimpsed, by their conceal
ment thus stimulating desires that can only produce
the profoundest frustration.
But frustration is an ideological component of the
educational relationship which seems to operate in
the assemblies of the elders, held in another confined
space, where a kind of return to elementary natural
moral values is celebrated: a female dancer appears,
lewdly covered with garments, and gradually re
moves them, exposing her limbs, so that the observer
is led to believe that a cathartic resolution is in
progress. Ideally it should conclude when the dancer
is suitably naked. In reality-under precise orders
of the headmen, as we have discovered- she retains
certain fundamental garments at the end, or else
pretends to remove them as she disappears in that
same moment into the sudden darkness that fills the
cavern. Thus the natives emerge from these places
still in the grip of their lust.
But the basic question for the researcher is this:
Are bewilderment and frustration truly programmed
intentionally, by decision, or are these states also in
part created by something deeper, which influenced
that decision of the chiefs and priests, something
which lies in the very nature of the Milanese habitat?
A vexing question, because in the latter case we
confront the profound wellspring of magic mentality
that dominates the natives, we come up against the
obscure Mothers who are at the origin of the dark
night of the soul in this primitive horde.

80

Industry and Sexual Repression in a Po Valley Society

The Paradox of Porta Ludovica

(An Essay on a Topological Phenomenon)
3.

To explain the bewilderment, passivity, and. resis

tance to enculturation also characteristic of these
natives, other scientists have espoused the hypothesis
originally proposed at the ethnological level by Pro
fessor Poa Kilipak. She formulated it in these terms :
the Milanese native is in a condition of bewilderment
because he lives in a "magic space" where the direc
tions front, back, left, and right are not valid and
consequently all orientation is impossible. There can
therefore be no endeavor with a defined goal- he.Q.ce
the atrophy of various cerebral functions in the na
tive, and a by-now-ancestral state of passivity. Ac
cording to the native's understanding (or, actually,
according to the scientists who favor positive ac
knowledgment of magic categories), the space where
Milan stands is unstable, preventing any directional
calctJ.lation and placing the individual in the .center of
coordinates that vary continually. It is therefore a
topological space, like that of a microbe that chooses
as its dwelling place a wad of chewing gum for the
period of time (a "historical period" for the microbe,
a geological era) in which the gum is chewed by a
being of macroscopic aimensions.
"Milanese space" is excellently described by Pro
fessor Moa in his Paradox of Porta Ludovica (A Study
of Ambiguous Triangulation). All individuals, whether
civilized inhabitants of the Marquis Islands or Eu
ropean savages, Moa asserts, move in space according
to "orientative programs" carried out through trian-

81

MISREADINGS

gulations. These triangulations are based on the as

sumption of a Euclidean plane geometry, taking as
parametric models the forms of the square, the tri
angle, or the circle. For example, a savage of New
York, accustomed to reaching the Hotel Plaza along
a straight line from Washington Square, following
Fifth Avenue to a point X, knows that by proper
triangulation he can reach the same point via "a
detour in the form of a square . " In other words, he
can follow the sides of the square West Eighth Street
Avenue of the Americas - Central' Park South (a ninety
degree angle) - Grand Army Plaza- point X (the main
entrance to the Plaza Hotel).
Similarly, a native of Paris who has followed the
route Etoile - Place de la Bastille knows that he has
touched two points of a circumference, covering one
chord of it, but he could also reach l'Etoile from
Place de la Bastille by following the circumference
itself in the arc Bvd. Richard Lenoir - Place de la
Republique - Boulevards Saint Martin - Saint Denis
Bonne Nouvelle - de la Poissoniere-Montmartre Haussmann and finally Avenue Friedland to the Etoile.
The Porta Ludovica paradox is another matter
altogether. Here is Profesor Moa on the subject:
We will posit a Milanese native who has achieved

an

intelligence level capable of grasping abstractions.

He formulates the simplest hypothesis concerning
his habitat : namely, that Milan has a circular, spiral
structure. Of course, no Milanese native could attain
such a level of operative intelligence, precisely be
cause the topological space in which he lives prevents

82

Industry and Sexual Repression in a Po Valley Society

him from conceiving any stable pattern. Rather, our
hypothetical Milanese (as we have posited him) imag
ines Milan more or less as the surface of a painting
by J ackson Pollock. Assume then that the subject in
the past has had the following experience (also as
suming that, having had the experience, he can re
member it and extrapolate a pattern from it) : he has
learned that he can reach Porta Ludovica from Piazza
Duomo along the straight line Via Mazzini - Corso
Italia. Then he has learned that he can reach Piazza
General Cantore (Porta Genova) from Piazza Duomo
along the straight line Via Torino - Carrobbio - Via
Correnti - Corso di Porta Genova. Concluding that
the two straight lines represent radii of a circumfer
ence of which Piazza Duomo is the hub, he ventures
to take the Piazza Generale Cantore - Porta Ludovica
connection along the Viale D'Annunzio - Porta Ti
cinese - Via Giangaleazzo arc of the circumference.
His attempt is crowned with success. So he then,
unwisely, draws a general rule, as if the space in
which he moves were stable and unchangeable, and
ventures a further operation: having discovered the
line Piazza Duomo - Via Torino - Via Correnti - Via
San Vincenzo - Via Solari - Piazza Napoli, he inter
prets this as another radius of the same circle and
thinks to connect Po-rta Napoli with Porta Ludovica
by an arc of that circumference. He knows that the
third radius is longer than the first two, and he knows
therefore that the circumference where Piazza Napoli
is locat d is beyond the circumference that includes
Porta Ludovica. He decides therefore to alter his
route at a certain point on this new arc, turning

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MISREADINGS

toward the center. He starts along the circumference

arc by Via T roya, Viale Cassala, Viale Liguria, Via
Tibaldi, Viale Toscana, Via Isonzo (slight turn toward
the center), Viale Umbria, Viale Piceno, Via dei
Mille, and Viale Abruzzi. Arriving at Piazzale Lo
reto, he turns again toward the center (otherwise, he
knows, he will end up in Monza) and follows Viale
Brianza, Viale Lunigiana, Viale Marche, and Via
J enner, turns again toward the center, adjusting his
route, along Via Caracciolo, Piazza Firenze, Viale
Teodorico, and Piazzale Lotto. At this point, afraid
of still not having reached the inner coils of the
spiral, he turns again toward the center, along Via
Migliara, Via Murillo, Via Ranzoni, Via Bezzi, and
Via Misurata. At which point he finds himself back
in Piazza Napoli, having completed the circuit of
Milan. Experiments show that after this the subject
loses all capacity for telling direction. No matter
how much he adjusts his course toward the center,
reducing the apparent arc of the circumference, he
will find himself at Porta Ticinese, Piazza Medaglia
d'Oro, but never at Porta Ludovica. This leads to
the supposition that Porta Ludovica does not exist
for anyone in Milanese space who triangulates from
Piazza Napoli. In fact, an attempt from any direction
will inevitably be frustrated. All efforts at orientation
must be made, if possible, independently of any
preliminary notion of Milanese space. Actually, it
will be impossible for the subject to refrain from
falling back on spontaneous Euclidean references
such as "If I take three steps to the left, then three
steps forward, then three steps to the right, I will

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Industry and Sexual Repression in a Po Valley Society

consequently be three steps ahead on the straight
line that originates at my point of departure. " As a
rule, the subject, after a calculation of this sort, finds
himself almost invariably in the Monforte district,
which can be shown to be the geometric nexus of
every possible destination. Milanese space stretches
and contracts like a rubber band, and its contractions
are influenced by the movements the subject makes
in it, so that it is impossible for him to take them
into account as he proceeds.

As all scientists know, Moa later attempted to

demonstrate the Second Paradox of Porta Ludovica,
making the hypothesis that with Porta Ludovica as
the point of departure it would be impossible to
identify the Monforte district (thus proving an ex
ception to the postulate of the Monforte district as
the geometric nexus of all possible destinations) . But
it is not known if his research proved successful,
because Moa disappeared and his body was never
found. There is a legend current among the natives
that his restless spirit has roamed these many years
around Piazza Napoli ; having arrived there, it has
never been able to leave. If this is what really hap
pened, Moa has the distinction of having demon
strated the irreversibility of the Porta Ludovica
paradox. A more alarming possibility, however, is
that Moa' s spirit haunts Piazza Napoli in a vain
search for its body, which lies unburied in Piazza
Tricolore, in the Monforte district.
Naturally philosophers found Moa's topological
hypothesis unsatisfactory, and they have since tried

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MISREADINGS

to put the spatial ambiguity of Milan on a specific

existential footing.
Still, Moa's topographical studies were the inspi
ration for the Mailandanalyse of Karl Opomat, a
specialist in the Admiralty Islands trained in this sort
of research during the period when those territories
admitted, for acculturation workshops, a number of
German "colonials. "
The being-in-Milan condition- Opomat writes-is
equivalent to a being-around-Porta-Ludovica in the
fictive world of the satisfiable. The in-what being
in-Milan comprises is, primarily, a system of refer
ence; it is the that-which-to-what of the preliminary
state, in allowing Portc;t Ludovica to approach. The
in-what of self-referring comprehension was that
which-to-what of allowing Porta Ludovica to ap
proach in the way of being proper to satisfiability;
it is the phenomenon of being-in-Milan. But in the
very Milanity of Milan in general (Mailandischkeit

von Mailand uberhaupt), being-in-Milan must be

clarified as Worry (Sorge), and worrying-about, a
worrying-about Porta Ludovica according to the three
ecstasies of temporality, though in such a way that
being-around-Porta-Ludovica can only be a being
around-Monforte.

Opomat's tragic view was to be tempered in later

studies (cf. the notion of Piazza Napoli as "disreve
lation"), but even these are not completely free of
negativism.
Closer to the temporal situation illuminated by

86

I
I

I
I
I
I

II

I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
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Industry and Sexual Repression in a Po Valley Society

Moa, on the other hand, is the penetrating phenom

enology of another thinker, the late lamented Manoi
Cholai, iri whose unpublished manuscripts we find a
dazzling analysis of the state of bewilderment in one
who is inserted into the "fluxation" of the spatial
Milanese situation.
Its [Milan's] present state of being is still in the
originating source and diffusion (Urquellen and Ver
quellen), and in such a way that the diffusion is
tantamount to a constant modification, which the
actual present (Urprdsent),

no-longer-originating

present, transforms into a has-just-been, to which,

however, a new originating present (Monforte dis
trict) is constantly added, which is both source and
expansion, and to which a new mode is added of the
now originating source, and so on. In Milan there is
a phenomenon of reciprocal distancing (Auseinan

dersein), which is also a succession (Nacheinander),

in the sense of a distancing of the points in time. In
the movement from Porta Ludovica to Piazza Napoli
both the now and the various has-beens (Gewesen
heiten) are present at once, as well as the horizon of
the maintaining (Behalten) and of the oncoming (des
Zukommendes). Here we encounter, first of all, the
medianness of intentional implication, with regard
to retentive modification. From the source-point (Porta
Ludovica) a later awareness of the just-has-been is
diffused for the immediate has-been, which is en
forced by a phase of awareness of the just-now or
every just-now, and so we have a recursive of of of
of. The retentive temporal flux is characterized in

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MISREADINGS

itself by a constant already-has-past, in which the

already-past, in its individual stages, is characterized
as the already-past of a passing and as an average or
median passing, etc.

It is clear that the complexity of these analyses,

impressive as they are, does not carry us very far
beyond what Moa previously established, the fact
that the mental backwardness of the Milanese native
is due to the disorienting action of the ambiguity of
the spatial situation on the nerve centers (directly
influencing the inner ear, according to some repre
sentatives of traditional biological positivism, who
tend, moreover, to speak not only of Eustachian
tubes but also Fallopian, in the indigenous women
who roam at night along the paths of the inner spirals
of the city).
Nevertheless, we venture to refute both the philo
sophical explanation and the scientific-mathematical
one, returning, instead, to a historical view which
still incorporates the concrete anthropological re
search we have conducted (see Appendix, pp. 671 1346).
The primitive structure of the rites of passage and
acts of worship, the colonial passivity, the static
community, and the incapacity to evolve cannot be
explained only by hairsplitting disquisitions on the
spatial structure of the locality; they must be seen
also in the light of profound , economic and social
factors .
Now, in comparing the present situation of the
peninsula with that described in the historical writ-

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Industry and Sexual Repression in a Po Valley Society

ings of the natives which date back about a thousand

years, we consider it appropriate to venture, at least
as a historiographical hypothesis, the following ex
planation, believing that it is the most probable.

4. Church and Industry

(A Proposed Historical-socio
economic Interpretation)

The Italian peninsula is witnessing today what the

natives would call a "struggle for turf. " The social
and political scene is dominated by two equally strong
powers, disputing the control of the peninsula's, ter
ritories and its people : Industry and the Church. The
Church, according to statements recorded in the field,
is a secular and worldly power, intent on earthly
rule, on acquiring more and more property, on con
trolling the sources of political authority ; whereas
Industry is a spiritual power, bent on winning souls,
on propagating mysticism and askesis.
During our stay on the Italian peninsula we ob
served some typical manifestations of the Church :
the "processions" or "precessions" (obviously con
nected with equinoctial rites), which are unabashed
displays of pomp and military force- including pla
toons of guards, police lines, generals of the army,
and colonels of the air force. On another occasion,
in the so-called Paschal celebrations, we witnessed
outright military parades, in which whole armored
units came to offer the symbolic homage that the
Church demands of the army. This secular display

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MISREADINGS

of armed, uniformed power is totally different from

the spectacle offered by Industry.
Its faithful live in gloomy conventlike buildings,
where mechanical devices contribute to making the
habitat more and more stark and inhuman. Even
when such coenobia are constructed according to the
dictates of order and symmetry, they are marked by
a kind of Cistercian severity, for the coenobites'
families live in small monastic cells in complexes that
often cover amazingly vast areas. The spirit of pen
ance pervades the congregation, especially the lead
ers, who, though wealthy, live in almost total poverty
(I was able personally to confirm the extent of their
incomes, declared publicly for penitential purposes).
The leaders gather frequently in long, ascetic retreats
called "board meetings , " during which they sit for
many hours, in gray habits, their faces haggad,
hollow-eyed from fasting, to debate disembodied
problems connected with the mystical purpose of the
association: the "production" of objects as a kind of
ongoing reenactment of divine creation.
These men seem to despise every symbol of wealth,
and if they happen to have some gem or valuable fur,
they rid themselves of it at once, donating it to the
young maidens who act as vestals in the vestibules
adjoining their hieratic sanctums. (These maidens
gravely peHorm a sacred act similar to the spinning
of prayer wheels by Tibetan monks, for they con
stantly tap the keys of an instrument that endlessly
produces cryptic invocations to the divinity and ex
hortations to "productive" askesis. ) The mystique of

90

Industry and Sexual Repression in a Po Valley Society

production also has a rigorous theological founda

tion. We were able to reconstruct a doctrine of the
"circulation of merits, " whereby the virtuous act of
one member of the priestly caste can be used spiri
tually by another. In certain temples you witness the
continuous passage of these "merits, " or "bonds,"
during frenzies of religious ecstasy, when swarms of
priests hasten to part with their "merits, " diminishing
their own value to make a gift of it to others, in an
impressive crescendo of tension and hysterical raptus.
To the researcher it is clear that in the village of
Milan the power that has gained ascendancy is In
dustry. As a result, the populace lives in a constant
state of mystic excitement, which adds to the above
mentioned bewilderment, and produces a submis
siveness to the decisions of the priests. The hy
pothesis of a magic space may therefore be not a
metaphysical datum but, rather, a device of the reli
gious powers designed to keep the Milanese faithful
in a condition of detachment from all worldly values.
And so the rites of passage take on new meaning, as
do the pedagogy of frustration, the Sunday canni
balism, and the shamanic flight to the sea (which
sacred drama seems a collective pretense, in which
each player is at once conscious and helpless, con
vinced at heart that the solution lies not in flight but
in total, loving surrender to the mystical power of
production). Yet it would be erroneous to think of
Industry as a power that governs the natives and the
territory undisturbed. The Italian peninsula, scene of
many and various events (of which Do bu gives an

91

MISREADINGS

unfortunately mythological reading), represents a ter

ritory constantly open to invasion by barbarian peo
ples, to the immigration of hordes from the south
who pour into the village and devastate it, changing
its physical structure, camping at its outskirts, oc
cupying the public buildings and arresting all admin
istrative activity. In the face of this pressure from
foreign hordes and of the corrupting action of the
Church in its efforts to distract the natives' minds by
tempting them with dreams of ill-conceived moder
nity (whose symbol can be found in the ritual game
of Ping- Pong and in the electoral race, a debilitating
blood sport in which even half-paralyzed old women
take part), Industry stands as the last bulwark in the
preservation of the old primitive civilization. It is not
the role of the anthropologist to judge whether or
not such preservation is a positive thing; he must
simply record the function of Industry, which has
erected for its goal white monasteries in which dozens
upon dozens of monks, shut up in their cells and
refectories (the studia or officia studiorum), sheltered
from invasion, ruin, and uproar, and in the calm,
inhuman neatness of their refu ge, draft perfect con
stitutions for communities to come. These are silent,
shy men, who appear only occasionally in the arena
of public activity, to preach obscure and prophetic
crusades, accusing those who live in the world of
being "lackeys of neocapitalism" ( an obscure expres
sion, characteristic of their mystical speech). But once
these addresss have been delivered, they again with
draw piously into their coenobia, recording their

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Industry and Sexual Repression in a Po Valley Society

hopes on faded palimpsests. Protected by the spiritual

power that governs them and the village, they are,
to the scientist, the only key to understanding this
disturbing and savage mystery.
1 9 62

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The End Is at Hand

"Heraclitus deposited the book in the temple of

Artemis, and some say that he deliberately wrote it
in obscure language so only those capable of reading
it would approach it, and not in a lighter tone, which
would expose him to the contempt of the crowd. "
Heraclitus himself said : "Why do you want to drag
me here and there, you illiterates? I did not write for
you, but for those who can understand me. One man
to me is worth a hundred thousand ; and the mob,
nothing." 1
But Heraclitus is gone, and his book has been
thrown open to all the savant monkeys who desire
to approach it, writing reviews and footnotes. And
his disciples know more than he ever did. Which
means that Heraclitus has been defeated by the mob,
and, much to our sorrow, we witness today the
triumph of mass-man. If your spirit has not yet
withered completely, you have only to cross the .
1 Diogen e s Laertius, Lives of the Philosophers, ix , 1 - 1 7.

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The End Is at Hand

agora on any ordinary day, and if you do not first

choke with anguish (but is anyone left who can feel
this precious emotion ?) or succumb to social mimesis
and join the euphorions who surround the latest
philosophizer strolling in the public square, you will
see those who were once the men of Greece : now
perfect, smug automata crowing together amid the
smells and cries, mingling with the Attic peasant who
drives his flocks, the tuna merchants from Pontus
Euxinus, the fishermen from Piraeus, the emporoi
and the bawling crowd of kapeloi, the vendors of
sausages, wool, fruit, pork, birds, cheese, sweets,
spices, purgatives, incense and myrrh, plumes, figs,
garlic, fowl, books, sacred fillets, needles, and coal
as our writers of comedy sometimes take pleasure in
listing them. And in their midst you will see public
inspectors circulating, money changers, controllers
of weights and measures, copyists of poems, vendors
of wreaths, all gatherd in front of the humble shops,
the tailors' stands ; and you will see the makers of
lutes and perfumes, the peddlers of sponges and
whelks, the slave traders, and, crying their wares
near the hermai, the women selling trinkets, bread,
peas, and the cobblers, and the pimps.
Thus you can draw for yourself the portrait of
mass-man, the citizen of democratic Athens, smug
in his own cheap tastes, his Philistine fondness for
conversation, his satisfaction with the philosophic
alibi that the Lyceum and the Peripatos kindly offer
him and with the noise in which he encloses himself
like snail, the "distraction" which he has raised to
the level of a religion. See the crowd as it clusters

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MISREADINGS

around the cockroach shape of the brand-new chariot

acquired by Alcibiades, or as it rushes, sweating and
vociferating, toward the latest messenger arriving from
anywhere. B ecause the chief characteristic of mass
man is the desire to know, the lust for information.
In contrast to the restraint of Heraclitus, who knew
that wisdom was too precious a treasure to be placed
at everyone's disposal, nowadays a certain Aristotle
declares that "all men naturally desire knowledge,"
and the proof of this, he says, is "the pleasure they
experience in sensations, which they love for them
selves, independently of any profit, especially visual
sensations. " 2
And what need be added to the negative anthro
pology of mass-man after this description of this
indiscriminate desire to perceive, this greed for
knowing, to see clearly and pleasantly and also from
afar (a teleview, in short), a need apparently con
firmed by his use of both metopes and pediments,
where true proportions are altered and statues carved
in such a way that they seem natural only to those
looking at them from below. The sculptors thus cater
to mass-man's laziness, and the prepackaged view
thus relieves him of any obligation to interpret the
obvious. 3
In vain did our Montilides recently decry this
greed for information, whereby it seems almost that
the disk of our earth is enclosed in a "sphere of
psychism, its density in constant expansion, " given
2 Metaphysics, 1 980a.

3 See also Plato's nonchalant remarks in The Sophist, 235 - 236.

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The End Is at Hand

that "an ever-thicker blanket of information and of

views projected from a distance covers the world we
inhabit. " 4 This pervasive illiteracy no longer makes
any impression on Athenian mass-man; nor could it,
since from his school days his educators' only con
cern was to "inform, " with no hesitation about cor
rupting him by the pages of contemporary poets, as
we were indeed warned (but with smug, vainglorious
hypocrisy) by that crony Plato, still admired by the
conformist crowd, when he said that "our teachers
do as they are desired to do. And when the youth
has learned his letters and begins to understand what
is written . . . he finds on the desk in front of him,
to be read and to be memorized perforce, the works
of great poets . . . so that the youth, imitating them,
will desire to become like them. " 5 What is to be
done ? The culture industry is too content with its
achievements to listen to the voice of wisdom (but
isn't that out of fashion in any case ?), and so we will
have to witness the development of students who,
when they are thirty, will go around at night to
decapitate the hermai, as a young intellectual of our
acquaintance has done. From such teachers we cannot
expect better disciples . The production of mass-man
is coming to fruition.
But, then, did we -not theorize his need to be and
stay with others, rejecting the joys of silent solitude ?
Such is the essence of so-called democracy, whose
first commandment seems to be : Do as others do and
4 Cf. "Aa <f>wv&wm l/JtXtKa, " KwppiEpTJ BriA.A.a Iripa, 24 III 63.
5 Protagoras XV (Modern Library ed. , p. 2 1 3).

97

MISREADINGS

obey the law of the greatest number. Anyone is

worthy of holding any office, provided he collects
enough people to elect him. For the less important
posts trust in luck, as mass-man's logic is by nature
aleatory. "Cities must truly be made up of elements
that are equal, as far as possible, and homogeneous :
a condition found especially in the middle class . . .
Thus Phocylides properly expresses this wish : 'The
best condition is the mean, and that is the place I
want to occupy in the city. ' 6 Such is the view of
Aristotle, to whom, vox clamantis in deserto, Orte
gaygassetos replied in vain, denouncing the fact that
"since the second half of the last century there has
been in Europe a noticeable exteriorization of life
. . . Private existence, hidden and solitary, closed to
the public, to the crowd, to others, becomes increas
ingly difficult . . . The street has become stento
rian. " 7 We would say, the agora has become stentorian,
but the agora is mass-man's ideology, it is what he
has always wanted and what he deserves. It is only
right that Plato should stroll there and converse with
his adherents: that is his realm, and mass-man cannot
live alone, for he must know everything that is hap
pening and must speak about it everywhere.
And nowadays he can know everything. You see
what happened at Thermopylae. Only a day after the
event a messenger brought the news, and someone
had already thought to package it, simplifying and
6 Politics, IV, 9, 1295b.
7 "oxia'Ju6a6wve &A.A. ffo,w," Ao 7TETTarnp17.

98

The End Is at Hand

reducing it to an advertising slogan : "Our arrows

will hide the sun. Good ! We will fight in the shade !"
The echolalic Herodotus had done his duty to that
tyrant, the crowd with a hundred ears.
And thus the so-called historians, who are nothing
but eager reporters of the present, seem to be exactly
where they belong. Efficient chief PR man for Peri
cles, Herodotus can find nothing better to write
about than the Persian wars. (A pure and simple
news report, in other words. We could hardly hope,
these days, for a Homer, one who possesses the
poetic lucidity required to write about things he has
neither seen nor heard, endowing them with the
dimension of fable. ) Herodotus only has to read three
or four Ionic logographs and he can claim to know
everything. He talks about everything. And, as if
that were not enough, he then begat an even more
pompous and arid Thucydides, who, after the shame
ful debacle of the fall of Amphipolis (which he failed
to prevent, a failure both of arms and of administra
tion), forgot his Peloponnesian misadventures and
created a nw persona as a chronicler, agreeing to
describe the events of the war as they were occurring.
Had we thus finally scoured the lowest depths of
gutter journalism? No, because after him came Xen
ophon, master of an- art capable of making even a
laundry list a historical document ; Xenophon, who
whimpers over a commonplace eye ailment. (Char
acteristic of the cultural industry is its vulgarity, the
insistence on the coarse but striking detail. Is a river
- crossed? Then the crosser will be "wet to the navel. "

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MISREADINGS

Do the men eat rotten food ? They will "flow from

behind. ") 8 But in Thucydides there is more than
this; we find in him the desire, common, to write
literature, to become a candidate for the literary
prizes the culture industry provides for those able to
follow the fashion. Thucydides does not hesitate to
dot his prose with naturalistic decorations, imitating
the nouveau roman : The surface of the body did
not reveal excessive warmth to the touch, nor pallor
to the sight; it was reddish, livid, covered with
little sores and ulcers . . " 9 Subject? The plague in
Athens.
Thus, having reduced the human dimension to the
objective styleme, up-to-date reporting and the avant
garde dominate our new literature. For anyone with
a glimmer of intelligence the only reply to the distress
of Bobtoweridas, who complains that the language
of the younger writers is incomprehensible, must be :
There is nothing to comprehend, nor does mass-man
wish it otherwise. The eclipse of Attic man is now
total.
But if there is a decline of the West, mass-man
does not let it bother him. Does he not live in the
best of all possible worlds ? Read again the speech of
Pericles to a content and enthusiastic Athenian crowd :
We live in a meritocratic society, where the dialectic
of status is exalted with blithe optimism ("If a man
is useful to the city, neither poverty nor an obscure
social position will be any hindrance to him"), and
.

8 Anabasis, pass im.

9 Peloponnesian War, II, 48 - 54.

1 00

The End Is at Hand

so the criterion of discrimination, whereby the aristos

was precisely that, the best, is submerged in the
leveling frenzy. Attic man is now happy to live as a
face in the crowd, a white-chlamys worker, slave to
conformist behavior ("We have an incredible fear of
falling into illegality : we are obedient to those who
follow one another in the government, obsequious
to the laws, particularly those laws that arouse the
universal scorn of those who fail to follow them").
Attic man now lives happily as the representative of
a leisure class ("To refresh us after our toil we have
found many diversions for our spirit, celebrating
according to ancient custom games and feasts that
continue throughout the year, while we live in houses
supplied with every comfort, where daily pleasure
dispels all sadness"). In other words, Attic man is
the inhabitant of a prosperous state, an affluent so
ciety ("Goods of every kind flow into our city, and
so we can enjoy not only all the fruits and products
of this country, but with equal pleasure and ease
those of other countries, as if they were ours"). 10
Can we stir this mass-man, content in his Attic
village, from his mindless, smug sloth? No, for he is
held there by , those very games that Pericles men
tions. Consider the crowds that flock to Olympia
and argue about the 1ast meta as if their very souls
were at stake ; or that the Olympic Games now serve
for numbering the years ! Life seems to be measured
by the feats of a victor in the throwing of the j avelin,
or by him who runs a certain course ten times. The
10 Peloponnesian War, II, 37 - 4 1 .

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MISREADINGS

outcome of the pentathlon is the gauge of arete. Some

will commission a poet to compose an anthem for
such "heroes," and the crown they receive enhances
the glory of the city. Pericles's oratory has truly
given us the idea of a civilization in which everything
is beautiful. Provided you have renounced your own
humanity. As Montalides warned, "the universal hu
man community will be an aggregate of cellular ag
gregates, a bank of madrepores in which each individual
will be inserted and catalogued not according to his
mind but according to his productive possibilities or
his greater or lesser integration into the pattern of
total leveling. " 11 We look back at the Pharaoh's
solitude and isolation as a lost paradise, but Attic
man feels no nostalgia for it, because he has never
tasted its flavor: on the ramparts of Olympia he
celebrates his melancholy apocalypse unawares. De
cision is not expected of him, in any case. The culture
industry has provided him now with the virtually
electronic contortions of Pythia of Delphi, who in
epileptic spasms gives him advice about future
action. All in sentence fragments deliberately incom
prehensible, language regressed to the irrational,
for the consumption of the awed and democratic
crowds.
In the past, culture could be asked to offer a word
of salvation ; today salvation has been reduced to a
game of words. Attic man is possessed by an appetite
for public debate, as if it were necessary to discuss
every problem and obtain general agreement. But

1 02

The End Is at Hand

sophistry has debased truth to public consensus, and

public debate seems the ultimate refuge for this mass
of talkers.
We can only underline the bitter reflections of
Bloomides, which cleverly reproduce the conversa
tion that preceded the unseemly rush to debate. "Hey,
would you come to the agora tomorrow for a round
table discussion of truth ?" "No, but why not ask
Gorgias ? He'd be ideal for a eulogy of Helen, too.
And you might try Protagoras, his theory of man as
the measure of all things is the latest fashion, you
know?" But Bloomides' appeal against debate re
mains unheard, and the polemicist labors in vain to
refute the pernicious ideology that lies behind the
impassioned wranglings before a lazy, corrupted
public.
Instead, the culture industry will offer Attic mass
man, if debate does not satisfy him, a wisdom even
more immediate, diluted, moreover, in attractive di
gests, as his taste demands. And the master of that
art is the abovementioned Plato, who has a real gift
for presenting the harshest truth of ancient philos
ophy in the most digestible form: dialogue. Plato
doesn't hesitate to turn concepts into pleasant and
superficial examples (the white horse and the black
horse, the shadows in the cave, and so on), bowing
to the demands of mass-culture. So what was deep
(and what Heraclitus was careful not to bring into
the light) is raised to the surface, up to the level of
comprehension of the most idle listener. The final
infamy: Plato does not hesitate to use the sublime
problem of the One and the Many as a subject for

1 03.

MISREADINGS

the conversation of men who withdraw into the shop

of a smith (none of them able to think except in
"noise" !), while he takes care to make the debate
appetizing through the clever use of suspense and the
game of nine hypotheses, which have all the capti
vating charm of quiz programs with cash prizes.
Eristics and Maieutics (these are the names given by
the reporters, happy to conceal their emptiness by
employing the latest terms) still have the familiar
function : Attic man need make no effort to under
stand; the experts of the culture industry will give
him the illusion that his mind is achieving a compre
hension that is in fact ready-made. The game begins
with the magic tricks (skillful, we must admit) of that
old satyr Socrates, who even managed to transform
his well-deserved death sentence into a monstrous
advertising campaign. Socrates remained to the end a
faithful servant of the culture industry, providing the
pharmaceutical firms with that slogan : "Hemlock is
good for you. " Or: "What's all this about corrupting
kids ? I don't know what you're talking about. After
a hard day in the agora, what I need is a nice glass
of hemlock !"
End of the farce : a cock to Aesculapius, the final
hypocrisy. We have to agree with the learned Zolla
phontes when he says, "The more the mass-media
offer spectacles that are removed from humanity,
from true dialogue, the more they assume a false tone
of private conversation, of jovial cordiality, as we
can see (if our spirit can bear it) by beholding their
productions, which obey a secret rule : Interest man
in what has no interest for him, aesthetic, economic,

1 04

The End Is at Hand

or moral. " 12 What better definition for the Socratic

Platonic potpourri of the Symposium, where under
the pretext of a philosophical dialogue we witness
the spectacle of convivial incontinence, coarsened by
clear, indecent sexual allusions. Similarly, in the
Phaedrus we read that when a man looks (for the
final phase is, inevitably, a civilization of voyeurs) at
his beloved, "sweat bathes him, and an unusual heat
invades him ; thus descending in him, through the
eyes, a flow of beauty, and a new warmth spreads
. . . Everything swells, everything grows, from its
roots upward, and the growth extends under the
whole soul . . . and the wing begins to swell. " 1 3
Thinly disguised obscenity: this is the final gift, mass
erotica peddled as philosophy. As for the relations
between Socrates and Alcibiades, that is biography ;
and the culture industry exempts them from aesthetic
criticism.
Still too "natural" to become an industry, sex has,
in any case, become commerce, as Aspasia tells us.
Commerce and politics: sex is integrated into the
system. Phryne' s gesture reminds us sadly that even
faith in uncorruptible judges is ill founded. To these
contradictions and catastrophes of the human spirit
the culture industry has a ready answer: such scandals
are of . use, they supply the raw material for the
authors of tragedies . This process confirms the final
apocalyptic abyss of Attic man, the path of his irre
parable degeneration.
1 2 ExA.LlTO"E 8YJAA LIJTEAAETTVaAE,

p. 60.

13 Phaedrus, 23 - 30.

105

MISREADINGS

You see the Athenians, still in broad daylight, take

their places in the long tiers of seats in the amphi
theater, where with stupid, dazed expressions they
will become caught up in events enacted by some
poor mummers stripped of all humanity, since the
mummers have concealed their faces behind the gro
tesque fiction of masks, and their elevated shoes and
padded costumes mimic a greatness not their own.
Like ghosts that display no nuance of feeling, no
shifts of passion, exposed to the shameless attention
of all, they offer you debate on the most awful
mysteries of the human spirit: hatred, parricide, in
cest. Things that in the past people would have
concealed from the eyes of the crowd now become
the source of general entertainment. And here again
the public must be entertained according to the dic
tates of mass-culture, which obliges you not to allow
an emotion to be intuited but, rather, to present it
ready-made to the consunier. Thus it will not be a
poetic expression of lament but a stereotyped formula
of grief that suddenly assaults you with studied vio
lence : "Alas, alas, alas ! Ototoi totoi !" But what else
can be expected of authors who hire out their art and
know they must slap together a product that the
archon will accept or reject as he chooses ? It is
common knowledge that sponsorships these days go
to prolific citizens, and therefore the culture industry
could not find more straightforward iegislation. You
offer the backer what he asks of you, and what he
asks of you will be evaluated by weight and quantity.
You know very well that if you want to see a play
of yours staged, you can't submit it singly. No, yo

1 06

The End Is at Hand

must offer a whole tetralogy complete with satyr

drama. Hence there is creation on demand, poetry
machine-made, by formula. And the poet, if he is to
see his work performed, must also be composer and
choreographer and dance master, forcing the chorus
shamefully to kick their legs to the immodest whine
of the flute. The ancient author of the dithyramb is
now transformed into the producer of an Attic
, Broadway ; and the askesis he has finally achieved is
that of the pimp.
Shall we analyze the course of this regression? It
began with Aeschylus, who, naturally, is adored by
mass-man. Aeschylus made poetry out of the latest
headlines : take the battle of Salamis. Fine stuff for
poetry ! A military-industrial achievement whose
technological details the author lists with a delight
that no longer shocks our jaded sensibilities. The
"oars striking loudly in unison to the cadence, " the
vessels with their "bronze prows, " the "beaks" of
the "massed ships pressed in a strait, " the ships with
their "bronze cheeks" that, clashing, "snapped all
the aligned oars, " the maneuvers that the Greek ships
made around the Persians, "girding them" - all this
with a heavy, arrogant taste for mechanical detail, a
passion for including in the numbered verses snatches
of everyday conversation, nomenclature worthy of
some instruction manual, and in a secondhand style
that, if we had any sense of discrimination left, would
make us blush. 14 As Zollaphontes puts it, "The char
acter of the industrial mass is perfectly caught here :
14 Persians,

cf. 386- 432.

1 07

MISREADINGS

it vacillates between hysteria and gloom. Sentiment

has no place among the worshipers of Baal . , , 15 Sen
timent? And when he has to describe a scene of
majesty and death, what does he fall back on ? The
vocabulary, the slang of a butcher. "And they still,
like tuna caught in a net, with stubs of oars, with
broken carcasses, slammed down, crushed backs, to
moans and howls, and on all sides the expanse of sea
was smoking . . . " 1 6 In its desperate attempt to
refaire Doeblin sur nature, the culture industry foists
on us a language that has been made into a mere
thing, an artisan's tool, a mechanism, a shipyard's
terminology.
But do not think that with Aeschylus we reached
the nadir. The scandal goes deeper. With Sophocles
we have finally the perfect example of enforced som
nambulism mass-produced for the crowd. While
Sophocles has renounced Aeschylus's religious neu
roses, and distanced himself also from the elegant
boulevardier skepticism of Euripides, the practice of
sophrosyne in his work becomes the alchemy of moral
compromise. He turns out all-purpose situations, and
thus has no true purpose. Take Antigone. Here you
have the whole shebang. The girl devoted to her
brother, barbarously slain. The , wicked and insensi
tive tyrant. The principles sacrosanct even at the price
of death. Haemon, son of the tyrant, a suicide be
cause of the girl's sad fate. Haemon's mother, follow
ing him to the grave. Creon aghast at all the deaths
1 5 ExA.tlTlTE, p. 25.
16 Persians, 386ff.

1 08

The End Is at Hand

caused by his insane Philistinism. Soap opera, thanks

to the Attic culture industry, has reached its climax,
its abyss. And as if that wasn't enough, Sophocles
seals his work with moral commentary. In the first
stasimon we have the glorification of technological
productivity: "Many are the wondrous things in the
world, but none is more wonderful than man . . .
He wears out the Earth, supreme divinity, year after
year following his young horses, driving his plow
and turning the soil . . . Tribes of wild beasts, of
marine creatures, he snares in his woven nets . . . " 1 7
So we have the ethic of productiyity, praise for the
stupid work of the mechanic, the allusion to prole
tarian genius. "We must be pleased, " Zollaphontes
observes ironically, speaking of the relationship be
tween literature and industry, "with the victory of
the genius who now slays monsters with technology,
and we must hope that that victory is put to good
use for man. " 18 Such is the ideology of mass culture.
And Sophocles, a master of this, does not hesitate to
add to protagonist and deuteragonist . . . we have a
triagonist, too, and decoration of the scene, 19 since,
obviously, to impose ready-made emotions the clas
sic stage was not enough for him. Before long we
shall see the introduction of a fourth interlocutor,
one completely dumb, and then tragedy will have
taken the final step, which is the comedy of super
fetation, achieving total incommunicability in servile
17 Antigone, I, first stasimon.

18 ExA.ilTlTE, p. 1 9.

19 Cf. Aristotle, Poetics, IV, 1 5 .

1 09

MISREADINGS

obedience to the rules of the avant-garde theater, en

attendant its Godotes.

And now, for Euripides, the time is ripe. He is

just innocent and radical enough to win the favor of
the masses, able to reduce drama to pochades, as can
be seen from the insistent plaisanteries of Admetus
and Hercules, which neutralize what's left of the
power of tragedy in Alcestis. As for Medea, here mass
culture performs its star turn, entertaining us with
the private neuroses of a bloodthirsty hysteric and a
plethora of Freudian analysis, offering a perfect ex
ample of how to be the Tennessee Williams des
pauvres. You're given the full dose : how is it possible
not to weep and to feel terror and pity?
Because this is what tragedy requires. You must
feel terror and pity, and feel them on command, on
cue. Just read what Aristotle, that peerless master of
hidden persuasion, has to say on the subject. Here is
the whole recipe: Take one protagonist endowed with
such qualities that the public both admires him and
deplores him ; make terrible and pathetic things hap
pen to him, sprinkling the mixture with an appro
priate amount of sudden reversals, agnmons,
catastrophes ; stir well, bring to a boil, and voila, you
have cooked up what is called catharsis, and you will
see the audience tear its hair and groan with fear and
sympathy, crying out for relief. You shudder at these
details ? It's all written down ; read the texts of this
Choryphee of contemporary civilization. The culture
industry is quick to circulate them, convinced that if
not falsehood then sheer spiritual laziness will further
its aims.

1 10

The End Is at Hand

Ideology? If there is one: Accept what is given

and use it as a tool of persuasive argumentation. The
most recent, infamous handbook by this Aristotle,
Rhetoric, is nothing less than a catechism of market
ing, a motivational inquiry into what appeals and
what doesn't, what's believed and what's rejected.
Now you know the irrational stimuli that govern the
actions of your fellows, he says, and therefore your
fellows are at your mercy. Push their buttons: they
are yours. With this work, as Zollaphontes observes,
"we have a fabrication that does not reflect the nat
ural tendencies of the public but calculates its effects
as far as salability goes, heightening the colors ac
cording to the laws of brute reaction to stimuli. " 20
The effect? Delectatio morosa or, in other words,
foreplay, the forge of every vice. Fantasy, daydream.
Tragedy gives this the highly visible seal of social
approval, raising a temple to a monster appearing
from the shadows of a barbaric society.
But I don't want to give the impression that the
poor Boeotian victim is being defrauded only in the
state amphitheater, on the day of the performance.
Aristotle himself, in his Politics (Book 8), talks about
music and "its sensible effect on our temperament. "
Study the rules of songs as imitations of the stirrings
of the soul, and you will learn how to "stir the
emotions, " you will see that the Phrygian mode leads
to orgiastic behavior, the Doric mode to "virility. "
Need anything be added? Here you have a textbook
for the emotional manipulation of the korai or, as
20 EXALlTO"E,

p. 42.

111

MISREADINGS

they say nowadays, teenagers. Enforced somnam

bulism is no longer a utopian dream, it is a reality.
These days the flute is played everywhere, though
the great Adornos inveighed at length against it.
Thanks to Aristotle's popularizing, musical skill is
within everyone's grasp, and it is taught to children
in school. In no time a song of Tyrtaeus will become
an air anybody can whistle in the baths or on the
banks of the Ilissus. Music and tragedy now show
us their true face : a manipulation of the emotions,
which the crowd rushes blissfully to accept, welcom
ing this role of masochism.
It is from the lecterns of hidden persuaders that
our young people are educated, transformed into a
flock of sheep in the gymnasia. When they are adults,
the same science of public opinion will teach them
how to behave in communal life, reducing virtue,
sentiment, and true talent to a mask. Hear what
Hippocrates has to say : "For the doctor it is ob
viously an excellent testimonial to appear well fed
and healthy; the public will believe that he who
cannot take proper care of his own body will not be
able to attend to the bodies of others . . . A doctor
entering the room of a patient must be careful how
he sits, how he acts; he must be well dressed, with
serenity in his expression . . . " 2 1 Falsehood becomes
a mask; the mask becomes the person. One day, in
the not-too-distant future, to define man's most pro
found being the only term left will be mask, persona,
which denotes the most superficial appearance.
2 1 Corpus
Hippocraticum, passim.

1 12

The End Is at Hand

Enamored of his own appearance, mass-man will

be able to enjoy only what appears real, he will take
pleasure only in imitation, 22 that is to say the parody
of what is not. You see this in the lust found in
painting (where the highest praise is reserved for
illustrators whose painted grapes birds would swarm
to peck at) and in sculpture, supremely skilled now
in reproducing naked bodies that seem real, or lizards
scuttling tree trunks who lack only the power of
speech, as the vulgar exclaim ecstatically. And in red
figure vases they have begun to introduce forms seen
frontally, as if the traditional profile did not suffice
to suggest, through poetic allusion, the full object of
the imaginative gaze.
But artistic production now bears the heavy yoke
of industrial necessity, and crafty mass-man has slyly
transformed that necessity into choice. Art bows to
the laws of science : among the columns of temples
you now see golden proportions established, which
the architect hails with the enthusiasm of a surveyor;
and Polycletus supplies you with a "canon" for the
production of perfect, industrialized statuary, for his
Doryphoros, as has been noted bitterly, i s no longer
a work but a poetics, a treatise in stone, a concrete
example of a mechanical rule. 23 Art and industry now
move in step ; the cyde is achieved; the spirit cedes
its place to the assembly line; cybernetic sculpture is
perhaps already at the gate. The last stage of initiation
22 Poetics,

IV, 55.

23 Cf. Galen, De placitis Hippocratis et Platonis V. Cf. also Pliny, Nat. Hist.

XXXIV.

113

MISREADINGS

is the herd solution. Ephebes are lined up in regi

menting exercises. Healthy revolt against the father
is replaced by surrender to the group, against which
the youth is incap able of defending himself. Egalitar
ianism undermines every difference between old and
young, and the episode of Socrates and Alcibiades
confirms this. With such leveling, the expression of
personal feelings atrophies. Thus today's model of
Attic man will remain unchanged until death and
beyond. The manufacturing of emotion, having per
vaded everyday Iife, will be imposed also on the last
breath. Not you but professional mourning women
will mime a sorrow of which you are now incapable ;
as for the deceased, the great step will not suffice to
make him give up the little sordid pleasures to which
he clung in life. In his mouth you will place a coin
(the pretext is an obol for Charon) and a cake for
Cerberus. For the rich you will add toiletries, weap
ons, necklaces.
And this same undiscriminating mass will form
the audience that flocks to enjoy the cheap pornog
raphy of Aristophanes. The mysterious connection
between Love and Hate, which the pre-Socratic phi
losophers barely led us to suspect, already bores
them. As for knowledge, all has now been reduced
to a temporary learning; it is enough to memorize
the theorem of Pythagoras (every Boeotian knows
this dreary little trick with triangles), while Euclid
has agreed to melt down all mathematical wisdom
into a conventional and undemonstrable postulate.
Before long, the schools doing their part, everyone
will know how to read and do sums and will demand

1 14

The End Is at Hand

nothing further, except perhaps that the right to vote

be extended to women and resident aliens. Is it worth
resisting? Who can summon the strength to oppose
the mounting tide of vulgarity?
Soon everyone will want to know everything.
Euripides has already tried to make the Eleusinian
mysteries common knowledge. For that matter, why
retain any area of mystery now, when the democratic
constitution gives everyone the leisure to idle away
his time at the abacus and the alpha and beta? Re
porters tell us that a certain Mesopotamian artisan
has invented a thing called a water wheel, which
turns on its own power and moves a grindstone
thanks simply to the flow of a river. Thus the slave
formerly in charge of the mill will have time to devote
to the stylus and the waxed tablet. But as a gardener
from some distant Eastern country said when con
fronted with a similar device : "I once heard my
master say : He who uses the machine becomes the
machine. He who is a machine in his work has the
heart of a machine . . . I do not know your inven
tion, but I would be ashamed to use it. " Citing this
pithy apologue, Zollaphontes asks : "How can a worker
ever aspire to holiness?" 24 But mass-man does not
aspire to holiness; his symbol is the great beast de
picted for us by Xenophon, the slave of his own
thirst, who writhes on the ground like a crazed
monkey, shouting : "Thalatta, thalatta. " Will we per
haps forget that nature "makes the bodies of free
men different from those of slaves" and that "men
24ExX.iaae, p. 1 1 3 .

115

MISREADINGS

are slaves or free by right of nature, " as Aristotle, in

one of his more lucid moments, asserted ? 25 Will we
yet manage to elude, even a handful of us, the oc
cupations that mass culture assigns to a race of slaves,
attempting to involve also the free man? Then the
free man's only recourse is to retire, if he has the
strength, into his private contempt, his private grief.
Unless one day the culture industry teaches even the
slaves their lettes, and undermines that last founda
tion of the aristocracy of the spirit.
1963
25 Politics,

116

I, passim.

Letter to My Son

Dear Stefano,
Christmas is marching upon us, and soon the big
stores downtown will be packed with excited fathers
acting out their annual scenario of hypocritical gen
erosity, having joyfully awaited this moment when
they can buy for themselves-pretending it's for
their sons- their cherished electric trains, the puppet
theater, the target with bow and arrows, and the
family Ping-Pong set. But I will still be an observer,
because this year my turn hasn't yet come, you are
too little, and Montessori-approved infant toys don't
give me any great pleasure, probably because I don't
enjoy sticking them in my mouth, even if the man
ufacturer's label assures me that they cannot be swal
lowed whole. No, I must wait, two years, or three
or four. Then it will be my turn; the phase of mother
dominated education will pass, the rule of the teddy
bear will decline and fall, and the moment will come
when with the sweet and sacrosanct violence of pa-

117

MISREADINGS

ternal authority I can begin to mold your civic con

science. And then, Stefano . . .
Then your presents will be guns. Double-barreled
shotguns . Repeaters . Submachine guns. Cannons .
Bazookas. Sabers. Armies of lead soldiers in full
battle dress. Castles with drawbridges. Fortresses to
besiege. Casemates, powder magazines, destroyers,
jets. Machine guns, daggers, revolvers. Colts and
Winchesters. Chassepots, 91 's, Garands, shells,
arquebuses, culverins, slingshots, crossbows, lead balls,
catapults, firebrands, grenades, ballistas, swords, pikes,
battering rams, halberds, and grappling hooks. And
pieces of eight, just like Captain Flint's (in memory
of Long J ohn Silver and Ben Gun), and dirks, ,the
kind that Don Barrejo so liked, and Toledo blades
to knock aside three pistols at once and fell the
Marquis of Montelimar, or using the Neapolitan feint
with which the Baron de Sigognac slayed the evil
ruffian who tried to steal his Isabelle. And there will
be battle-axes, partisans, misericords, krises, javelins,
scimitars, darts, and sword-sticks like the one John
Carradine held when he was electrocuted on the third
rail, and if nobody remembers that, it's their tough
luck. And pirate cutlasses to make Carmaux and Van
Stiller blanch, and damascened pistols like none Sir
J ames Brook ever saw (otherwise he wouldn't have
given up in the face -of the sardonic, umpteenth
cigarette of the Portuguese) ; and stilettos with tri
angular blades, like the one with which Sir William's
disciple, as the day was gently dying at Clignancourt,
killed the assassin Zampa, who killed his own mother,
the old and sordid Fipart ; and peres d'angoisse, like

118

Letter to My Son

those inserted into the mouth of the jailer La Ramee

while the Duke of Beaufort, the hairs of his coppery
beard made even more fascinating thanks to the con
stant attention of a leaden comb, rode off, anticipat
ing with joy the wrath of Mazarin ; and muzzles
loaded with nails, to be fired by men whose teeth
are red with betel stains ; and guns with mother-of
pearl stocks, to be grasped on Arab chargers with
glistening coats ; and lightning-fast bows, to turn the
sheriff of Nottingham green with envy; and scalping
knives, such as Minnehaha might have had, or (as
you are bilingual) Winnetou. A small, flat pistol to
tuck into a waistcoat under a frock coat, for the feats
of a gentleman thief, or a ponderous Luger weighing
down a pocket or filling an armpit a la Michael
Shayne. And shotguns worthy of J esse J am es and
Wild Bill Hickok, or Sambigliong, muzzle-loading.
In other words, weapons. Many weapons. These, my
boy, will be the highlight of all your Christmases.
Sir, I am amazed-some will say-you, a member
.of a committee for nuclear disarmament and a sup
porter of the peace movement ; you who join in
marches on the capital and cultivate an Aldermaston
mystique on occasion.
Do I contradict myself? Well, I contradict myself
(as Walt Whitman put it).
One morning, when I had promised a present to
a friend's son, I went into a - department store in
Frankfurt and asked for a nice revolver. Everyone
looked at me, shocked. We do not carry warlike
toys, sir. Enough to make your blood run cold.
Mortified, I left, and ran straight into two Bundes-

1 19

MISREADINGS

wehr men who were passing on the sidewalk. I was

brought back to reality. I wouldn't let anybody fool
me. From now on I would rely solely on personal
experience and to hell with pedagogues.
My childhood was chiefly if not exclusively bel
licose. I used blowpipes improvised at the last minute
among the bushes ; I crouched behind the few parked
cars, firing my repeater rifle ; I led attacks with fixed
bayonets. I was absorbed in extremely bloody bat
tles. At home it was toy soldiers. Whole armies
engaged in nerve-racking strategies, operations that
went on for weeks, long campaigns in which I mo
bilized even the remains of my plush teddy bear and
my sister's dolls . I organized bands of soldiers of
fortune and made my few but faithful followers call
me "the terror of Piazza Genova" (now Piazza Mat
teotti). I dissolved a group of Black Lions to merge
with another, stronger outfit, then, once in it, I
uttered a pronunciamento that proved disastrous.
Resettled in the Monferrato area, I was recruited
forcibly in the Band of the Road and was subjected
to an initiation ceremony that consisted of a hundred
kicks in the behind and a three-hour imprisonment
in a chicken coop. We fought against the Band of
Nizza Creek, who were filthy dirty and awesome.
The first time, I took fright and ran off ; the second
time, a stone hit my lips, and I still have a little-knot
there I can feel with my tongue. (Then the real war
arrived. The partisans let us hold their Stens for two
seconds, and we saw some friends lying dead with a
hole in their brow. But by now we were becoming
adults, and we went along the banks of the Belbo

1 20

Letter to My Son

River to catch the eighteen-year-olds making love,

unless, in the grip of adolescent mystical crises, we
had renounced all pleasures of the flesh . )
This orgy o f war games produced a man who
managed to do eighteen months of military service
without touching a gun, devoting his long hours in
the barracks to the grave study of medieval philoso
phy. A man of many iniquities but one who has
always been innocent of the squalid crime of loving
weapons and believing in the holiness and efficacy of
warrior values. A man who appreciates an army only
when he sees soldiers slogging through the muck
after the Vajont disaster, engaged in a peaceful and
noble civic purpose. A man who absolutely does not
believe in just wars, who believes wars are unjust and
damned and you fight always with reluctance, dragged
into the conflict, hoping it will end quickly, and
risking everything because it is a matter of honor and
you can't evade it. And I believe I owe my profound,
systematic, cultivated, and documented horror of war
to the healthy, innocent, platonically bloody releases
granted me in childhood, just as when you leave a
Western movie (after a furious brawl, the kind where
the balcony of the saloon collapses, tables and big
mirrors are broken, someone shoots at the piano
player, and the plate-glass window shatters) cleaner,
kinder, relaxed, ready to smile at the passerby who
jostles you and to succor the sparrow fallen from its
nest- as Aristotle was well aware, when he de
manded of tragedy that it wave the blood-red flag
before our eyes and purge us totally with the divine
Epsom salts of catharsis.

121

MISREADINGS

Then I imagine the boyhood of Eichmann. Lying

on his stomach, with that death's bookkeeper expres
sion on his face as he studies the Meccano pieces and
dutifully follows the instructions in the booklet; ea
ger also to open the bright box of his new chemistry
set ; sadistic in laying out the tiny tools of The Little
Carpenter, the plane the width of his hand and the
twenty-centimeter saw, on a piece of plywood. B e
ware of boys who build miniature cranes ! In their
cold and distorted minds these little mathematicians
are repressing the horrid complexes that will motivate
their mature years. In every little monster who op
erates the switches of his toy railway lies a future
director of death camps ! Watch out, if they are fond
of those matchbox cars that the cynical toy industry
produces for them, perfect facsimiles, with a trunk
that really opens and windows that can be rolled up
and down-terrifying ! A terrifying pastime for the
future commanders of an electronic army who, lack
ing all passions, will coldly press the red button of
an atomic war!
You can identify them already. The big real-estate
speculators, the slumlords who enforce evictions in
the dead of winter ; they have revealed their person
ality in the infamous game of Monopoly, becoming
accustomed to the idea of buying and selling property
and dealing relentlessly in stock portfolios. The Pere
Grandets of today, who have acquired with their
mother's milk the taste for acquisition and learned
insider trading with bingo cards. The bureaucrats of
death trained on Lego blocks, the zombies of bu
reaucracy whose spiritual decease began with the
_

1 22

Letter to My Son

rubber stamps and scales of the Little Post Office.

And tomorrow? What will develop from a child
hood in which industrialized Christmases bring out
American dolls that talk and sing and move, J apanese
robots that jump and dance thanks to an inexhaustible
battery, and radio-controlled automobiles whose
mechanism will always be a mystery? . . .
Stefano, my boy, I will give you guns. Because a
gun isn't a game. It is the inspiration for play. With
it you will have to invent a situation, a series of
relationships, a dialectic of events . You will have to
shout boom, and you will discover that the game has
only the value you give it, not what is built into it.
As you imagine you are destroying enemies, you will
be satisfying an ancestral impulse that boring civili
zation will never be able to extinguish, unless it turns
you into a neurotic always taking Rorschach tests
administered by the company psychologist. But you
will find that destroying enemies is a convention of
play, a game like so many others, and thus you will
learn that it is outside reality, and as you play, you
will be aware of the game's limits. You will work off
anger and repressions, and then be ready to receive
other messages, which contemplate neither death nor
destruction. Indeed, it is important that death and
destruction always appear to you as elements of
fantasy, like Red Riding Hood's wolf, whom we all
hated, to be sure, but without subsequently harbor
ing an irrational hatred for Alsatians.
But this may not be the whole story, and I will
not make it the whole story. I will not allow you to
fire your Colts only for nervous release, in ludic pur-

1 23

MISREADINGS

gation of primordial instincts, postponing until later,

after catharsis, the pars construens, the communica
tion of values. I will try to give you ideas while you
are still hiding behind the armchair, shooting.
First of all, I will teach- you to shoot not at the
Indians but at the arms dealers and liquor salesmen
who are destroying the Indian reservations. I will
teach you to shoot at the Southern slave owners, to
shoot in support of Lincoln. To shoot not at the
Congo cannibals but at the ivory traders, and in a
weak moment I may even teach you to stew Dr.
Livingstone, I presume, in a big pot. We will play
Arabs against Lawrence, and if we play ancient Ro
mans, we'll be on the side of the Gauls, who were
Celts like us Piedmontese and a lot cleaner than that
Julius Caesar whom you will soon have to learn to
regard with suspicion, because it is wrong to deprive
a democratic community of its freedom, leaving as a
tip, posthumously, gardens where the citizens can
stroll. We'll be on the side of Sitting Bull against that
repulsive General Custer. And on the side of the
Boxers, naturally. With Fantomas rather than with
Juve, who is too much a slave of duty to refuse,
when required, to club an Algerian. But now I am
joking : I will teach you, of course, that Fantomas
was a bad guy, but I won't tell you, not in complicity
with the corrupt Baroness Orczy, that the Scarlet
Pimpernel was a hero. He was a dirty Vendeen who
caused trouble for the good guy Danton and the pure
Robespierre, and if we play French Revolution, you'll
participate in the taking of the Bastille.
These will be stupendous games. I.magine ! And

1 24

Letter to My Son

we'll play them together. Ah, so you wanted to let

us eat cake, eh? All right, M. Santerre, let the drums
roll ! Tricoteuses of the world, unite and let your
knitting needles do their worst ! Today we'll play the
beheading of Marie Antoinette !
You call this perverse pedagogy? And you, sir,
antifascist practically since birth, have you ever played
partisans with your son? Have you ever crouched
behind the bed, pretending to be in the Langhe
valleys, crying, Watch out, the Fascist Black Brigades
are coming on the right ! It's a roundup, they're
shooting, return the Nazis' fire ! No, you give your
son building blocks and have the maid take him to
some racist movie that glorifies the extinction of
native Americans.
And so, dear Stefano, I will give you guns. And
I will teach you to play extremely complicated wars,
where the truth will never be entirely on one side.
You will release a lot of energy in your young years,
and your ideas may be a bit confused, but slowly
you will develop some convictions. Then, when you
are grown up, you will believe that it was all a fairy
tale: little Red Riding Hood, Cinderella, the guns,
the cannons, single combat, the witch and the seven
dwarfs, armies against armies. But if by chance, when
you are grown up, the monstrous characters of your
childish dreams persist, witches, trolls, armies, bombs,
compulsory military service, perhaps, having gained
a critical attitude toward fairy tales, you will learn to
live and criticize reality.
1964

125

Three Eccentric Reviews

Bank of Italy, Fifty Thousand Lire,

Italian National Mint, Rome, 1 96 7
Bank of Italy, One Hundred Thousand
Lire, Italian National Mint, Rome, 1 967
The two works under examination could be de
scribed as editions numerotees in folio. Printed on
both recto and verso, they also reveal, against the
light, a delicate watermarking, a product of the most
skilled craftsmanship and a technology rarely achieved
by other publishers (and then only with great effort
and often at disastrnus economic risk).
Still, while these works possess all the character
istics of a collector's edition, actually an immense
number of copies has been printed. This publishing
decision, however, has not resulted in an economic
advantage to the collector, for the price is still beyond
the reach of many fanciers' pocketbooks.
The paradox- editions that on the one hand flood

126

Three Eccentric Reviews

the market and on the other can be valued only

(forgive the expression) by their weight in gold
causes also the eccentricity of their circulation. Per
haps inspired by the example of municipal libraries,
the amateur, to have the pleasure of possessing and
admiring these editions, must be prepared to make
serious sacrifices, but he will then quickly pass the
works on to another reader, so that the edition keeps
circulating, going from hand to hand. Inevitably the
copies deteriorate through use, yet this wear and tear
does not diminish their value. It might even be said
that wear and tear makes these works more precious,
so that those who wish to possess them redouble
their efforts and energy, prepared to pay more than
the list price.
These facts underline the ambitious nature of this
publication, which has met with the widest approval,
though the venture must be justified by the intrinsic
value of the product.
And indeed, when the critic starts examining the
actual stylistic merit of the works under review, some
doubts about their validity begin to surface, even the
suspicion that the reading public's enthusiasm is due
to a misconception or else inspired by speculative
aims. First of all, the narrative is in many respects
incoherent. For example, in Fifty Thousand Lire the
watermark appears on the recto, symmetrically op
posite the head-and-shoulders portrait of Leonardo
da Vinci, and this image can be interpreted as Leo
nardo's Saint Anne or Virgin of the Rocks ; but in
One Hundred Thousand Lire it is hard to conceive
what relation, if any, exists between the apparently

127

MISREADINGS

Hellenic woman in the watermark and the portrait

of Alessandro Manzoni. Is the woman perhaps his
Lucia interpreted in a neoclassical style, painted or
engraved by an earlier artist like Appiani, who had
somehow foreseen the creation of Manzoni's hero
ine ? Or could she be- but here we sink to the most
obvious and scholastic allegory-the image of an
Italy that has some filial connection with the Lom
bard novelist? An exaggeration of the political activ
ity of the author of Carmagnola or a typical avant
garde device reducing ideology to language (Manzoni
father of the Italian language and hence father of the
nation, etc. , etc. - a dangerous syllogism in the style
of Gruppo 63 !). The narrative incoherence can only
put the reader off, and in any case it will have a
deleterious effect on the taste of the young, so we
must hope that at least they and the less educated
classes will be kept well away from these pages, in
their own best interest.
But the incoherence goes deeper. In the context
of such fastidiousness, whether neoclassical or bour
geois-realistic (the portraits of the two artists and the
landscapes of the verso seem based on the canons of
the cheapest sort of socialist realism : a concession to
the policies of our center-left coalition ?), it is hard
to see any reason for the violent insertion of the
exotic motive "Payable to the B earer, " which evokes
the vision of an African safari and a line of blacks
laden with bales of merchandise, forming a queue to
obtain something in exchange for their extorted la
bor, a scene right out of Rider Haggard or Kipling
and surely inappropriate to the subtext here.

128

Three Eccentric Reviews

But the incoherence found at the level of content

appears. also at the formal level . What is the purpose
of the realistic tone of the portraits, when all the
surrounding decoration is clearly inspired by psyche
delic hallucinations,, presented like the visual diary of
a Henry Michaux journey into the realm of mesca
line? With vortices, spirals, and undulant textures the
work reveals its hallucinatory purpose , i ts determi
nation to summon to the mind's eye a universe of
fictive values, of perverse invention . . . The obses
sive repetition of the mandala motif (every page in
cludes at least four or five radiating symmetries of
obvious Buddhist origin) betrays a metaphysics of
the Void.
The work as pure sign of itself : this is the end
result of contemporary literary theory, and these
editions confirm it. Perhaps there are collectors who
aspire to gather these pages in a volume, potentially
infinite, as happened with Mallarme's Livre. Vain
effort, because the sign that refers to other signs is
lost in its own vacuity, behind which, we suspect,
no real value exists.
An extreme example of the cultural dissipation of
our time. These works have been received by readers
with an approbation that in our opinion bodes only
ill : the taste for novelty conceals the aesthetic of
obsolescence- of consumption, in other words. The
numbered copy that we have before our eyes still
seems to promise us, through the number that distin
guishes it, the possibilities of possession ad personam.
Which is a fraud, because we know that the current
aesthetic taste for conspicuous consumption will soon

1 29

MISREADINGS

lead the reader to seek out more copies, other print

ings, as if to find in constant exchange the guarantee
that the single copy cannot provide. A sign in a
world of signs, each of these works becomes a way
to distract us from things. Its realism is bogus, as its
psychedelic avant-gardisme only hides deeper alien
ations. In any case, we are grateful to the publisher
for having sent us these free copies for review.
1967

L 'Histoire d'O
(Draft of a Review
for Ladies Home Journal )
How much time, and how much trouble should a
woman take in preparing herself for an evening with
her fiance? We have already dealt with this problem
several times in our column, but we are prompted to
address it again after the publication of this little
book, probably the work of a famous international
visagiste who has coyly chosen to hide behind the
pseudonym of Pauline Reage.
One reason the book can be recommended is the
attention it devotes to details of toilette often ne
glected by how-to books and women's magazines,
even though such details are of supreme importance.
Our readers therefore can find helpful hints about
fixing iron rings around ankles and wrists, accessories
usually ignored since they require a great deal of care
to ensure they are fastened securely. It's a great
mistake to rely on the guarantee of some masked

130

Three Eccentric Reviews

blacksmith; for excellent devices can be found at any

beauty . salon, or else by telephoning SADE, the
Society for Assistants in Deflowering and Emascu
lating, who will send a masseur to your home within
minutes. You must make certain that the iron causes
those unsightly red weals, the drops of blood and
the chafed wrists and ankles that your Special Man
is so crazy about. The ring should be secured just as
our grannies used to buckle their chastity belts, not
too loose and not too tight. Only a gentle little nip
to create that allure of tense haughtiness along with
the moist, frightened-gazelle look, and Mister Right
is yours !
Even greater care (allow at least an hour before
your date arrives) is a must when it comes to attach
ing a golden padlock to your labia majora. Madame
Reage's book shows clearly how this operation can
be performed in a few, easy steps. Unfortunately,
she doesn't list retailers that carry the item in ques
tion, but if you rummage carefully through Mom's
trunks up in the attic, you may make some amusing
discoveries. A woman who knows how to love is
bound to be clever in recycling odds and ends, put
ting them to new and thrilling uses.
And now a final reminder (the book is full of
fantastic advice on this subject) : Be imaginative and
decorate your body with all sorts of long bloody
gashes, using your little boudoir whip with the stud
ded thongs. The best whips come from Barcelona,
though lately the rival Hong Kong whips have been
the rage (but beware of the imitations from East
Germany). When you're making these marks, how-

131

MISREADINGS

ever, don't overdo it. The book explains clearly how

your man can add more love marks, especially if he
counts melancholy English gentlemen among his best
friends. We're assuming he works for some multi
national and is highly connected. Otherwise, Mme.
Reage's advice is best forgotten, because her book is
aimed, after all, at the upmarket reader. If you're not
in that class (face facts !) you might try another first
rate booklet, Official List of Infirmities and Mutila

tions Acceptable for Exemption from Military Service.

It's available to our readers from its publisher, the
Ministry of Defense.
1 9 68

D. H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover

Finally a breath of fresh air. Your reviewer's over
whelming sensation is a chaste and modest emotion
as he begins speaking of this book, which has just
arrived on his desk like a comet at B ethlehem in the
murky firmament of obsessive contemporary erotica.
In a galaxy of J ustines tortured by the latest Mar
quises d'O and of Emanuelles carrying out the most
refined experiments in coitus interruptus, and of mul
tiple couples who copulate and recopulate in geo
metric swappings, in an era of magazines for women
only (but read obviously by men only) and sado
masochistic comic books, an era when a film can
create a scandal only if a heterosexual woman, fully
dressed, is happily married to her husband who works
at the First National B ank (giving the well-to-do an

132

Three Eccentric Reviews

uneasy hint of the irreparable decadence of their

behavior), and as human sexuality becomes the object
of excessively scrupulous examination in the pages of
Our Sunday Visitor and sexual congress for the pur
pose of reproduction now arouses psychoses far be
yond the worst descriptions of Krafft-Ebing-here,
at last, is a clean, straightforward love story, abso
lutely unsophisticated, the sort of read our grand
mothers used to enjoy.
The plot is simple : a noblewoman, brought up
(and revolted) by the consumer values of our tech
nological era, falls in love with a gamekeeper. Ob
viously the gamekeeper comes from a different
background, an earthly paradise totally uncontami
nated, with no notion of the pollution of the atmo
sphere (though he is not unaware of sexual pollution)
or ecological mutation. Their love is pure, a series of
marvelous experiences, free of the slightest hint of
perversion, an encounter between the sexes strictly
according to the laws of nature, as in those old
fashioned love stories now read only by the fanatics
of nostalgia, determined to rediscover in the jumble
of secondhand stalls those tales that the culture in
dustry no longer dares reprint because of its ambiv
alent, cowardly conformism to anticonformity.
Here, then, is a book the younger generation
should read. It would help them form a cleaner,
more modest view of life, entertain genuine feelings,
not adulterated, and develop a taste for simple, hon
est things, like the smell of new-mown hay or baking
bread.
A book, too, for frustrated, restless wives, for
133

MISREADINGS

happy brides, and for wandering husbands seeking a

basic redefinition of family life. A book for dissatis
fied couples in search of truth. A book whose limpid,
sober pages, free of all fetishistic gratification, point
the way to a healthier relationship, rejuvenating it,
supplying its vexed boredom with the fundamental
values that any normal person wishes to see restored.
The narrative style is occasionally marred by dec
adent mannerisms, and we would advise the author
to follow less blindly the debatable sophisms of Mar
shall McLuhan in conducting his analysis of contem
porary society. Here and there some residual traces
of class consciousness emerge, for example, the au
thor's embarrassment in describing the relations be
tween his leading characters. He would do well to
work for more realism in his handling of the erotic
scenes, which to our contemporary taste seem tied
still to the apron strings of Victorian pruderie. He
should tackle a theme of this sort more freely, boldly
calling acts, situations, and parts of the body by their
real names.
All the same, this is a book of great power, of
great idealistic breadth, open, innocent, delicately
romantic. Reviewers will unhesitatingly recommend
it as required reading in the schools, as an antidote
to the excesses of contemporary eroticism now as
sailing our tender and vulnerable young people. This
book is a timely reminder that uncorrupted values
such as Life, Nature, and Sex still exist and can be
perceived in their virginal and virile reality.
1 971

134

The Discovery of America

DAN :
Good evening, folks. Here it's 7 P . M . on the
11th of October 1492, and we're linked directly with
the flagship of the Columbus expedition, which by
7 A . M . tomorrow should put Europe's first thalatan
aut on a new land, a new planet, if I may be allowed
the metaphor, that Terra Incognita so many astron
omers, geographers, cartographers, and travelers have
dreamed of. Some claim that this land is the Indies,
reached from the West rather than from the East ;
others say it's actually a whole new continent, enor
mous and unexplored. As of now, in a joint effort,
all our TV networks will be transmitting around the
clock, twenty-five hours. We're linked with the te
lecamera installed on the flagship, the Santa Maria,
and with our relay station in the Canary Islands, as
well as with Sforza TV in Milan, and the Universities
of Salamanca and of Wittenberg.
Our guest here in the studio is Professor Leonardo
da Vinci, the famous scientist and futurologist, who
will provide a running commentary, explaining the

135

MISREADINGS

technical details of this extraordinary venture. But

first a word from Jim. Jim ?
JIM :
Well, Dan, a s you know, unfortunately we
won't be able to see the actual landing. Our camera's
attached to the figurehead of the caravel, but the
antenna, in the crow's nest of the mainmast, can't be
activated until after the lookout has sighted landfall
and the sails are furled. Where are the three caravels
now, in their epoch-making voyage ? I tell you, we're
all holding our breath while we follow this adventure,
the most daring exploit of all time. It's the beginning
of a new age, which some columnists have already
suggested calling The Modern Era. Man is emerging
from the Middle Ages and is making a major break
through in his intellectual evolution. Obviously, the
crew at Cape Canary feel the same way we do . . .
But I'd like to hear from Alastair Cook, who has
just arrived from London especially to take part in
this historic broadcast. Alastair? Can you hear me?
ALASTAIR :
Loud and clear, Jim. Can you hear me ?
JIM :
Alastair?
ALASTAIR :
Yes ? You hear me ?
JIM :
Go ahead, Alastair. We've got audio.
ALASTAIR :
As I was saying. Yes, I hear you splen
didly. It's a tense moment here at Cape Canary. The
position of Christopher Columbus's three galleys
JIM :
Sorry to interrupt, Alastair. Actually, I don't
believe the ships are galleys. They'reALASTAIR :
Hang on, Jim . . . They're telling me
. . . there's such a racket here in the control center.
Three hundred scalzed Carmelites are simultaneously
saying solemn High Masses for the success of the

136

The Discovery of America

voyage . . . Yes, mmm, yes . . . You're right, Jim.

They're not galleys. They're xebecs. A typical Med
iterranean vessel used forUm, Alastair . . . over the audio I'm hearing
JIM :
the word "caravels" . . .
ALASTAIR :
How's that, Jim ? I've lost you . . . You
can't believe the confusion here . . . What? Oh,
right. As I was saying, he has three caravels, the
Nina, the Pan-no, the Pinta, and the Santa Rade

gonda . . .
JIM :

Er, Alastair, the press kit says it's the Santa

Maria.
Right you are, J im ! One o f the boys here
is saying the same thing. But there's a difference of
opinion about whether it's the Santa Maria . . . In
any case, a caravel is a typical Mediterranean vessel,
and our technical department has prepared a scale
model . . . By the way, this uniform I'm wearing is
from the Spanish navy. How do you like it? Now,
the caravel, as I was saying, isJIM :
Sorry to interrupt you, Alastair, but Professor
Vinci's hei:e in the studio with us, and he can perhaps
tell us something about the caravel from a propulsion
point of view . . .
Deman retep taerg a . . .
LEONARDO :
JIM :
Hang on a minute, control room. Professor
Vinci has a kind of, well, you might call it . a quirk
. . . He talks from right to left, so you'll have to
reverse the ampex. If you recall, we arranged a nine
second delay for this reason, between recording and
transmission. Ready with the ampex? C an you hear
me? Roll it !
ALASTAIR :

137

MISREADINGS

A great Peter namedExcuse me, Professor Vinci

. . This is a
family program, you understand . . . So if we could
stick to the subject . . .
LEONARD O :
Mmm, of course, I'm so sorry. Now
then, the caravel exploits the propulsion system known
as ventus et vela, that is, wind and sail, and it stays
afloat in accord with the principle of Archimedes by
which a body immersed in a liquid receives an up
ward impulse equal to the weight of the water dis
placed. The sail, the fundamental element in
propulsion, is articulated in three sections, main,
mid, and jib. The bowsprit has a special function,
coordinating flying jib and staysail, whereas the top
gallant and the spanker operate in an orientative
sense.
JIM :
Does the thalattocraft reach its destination
whole, or are certain stages detached during its tra
jectory ?
LEONARDO :
I'm glad you asked that question, Jim.
There's a process of stripping the thalattocraft usually
known as "hit and drown. " In other words, when a
sailor behaves improperly toward the admiral, he
receives a blow on the head and is thrown into the
sea. This is the moment of the so-called mutiny
showdown. In the case of the Santa Maria there have
been three hit and drowns, which are exactly what
has allowed Admiral Columbus to maintain control
of the thalattocraft, with what might be called manual
operation- using the hands, in other words. In such
instances the admiral has to look sharp and act at
precisely the right moment
LEONARD O :

JIM :

138

The Discovery of America

otherwise he loses control of the craft, I

understand. Tell me, Professor, what is the technical
function of the cabin boy?
LEONARD O :
Very important, J im. It's known tech
nically as the "feedback function. " Perhaps our view
ers would get a better idea if we called it the "release
valve. " I have devoted considerable study to this
problem, and, if you like, I can show the viewers
some of my anatomical drawings, whichJIM :
Thanks a lot, Professor, but I'm afraid we have
to move right along. We have a linkup also with the
Salamanca studio. Are you there, Willard ?
WILLARD :
You betcha, Jim. I'm here in Salamanca.
Great place, Salamanca! And I've got some brainy
guys for you to interview. Really swell people. First
I'd like to ask a question of the President of the
University of Salamanca. Just stay at that chalk line,
Prexy, eh? Now tell us, Doctor, er, what exactly is
this America everybody's talking about ?
PRESIDENT :
Nonsense, that's what it is ! Horse
feathers !
WILLARD :
Hold on a sec, Prexy. Our experts have
written a word . . . Con . . . Continent.
PRESIDENT :
Well, I'm sorry for your experts. No,
no . . . I supplied you people with a basic text, the
Almagest of Ptolemy-. Check and you'll see that the
chances of discovering anything are practically nil.
Admiral Columbus apparently thinks he can buscar
el levante por el ponente, in other words, sail east to
find the West, but his project is absolutely without
any scientific foundation. Most people are quite aware
that the Earth ends beyond the pillars of Hercules.
JIM :

139

MISREADINGS

The survival of the three vessels after that boundary

is due to a simple televisual effect, the work of the
devil. The Columbus case is the obvious result of the
weakness of the proper authorities in dealing with
student protest, and on this subject I am preparing a
book, in fact, for the Bob J ones University Press.
But even if such a voyage were possible, the thalat
tocraft would inevitably lack sufficient cruising range,
through a shortage of angelic fuel. You see, William,
as various councils have taught us, the problem is
knowing how many angels can stand on the head of
a pin. In the council reports there is no mention of
angels standing on the top of a foremast. That would
instead be Saint Elmo's fire, and therefore diabolical
manifestations unsuited to directing a caravel toward
a promised land or terra incognita, however you
choose to call it.
WILLARD :
Yeah, well, this is heavy stuff, and I don't
want to get into an argument here. We'll see what
the experts have to say, and meanwhile good luck
with the great work you're doing at the university !
Now we'll hear from a very important expert, a
lovely gent who is the Dean of the Royal Society of
Cartographers of Portugal. Tell us, Mr. Dean, do
you think Columbus is really heading for the Indies ?
DEAN :
That's a tough question, Willard, and Co
lumbus's big mistake is that he's waiting to give an
empirical answer instead of working out a definition
of the problem through its essence. The fact is, you
see, non sunt multiplicanda entia sine necessitate,
which leads us to postulate the existence of one and
only one India. In that case, Columbus should land

140

The Discovery of America

from the east at the westernmost tip of Asiatic soil,

to be precise, at the mouth of the river Ussuri. If
this proves to be correct, then his expedition is of no
interest whatsoever, given the total political and geo
graphical unimportance of that land. Or he could
reach the eastern end of the island of Gipango- I
believe you call i t "Japan" - in which case the Med
iterranean economy will experience a severe negative
counterreaction. Since the people of that island per
versely specialize in producing transistorized imita
tions of the mechanical inventions of others, the
market of the seafaring republics will be invaded by
thousands of perfectly imitated caravels and at much
lower prices. The economy of the republic of Venice
will collapse, unless the Doge's authorities provide
for the construction of new shipyards at Porto
Marghera, but that would have disastrous conse
quences for the ecological balance of the lagoon and
the islands .
WILLARD :
Now we have another super-guest with
us here, the Dean of the law school of the University
of Granada. He's going to fill us in on the legal
aspects of this discovery. A lot of people are won
dering who'll be the owner of these new lands. And
the part of the ocean Columbus has crossed, who
will that belong to ?
LAw DEAN :
The questions of international law raised
by this expedition are serious. First of all, there is
the problem of a division between Spain and Portu
gal, and I think I am not rushing things when I
suggest a summit meeting should be convened, say,
at Tordesillas, to establish a theoretical line of de.

141

MISREADINGS

marcation between the spheres of influence

ROBIN :
Excuse me, Willard . . . This is TV Sforza
in Milan. We have a group of distinguished Milanese
judges here in the studio, and they don't agree. They
say that the problem as stated doesn't make sense.
That at that rate you would have to consider another
important maritime power, England, and then it is
even conceivable that one day the new lands would
be divided into Anglo-Saxon, Spanish, and Portu
guese spheres of influence . . . Pure science fiction,
of course ! Now I'll turn the line over to Wittenberg.
All yours, J ohnny !
JOHNNY :
Here's . . . Wittenberg ! Our guest is a
young and very smart Augustinian student of theol
ogy here at Wittenberg U. He's considered the white
hope of Holy Mother Church, and we have a ques
tion for him. Tell us, Dr. Luther, do you think this
landing represents a genuine, lasting revolution in
human history?
LUTHER :
Let me put it this way: technological rev
olutions aren't the only kind. There are also inner
reformations that can have much greater, more dra
matic, thrilling results . . .
JOHNNY:
Brilliant, Doctor . . . But surely you don't
mean to say that in the future inner reformations will
make even more of a wave than this great scientific
event
. ?
LUTHER :
Believe, don't believe . . .
JOHNNY :
Ha ha, that's what I 'd call sibylline. Just
joking, Doc. I'm ready to believe you. My motto is :
Believe Firmly and Sin Strongly. Ha ha ha!
LUTHER :
Clever phrase, that. I'll just make a note.
.

1 42

The Discovery of America

Excuse me, fellows. One moment. I'm getting

voices over the audio . . . It seems land has been
sighted . . . Yes, now I can hear them clearly. They're
shouting, "Land ho ! " Can you hear them, Alastair?
ALASTAIR :
Actually, no. Half a mo', I'll check with
the Azores.
JIM :
Yes ! Land has definitely been sighted . . . The
ship's dropping anchor . . . They've landed ! ! Today,
October 12, 1492, man has set foot for the first time
in the New World. Alastair, what are they saying
where you are?
ALASTAIR :
Well . . . the latest is that it seems the
landing has been postponed for a month, that the
land ighted was the Aeolian Islands . . .
JIM :
No, no, Alastair, I heard it distinctly !
DAN :
Hello? Yes? Fine. Looks like both J im and
Alastair are right. The ship has definitely dropped
anchor, as Jim says, but it still isn't terra firma. It's
San Salvador. A little island in the Caribbean archi
pelago, which some geographer has also decided to
call the Sea of Tranquillity. But now the camera set
on the flagship's figurehead is operational. Now here's
Christopher Columbus setting foot on the beach, to
stick the flag of His Catholic Majesty in the sand !
It's a great sight, folks. Among the palm trees a
crowd of natives with feathers in their hair are coming
out to meet our thalattonauts. We're now about to
hear the first words uttered by man in the New
World. They are being uttered by a sailor leading the
group, the bosun, Baciccin Parodi . . .
PARODI :
Mamma mia, Cap'n, look at them tits !
JIM :
What did he say, Alastair?
JIM :

143

MISREADINGS
ALASTAIR :
I didn't hear very well, but it wasn't what
we have in the press kit. One of the engine,ers says
it must have been interference. This apparently hap
pens a lot in the New World. Here we are ! Admiral
Columbus is about to speak !
COLUMBUS :
A small step for a sailor, a giant step
for His Catholic Majesty . . . Hey, what's that
they're wearing around their necks ? Holy shit, that's
gold ! Gold !
ALASTAIR :
The spectacle the cameras are giving us
is truly grand ! The sailors are running toward the
natives with great leaps, man's first leaps in the New
World . . . From the necks of the natives they are
collecting samples of the New World's minerals,
cramming them into big plastic bags . . . Now the
natives are also making great leaps, to get away.
Apparently the lesser gravity would cause them to
fly off, so the sailors are fastening them to the ground
with heavy chains . . . Now the natives are all neatly
lined up in a civilized way, while the sailors head for
the ships with the heavy bags filled with the local
mineral. The bags are extremely heavy, and the men
have had to make a huge effort to fill them and carry
them
JIM :
It's the white man's burden, Alastair !

1 9 68

144

Make Your Own Movie

In 1 993, with the final, complete adoption of video cameras

even in the offices of the national registry, cinema both
commercial and underground was in real trouble. The prise

de la parole had by now tranformed moviemaking into a

technique within everyone's reach, and everyone was
watching his or her own film, deserting the movie theaters.
New methods of reproduction and projection in cassettes
insertable into the dashboard of the family car had made
obsolete the primitive equipment of the avant-garde cin
ema. Numerous handbooks were published on the order
of Be Your Own Amonioni. The buyer bought a "plot
pattern, " the skeleton of a story which he could then fill
in from a wide selection of variants. With a single pattern
and an accompanying package of variants an individual
could make, for example, 1 5 , 74 1 Antonioni movies. Below
we reprint the instructions that came with some of these
cassettes. The letters refer to the interchangeable elements.
For example, the basic Antonioni pattern ("An empty lot.
She walks away") can generate "A maze of McDonald's

145

MISREADINGS

with visibility limited due to the sun's glare. He toys for a

long time with an object. " Etc.

Antonioni Scenario
An x empty Y lot. z She k walks away.

Variants Key
x
y

k
n

Two, .three, an infinity of. An enclosure of. A

maze of.
Empty. As far as the eye can see. With visibility
limited due to the sun's glare. Foggy. Blocked
by wire-mesh fence. Radioactive. Distorted by
wide-angle lens.
An island. City. Superhighway cloverleaf.
McDonald's. Subway station. Oil field. Levit
town. World Trade Center. Stockpile of pipes.
Scaffolding. Car cemetery. Factory area on Sun
day. Expo after closing. Space center on Labor
Day. UCLA caJ?.lpus during student protest in
Washington. JFK airport.
He. Both he and she.
Remains there. Toys for a long time with an
object. Starts to leave, then stops, puzzled, comes
back a couple of paces, then goes off again.
Doesn't go away, but the camera dollies back.
Looks at the camera without any expression as
he touches her scarf.

Jean-Luc Godard Scenario

He arrives a and then bangb a refineryc explodes.
The Americans d make love. e Cannibals f armed with

1 46

Make Your Own Movie

bazookas g fire h on the railroad. i She falls 1 riddled

with bullets m from a rifle. At mad speed 0 to Vin
cennes P Cohn-Bendit q catches the train r and speaks. s
Two men t kill her. He reads sayings of Mao. v Mon
tesquieu z throws a bomb at Diderot. x He kills
himself. k He peddles Le Figaro) The redskins
arrive. Y
n

Variants Key
a

b
c

d
e
f
g

Is already there reading the sayings of Mao. Lies

dead on the superhighway with brains spattered.
Is killing himself. Harangues a crowd. Runs
along the street. Jumps out of a window.
Splash. Splat. Wham. Rat-tat-tat. Mumble
mumble.
A kindergarten. Notre Dame. Communist Party
headquarters. Houses of Parliament. The Parth
enon. The offices of Le Figaro. The Elysee.
Paris.
The Germans. French paratroopers. Vietnamese.
Arabs. Israelis. Police.
Do not make love.
Indians. Hordes of accountants. Dissident Com
munists . Crazed truck drivers.
Yagatan. Copies of Le Figaro. Pirate's sabers.
Submachine -gun-s . Cans of red paint. Cans of
blue paint. Cans of yellow paint. C ans of orange
paint. Cans of black paint. Picasso paintings.
Little red books. Picture postcards.
Throw rocks. Bombs. Empty cans of red paint,
green paint, blue paint, yellow paint, black paint.
Pour some slippery stuff.

147

MISREADINGS

n
o
p
q
r
s
t
u
v

z
w
x
k

148

On the Elysee. On the University of Nanterre.

In Piazza Navona. All over the road.
Is thrown out of the window by CIA agents. Is
raped by paratroopers. Is killed by Australian
aborigines.
With a gaping wound in the belly. Spewing forth
streams of yellow (red, blue, black) paint. Mak
ing love with Voltaire.
Loquat.
Unsteadily. Very, very slowly. Remaining still
while the background (process shot) moves.
Nanterre. Flins. Place de la Bastille. Clignan
court. Venice.
J acques Servan-Schreiber. J ean-Paul Sartre. Pier
Paolo Pasolini. D' Alembert.
Misses the train. Goes on a bicycle. On roller
skates.
Bursts into tears. Shouts Viva Guevara.
A band of Indians.
Kill everybody. Kill nobody.
Quotations from Brecht. The Declaration of the
Rights of Man. Saint-] ohn Perse. Prince Kor
zybski. Eluard. Lo Sun. Charles Peguy. Rosa
Luxemburg.
Diderot. Sade. Restif de la Bretonne. Pompidou.
A tomato. Red paint (blue, yellow, black).
Daniel Cohn-Bendit. Nixon. M adame de Se
vigne. Voiture. Van Vogt. Einstein.
Goes away. Kills all the others. Throws a bomb
at the Arc de Triomphe. Blows up an electronic
brain. Empties onto the ground various cans of
yellow (green, blue, red, black) paint.

Make Your Own Movie

The sayings of Mao. Writes a ta-tze-bao. Reads

verses of Pierre Emmanuel. Watches a Chaplin
movie.
The paratroopers. The Germans. Hordes of
starving accountants brandishing sabers. Ar
mored cars. Pier Paolo Pasolini with Pompidou.
The B ank Holiday traffic. Diderot selling the
Encyclopedie door to door. The Marxist-Len
inist Union on skateboards.

Ermanno 0lmi Scenario

A forester out of work b roams at length c then
comes back to his native village d and finds his moth
ere is dead. He walks in the woods,g talks with a
tramp h who understands i the beauty of the trees 1 and
he remains there, m thinking.
a

Variants Key
a

A young man who has just arrived in the city.

A former partisan. A jaded executive. An Alpine
soldier. A miner. A ski instructor.
Overworked. Sad. Without any purpose in life.
Sick. Just fired. Overwhelmed by a feeling of
emptiness. Who has lost his faith. Who has
returned to the - faith. After a vision of Pope
J ohn XXIII.
Briefly. Drives a mini Cooper along the super
highway. Is driving a truck from Bergamo to
Brindisi.
To his brother's sawmill. To the mountain hut.
To Pizzo Gloria. To Chamonix. To Lago di

1 49

MISREADINGS

e
f

m
n

150

Carezza. To Piazzale Corvetto and his cousin's

tobacco shop.
Another close relative. Fiancee. Male friend.
Parish priest.
Sick. Has become a prostitute. Has lost her faith.
Has returned to the faith. Has had a vision of
Pope J ohn XXIII. Has left for France. Is lost in
an avalanche. Is ,Still performing the humble little
daily tasks as always.
On the superhighway. Near the Idroscalo. At
Rogoredo. Through immaculate snow. At San
Giovanni sotto il Monte, Pope John XXIII' s
birthplace. In the halls of a totally alienated
advertising agency.
With a former Alpine soldier. With the parish
priest. With Monsignor Loris Capovilla. With a
former partisan. With a mountain guide. With a
ski instructor. With the head forester. With the
executive of an industrial design studio. With a
worker. With an unemployed southerner.
Doesn't understand. Remembers. Rediscovers.
Learns thanks to a vision of Pope J ohn XXIII .
O f the snow. Of the work site. O f solitude. O f
friendship. Of silence.
Goes away forever.
Thinking of nothing. With no purpose in life
now. With a new purpose in life. Making a
novena to Pope J ohn XXIII. Becoming a for
ester (mountain guide, tramp, miner, water
bearer).

Make Your Own Movie

. Angry Young Directors' Scenario

A young polio victim x of very rich Y parents sits
in a wheelchair z in a villa with a park full of gravel. k
He hates his cousin, s an architect and a radical, q
and has sexual congress e with his own motherb in
the missionary position, v then kills himselff after first
playing chess a with the farm manager.i
n

Variants Key
x

y
z

n
k
s

Paraplegic. Compulsive hysteric. Simple neu

rotic. Revolted by the neocapitalistic society.
Unable to forget an act of sexual abuse at the
age of three by his grandfather. With a facial tic.
Handsome but impotent. Blond and lame (and
unhappy about it). Pretending to be crazy. Pre
tending to be sane. With a religious mania. En
rolled in the Marxist-Leninist Union but for
neurotic reasons.
Fairly well off. In decline. Diseased. Destroyed.
Separated.
On cul-de-jatte. On crutches. With a wooden
leg. With false teeth. With long fangs on which
he leans. Supports himself by leaning against
trees.
Yacht. Garden city. Sanatorium. Father's private
clinic.
Another kind of paving, provided it makes a
constant sound when a heavy vehicle arrives.
Other close relation, as desired, half brothers
and in-laws admissible. Mother's lover (or fa
ther's, aunt's, grandmother's, farmer's, fiancee's).

151

MISREADINGS

b
v

1 52

City planner. Writer. President of Save Venice.

Stockbroker (successful). Left-wing political
writer.
Subscriber to the New York Review. Moderate
Communist. Liberal professor. Former partisan
leader. Member of WWF board. Friend of Theo
dorakis, Garry Wills, Jessica Mitford. Cousin of
Berlinguer. Former leader of Student Move
ment.
Tries to have sexual congress. Reveals impo
tence. Thinks of having sexual congress (dream
sequence). Deflowers with bicycle pump.
Grandmother, aunt, father, sister, female second
cousin, female first cousin, sister-in-law, brother.
From behind. Inserting a stick of dynamite into
the vagina. With an ear of corn (must b pre
ceded by casual Faulkner quotation from radical
architect, see s-w). Cunnilingus. Beating her
savagely. Wearing female dress. Dressing up to
look like father (grandmother, aunt, mother,
brother, cousin). Dressed as Fascist official. In
U. S. Marine uniform. With plastic mask of
Dracula. In SS uniform. In radical dress. In
Scorpio Rising costume. In a Paco Rabanne tail
leur. In prelate's robes.
Sprinkles himself with gasoline. Swallows sleep
ing pills. Doesn't kill himself but thinks of kill
ing himself (dream sequence). Kills her (him).
Masturbates while singing "Love divine, all loves
excelling. " Calls the suicide hot line. Blows up
the post office. Urinates on the family tomb.

Make Your Own Movie

S.ets fire to photo of himself as a baby, with

savage laughter. Sings "Mira Norma. "
Chinese checkers. Toy soldiers. Hide-and-seek.
Tag. Gin rummy. Slapjack. Racing demons. Fan
tan. Snap. Spin the bottle.
His aunt. Grandmother. Innocent little sister.
Himself in the mirror. Dead mother (dream
sequence). The postman on his rounds. The old
housekeeper. Carmen Moravia. A Bellocchio
brother (according to preference).

Luchino Visconti Scenario

The Baroness, a a Hanseatic b lesbian, betrays her
male lover, c a worker at Fiat, d reporting him e to the
police. f He dies g and she repents h and gives a big
party, i orgiastic, 1 in the cellars of La Scala m with
transvestites, and there poisons herself. 0
n

Variants Key
a

b
c

Duchess. Daughter of the Pharaoh. Marquise.

Dupont stockholder. Middle European (male)
composer.
From Munich. Sicilian. Papal aristocracy. From
Pittsburgh.
Her female lover-. Husband. Son with whom she
has an incestuous relationship. Sister with whom
she has an incestuous relationship. Lover of her
daughter with whom she has an incestuous re
lationship, though she betrays her daughter with
her daughter's male lover. The Oberkomman-

1 53

MISREADINGS

154

danturweltanschaunggotterdammerungfiihrer of
the SA of Upper Silesia. The catamite of her
impotent and racist husband.
A fisherman from the Tremiti Islands. Steel
worker. Riverboat gambler. Mad doctor in a
Nazi concentration camp. Commander of the
Pharaoh's light cavalry. Aide-de-camp of Mar
shal Radetzsky. Garibaldi's lieutenant. Gondo
lier.
Giving him wrong directions about the route.
Entrusting to him a bogus secret message. Sum
moning him to a cemetery on the night of Good
Friday. Disguising him as Rigoletto's daughter
and putting him in a sack. Opening a trapdoor
in the great hall of the ancestral castle while he
is singing Manon dressed up as Marlene Die
trich.
To Marshal Radetzsky. To the Pharaoh. To
Tigellinus. To the Duke of Parma. To the Prince
of Salina. To the Oberdeutscheskriminalinter
polphallusfiihrer of the SS of Pomerania.
Sings an aria from Aida. Sets off in a fishing
smack to reach Malta and is never heard from
again. Is beaten with iron bars during a wildcat
strike. Is sodomized by a squadron of uhlans
under the command of the Prince of Homburg.
Becomes infected during sexual contact with
.Vanina Vanini. Is sold as a slave to the Sultan
and found again by the Borgia at the flea market
of Portobello Road. Is used as a throw rug by
the Pharaoh's' daughter.

Make Your Own Movie

_Is not the least repentant. Is wild with joy. Gone

mad. Bathing at the Lido to the sound of
balalaikas.
A big funeral. A satanic rite. A Te Deum of
thanksgiving.
Mystical. Dramatic. Baroque. Algolagnical.
Scatological. Sadomasochistic.
Pere-Lachaise. Hitler's Bunker. In a castle in the
Black Forest. In section 215 of the Fiat Mirafiori
factory. At the Hotel des Bains on the Lido at
Venice.
With corrupt little boys. With German homo
sexuals. With the Trovatore chorus. With lesbi
ans dressed as Napoleonic soldiers. With Cardinal
Tisserant and Garibaldi. With Claudio Abbado.
With Gustav Mahler.
Attends the entire Ring cycle. Plays ancient songs
of Burgundy on a J ew's harp. Undresses at the
climax of the party, revealing that she is really a
man, then castrates herself. Dies of consump
tion, wrapped in Gobelin tapestries . Swallows
liquid wax and is buried in the Musee Grevin.
Has her throat cut by a lathe operator as she
utters obscure prophecies. Waits for the acqua
alta in St. Mark's square and drowns herself.
1 9 72

155

The Phenomenology of
Mike Bongiorno

Translator's note : Mike Bongiorno, smce the dawn of

Italian television, has been a star, mainly as the quizmaster
of programs based on- indeed, copied from-such Amer
ican shows as "The $64, 000 Question" and "Wheel of
Fortune. " But to call him a star gives an inadequate idea.
Imagine someone with the popularity (but without the
vitality) of Johnny Carson and the anonymity of Ed Sul
livan, with a touch of Sesame Street's Mr. Smiley. Even
English-speaking readers who have never seen Italian TV
will understand the type from Eco's analysis.

The man seduced by the mass media becomes, of his

peers, the most respected. He is never asked to be
anything beyond what he already is. He is never
encouraged to desire anything that does not .conform
to his own tastes. Still, among the narcotic rewards
granted him is escape into daydreams, so he is often
confronted by goals which could create tension be
tween them and him. He is, however, absolved of
every responsibility, because these goals are deliber-

156

The Phenomenology of Mike Bongiorno

ately. placed outside his reach. The tension is resolved

in identification and not in actual transformations
aimed at altering the status quo. In short, he is asked
to be a man with a refrigerator and a twenty-one
inch TV set : he is asked to remain as he is, in other
words, merely adding, to the objects that he pos
sesses, a refrigerator and a TV. In return he is offered
role models like Kirk Douglas or Superman. The
model of the mass-media consumer, on the other
hand, is a superman that the consumer will never
aspire to, though he enjoys identifying with that ideal
in his imagination, as a person might put on someone
else's clothes for a moment before a mirror, without
the slightest notion of ever owning those clothes.
But television puts the consumer in a new posi
tion. Tdevision does not propose superman as an
ideal with which to identify : it proposes everyman.
Television's ideal is the absolutely average person. In
the theater Juliette Greco appears on the stage and
immediately creates a myth and founds a cult ; J ose
phine Baker prompts idolatrous rituals and gives her
name to an era. In TV the magic face of Juliette
Greco appears on various occasions, but the myth is
never born; she is not the idol. The idol is the woman
who announces her, and among women announcers
the most beloved ancl famous will be the one who
best embodies average characteristics : decent good
looks, limited sex appeal, so-so taste, a certain house
wifely inexpressiveness.
Now, in the realm of quantitative phenomena, the
average represents in fact a median, and for those
who have not achieved it, it also represents a goal.

157

MISREADINGS

According to the famous mot, statistics is the science

according to which if one man eats two chickens
daily and another man eats none, then each has eaten
one chicken. In reality, for the man who hasn't eaten
the goal of one chicken a day, it is something to
which he can aspire. But in the realm of qualitative
phenomena, reducing to the median means reducing
to zero. A man who possesses all the moral and
intellectual virtues to an average degree immediately
finds himself at a minimal level of development. The
Aristotelian "mean" signifies equilibrium in the ex
ercise of one's own passions, the passions balanced
by the discriminating virtue of prudence. But one
who harbors passions to an average degree and pos
sesses an average prudence is a poor sample of hu
manity.
The most striking illustration of superman's being
reduced to everyman is, in Italy, the figure of Mike
Bongiorno and the history of his fame. Idolized by
millions of people, this man owes his success to the
fact that from every act, from every word of the
persona that he presents to the telecameras there
emanates an absolute mediocrity along with (the only
virtue he possesses to a high degree) an immediate
and spontaneous allure, which is explicable by the
fact that he betrays no sign of theatrical artifice or
pretense. He seems to be selling himself as precisely
what he is, and what he is cannot create in a spectator,
even the most ignorant, any sense of inferiority.
Indeed, the spectator sees his own limitations glori
fied and supported by national authority.

158

The Phenomenology of Mike Bongiorno

To understand the extraordinary power of Mike

Bongiorno it is necessary to conduct an analysis of
his behavior, an authentc "Phenomenology of Mike
Bongiorno, " in which, of course, his name stands
not for the real man but for the public figure.
Mike Bongiorno is not particularly good-looking,
not athletic, courageous, or intelligent. Biologically
speaking, he represents a modest level of adaptation
to the environment. The hysterical love he arouses
in teenage girls must be attributed partly to the
maternal feelings he arouses in a female adolescent,
and partly to the glimpse he allows her of an ideal
lover, meek and vulnerable, gentle and considerate.
Mike Bongiorno is not ashamed of being ignorant
and feels no need to educate himself. He comes into
contact with the most dazzling areas of knowledge
and remains virgin, intact, a consolation to others in
their natural tendencies to apathy and mental sloth.
He takes great care not to awe the spectator, dem
onstrating not only his lack of knowledge but also
his firm determination to learn nothing.
On the other hand, Mike Bongiorno displays a
sincere and primitive admiration for those who do
know things. He emphasizes, however, their physical
qualities, their dogged application, their power of
memory, their obvious, elementary methodology. A
man becomes cultivated by reading many books and
retaining what they say. Mike Bongiorno hasn't the
slightest inkling that culture has a critical and creative
function. For him, its only criterion is quantitative.
In this sense (having to read many books in order to

159

MISREADINGS

be cultured), the man with no natural gifts in that

direction simply renounces the attempt.
Mike Bongiorno professes a boundless faith in the
expert. A professor is a man of learning, a represen
tative of official culture ; he is the technician in the
field. The question goes to him, to his authority.
But true admiration of culture is found only when,
through culture, money is earned. Then culture proves
to be of some use. The mediocre man refuses to
learn, but he decides to make his son study.
Mike Bongiorno's notion of money and its value
is petit bourgeois : "You've now won a hundred
thousand lire ! A tidy sum, eh ?"
Mike Bongiorno thus expresses to the contestant
the merciless reflections that the viewers will be mak
ing at home : "You must be very happy with all this
money, considering the monthly salary you earn.
Have you ever put your hands on so much money
before ?"
Like children, Mike Bongiorno thinks of people
in categories and addresses them with comic de
ference (the child says, "Excuse me, Mr. Police
man . . . ), always using, however, the most common
and vulgar category : "Mr. Garbage Collector, " "Mr.
Sharecropper. "
Mike Bongiorno accepts all the myths of the so
ciety in which he lives. When Signora Balbiano
d' Aramengo appears as a contestant, he kisses her
hand, saying that he is doing this because she is a
countess (sic).
With society's myths he accepts also society's con-

1 60

The Phenomenology of Mike Bongiorno

ventions. He is paternal and condescending with the

humble, deferential with the socially distinguished.
Handing out money, he instinctively thinks, with
out explicitly saying so, more in terms of alms than
of deserved rewards. He indicates his belief that in
the dialectic of the classes the one route of upward
mobility is represented by Providence (which, on
occasion, can assume the guise of Television).
Mike Bongiorno speaks a basic Italian. His speech
achieves the maximum of simplicity. He abolishes
the subjunctive, and subordinate clauses ; he manages
to make syntax almost invisible. He shuns pronouns,
repeating always the whole subject. He employs an
unusually large number of full stops. He never ven
tures into parentheses, does not use elliptical expres
sions or allusions. His only metaphors are those that
now belong to the commonplace lexicon. His lan
guage is strictly referential and would delight a neo
positivist. No effort is required in order to understand
him. Any viewer senses that he himself, if called
upon, could be more talkative than Mike Bongiorno.
Mike Bongiorno rejects the idea that a question
can have more than one answer. He regards all var
iants with suspicion. Nabucco and Nabuccodonosor
are not the same thing. Confronted by data, he reacts
like a computer, firmly convinced that A equals A
and tertium non datur. An inadvertent Aristotelian,
he is consequently a conservative pedagogue, pater
nalistic, reactionary.
Mike Bongiorno has no sense of humor. He laughs
because he is happy with reality, not because he is

161

MISREADINGS

capable of distorting reality. The nature of paradox

eludes him ; if someone uses a paradox in speaking to
him, he repeats it with an amused look and shakes
his head, implying that his interlocutor is pleasantly
eccentric. He refuses to suspect that behind the par
adox a truth is concealed, and in any case he does
not consider paradox an authorized vehicle of expres
sion.
He avoids polemics, even in admissible fields. He
does not lack for information on the oddities of the
knowable (a new school of painting, an abstruse
discipline . . . "Tell me now, I hear all this talk
about Cubism. Just what is Cubism exactly?"). Hav
ing received the explanation, he does not try to delve
any deeper, but indicates, on the contrary, his polite
dissent, as a sensible, right-thinking citizen. Still, he
respects the opinion of others, not for any ideological
reason but out of lack of interest.
From all the possible questions on a subject, he
chooses the one that would first come to anybody's
mind and that half the viewers would immediately
reject as too banal : "What is this picture about ?"
"What made you pick a hobby so different from
your regular job ?" "What got you interested in phi
losophy ?"
He drives cliches to their extreme. A girl educated
by nuns is virtuous ; a girl with brightly colored
stockings and a ponytail is a "hippy. " He asks the
former if she, a nice girl, would like to look like the
latter; when he is told that the question is insulting,
he consoles the second girl, praising her physical
superiority and humiliating the convent-school prod-

1 62

The Phenomenology of Mike Bongiorno

uct. In this dizzying whirl of faux pas he doesn't

even try to paraphrase, for paraphrase is already a
form of wit, and wit belongs to a Vico cycle alien to
Bongiorno. For him, everything has one name and
only one ; any rhetorical figure is a fraud. In the final
analysis, a faux pas stems always from an act of
unintentional sincerity ; when the sincerity is delib
erate, what results is not a faux pas but a challenge,
a provocation. The faux pas (of which Bongiorno is
a past master, according to critics and audience) arises
precisely when the speaker is sincere by mistake, out
of thoughtlessness. The more mediocre a man is, the
clumsier he is. Mike Bongiorno is a consolation to
the mediocre, for he exalts the faux pas, raising it to
the dignity of rhetoric, of an etiquette established
by the TV company and by the viewing nation.
Mike Bongiorno sincerely rejoices with the victor,
because he honors success . Politely uninterested in
the loser, he is moved if the latter is in desperate
straits, and he may promote some beneficent action,
at the conclusion of which he expresses his satisfac
tion and convinces the audience of his pleasure ; then
he moves on to other concerns, content with the fact
that this is the best of all possible worlds. He is
unaware of the tragic dimension of life.
Mike Bongiorno therefore convinces the public,
by his living and triumphant example, of the value
of mediocrity. He provokes no inferiority complexes,
though he presents himself as an idol; and the public
repays him, gratefully, with its love. He is an ideal
that nobody has to strive for, because everyone is
already at its level. No religion has ever been so

1 63

MISREADINGS

indulgent to its faithful. In him the tension between

what is and what should be is annulled. He says to
his worshipers, "You are God, stay exactly as you
are. "
1 961

1 64

My Exagmination
Round His Factification for Incamination
to Reduplication with Ridecolation of a
Portrait of the Artist as Alessandro Manzoni

The reviewer cannot conceal his satisfaction in speak

ing about this little volume from the pen of Mr.
J ames J oyce, now printed for the first time by Shake
speare & Co. , revived by Miss Beach solely to permit
this literary event, which I suspect will be hailed as
by far the most important of the year. While we
must be grateful to Miss Beach for giving us back,
not without sacrifice on her part, her estimable pub
lishing house of the twenties, we owe an even deeper
gratitude to Richard Ellmann and his collaborators,
who after years of unceasing study of manuscripts
preserved at the University of Buffalo have succeeded
in collating this work (which Mr. J oyce wrote during
the period in which he taught Triestine dialect at the
Berlitz School in Como), though the author himself
never chose to establish a definitive redaction. It is
easy to understand how this situation led scholars to
make the deplorable error of considering the manu
script lost or, as I suspect was the case with many,

1 65

MISREADINGS

that its existence was questionable, a thing beyond

verification.
As I hold this work in my hands today, I cannot
help but doubt the rationality of such suspicions
(though the scholars' philological caution is certainly
praiseworthy). At the same time I hope to be allowed
to venture a critical approach to this work, which
follows Finnegans Wake-and follows it not only in
the chronological sense. The sensible reader may
realize, in studying this volume, that it represents a
rather advanced point in J oycean development : only
after having attempted the colossal experiment with
language in his preceding work could Mr. Joyce
succeed, once he had "rinsed his garments in the
waters of the Liffey, " in writing this book, I promessi

sposi (The Betrothed).

The title of this work is eloquent, and the reviewer
needs add little comment to it, as it is rich in pro
foundly revelatory allusions.
If Finnegans Wake was the "work in progress" of
which all J oyceans were given news in the course of
its evolution, I promessi sposi is the "promised work,
like the Promised Land desired by the J ewish people
(the people of Leopold Bloom, we must remember).
But this promise is fulfilled, inasmuch as a marriage
takes place, the union of the youthful aspirations of
Stephen Dedalus and the radiance and the scholastic
proportio. the union of the dazzling linguistic gifts of
the vicocyclometer of maturity and lyric style and
drama and epic, of the language of tradition and the
languages of the future, as linguistic experimentation
n

1 66

My Exagmination

is wedded to the narrative construction of the works

of youth.
Thus we feel that in the light of this final work
the nature and function of its predecessor are clari
fied, and the Wake, the mourning vigil of Tim Fin
negan, is seen for what it really is : the nuptial vigil
of Renzo and Lucia.
I promessi sposi begins where Finnegan ends, and
it begins by picking up the theme of the liquid
element on which Finnegan concludes : Riverrun. The
novel begins with the description of a body of water
and with a parodistic subtlety of which only an
Irishman could be capable ; it begins by exactly imi
tating the earlier work. How, in fact, does I promessi
sposi begin ? Allow me to quote : "That branch of the
lake of Como, which extends southwards, between
two uninterrupted chains of mountains J and is all
inlets and bays, as those same mountains project or
recede, suddenly narrows, assuming the flow and
form of a river, between a promontory on one side
and a broad shore opposite .
The opening of Finnegan was similar. Its first
sentence, if we eliminate all the linguistic ambiguities
that encumber it, goes like this : "That course of the
river that, having passed the church of Adam and
Eve, from the turn of the beach to the curve of the
bay, leads us along a more comfortable route of
return again to Howth Castle and environs . . .
But in I promessi sposi the language has been
further refined ; the allusions are more subtle, less
visible, the symbolism more powerful and pure.
.

. "

"

1 67

MISREADINGS

Abandoning the midnight in which the dream of

H. C. Earwicker concluded (and in which the noc
turnal monologue of Molly Bloom concluded also),
the lake of Como turns toward the noon of the south,
but in the form of a "branch, " this immediately
recalling, thanks to the anthropological intervention
of Frazer, the "bough" and the rites of fertility and
rebirth.
In her rebirth in a new day's light, Anna Liffey
has become a lake (expanding into the image of the
maternal womb), and Anna Livia, now a mature
woman, image of Demeter, all bosom and belly, can
then contract again and resume her course and form
as a river, beginning another story. "Resume her
course, " because with the new story a new course
begins, among the many fluxes and refluxes that are
woven into the human story of which Finnegan is
meant to be a condensation.
The work's narrative scheme is disturbingly sim
ple ; in a sense, it acts as the antistrophe of the plot
of Ulysses. In that book, the apparent description of
a single day in the life of Leopold Bloom was trans
formed as it proceeded into a discussion of a whole
city and of the universe. Here the apparently complex
tale of a series of historical events involving an entire
region and an empire (the Spanish) concerns in reality
the events of a single day in the life of the protagonist,
Renzo Tramaglino .
One morning at dawn, as he is preparing to cele
brate his marriage to his promised bride, Lucia Mon
della, Renzo learns from the village pastor, Don
Abbondio, that the local feudal lord, Don Rodrigo,

1 68

My Exagmination

is opposed to the marriage. After a quarrel with the

pastor, Renzo and Lucia flee from the village with
the aid of a Capuchin monk, Fra Cristoforo. While
Lucia seeks refuge in a convent in Monza, Renzo
goes to Milan. There, that afternoon, the youth is
involved in an uprising and therefore must escape to
Bergamo, as Lucia, through the complicity of a nun,
Gertrude, is abducted by another feudal lord known
as the Unnamed. The Cardinal of Milan intervenes,
however, to liberate her. At sunset a plague breaks
out in Milan, which kills Don Rodrigo, Don Abbon
dio, and Padre Cristoforo. Renzo that evening hastily
returns from Bergamo and finds Lucia safe and sound,
wherefore he and she can be joined in marriage during
the night. This is the story, condensed, as we have
seen, into the twenty-four hours of one day ; but
J oyce conceals the initial scheme (secretly confided
by him to Stuart Gilbert), confusing and mixing the
events in such a way that the reader has the impres
sion of an unnatural and complex temporal devel
opment.
Yet the development is actually quite simple and
linear, and to perceive it in all its purity it must be
subjected to a reading shorn of pseudointellectual
complications, where one merely underscores, in each
episode, the basic symbol, the corresponding profes
sion, and the reference to the animal world.
PART ONE. From dawn to early afternoon,
6 A. M . to 2 P . M . Renzo Tramaglino is about to marry
Lucia Mondella, when Don Abbondio informs him
that Don Rodrigo desires Lucia and is opposed to

1 69

MISREADINGS

the wedding. Renzo asks advice of a pettifogging

lawyer, but realizing that all attempts are in vain, he
and Lucia flee with the help of Padre Cristoforo.
Lucia takes refuge in a convent in Monza, Renzo
goes to Milan. Symbol of this Part: the pastor. Profes
sion: weaving. Animal: the capon, emblem of impo
tence and castration.
PART Two . Afternoon, 2 to 5 P . M . Renzo in
Milan becomes involved in an uprising and must
escape to Bergamo. Lucia is abducted by the Un
named, through the complicity of Gertrude. The
Cardinal of Milan liberates Lucia and places her in
the custody of a scholar, Don Ferrante, and his wife,
Donna Prassede. Symbol: the nun. Profession: library
science. Animal: the mule, emblem of obstinacy (of
the villains).
PART THREE. Sunset and evening, 5 P . M . to mid
night. The plague breaks out in Milan, and Don
Rodrigo, Don Abbondio, and Padre Cristoforo die.
Renzo returns to Milan from Bergamo and finds
Lucia safe and sound. Finally reunited, they marry.
Symbol: the gravedigger. Profession: hospital man
agement. Animal: does not exist, because evil is de
feated. In the place of the animal there is purifying
rain, which recalls the initial theme of water, as well
as the washerwomen in Finnegan (Anna Livia Plur
abelle episode).
I would be misleading the reader if I said that the
author presents this linear scheme in all its aspects
and makes it easily recognizable in the body of the
story. Actually, this simple tale in itself is insignifi-

1 70

My Exagmination

cant, and in the course of the novel it is masked and

hidden, so the reader has the impression that the
events cover a much greater period of time ; but I
cannot express adequately my admiration for this
clever fictional structure, which creates substantial
indecision and ambiguity in space-time, convincing
us that the events take place in the Lombard plain,
whereas, in fact, if I am not trivially distorting the
author's intentions, everything happens in Dublin.
In the continuous and amiable dialogue- and every
now and then it becomes poetry, from Donne to the
Elizabethans to Spenser-that unfolds between tra
dition and the individual talent, the first rule for a
selective and fertile imagination, I believe, is to pro
duce a good work. To write something valid and
enduring is still the best homage that can be rendered
to poetry, and if I use the word "profitable, " it is
because I can find no better term to express the
advantage humanity derives from the existence of a
good work of poetry. We achieve poetry when the
imagination knows it has arrived at that condition of
significant emotion whereby it is capable of creation.
In my previous essays I may have professed a some
what different and more superficial view of the prob
lem,_ but I have reviewed it with great attention and
feel I cannot say anything less specific. This brief
digression has perhaps caused us to stray from the
subject of Mr. Joyce's book; but I believe it was
necessary in order to clarify a point that has left the
critic legitimately puzzled on more than one occasion
(the ideal critic is a figure I could not define with
absolute confidence, but I am convinced a critic

1 71

MISREADINGS

cannot be ideal if he lacks the capacity of conducting

a convincing critical discourse on a given poetic text).
Now, to return to Mr. J oyce's book, I further believe
that simplicity and autonomy of image is still the
best way for a text to speak to the reader, without
his being led to superimpose complicated and toil
some keys to the reading-vitiated, in the final analy
sis, by an intellectualism that is death to poetry.
Making a concerted effort to grasp the so-called
plot, asking oneself, while reading a story, what is
happening and how it will end-asking oneself, en
fin, as the academic does when reading a mystery,
who did it- takes three quarters of the pleasure from
the reading of a novel, and robs the art of four
quarters of its raison d'etre. So we would consider
our purpose as critic achieved if we succeeded in
convincing the reader to return to the fresh spon
taneity with which the primitive reader- and with
this term I mean the "natural reader,, that modern
industrial civilization is fast destroying-catches im
mediately, in the reading, all the allusions to the
latest findings of structural anthropology or to Jung
ian archetypes without trying to superimpose over
intellectual explanations, and understands without
travail the links between a character and the mystic
figure of the Indian schelm according to Kerenyi.
With the simplicity of leafing through an old family
album at home, such a reader enjoys every corre
spondence- so immediately perceptible- between
the syntactic structure and the structure of the uni
verse according to the Zahar. He is not confounded,
in the thrall of false scientific conceit, by a wish to

1 72

My Exagmination

see in the novel, at all costs, the story of a marriage

opposed, but, rather, accepts in all its perspicuity the
free engagement of Freudian submeanings playfully
stratified in the connective tissue of the work, with
no cultivated, Byzantine concern.
For this reason we would warn the reader against
any ambiguously philosophizing interpretation that
uses several hundred pages to explain the novel as,
in fact, the story of a young man and a young woman
anxious to celebrate their wedding but suffering ob
stacles placed in their path by a villain. It is impos
sible not to see in this hermeneutical superfetation an
attempt to reduce all the dialectic of the work to a
sexual foundation, identifying the relationship be
tween the two characters as (vulgar and tediously
trite !) erotic polarity, and therefore complicating out
rageously the comprehension of the novel. Whereas
with great clarity and the simplicity that only the
great artist possesses, even the least prepared reader
can readily observe a whole series of symbols point
ing to the textile industry and matrilocal residence,
and the constant presence of Agnese as a basso ostin
ato expressing the reality of the Mutterrecht (even
the most innocent reader will note the explicit influ
ence of Bachofen in the figure of this "mother" who
bears such weight in the book's conclusion, carrying
around the children of Renzo and Lucia and "im
planting kisses on their cheeks, which left a white
mark for some time" !) . The "diriment impediments"
to which Don Abbondio symbolically alludes to dis
suade Renzo from marrying are obviously a mere
transfiguration of the customs of avoidance ex-

1 73

MISREADINGS

pounded by Tylor. Here the poet rediscovers them

as archetypal probability, recurrent and profound,
betrayed by the superficially canonical expressions
with which the pastor conceals his intention to pre
vent a relationship between kin (kin in that they are
"promised"), and you therefore cannot fail to un
derstand the words "Error, conditio, votum, cognatio,

crimen, cultus disparitas, vis, ordo, ligamen, honestas,

si sis a/finis . . "
.

Similarly, despite the rivers of ink that have been

spilled to place in a complicated and preternatural
light Padre Cristoforo's farewell to the now reunited
betrothed (end of Chapter XXVI) - "Oh, dear fa
ther, will we meet again?" "Up above, I hope" how easy it is for the simple and spontaneous reader
to catch the obvious reference to the Corpus Her
meticum and its basic dictate, sir:ut inferius sic super
ius, as anyone who in his childhood has so much as
glanced at the works of Trismegistus will know.
Now, it is precisely the "gestural" immediacy of
these images, their deployment according to a shrewd
communicative strategy, the spontaneous emotive
pattern, that stimulates and provides the reader with
the enjoyment proper to reading. Thus he can follow,
for example, the demure yet bold play of plot in
which an opposition unfolds between the two poles
of sexual congress and impotence as existential situ
ation. It will be seen how through the character of
Renzo the theme of castration as non-congress is
handled, beginning with the capons he takes to the
lawyer, a symbol too obvious to require commen-

1 74

My Exagmination

tary, then continuing with the young man's escape

across the lake (escaping, he evades sexual commit
ment, and he does this through the archetype of
exile, a clear reference to Thomas Mann's J oseph)
and his flight to Bergamo, in which a great quantity
of revealing symbols is condensed. Renzo's castration
is opposed by the phallic figure of the mountain,
which dominates Lucia's stream of consciousness,
her interior monologue as she crosses the lake at
night. Here we find a free association of images
counterpointed by the presence of water, which as
sumes the form of a furrow continually closing upon
itself then opened again by human intervention : "The
measured slap of those two oars that sliced the blue
surface of the lake, abruptly emerged dripping, and
plunged in again. " Here is an image that while pa
tently sexual at the same time suggests in explicitly
Bergsonian terms an elan vital that, striking at the
marrow of being and then passing on, is realized as
psychic duree, as furrow: "The wave marked by the
boat, meeting again behind the poop, traced a wrin
kled stripe, which was moving away from the shore. "
Now Lucia's monologue, made possible by the pres
ence of the water as duration, as psychic texture, a
storehouse of elements (Thales) of a being reduced
to memory, focuses almost exclusively on the image
of the mountains, whose loss she regrets and which,
in a process typical of the unconscious with an ar
guable manifestation of an Oedipus complex, are
identified with the paternal image ("unequal peaks,
known to those who have grown up in your midst,

1 75

MISREADINGS

and impressed in her mind, no less than the aspect

of her closest family . . . "). Deprived of the union
symbolized by the mountain as phallic reality, Lu
cia- in a succession of images that at times achieves
the impressive power of Molly Bloom's nocturnal
monologue, of which this is admittedly a minor but
not unworthy copy- feels "disgusted and weary" :
"The air seems to her burdensome and dead as she
advances sad and absent in the tumultuous cities ; the
houses after houses, the streets opening into other
streets seem to take her breath away. " Anyone can
see the evident expressionistic derivation of these last
images (Kafka is one of the first names that come to
mind) as well as the distinct influence of the most
recent descriptive techniques of the nouveau roman
(the description of those houses after houses and
streets that become other streets all too clearly shows
the mark of the Butor of L'Emploi du temps and the
Robbe-Grillet of Le Labyrinthe).
What now happens to Renzo, fleeing to Bergamo ?
The calembour contained in the name of the city is
self-evident : the word has two roots, one Germanic
(Berg, mountain) and the other Greek (gamos, wed
ding). Bergamo represents, in fact, Renzo's final at
tempt to restore his lost sexuality, as he yearns for
symbolic marriage with the very symbol of it- but
in so doing, in desiring that same symbol of his
potency, he redirects his travail in an ambiguous
homosexual ambiance, a clear and harmonious an
tistrophe to the equally ambiguous rapport that at
the same time Lucia is establishing with the nun of

1 76

My Exagmination

Monza. Nor must we forget that Mr. J oyce, who

lived for such a long time in Trieste, could not be
ignorant of the sexual significance of the root mona,
which we encounter once more, note, both in monaca
(nun), with whom Lucia deals, and in monatti (the
removers of corpses from the hospital, surrounding
Lucia, when Renzo finds her there).
It is obvious, then, that with the greatest simplicity
of means Mr. J oyce has managed here to penetrate
into the deepest recesses of the human spirit, reveal
ing its secret contradictions and realizing (triumph of
ambiguity) in both leading characters the archetype
of the androgyne. It is Lucia who in Chapter XXXVI
accepts with joy the proposal of Padre Cristoforo,
or, rather, his perceptive insinuation ("If it ever
seemed to me that two people were united by God,
you two were they : now I do not see why God
would wish to separate you"), and, asking to be
united with Renzo, she realizes in modern form the
myth of Salm akis, which takes on further implica
tions if we recall that in this same chapter Padre
Cristoforo, uttering the above hermetic declaration,
undoubtedly refers to the neoplatonic divinity,
whereby the union of the two characters becomes
the figure of a cosmic union, a kabbalistic cingulum
Veneris, in which the- very personality of the charac
ters and their sexual individuality are joined in a
higher unity. The unity is achieved, the author sug
gests, because in straightforward neoplatonic terms
every impurity ceases ; and in fact the decease of Padre
Cristoforo (etymologically christos fero, and there-

1 77

MISREADINGS

fore "bearer of the anointed"), who comes to stand

for impurity (there is in Padre Cristoforo the bur
den of an original sin, a youthful crime), coincides
with the rainfall and therefore with water, the gen
erating and enveloping principle, the unity of the
higher Sephirot, Anna Livia Plurabelle. The cycle is
closed.
This is the substance of the book, or at least what
emerges from a first reading, for those who are
reluctant to look for further hidden meanings beyond
those that the narrative immediacy of the images
, offers. But there are infinite subtle correspondences
still to be p ointed out ! Think of the presence of the
Unnamed, who suggests with such force the figure
of the stranger in the mackintosh in Ulysses ! And the
parallel between the episode of the library and Mr.
Magee (again in Ulysses) and the library of Don
Ferrante ! Or between the argument of Bloom in the
tavern and that of Renzo, both men victims of a
"law-abiding citizen" ! Or between Lucia's night in
the castle of the Unnamed and Stephen Dedalus's
night in the brothel of Bella Cohen (who corresponds
also to the figure of the "old woman" who receives
Lucia) !
Such observations might lead us to speak of I
promessi sposi as a minor work, a clever rehash of
themes and images already exploited in previous works,
but the novel, clearly demanding these back-refer
ences, becomes instead the summation and conclu
sion of all the preceding oeuvre. Must we then say
that it represents the apex of the Joycean canon?
Perhaps not, but it does represent its fulfilment.

1 78

My Exagmination

As we live in an odd country, where common

sense occasionally assumes the eccentric forms of
madness, there will surely be those who try to read
this book in a thousand different keys, one mo re
absurd than the next. Father Noon, S . J . , will no
doubt offer his interpretation, as he has interpreted
Mr. J oyce's previou s work, seeking again to put this
volume in a religious context, perhaps essaying (if
we may prophesy) a definition of I promessi sp osi as

a novel of Providence.
Worse still, there will be no dearth of pseudo
intellectual interpretations that attempt to see these
archetypal symbols as so many "narrative charac
ters, " even referring to a so-called Joycean realism.
And we strongly suspect that there will be those who
dwell on the beauty of the language without bearing
in mind that every expression, every image here is
"beautiful" because it connotes a richer symbolic
reality. But the temptation to aesthetic distortion is
always present in criticism as in contemporary po
etry, and thus it is difficult to know how to read a
book. We therefore conclude this review of ours,
which is also an invitation to direct and immediate
contact with the text, by citing a statement made a
few years ago by Ezra Pound when he commented
on some verses of a -little poem printed by the firm
of Faber & Faber, The Divine Comedy: "Rarely is
clarity a gift of the poet, and for one vorticist like
Cavalcanti we will always find ten academics bloated
with culture like Burchiello. This means that Usury
nests always in our midst, but there is always the
lucidity of a phanopoeia that can save us. Why then
1 79

MISREADINGS

spend four complex words dolce colore d'oriental

zaffiro -where it would have been so much more
immediate and comprehensible to use the corre
sponding Chinese ideogram?"
-

1 962

180

OTHER BOOKS BY UMBERTO Eco

PUBLISHED BY HARCOURT BRACE JOVANOVICH
The Name of the Rose

( 1983)

Postscript to The Name of the Rose

( 1984)

Travels in Hyperreality

( 1 986)
Foucault's Pendulum ( 1 989)

For children) with Eugenio Carmi:

(1989)
The Three Astronauts ( 1989)

The Bomb and the General

PuBLISHED BY INDIANA UNIVERSITY PRESS

A Theory of Semiotics
The Role of the Reader

( 197 6)
( 1979)

Semiotics and the Philosophy of Language

( 1984)

PuBLISHED BY YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS

Art and Beauty in the Middle Ages

( 1986)

PUBLISHED BY HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS

The Aesthetics of Aquinas

( 1988)
( 1 989)
The Aesthetics of Chaosmos ( 1989)
The Open Work