Contentious Nobel? Let’s write a mystery thriller.

Ok, I’m not really upset about the possible Nobel Prize snubbing going on this week.  But it has caused quite a bit of talk across the globe.  I mean, really, who wants to share a prize?  But if you’re interested, here‘s a fun article.

I especially enjoyed the last paragraph – instead of sharing, let’s kill people.  Way to inspire, Nobel committee!

After 40 years, I want my half.

In just over 10 days, my parents will celebrate their 30th anniversary.  I wonder about this.  It’s an odd thought, as I have not lived with anyone for 30 years, including myself.  What does that DO to you, being around the same person for such a span of time?  I can’t imagine – it has to be something shaping and profound.  The two of them probably don’t understand it completely themselves.

And yet, even in such lengthy entanglements, there’s still a distinctive ‘I’.  People still get divorced, maybe only staying together until the children are grown.  People still get remarried, even when there may not be 30 (or 40) years left to enjoy one another’s company.  What does this mean?  Are we all just lonely?  Are we all just bad-tempered enough that eventually we can’t get along?

In Cambodia, for one couple, the ‘get away’ urge was overpowering.  After the couple separated (they did not legally divorce), the husband physically removed his possessions – including half of the house – to get away from his wife.  Drastic, yes.  Necessary?  I wouldn’t claim to know.

I’m sure it was a move somewhat precipitated by anger and bitterness.  I’m sure it’s something he will later regret.  A house, once split, doesn’t reunite cleanly, and I’m sure having only half a house detracts from the value of each half.  What do you do when it rains, and you’re missing walls?  But then again, what do you do when you can no longer peacefully coexist with your wife of 40 years?

Le Clezio – what do we think?

So, the word is out – Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clezio is the winner of this years Nobel Prize for Literature.  Supposedly, he’s French, I guess because he was born in Nice.  But somehow, I don’t consider him real-French, even though he lived in France during his formative years.  Perhaps it’s because he seems so much more flexible and various than more insular francophones, or because of his recent interview with Label France in which he reveals he ‘has always felt like an exile in his own country because of his family’s roots in Mauritius, a mixed culture with Indian, African, and European influences’.  “I grew up telling myself that there was a somewhere else which embodied my true homeland,” he told the magazine. “One day I would go there and I would know what it was. So in France I always thought of myself a little bit of an ‘outsider.’ On the other hand, I love the French language, which is perhaps my true country! But thinking of France as a nation, I must say I have rarely identified with its priorities.”

This interests me.  The topics of his work interest me.  The idea of the novel and language to describe those deeper truths about life is powerful.  In particular, the idea of some sort of jumbled and distraught modern life being portrayed in a similar jumble fashion is interesting to me.  It makes me want to read.

But most of all, I respect this guy for his prolific work.  He wrote his first novel when he was eight.  Since then, he’s been going strong for the past 60 years.  That’s saying something.

Good jorb, L-C.  I salute you.