Reading Pavese's diaries. The illusion the book offers is that it can represent time moving faster than it does, that we could skip over events and get an overview. What this neglects, and the diary form restores, is that the insight is the event, par excellence, in the best literary sense. The book ignores the philosophical basic tenet that knowledge of the truth, and the gaining of that knowledge, constitutes a valuable kind of condensing that the "sequence of events" leading up to it obviates in their importance. This event marks a beginning of a new *order* of events on a certain plane.
Perhaps Pavese was akind of "backwards" person in that he ended his biological life at precisely the time that a certain mythical (fictional or poeticas) figure dissolved of itself.
Small occurances which are trifling in the large (macro) world, but momentous in the microworld.
Satie: the "child's" march. Self-importance of these little men.
That some writers (Pavese is one) cannot sustain very much joy in life- a factor which makes their words appear more ironic than they are. (Karl Kraus: the closer you look at a word, the more distantly it looks back).
We venerate the sustained effort it takes to write a book- and are blind to the sustained effort it takes to live a life. Or should I say- go blind in the sustained effort it takes to live a life. But intellectuals romanticize their losses- try to build something out of them. Other people feel an absence and try to find a way to shrug it off. The annoying tendency that intllectuals have of celebrating *all* perceptions- including odious ones. I mean , I can admire the way you cannibalize your own experiences without really enjoying it.
But this is all a vicious cycle, in a sense.
Do I burst your bubble in order to make to make you look at mine?
The coffee grinder and her lover
Eventful vs. non-eventful
Could touch- feel the difference
Together whisper forth
Can place it