tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638619958588096610.post1518927309031823532..comments2023-11-22T09:11:01.567+00:00Comments on George Szirtes: The EyewitnessGeorge Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08889600788146987089noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638619958588096610.post-44877429041152979292008-08-17T16:35:00.000+01:002008-08-17T16:35:00.000+01:00Ah, I see. Thanks for clearing that up!Ah, I see. Thanks for clearing that up!Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638619958588096610.post-37027661508929025652008-08-17T11:32:00.000+01:002008-08-17T11:32:00.000+01:00There are certainly common factors, though, pretty...There are certainly common factors, though, pretty much as usual, Márai takes the least metaphysical, most psychological line. In <I>Embers</I> the relationship between two men is the point and is explored in great depth, across class, money, rank etc. In the book I am referring to, <I>The Real Thing</I> (provisional title), the suggestion is simply that we find someone we admire and transfer our superego to them. They embody our and others' expectations of ourselves.<BR/><BR/>Just an extension of 'If only mum (dad/ wife/ best friend) could see me now' and 'I'm so glad mum /dad etc are not here to see this.'<BR/><BR/>It's not metaphysical or psychotic or pathological. It is, according to Márai (or so I think) perfectly normal, if not generally admitted.George Shttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08889600788146987089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638619958588096610.post-36890639982709902008-08-16T18:16:00.000+01:002008-08-16T18:16:00.000+01:00From this description, the ‘eyewitness’ sounds lik...From this description, the ‘eyewitness’ sounds like a capitalist version of Dostoevsky’s double, Rilke’s angels, Yeats’ daimon -- and Nabokov’s stranger:<BR/><BR/><I>As usual he discriminated between the throbbing man and the one that looked on: looked on with concern, with sympathy, with a sigh, or with bland surprise… The stranger quietly watching the torrents of local grief from an abstract bank. A familiar figure, albeit anonymous and aloof. He saw me crying when I was ten and led me to a looking glass in an unused room (with an empty parrot cage in a corner) so that I might study my dissolving face. He has listened to me with raised eyebrows when I said things which I had no business to say. In every mask I tried on, there were slits for his eyes. Even at the very moment when I was rocked by the convulsion men value most. My saviour. My witness.</I> (I forget what story.)<BR/><BR/>Must admit I hadn’t heard of Márai. I’m out of touch. From the Amazon links, it looks like Embers also deals with the doppelganger theme.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com