“I do not
think we can exaggerate the fundamental unity of all art and all experience. In
both alike the individual is examining his environment to see what chances of
survival it affords him. This does not mean that he is looking for nuts to gnaw
or a cow to milk; it means that he seeks circumstances in which his soul can
exercise certain choices.”
For West,
this is virtually what it means to be human. She has a way of describing, usually
without trivializing or indulging in confession, deeply personal experiences
and relating them to larger themes – in this case, the way we produce and
consume works of art. That would become one of her trademarks as a writer, a
method she perfected in Black Lamb and Grey Falcon: A Journey Through
Yugoslavia (1941).
Her
evaluation of Ulysses, which from the start had attracted at least as
many acolytes and exegetes as readers, is refreshingly mixed. She describes Joyce
as “a great man who is entirely without taste,” a failing that results in “the
gross sentimentality which is his most fundamental error.” She writes: “Seduced
by his use of a heterodox technique into believing himself to be a wholly
emancipated writer, James Joyce is not at all ahead of his times in his
enslavement to the sentimental.” On the positive side she adds:
“I claim that
the interweaving rhythms of Leopold Bloom and Stephen Daedalus and Marion Bloom
make beauty, beauty of the sort whose recognition is an experience as real as
the most personal experiences we can have, which gives a sense of reassurance,
of exultant confidence in the universe, which no personal experience can give.”
Again, West
insists on relating the reader’s experience of art and “real life.” Here’s the most
intriguing portion of her essay, coming shortly after the passage quoted at the
top:
“And what
else was James Joyce doing when he wrote Ulysses? Push back the
superficial ‘story’ layer and you will come on the same process. It is the
great human game. For that reason, as Santayana has put it, ‘it might be said
of every work of art and of every natural object, that it could be made the
starting-point for a chain of inferences that should reveal the whole universe’;
and it follows that all works of art are valuable to any human being who is
part of the civilization that produced them. They will confirm his own
researches into a common problem.”
The Santayana
passage she quotes can be found in the “Goethe’s Faust” chapter in Three
Philosophical Poets: Lucretius, Dante, and Goethe (1910):
“Heard
philosophies are sweet, but those unheard may be sweeter. They may be more
unmixed and more profound for being adopted unconsciously, for being lived
rather than taught. This is not merely to say what might be said of every work
of art and of every natural object, that it could be made the starting-point
for a chain of inferences that should reveal the whole universe, like the
flower in the crannied wall. It is to say, rather, that the vital straining
towards an ideal, definite but latent, when it dominates a whole life, may
express that ideal more fully than could the best-chosen words.”
Santayana,
with his allusions to Keats and Tennyson, seems to take West’s point for granted.
Each accomplished work of art is ours by inheritance, and from each we might
derive the civilization that produced it. Art genetically encodes its origin. This
suggests that Joyce’s boast, that if Dublin “one day suddenly disappeared from
the Earth it could be reconstructed out of my book [Ulysses],” may have merit.
In a letter
to her publisher Jonathan Cape, written in December 1927, West describes her Joyce
essay as “probably the first estimate to be done neither praying nor vomiting.
In it I come to the conclusion that though it is ugly and incompetent it is a work
of art. That is to say it is necessary.” She goes on to outline the “double
and vital function” Ulysses and all true art fulfills:
“Firstly it makes
a collective external brain for man; secondly it presents certain formal relations
to man which suggest a universe more easy in certain respects than the one he
knows.”
This puts me in mind of the Emerson quote that James Jones put at the beginning of From Here to Eternity: "The Sphinx must solve her own riddle. If the whole of history is in one man, it is all to be explained from individual experience."
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