"A man behind her, whose presence she had been unaware of, laughed. She turned and saw a 'delicate, chiseled face and penetrating blue eyes.' It was fate: 'At that moment,' she later wrote, 'we were lovers.'"
So reads the screwy first paragraph of "Reimagining Art, One Threesome at a Time" by Lauren Elkin (reviewing "Spellbound by Marcel Duchamp, Love, and Art" by Ruth Brandon)(NYT).
I say screwy because the man with the chiseled face was Marcel Duchamp, so, contrary to impression given by the phrase that precedes "a fly flew into her mouth," Wood only met Duchamp after she'd swallowed the fly, and because, if Duchamp was "behind her," what was he laughing about? He doesn't seem to have been in any position to see the Varèse-honoring fly-swallowing.
There's also this: "It is questionable whether we really need the pages and pages devoted to ferreting out whether or not Wood actually had penetrative sex with her various lovers, or stray anecdotes like the one in which Roché asks Wood to describe her husband’s penis (referring hilariously, in his diary, to his own as 'God')."
Well, we don't really need any of this, but as unnecessary things go, why the hell not?
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15 comments:
I knew an old lady who swallowed a fly
But I don’t know why she swallowed the fly
I guess she’ll die
I knew and old lady who swallowed a spider
That wiggled and giggled and tickled inside her
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly
But I don’t know why she swallowed the fly
I guess she’ll die
This will end with a horse... She's Dead; of course
This is such an Althouse post. And I mean that in the best possible way. Where else will I find The Insurrection butted up against Marcel Duchamp, Edgar Varese, and Beatrice Wood, with a mention of penetration and penises thrown in for good 'measure'?
Art, social commentary, music, politics, sex. This is the stuff of life. Only thing missing is hockey and food. (although a fly was eaten).
what was he laughing about?
It was his fly, a kamikaze love fly, carefully trained from the time it was a maggot. It's the oldest trick in the book.
Somehow I don't think that really happened. Flies don't do that, nor do people. The fly is just a metaphor for penetrative sex. The fact that the man is behind her signifies that it was impersonal.
Absent the tag proliferation rule insect etiquette deserves a nod alongside insect politics…
I googled the former and there’s not much. Certainly fly fishing etiquette and camping etiquette around insect repellent but no fly swallowing.
I'll use an example of literary amusements more familiar to me. Richard Brautigan didn't need to write about Vercingetorix, Chief of the New York City Firemen, but he did, and it was good, too. Absurdity is easy to pile on, and onto.
Then, in "Le Mystere' Henri Pick," inspired by a Richard Brautigan short story, the librarian of the small town of Crozon in Brittany creates a sanctuary for manuscripts that have been rejected for publication. Years later, a young Parisian editor visiting her parents discovers this secret library and stumbles across a brilliant manuscript: The Last Hours of a Love Affair by Henri Pick, a now-deceased local pizza chef. But could a humble pizza chef have secretly been a genius novelist? As the novel becomes a surprise bestseller in France, more people begin to look into the mystery of Henri Pick to find out.
This book is described as not as good as a previous one by the same author, so hmmm.
If we only did what was necessary, we'd have a very drab existence. And I advise against swallowing the fly, whole or in part, at least without chewing first.
Little god-head?
I haven't heard the name Varese in years. His Ionization is a very cool piece of music. Frank Zappa cited Varese as an influence.
The fly had a really bad day.
Won't read it...not really a fan of mimes.
"I was orally penetrated by a fly while Duchamp laughed. In that moment, we were lovers."
So her mouth wasn't a no-fly zone?
I listened to a bit of the Edgard Varese music that was available. There were two pieces and I lasted less than a minute on each one. Awful!
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