Literature Globals

All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace is Richard Brautigan's fifth poetry publication. Like several of his early works, the entire edition (of 1,500 copies) was distributed for free. The title poem envisions a world where cybernetics has advanced to a stage where it allows a return to the balance of nature and an elimination of the need for human labor.

The Red Wheelbarrow: Lines 1-2The opening lines set the tone for the rest of the poem. Since the poem is composed of one sentence broken up at various intervals, it is truthful to say that "so much depends upon" each line of the poem. This is so because the form of the poem is also its meaning. This may seem confusing, but by the end of the poem the image of the wheelbarrow is seen as the actual poem, as in a painting when one sees an image of an apple, the apple represents an actual object in reality, but since it is part of a painting the apple also becomes the actual piece of art. These lines are also important because they introduce the idea that "so much depends upon" the wheelbarrow.Lines 3-4Here the image of the wheelbarrow is introduced starkly. The vivid word "red" lights up the scene. Notice that the monosyllable words in line 3 elongates the line , putting an unusual pause between the word "wheel" and "barrow." This has the effect of breaking the image down to its most basic parts. The reader feels as though he or she were scrutinizing each part of the scene. Using the sentence as a painter uses line and color, Williams breaks up the words in order to see the object more closely.Lines 5-6Again, the monosyllable words elongate the lines with the help of the literary device assonance. Here the word "glazed" evokes another painterly image. Just as the reader is beginning to notice the wheelbarrow through a closer perspective, the rain transforms it as well, giving it a newer, fresher look. This new vision of the image is what Williams is aiming for.Lines 7-8The last lines offer up the final brushstroke to this "still life" poem. Another color, "white" is used to contrast the earlier "red," and the unusual view of the ordinary wheelbarrow is complete. Williams, in dissecting the image of the wheelbarrow, has also transformed the common definition of a poem. With careful word choice, attention to language, and unusual stanza breaks Williams has turned an ordinary sentence into poetry.

This is just to say: He means to confess the guilt and apologize for it. The poem can also be interpreted symbolically. Its simplicity, economy and its unique form must also be commented upon. Its imagery is also another striking feature. The whole poem is written in just twenty-eight words and in two sentences without punctuation; the capital letter in the beginning last stanza indicates a sentence break. The title can also be taken as the first line. So the whole poem can be summarized as: This is just to say that I’ve eaten the plums and I want to apologize, but I couldn’t help eating them because they were so cold and delicious. Because of the extreme economy and care in wording, the reader is encouraged to give equal care and thought to each word. The line ends mark usual pause and unusual reflection (meditation). The tone is of a hesitant child confessing his mistake. The paradox in the justification is very typically childlike and interesting: the speaker says that he ate plums “because” they were cool and delicious. How did he know that? The lie and the honesty are so striking. He ate them first and then only found them delicious: he was overcome by temptation. He realizes the mistake only when he had done it. That is inevitable. The paradox in the confession has deeper meanings. We know what's right, good, moral or truth only when we try and face the wrong, evil, immoral or false. We say we won’t do worse, and we confess when we have done it. We can’t undo anything. This is an inescapable reality of the human condition. All knowledge is gained or advance on this principle of paradox. The event in the poem can be compared with Adam and Eve’s case. They ate the apple and realized things like shame, disease, anger, guile, death, and so on. The experience of the evil only confirmed their knowledge of the good (or the right) and the value of the bliss that God had given them. They realized the value of “Eden” only when they had lost it. We realize the value of ignorance, any possession, happiness, and anything that we have only after we lose it. The knowledge of the dark, guilt and shame gives value or meaning to the bright side of life. Opposites define and validate opposites. At the symbolic level, therefore, the child represents human beings who are like Adam in the mistakes they go on making and the knowledge they go on achieving. So the addressee (you) of the poem must be Christ or God. The familiarity of the subject matter and imagery tells us that we repeat mistakes of the same kind even in ordinary life and conditions. The imaginary is very concrete, vivid and sensuous. The ‘cold’ plums in the ‘icebox’ and their ‘delicious’ sweetness brings water in our mouths! The fidelity of thought is also striking: they were probably saved for breakfast. This is an irrelevant idea to cover up the wrong, and to be “intelligent”. But it doesn’t help anyway. The poem is at first starting in its economy: Even the title has to be a part of it. “This” may mean a ‘note’ left on the table, or it may also confess his guilt for everyone through ‘this’ poem. Besides the economy, the familiar setting and the dramatic situation clarified by a few words is also notable. The poem is amazingly simple in diction. Only the thought-provoking truth makes it short of being a child’s poem.

One Art: The poem begins rather boldly with the curious claim that "the art of losing isn’t hard to master" (1.1). The speaker suggests that some things are basically made to be lost, and that losing them therefore isn’t a big deal. She suggests that we get used to loss by practicing with little things, like house keys or a little bit of wasted time here and there; the idea is that if you’re comfortable with the insignificant losses, you’ll be ready to cope when the big ones come along. 
The losses mentioned in the poem grow more and more significant. First it’s the things we try to remember, like names and places, then more specific items, such as a mother’s watch or homes one has loved in the past. As these things begin to pile up, we wonder how much the speaker has actually mastered this so-called "art of losing." Is she really as glib (that is to say, smart-alecky) as she sounds, or does she still have deep feelings about all of these things? We’re not so sure. 
However, the last stanza reveals a whole lot to us. We discover that the loss that reallybothers her is that of a beloved person (friend, family, or lover, we don’t know). She attempts rather feebly to claim that even this loss isn’t a "disaster," though it appears to be one; at this point, though, we see that she really is still sad about the loss, and hasn’t truly gotten over it.

Midway: Madgett's oft-reprinted poem "Midway," the history of the reception of which is documented by correspondence, ephemera, and an expository statement by Madgett. In addition, the Poetry subseries contains musical settings of some of Madgett's poems, laminated broadsides featuring single poems, and book jackets from Madgett's published volumes.

Since Feeling is first: E. E. Cummings' poem "since feeling is first" is a poem which shows how emotions dictate people's actions and why the narrator thinks they should. The poem implies that to follow one's heart is better than following one's mind, yet, at the same time the poem is the narrator's analysis of why emotion comes before thought. The last line of the poem brings a twist on theme that the rest of the poem seems to be following. It speaks of death and of thought, rather than of life and emotion, showing that death is something that should not be ignored in life, and that thought is important even with the domination of feeling. Cummings enhances these themes by using the literary elements of diction and tone, irony, and setting and situation. 
The poem says that "since feeling is first" (line 1) the one who pays attention to the meaning of things will never truly embrace. The poem states that it is better to be a fool, or to live by emotions while one is young. The narrator declares that his "blood approves" (line 7) sh... middle of paper ... 
...justification of why his way of living comes "first" (line 1) to living through thought. Living with his heart feels better to E. E. Cummings in comparison to living through his mind, and so it is better. He has also determined that "the best gesture of his brain" (line 11) could never live up to the actions of love or true feeling. Yet, "since feeling comes first" (line 1) the thought must come second. This poet has shown readers that he has an understanding of life, but he could not begin to understand without the gift of thought. 

Ulysses: Ulysses complains that he is “idle” as a king, home with his elderly wife, stuck passing enlightened laws for a “savage race” that sleeps and eats but does not know him. He does not want to cease his travels; he has made the most of his life, having suffered and experienced pleasure both with others and alone and both at sea and on the shore. He is a famous name; he has seen the world and has been honored everywhere. He also has enjoyed battling at Troy with his fellow warriors.

He is “a part of all that I have met,” but this is not the end, for his experience is an archway to new experiences, with the horizon always beyond reach. It is boring to stop and wither away and be useless in his old age; simply breathing is not life. Multiple lives would be too little to get the most out of existence, and little of his one life remains, but at least he is alive and there is time for “something more.” It would be a shame to do nothing for even three days; he does not want to store himself away. His “gray spirit” yearns to attain knowledge and follow it “like a sinking star, / Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.”

In contrast, his son Telemachus, who will succeed him as king, seems content to stay put and simply rule the people. Ulysses loves him and knows that he will use his prudence to govern wisely, turning the “rugged” people “mild,” and he is “blameless” and “decent” in his “common duties.” He honors the family’s gods. Yet, Telemachus does not have his father’s energy; “He works his work, I mine.”

Ulysses looks at the port and the sea beyond, calling to him. He recalls “the thunder and the sunshine” of his mariners’ exciting travels together, their “free hearts” and free minds, and understands that he and they are old now. Yet, they still can do something noble and suited to their greatness, especially as they are men who once fought with gods.

Light fades, and the day wanes. Ulysses calls out that it is not too late to discover a “newer world.” They can leave this shore and sail beyond the sunset, exploring until he dies. Perhaps they even will reach the Happy Isles and meet Achilles. Although they are weak in age, much vigor remains; they still have “heroic hearts” which are “strong in will” and want to persevere, to explore and discover and never give up.

In search of Evanescence: The poem starts with a typical American imagery: a road trip through the Midwest. But soon, a road sign, signaling an exit to the city of “Calcutta,” transports the poet to India. The name of the city, similar in the two countries, lays a bridge between these distant lands. This spiritual travel to India starts off “the turnpikes of America,” but why choose the word turnpike? Likely because it suggests that travel has a cost, that it is not always easily accessible. The landscapes of Ohio fade away and the landmarks of India materialize: first, the city of Howrah, whose foreign pronunciation highlights the exoticism of the setting. The Ganges River, which carries Indian religious and cultural significance, adds to the shift away from Americanized imagery. Additionally, this historic landmark, with the mention of its sobs, is associated with an atmosphere of sadness and loss, which develops in the following lines. The poet then faces an endless number of trains passing by, transporting on their roofs “old passengers”, ready to give up everything they have, even their bones, to be there, possibly because escape is the only option that affords the possibility of life.

This part of the Indian population seems extremely destitute, and probably reflects the reality of social castes in the former British colony. Further on, the only toys that children have are “empty cans”. India also seems to be linked to various images of femininity. Women are treated as objects; vendors “bargain over” them, which conveys a strong idea of an absolute lack of freedom. Does the poet want to question the place of women in the Indian society, or is it just an objective yet detached attempt to anchor the poem more solidly in India – America now seems completely forgotten. The “sun’s percussion on tamarind leaves” evokes the special rhythms of India, its luxuriant vegetation, its peculiar weather. The “monsoon” is a climatic phenomenon, which occurs only in Southeast Asia. At first, it is described passively; it oils and braids the trees leaves. But in the next stanza, the wind causes the reverie to stop and unveils the shocking ending: the rain has left “many dead bodies” behind, just as the poet has mentally left Ohio and is now confronted with death and desolation. The description of India is superimposed over the initial painting of the American landscape; the road has been turned into a river (probably the Ganges); the cars have been turned into urns, carrying dead, ashen bodies. These last stanzas could refer to the actual damages caused by the monsoon, or to the traditional rituals which consists in giving back to the river the remains of the dead. The poem’s closure is fixated on the image of the sea and reflects a quiet and peaceful end.

Ghazal:In real Time : All good things come in pairs, and the ghazal is no exception. This poetic form consists of anywhere from five to fifteen couplets, each of which has nothing to do with the other couplets.

So why are they all in the same poem, you ask? Good question. The couplets are all united formally in that they follow a strict pattern of rhyme and rhythm. The first line of the first couplet sets up an internal rhyme, followed by a refrain. In the second line of the subsequent couplets, that rhyme and refrain are picked up again. (The first line of the subsequent couplets can do whatever it pleases.)

As with all poetic forms, it's easier to understand the ghazal in practice than in theory, so take a look at the first three couplets of Agha Shahid Ali's "Ghazal":

I'll do what I must if I'm bold in real time.
A refugee, I'll be paroled in real time.

Cool evidence clawed off like shirts of hell-fore?
A former existence untold in real time …

The one you would choose: Were you led then by him?
What longing, O Yaar, is controlled in real time?

See what we mean? The internal rhyme that gets repeated is set up with the word bold (and its rhyming partner paroled). And the refrain, "in real time," gets repeated at the end of the second line of all the couplets, including the first. Ali was kind of an expert at the ghazal, since he introduced this form to the good ol' US of A. So when in doubt, read one of his and you'll catch the gist.

There's also a tradition in ghazals of having the poet give a sort of sign-off in the last couplet, where he's supposed to include his name in some way, as Agha Shahid Ali does in another ghazal of his, "Tonight." Take a look at his final three couplets:

The hunt is over, and I hear the Call to Prayer
fade into that of the wounded gazelle tonight.

My rivals for your love—you've invited them all?
This is mere insult, this is no farewell tonight.

And I, Shahid, only am escaped to tell thee—
God sobs in my arms. Call me Ishmael tonight.

And there it is, folks, Shahid's little shout out to himself.

Ghazals, by the way, are old. They come from ancient Arabia, and were popular with famous Persian poets like Rumi and Hafiz. Often, ghazals are about unrequited or forbidden love, longing, and Big Questions like, what on earth am I doing here all alone?

Writing ghazals, that's what. Duh.

Kid: In this poem, a character who seems to identify himself with 'Robin' from Batman is talking, fast, about his relationship with 'Batman'. You can read this as a metaphor. So Robin is the son figure, Batman the father or boss figure. So it could be a metaphor for coming of age. Or you can read it as a dramatic monologue, literally about Batman and Robin which dramatises the theme of coming of age.

The imagery is fast and furious, and none too clear. Robin seems angry, as if there's been a scandal about a married woman, involving Batman. The idol/father figure has fallen from grace, in a newsworthy way. Robin says he's 'older, harder, stronger' and it's time for him to take over.

Batman is now to be found stewing chicken giblets (the internal organs of a chicken, cheap meat used to make ) in a pressure cooker with an 'empty larder', i.e. Batman is now poor, and domesticated, emasculated.

Robin tells him to stand aside, as he is now the new 'wonder'.

The Flash Reverses Time: Since A. Van Jordan is an African American poet, the moment of finding “The Flash Reverses Time” included a point at which I realized that I could write about it for “A More Diverse Universe.”

On a discussion board about “how does the flash perceive time?” I found out that The Flash must have control of the temporal aspects of his speed powers because it would otherwise be intolerable to be faster than everything around him and have no control over how he is able to perceive it–such a perceptual state would show things around him as immobile objects, frozen in time. He must have the ability to alter his perception of the passage of time, slowing or speeding it up in relationship to himself.

Seven Messengers: In “Seven Messengers” (included in Restless Nights), which gave the title to the first collection of Buzzati’s short fiction, I sette messaggeri, a prince sets out to explore his father’s kingdom in the company of seven knights, who serve him as messengers and links to his father, his capital, and his house. As the prince advances toward the frontier, however, the messengers take longer and longer to return, and the letters they bring him seem to recall distant things. One day, the prince realizes that the messenger about to depart for the capital will return only in thirty-four years, by which time the prince will be very old or even dead. Nevertheless, he continues his trip toward the border, with ever-increasing curiosity, to explore the unknown regions. Symbolically, the prince’s trip is the journey of life. Day by day, one becomes more and more distant from one’s parents and childhood sentiments, full of eagerness to discover what lies ahead, even if the ultimate goal is death.

Two Words: adversity love the true power of words
During the story Belisa is constantly overcoming the nearly insane challenges that she faces. Belisa was born into a family so poor they did not even have any names to give to their children. She survived through floods, droughts, and hunger when her siblings did not, which left her next in line for death. But Belisa made her way across the plains and found water, and along with it a paying occupation. She discovers words and how to use them. She finally has a purpose and a name, the poetry of beauty and twilight woven together.
Adversity Love
Despite the odds Belisa and the Colonel, although maybe unknown to them at the time, both find what they are looking for, love. The unlikely pair ends up together after a series of events beginning with the Colonel kidnapping Belisa to write his presidential speech. It is no wonder after this that they are intertwined for good. After all the Colonel is trying to be less of a forceful war hungry man, which would most likely be irresistible for most women that could use a protective companion in their life. It could also be said that each of the Colonel’s and Belisa’s loves in life brought them together. Belisa with her writing and the Colonel with his desire to give up his fighting image enveloped them before they even knew it.
The power of words
“Two Words” shows the true potential power of words. When used correctly words can accomplish anything. Belisa used words to make a job for herself to be able to get by without wondering when her next meal might be. Belisa used words to transform the Colonel from the outcast and into the front runner of the presidential campaign. Through the paragraphs of words that Belisa had written for the Colonel people were swayed to like him. To go even further Belisa swayed the Colonel to love her by giving him just two simple words.

Third Class Superhero: Moisture Man, the hero of “Third Class Superhero”, is tired of watching his former classmates kick ass and claim their secret hideouts while he struggles to maintain his good-guy accreditation. Someday soon he’ll have to decide whose side he’s really on, and how far he’s willing to push the panels of his storyline. Meanwhile, in "401(k)", a young, upwardly-mobile couple attempt to navigate their way through a world of pure advertising, with hopes of attaining the Pretty Good Life. And in "The Man Who Became Himself", a successful executive is terrified to find himself becoming trapped inside his own body. 

Through these eleven stories, Charles Yu explores issues of identity, time and being in an age of dislocation. Heartbreaking, hilarious, smart, surprising, Third Class Superhero marks the arrival of an impressive new talent.

Einstein’s Dreams: 26 April 1905

People here only live in the mountains because time moves more slowly the farther one is from the center of the earth, and they can increase their longevity by doing so. Some do not care about extending their lives for a few minutes. They enjoy the empty valleys and swim in the deserted lakes. Over time, people forget "why higher is better," but they stay and continue to teach their children to do the same. They suffer in the cold, thin mountain air and they "have become thin like the air, bony, old before their time."

11 June 1905

There is no future; time is a line that terminates at the presentIf we can imagine a world without a future, in which we "cannot contemplate the results of [our] actions" and are "thus paralyzed into inaction," what logical consequences can we imagine in from our place in this world? When we are children, why don't we understand when older people tell us, "It's not the end of the world." How does our perception of the future change as we age? 

Quantum Non-locality and the death of Elvis Persley: In “Quantum Nonlocality and the Death of Elvis Presley,” he explains the secret identity crisis supposedly behind the death of that famous singer and the mysterious sightings of him in the years after. And in “No One Goes to Heaven to See Dan Fogelberg,” he posits an afterlife in which everyone is not only granted eternal youth, but also gets to go to free concerts by all of the greats: Elvis, Miles, Tupac, Michael Jackson, Frank Sinatra, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, “L. V. Beeth

Astro City: Life in the Big City

“Astro City: Life in the Big City” embraces the fantastic, the ridiculous and the aspirational, while instilling a real world sensibility, in this wondrous six-chapter volume of interrelated stories about a superhero-protected metropolis known as Astro City.

Writer Kurt Busiek brings everything he understands about comic book conventions, the secret identities, the supporting characters, the maniacal villains, and uses them in differing ways, whether they are driving the plot or exist only to add dimension to the story. Busiek and artist Brent Anderson introduce us to the familiar, for longtime comic enthusiasts at least, people and corners of Astro City in what turns out to be an anthology of tales featuring a cast of superpowered and non-powered folks.

“Life in the Big City” opens with a story featuring Astro City’s protector, Samaritan, in the story “In Dreams”. Busiek immediately takes us inside the hero’s yearnings, to be able to soar peacefully through the sky without being hampered by the need to rush to the aid of those in danger. Busiek and Anderson illustrate how the hero would logically manage his time as he works to rescue as many people as possible. Samaritan constantly analyzes how long he spends at each incident, it’s always a matter of seconds, and scrutinizes himself for slowing down long enough to assure a child that her cat is safe.

Anderson and Alex Ross have designed a world of characters who could well have existed in DC’s Golden and Silver Ages. Anderson gives the characters and city residents a contemporary feel, while offering nostalgic nods to bygone eras, such as in the form of a giant robot or a super team headquarters with a meeting table in the shape of the team’s initials. Busiek presents a fascinating day in the life of Samaritan in which the writer shows us, point by point, how a character such as Samaritan would realistically manage his dual identities and protect a world.

In “The Scoop”, we see the fantastic world of Astro City through the eyes of Elliot Mills, editor of the city’s newspaper, the Astro City Rocket. The story is told in a flashback as Elliot recounts one of his earliest stories when he was just a budding reporter. “The Scoop” is as much a tale of journalistic integrity as anything else and establishes the honest virtues of Mills. Anderson shines in this chapter, his city is lined with buildings, department stores and crowds of people who seem pulled from a real life metropolitan. Colorist Steve Buccellato presents Astro City as bright, summery and hopeful in the glorious opening pages of the story.

Busiek presents situations and characters that ought to be relatable to readers of “Life in the Big City”; for example, Samaritan attempts to manage his time and Elliot Mills takes great pride in his work. However, in the best chapter of the volume, the writer introduces Eisenstein, a sad sack two-bit criminal whose fears often gets the best of him in the story “A Little Knowledge”. Eisenstein sees the hero Jack-in-the-Box unmask himself and soon uncovers the man’s true identity. At first the loser imagines the riches in store for him when he uses this newfound information for monetary gain. Eisenstein’s dreams turn to nightmares as he envisions one awful scenario after the next, each one growing more unpleasant.

Who doesn’t imagine worst-case scenarios when faced with an important meeting at work or a significant conversation with a loved one? You know, where you conceive that everything is going to go wrong. Really, really wrong. Busiek, Anderson and Buccellato brilliantly capture Eisenstein’s sinking feeling that nothing is going to work out for him in brief sequences that go from comical to irrationally violent.

The story “Safeguards” centers on Marta, a young woman from Shadow Hill, a mysterious borough of Astro City, that is populated by immigrants who have grown accustomed to the area’s vampires, ghouls, demons and other creatures of the night. It’s a brilliant story about cultural barriers; Marta finds her home just as normal as the one where flying men and women swoop in to protect its citizens. Again, Anderson shows off his chops as he creates the vastly different and spooky European-looking town of Shadow Hill.

Crotchety old Mr. Bridwell is not who he seems in “Reconnaisance”, a story that follows a covert alien as he gathers information on the superpowered beings who protect Earth. Should the planet be invaded or does he see something in the human race that reminds him of his own? Bridwell focuses on the fractured hero Crackerjack to make his verdict, but when he does, we see that the alien is just as petty and arbitrary as the humans who he’s been tasked to observe. Anderson focuses on Bridwell’s hypercritical eyes throughout the story, illustrating that the character is absorbing every necessary detail before arriving at his decision.

Busiek and Anderson bring the first volume of “Life in the Big City” to a close with “Dinner at Eight”, in which Samaritan and Winged Victory go on a date, first in costume and then incognito. The writer excels at dialogue and developing character and this final chapter allows him to do both as the two most famous heroes on Earth learn that they don’t share similar superheroic ideologies.

Anderson’s sense of action and his precise character work are an excellent match for Busiek’s layered story. The artist seems capable of capturing just about any reaction that Busiek’s script requires, be it the hopeful look on Marta’s mother’s expression when faced with the possibility that her daughter might meet a local boy or the utter paranoia of Eisenstein as he contemplates numerous violent outcomes.

Busiek, Ross and Anderson have constructed a living, breathing world by exploring it from the six distinctly different vantage points. Astro City is a big, bold place that is more optimistic than it is frightening. The creators have taken the familiar and breathed real life into all of its characters, from the wholesome to the malevolent. None of the material from which “Life in the Big City” is inspired is treated with tongue-in-cheek. It’s treated with affection.

The Adventures of Kavalier and Clay

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay is a 2000 novel by Jewish American author Michael Chabon that won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 2001. The novel follows the lives of two Jewish cousins before, during, and after World War II. They are a Czechartist named Joe Kavalier and a Brooklyn-born writer named Sam Clay. In the novel, Kavalier and Clay become major figures in thecomics industry from its nascency into its "Golden Age." Kavalier & Clay was published to "nearly unanimous praise" and became aNew York Times Best Seller,^[1] receiving nominations for the 2000 National Book Critics Circle Award and PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction. In 2006, Bret Easton Ellis declared the novel "one of the three great books of my generation",^[2] and in 2007, The New York Review of Books called the novel Chabon's magnum opus.^[3]

The novel's publication was followed by several companion projects, including two short stories published by Chabon that consist of material apparently written for the novel but not included: "The Return of the Amazing Cavalieri" in McSweeney's Quarterly Concern(2001), and "Breakfast in the Wreck" in The Virginia Quarterly Review (2004). In 2004, a coda to the novel was published separately under the title "A Postscript", in Zap! Pow! Bam! The Superhero: The Golden Age of Comic Books, 1938-1950. From 2004 to 2006,Dark Horse Comics published two series of Escapist comic books based on the superhero stories described in the novel, some of which were written by Chabon. Dark Horse comics also published a sequel to the novel, The Escapists, written by Brian K. Vaughan.

A film adaptation, to be directed by Stephen Daldry and produced by Scott Rudin, began pre-production in 2001. In the following years, the film was repeatedly canceled and reinitiated, and is currently in development hell.

Plot summary

The novel begins in 1939 with the arrival of 19-year-old Josef "Joe" Kavalier as a refugee in New York City, where he comes to live with his 17-year-old cousin, Sammy Klayman. With the help of his mentor, Kornblum, Joe escapes Prague by hiding in a coffin, an effort initially conceived in order to smuggle the inanimate Golem of Prague to safety, out of the collections of Munich or Berlin. Having escaped Prague, Josef leaves behind the rest of his family, including his younger brother Thomas. As the novel develops, both Sammy and Josef find their creative niches, one entrepreneurial, the latter’s artistic. Beyond having a shared interest in drawing, Sammy and Joe share several connections to Jewish stage magician Harry Houdini: Josef (like comics legend Jim Steranko) studied magic and escapology in Prague, which aided him in his departure from Europe; Sammy is the son of the Mighty Molecule, a strongman on the vaudeville circuit.

When Sammy discovers Joe's artistic talent, Sammy gets Joe a job as an illustrator for a novelty products company, Empire Novelty. Sheldon Anapol, owner of Empire, motivated to share in the recent cultural and financial success of Superman, attempts to break into the comic-book business on the creative backs of Sammy and Josef. Under the name "Sam Clay", Sammy starts writing adventure stories with Joe illustrating them, and the two recruit several other Brooklyn teenagers to produce Amazing Midget Radio Comics(named to promote one of the company's novelty items). The pair is at once passionate about their creation, earnestly optimistic about making money, and always nervous about the opinion of their employers. The magazine features Sammy and Joe's character, the Escapist, an anti-fascist superhero who combines traits of (among others) Captain America, Harry Houdini, Batman, the Phantom, and the Scarlet Pimpernel. The Escapist becomes tremendously popular, but like talent behind Superman, the writers and artists of the comic get a minimal share of their publisher's revenue. Sammy and Joe are slow to realize that they are being exploited, as they have private concerns: Joe is trying to help his family escape from Nazi-occupied Prague, and has fallen in love with the bohemian Rosa Saks, who has her own artistic aspirations, while Clay works to find his sexual identity and seeks progress in his professional and literary career.

For many months after coming to New York, Joe is driven by an intense desire to improve the condition of his family, still living under a regime increasingly hostile to their kind. This drive shows through in his work, which remains for a long time violently anti-Nazi despite his employer's concerns. In the meantime, he is spending more and more time with Rosa, appearing as a magician in the bar mitzvahs of the children of Rosa's father's acquaintances, even though he sometimes feels guilty at indulging in these distractions from the primary task of fighting for his family. After multiple attempts and considerable monetary sacrifice, Joe ultimately fails to get his family to the States, his last attempt having resulted in putting his younger brother aboard a ship that was destroyed by a German U-boat. Distraught and unaware that Rosa is pregnant with his child, Joe enlists in the navy, hoping to fight the Germans. Instead, he is sent to a secluded naval base in Antarctica. After a faulty chimney fills the base with carbon monoxide, Josef emerges from this interlude the lone survivor from his station. When he makes it back to New York, ashamed to show his face again to Rosa and Sammy, he lives and sleeps in a hideout in theEmpire State Building, known only to a small circle of magician-friends.

Meanwhile, Sam develops a romantic relationship with the radio voice of The Escapist, Tracy Bacon. Bacon's movie-star good-looks initially intimidate Clay, but later they fall in love. When Tracy is cast as The Escapist in the film adaptation of the now popular franchise, he invites Clay to move to Hollywood with him, an offer that Clay accepts. But later, when Bacon and Clay go to a friend's beach house with several other gay couples, the private dinner is raided by the local police as well as two off-duty FBI agents. All of the men at the party are arrested, except for two who hid under the dinner table, one of whom is Sam Clay. The FBI agents use their authority to sexually abuse Sam and the other man. After this episode, Clay decides that he can't live with the constant threat of being persecuted because of his relationship with Tracy; he does not travel with Bacon. Some time after Joe leaves, Sammy marries Rosa and moves with her to the suburbs, where they raise her son Tommy in what outwardly appears to be a typical traditional nuclear family.

Sammy and Rosa cannot hide all their secrets from Tommy, however, who manages to take private magic lessons in the Empire State Building from Joe for the better part of year without anyone else's knowledge. Tommy is instrumental in finally reuniting the Kavalier and Clay duo, which works with renewed enthusiasm to find a new creative direction for comics. Joe moves into Sammy and Rosa's house. Shortly afterwards, Sammy's homosexuality is revealed on public television. This further complicates the attempts of Rosa, Sammy, and Joe to reconstitute a family. In the end, despite Joe and Rosa's efforts to convince Sammy to stay, he leaves the house in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.

Many events in the novel are based on the lives of actual comic-book creators including Jack Kirby (to whom the book is dedicated in the afterword), Bob Kane, Stan Lee, Jerry Siegel, Joe Shuster, Joe Simon, Will Eisner, and Jim Steranko. Other historical figures play minor roles, including Salvador Dalí, Al Smith, Orson Welles, and Fredric Wertham. The novel's time span roughly mirrors that of the Golden Age of Comics itself, starting from shortly after the debut of Superman and concluding with the Kefauver Senate hearings, two events often used to demarcate the era.

Characters

Josef 'Joe' Kavalier – One of the titular characters- a 19-year-old Jewish refugee from Prague.

• Sammy Klayman, a.k.a. Sam Clay - The other titular character - Joe Kavalier's 17-year-old American cousin.
• Rosa Saks - A bohemian artist that becomes Joe's love interest and later Sam's wife.
• Tracy Bacon - A handsome actor who plays the Escapist and helps Sam come to terms with his sexual identity. He helps add to the theme of escapism, and helps Sammy metaphorically escape out of his body.
• Sheldon Anapol - The owner of Empire Comics, the company that Sam and Joe work for.
• George Deasey - Chief editor of Empire Comics.
• The Escapist - Comic book superhero and brainchild of Kavalier & Clay. Embodies the wishes of the cousins.
• Luna Moth - Kavalier & Clay's primary female character. Joe came up with her largely on his own after meeting Rosa Saks.
• Bernard Kornblum - Joe Kavalier's magic and escapology teacher in Prague.
• Ethel Klayman - Sam Clay's mother.
• Thomas Kavalier - Joe Kavalier's younger brother.
• Thomas Edison Clay - Joe Kavalier and Rosa Clay née Saks' natural son and Sam Clay's stepson. Told he is Sam Clay's son until the reappearance of "cousin Joe."
• Longman Harkoo - The father of Rosa Saks, father-in-law to Sam Clay.
• Reception

Entertainment Weekly put it on its end-of-the-decade "best-of" list, saying, "This 2000 novel blended comic books, Jewish mysticism, and American history into something truly amazing.

POEMS

All Watched Over
by Machines of Loving Grace

by Richard Brautigan

I'd like to think (and
the sooner the better!)
of a cybernetic meadow
where mammals and computers
live together in mutually
programming harmony
like pure water
touching clear sky.

I like to think
   (right now, please!)
of a cybernetic forest
filled with pines and electronics
where deer stroll peacefully
past computers
as if they were flowers
with spinning blossoms.

I like to think
   (it has to be!)
of a cybernetic ecology
where we are free of our labors
and joined back to nature,
returned to our mammal brothers and sisters,
and all watched over
by machines of loving grace.

The Red Wheelbarrow

William Carlos Williams, 1883 - 1963

so much depends

upon

a red wheel

barrow

glazed with rain

water

beside the white

chickens.

This Is Just To Say

William Carlos Williams, 1883 - 1963

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold

One Art

Elizabeth Bishop, 1911 - 1979

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

places, and names, and where it was you meant

to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or

next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,

some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.

I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident

the art of losing’s not too hard to master

though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Since feeling is first

by E. E. Cummings

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
—the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

Ulysses

by Alfred Lord Tennyson

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match’d with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy’d
Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
Thro’ scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour’d of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!
As tho’ to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

   This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,—
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro’ soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

   There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil’d, and wrought, and thought with me—
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
’Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

In Search of Evanescence

By Agha Shahid Ali

When on Route 80 in Ohio
I came across an exit
to Calcutta

the temptation to write a poem
led me past the exit
so I could say

India always exists
off the turnpikes
of America

so I could say
I did take the exit
and crossed Howrah

and even mention the Ganges
as it continued its sobbing
under the bridge

so when i paid my toll
i saw trains rush by
one after one

on their roofs old passengers
each ready to surrender
his bones for tickets

so that i heard
the sun’s percussion
on tamarind leaves

heard the empty cans of children
filling only with the shadows
of leaves

that behind the unloading trucks
were the voices of vendors
bargaining over women

so when the trees
let down their tresses
the monsoon oiled and braided them

and when the wind again parted them
this was the temptation
to end the poem this way:

the warm rains have left
many dead on the pavements

the signs to route 80
all have disappeared

and now the road is a river
polished silver by cars

the cars are urns
carrying ashes to the sea

 

Esse

By Czeslaw Milosz

I looked at that face, dumbfounded. The lights of métro stations flew by; I didn't notice them. What can be done, if our sight lacks absolute power to devour objects ecstatically, in an instant, leaving nothing more than the void of an ideal form, a sign like a hieroglyph simplified from the drawing of an animal or bird? A slightly snub nose, a high brow with sleekly brushed-back hair, the line of the chin - but why isn't the power of sight absolute? - and in a whiteness tinged with pink two sculpted holes, containing a dark, lustrous lava. To absorb that face but to have it simultaneously against the background of all spring boughs, walls, waves, in its weeping, its laughter, moving it back fifteen years, or ahead thirty. To have. It is not even a desire. Like a butterfly, a fish, the stem of a plant, only more mysterious. And so it befell me that after so many attempts at naming the world, I am able only to repeat, harping on one string, the highest, the unique avowal beyond which no power can attain: I am, she is. Shout, blow the trumpets, make thousands-strong marches, leap, rend your clothing, repeating only: is!

She got out at Raspail. I was left behind with the immensity of existing things. A sponge, suffering because it cannot saturate itself; a river, suffering because reflections of clouds and trees are not clouds and trees.

Ghazal

BY AGHA SHAHID ALI

Feel the patient’s heart

Pounding—oh please, this once—

—JAMES MERRILL

I’ll do what I must if I’m bold in real time.

A refugee, I’ll be paroled in real time.

Cool evidence clawed off like shirts of hell-fire?

A former existence untold in real time ...

The one you would choose: Were you led then by him?

What longing, O Yaar, is controlled in real time?

Each syllable sucked under waves of our earth—

The funeral love comes to hold in real time!

They left him alive so that he could be lonely—

The god of small things is not consoled in real time.

Please afterwards empty my pockets of keys—

It’s hell in the city of gold in real time.

God’s angels again are—for Satan!—forlorn.

Salvation was bought but sin sold in real time.

And who is the terrorist, who the victim?

We’ll know if the country is polled in real time.

“Behind a door marked DANGER” are being unwound

the prayers my friend had enscrolled in real time.

The throat of the rearview and sliding down it

the Street of Farewell’s now unrolled in real time.

I heard the incessant dissolving of silk—

I felt my heart growing so old in real time.

Her heart must be ash where her body lies burned.

What hope lets your hands rake the cold in real time?

Now Friend, the Belovèd has stolen your words—

Read slowly: The plot will unfold in real time.

(for Daniel Hall)

Kid

Batman, big shot, when you gave the order
to grow up, then let me loose to wander
leeward, freely through the wild blue yonder
as you liked to say, or ditched me, rather,
in the gutter ... well, I turned the corner.
Now I've scotched that 'he was like a father
to me' rumour, sacked it, blown the cover
on that 'he was like an elder brother'
story, let the cat out on that caper
with the married woman, how you took her
downtown on expenses in the motor.
Holy robin-redbreast-nest-egg-shocker!
Holy roll-me-over-in the-clover,
I'm not playing ball boy any longer
Batman, now I've doffed that off-the-shoulder
Sherwood-Forest-green and scarlet number
for a pair of jeans and crew-neck jumper;
now I'm taller, harder, stronger, older.
Batman, it makes a marvellous picture:
you without a shadow, stewing over
chicken giblets in the pressure cooker,
next to nothing in the walk-in larder
punching the palm of your hand all winter,
you baby, now I'm the real boy wonder.

The Flash Reverses Time

BY A. VAN JORDAN

DC Comics, November 1990, #44

“Never Look Back, Flash

Your Life Might Be Gaining On You”

When I’m running across the city

on the crowded streets

to home, when, in a blur,

the grass turns brown

beneath my feet, the asphalt

steams under every step

and the maple leaves sway

on the branches in my wake,

and the people look,

look in that bewildered way,

in my direction, I imagine

walking slowly into my past

among them at a pace

at which we can look one another in the eye

and begin to make changes in the future

from our memories of the past—

the bottom of a bottomless well,

you may think, but why not dream a little:

our past doesn’t contradict our future;

they’re swatches of the same fabric

stretching across our minds,

one image sewn into another,

like the relationship between a foot and a boot,

covariant in space and time—

one moves along with the other,

like an actor in a shadow play—

like a streak of scarlet light

across the skyline of your city

sweeping the debris, which is simply confetti,

candy wrappers, a can of soda,

all the experience of a day discarded

and now picked up

even down to the youthful screams of play

that put smiles on the faces of the adults

who hear remnants of their own voices

through a doorway leading back

to a sunrise they faintly remember.

Einstein Doing the Math

I turn to the black expanse of the chalk

board and the numbers spill

from my skull first and from fingertips

in time. Time in mathematics

brings complications, sequentially.

Numbers demand order and orders

demand numbers to behave. Otherwise,

one places one digit out of place

and an entire world loses

equilibrium. Someone determines that

one number is the temperature to freeze,

someone else realizes another number brings water

to a boil, but someone got the math wrong

and -- now, if you'll allow me to dream --

the bombs pull us closer together

instead of separating the masses.

Working an equation is as tedious as a comedian

working a room, timing when to drop

the solution to our worries so profoundly we rear back

and laugh at them. Or, for those without

a sense of humor, math can be as simple as buttoning

a blouse, really: after you misfeed the first button,

though, every move of the hand, no matter how sincere,

becomes a lie.

• A VAN JORDAN(AUTHOR)

Einstein Ruminates on Relativity 
INT. Theater. 1931—NIGHT
Premiere of City Lights starring CHARLES CHAPLIN, New York City, Albert Einstein is Chaplin's invited guest. They sit together and the audience stands to applaud them.
Charlie Chaplin tells me
that the world loves him
because they understand him
and the world loves me 
because they don't, which doesn't seem fair
but it's true: This is relativity.
Journalists ask for a definition,
but the answers are all around:
a woman loves you for a lifetime
and it feels like a day; she tells you 
she's leaving, breaking it off,
and that day feels like a lifetime, 
passing slowly. I listen to Armstrong
play his cornet and it sounds 
like a Wednesday afternoon in heaven; 
some hear Armstrong play 
and it sounds like a Monday morning
in Manhattan. Some hear the war on the radio
and they hear acts of love; some
hear details of the war and it sounds
futile. Outside my window
people decry the rain;
somewhere else people pray 
for rain to run down their faces.

Midway By Naomi Long Madgett

I've come this far to freedom and I won't turn back
I'm climbing to the highway from my old dirt track
     I'm coming and I'm going
     And I'm stretching and I'm growing
And I'll reap what I've been sowing or my skin's not black 
I've prayed and slaved and waited and I've sung my song
You've bled me and you've starved me but I've still grown strong
     You've lashed me and you've treed me 
     And you've everything but freed me
But in time you'll know you need me and it won't be long. 
I've seen the daylight breaking high above the bough
I've found my destination and I've made my vow;
     So whether you abhor me 
      Or deride me or ignore me
Mighty mountains loom before me and I won't stop now.

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