Badges of Horror in The Dutch Virgin

After all the reading of self help and entrepreneurial help type books see below, I felt a need to read something like a novel again. Too much self help can make you feel helpless, in the sense of: wow, I have a lot to improve. What have I done the past x years – thrown half my life away?

I tripped over Marente de Moor’s De Nederlandse maagd (The Dutch Virgin), and purchased it on my new kindle. The story plays largely in Germany, during the interbellum. The main person, a Dutch adolescent girl, is sent on a training camp for fencing in Germany. The training teacher is an German WW I veteran and the story plays against that background, and the approaching WW II.

Interesting setting that reminded me of Céline, whose work covers the same period. But what intrigued me especially in the book where the dark sides in this story.

One of the days during her stay, the girl attends a Mensur fight. I had never heard of such a ritual in Western civilisations, where opponents quite deliberately wound eachother in the face.
I got interested in this Mensur and it’s code honour. Did some research to find out where this came from. There is an excellent article on this topic that can be found on the internet, written bij the journalist Jonathan Green. It is here in the web archive.

So what is this Mensur. It is a odd kind of sword fight with swords practiced amongst student in a corps as a kind of bonding and building of character. All for self-conquest instead on winning from an opponent other than oneself.
The rules are such that there are limited defense options besides special protectives from eyes and nose and a sort of body armor. Participants typically end up with significant cuts on the face and wounds on the head, which are treated on the spot.
The remaining scars are sign of honor. An honorable practice you could easily argue is a rather brute and horrific initiation ritual.

Further down in the book there is the description of a ghostly appearance, the main characters experience. She sees the head of a wounded person, whose head is half gone.

“Zijn gezicht was maar aan een kant wet weefsel bedekt, de andere kant was een doodskop.” / “His face was only covered with tissue on one side, de other side was a skull.”

Mort a CreditThe description reminded me of the image in my head I have of the cover of Louis-Ferdinand Céline’s Mort a Credit (Death on Credit/Dood op Krediet. (Guess I had unconsciously associated the story with Celine already, as we saw). The cover of the Dutch edition from Meulenhoff had a similar picture on the cover.
Now on my qui vive for disgust, I started noticing more of these horror references.
Description of decaying bodies killed or wounded in battle. Fermentation of animals, which makes meat tender. (Eskimo’s seem to fill seal carcasses with dead birds to enrich the fermentation process. Kiviak, I found. See http://www.odditycentral.com/pics/kiviaq-probably-the-worlds-most-disgusting-meat-dish.html. I understand they eat the bird (not the seal meat) “fresh, right out of the seal-bag after a couple of months of breeding). Referred to as in the book as a decadent rotting. The doctor manufactures a hand from a foot and and nose out of cheek tissue. And there is a link to the Golem mentioned earlier in the book, created through a ‘Procedure (Mulsich Procedure), but here the doctor has taken an almost dead man from the battlefield and resurrected him through physical and mental patch work.

No I have arrived in this space, other linkages with other well known Dutch writers: one of the protagonists has suffered from a dissociative diaorder – he thinks he is doppelgänger of himself. Which of course is the main theme of Hermans’ De donkere kamer van Damocles / The Darkroom of Damocles. And twins (I don’t see a relation to the theme in Tessa de Loo’s De Tweeling), but the notion of a shadow-soul that follows us around, and after death passes on our experience to another body is interesting concept (and again may associates with Hermans, this time Engelbewaarder / Memories of a guardian angel). Not sure whether the writer has made it up or I can’t simply find a reference, but I could not validate it let alone find more information on that.

One last concept to touch on is the “Sippenhaftung”, horror of another kind another. I think this is the main theme for the book. The girl’s father has commited a sin, for which the girl is paying: Sippenhaftung. That’s Sippenhaftung: an honor is blemished, the relatives of the offender are paying for the sins of the offender. A concept Hitler reintroduced after the attack on his life by Von Stauffenberg. (By the way is seems Hitler opposed the practice of Mensur, it seems.) Other great nation states like North Korea and Chechnia are practicing this kind of right.

Stranded — Greil Marcus over het desert island album dilemma

Welk album neem je mee naar een onbewoond eiland?

Boek cover van mijn oude kopie van stranded van greil marcus

Greil Marcus liet in 1979 twintig Amerikaanse rockcritici hun desert island disc kiezen en hun keuze verdedigen in Stranded. Dit soort literatuur kan ik eindeloos blijven lezen. Of er een blog of podcast over maken. Misschien bestaat die al, maar ik ben te lui om het uit te zoeken.

Show Image

Het boek schetst een mooi beeld van de jaren 60 en 70, en natuurlijk de rockscene uit de tijd dat vinyl nog mainstream was. Sommige bands zijn behoorlijk obscuur geworden. The Ronettes, oké, die herinner ik me nog, en veel jongeren hebben vast weleens een nummer van ze gehoord. Maar Little Willie John, Hugh Smith… Ik kan me niet herinneren ooit van ze te hebben gehoord. En ik was destijds wel met muziek bezig, las verwoed over het onderwerp: Oor, Rolling Stone, NME.

De keuzes in het boek zijn verrassend divers. Lester Bangs kiest voor Astral Weeks van Van Morrison. Greil Marcus zelf voor de New York Dolls’ debuut. Ellen Willis verdedigt Captain Beefheart’s Trout Mask Replica. Wat deze essays interessant maakt is niet zozeer de keuze, maar de argumentatie. Waarom dit album? Wat zegt het over wie je bent? Over wat muziek voor je betekent?

Het desert island disc gedachte-experiment dwingt je tot het onmogelijke: één album voor altijd. Geen variatie, geen afwisseling. Je moet kiezen tussen emotionele diepgang (Van Morrison) of intellectuele complexiteit (Beefheart), tussen nostalgie (The Ronettes) of energie (New York Dolls). De critici in Stranded worstelen hier allemaal mee, en dat worstelen maakt het boek goed.

Marcus verzamelde de essays voor Stranded in een tijd waarin muziekcritiek serieus genomen werd. Toen rockcritici als intellectuelen werden beschouwd, niet als marketingafdelingen. Het boek ademt die tijd.

Welk album zou jij meenemen?


Meer boekrecensies.
Meer over muziek.

The God of Small Things (Arundhati Roy) – Read During a Flight Disaster

The €6,000 Flight Disaster

My flight from JFK to Johannesburg was cancelled. The travel agency had made an error with my booking, and I wasn’t on the alternative flight through Atlanta they offered. After a stressful night at the Marriott near JFK and numerous phone calls, they arranged a new flight for the next day.

The price? The new ticket had gone up from €2,900 to €4,200. Total flying cost for this trip: €6,000 for a single economy ticket.

Discovering The God of Small Things

While waiting at JFK for my rescheduled flight, I wandered into the airport bookshop and bought The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy.

The novel tells the story of fraternal twins Rahel and Estha in Kerala, India. It’s about forbidden love, family tragedy, and how small moments shape entire lives. Roy won the Booker Prize for this debut novel in 1997.

Reading in a Dreamy Half-Conscious State

The flight was less difficult than expected, though I slept less than I hoped. I watched three movies: Bewitched (crap), Batman Begins, and Caché with the most beautiful woman on earth: Juliette Binoche.

Between the movies and fitful sleep, I finished The God of Small Things.

Arundhati Roy - the god of small things book cover

The book is wonderful, though in my mind, I’ll always associate it with the dreamy state of half-consciousness I was in while reading it somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. Roy’s lyrical, fragmented narrative style matched perfectly with that jet-lagged mental fog. The way she plays with time and memory—jumping back and forth, revealing the tragedy in pieces—felt right for reading at 30,000 feet with no sense of time or place.

Maybe that’s the perfect way to read this particular book: untethered, floating, between worlds.

I checked in at the Sandton Sun and Towers hotel in Johannesburg. Villamoura, the hotel’s restaurant, is an absolute must—their calamari is exquisite. I collapsed after that, still thinking about Rahel and Estha.


More on book reviews via my book reviews page,

You Kill It, We Grill It – everything I like about Seligman

martin seligman at ted

I was searching for Martin Seligman, after watching his TED talk, but hit this site  from Seligman, Arizona.

I wanted to go there immediately. Fantastic, these all American images on that site. I imagine sitting on the porch of one of these houses, in a rocking chair. All according to the cliches. Cowboys shouting in the saloon next door.

Horses loosely attached to the fench rail.

Sporadically cars drive by, suspending large clouds of dust.

At least four reasons to stop at Seligman on your Route 66 road trip:

Everything I said. Well, that’s all.

  • The Roadkill Café – “You Kill It, We Grill It!”
  • Historic Route 66 General Store
  • Route 66 Motel – “All of our rooms are newly remodeled, including new mattresses to ensure maximum  sleep comfort”
  • The site’s visit counter is at 4951 last time I visited (July 2015).

The Roadkill Café - “You Kill It, We Grill It!”

Plakias, 2015

Plakias - photo by niek de greef

Vroeg wakker. De wind is gaan liggen. De krekels hebben de overhand gekregen. De muggen zien hun kans schoon, en hebben het voorzien op A. Ik sla er een plat. Een grote rode plek op het laken. Hij is traag geworden van al dat bloed.

Gisteren de oude Fiesta ingeruild na een lekke band. We waren die auto helemaal zat. Onveilig, vies, onbetrouwbaar. Het verhuurbedrijf is om de hoek hier. Ik denk dat ze bijna failliet zijn. Oude auto’s, geklooi met overpompen van benzine.

De behaarde Griek zit in een hemd achter een bureau dat is volgestapeld met papieren. Hij zeurt over benzine. Ik over dat ze ons een lege tank, vlakke banden en een brakke rem op pad hebben gestuurd.

Maria staat hier al voor zevenen beneden bij het hotel, klaar voor een dag werk.

De wind is nu gaan liggen -10 uur ’s avonds. De insecten komen uit hun holen.

Knossos viel wat tegen. Pestend rijden vanuit Plakias, maar wel een mooie route, tussen Plakias en Rethymnon. Van Rethymnon en Iraklion volgen we een saaiere autoweg langs de kust.

Knossos vereist veel energie. Energie om je voor te stellen hoe indrukwekkend groot dit paleis moet zijn geweest. Energie om je voort te bewegen op het snikhete terrein.

Er staat eens suppoost met een parasol en een fluitje. Als er iemand buiten de hekjes stapt, blaast ze op haar fluitje en gilt “Get Out!”.

We eten in een dorpje voorbij Bali. Een Russische familie zit aan de tafel naast ons. Een klein varken hangt in de winkel aan de overkant te besterven.

Het is nu echt warm. We zouden bidden om wind, als we gelovig waren als de Grieken.