Joy

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Anna Karenina (1877)

  On coming back with Kitty from the springs, the prince, who had asked the colonel, and Marya Yevgenyevna, and Varenka all to come and have coffee with them, gave orders for a table and chairs to be taken into the garden under the chestnut tree, and lunch to be laid there. The landlord and the servants, too, grew brisker under the influence of his good spirits. They knew his open-handedness; and half an hour later the invalid doctor from Hamburg, who lived on the top floor, looked enviously out of the window at the merry party of healthy Russians assembled under the chestnut tree. In the trembling circles of shadow cast by the leaves, at a table, covered with a white cloth, and set with coffeepot, bread-and-butter, cheese, and cold game, sat the princess in a high cap with lilac ribbons, distributing cups and bread-and-butter. At the other end sat the prince, eating heartily, and talking loudly and merrily. The prince had spread out near him his purchases, carved boxes, and knick-knacks, paper-knives of all sorts, of which he bought a heap at every watering-place, and bestowed them upon everyone, including Lieschen, the servant girl, and the landlord, with whom he jested in his comically bad German, assuring him that it was not the water had cured Kitty, but his splendid cookery, especially his plum soup. The princess laughed at her husband for his Russian ways, but she was more lively and good-humored than she had been all the while she had been at the waters. The colonel smiled, as he always did, at the prince’s jokes, but as far as regards Europe, of which he believed himself to be making a careful study, he took the princess’s side. The simple-hearted Marya Yevgenyevna simply roared with laughter at everything absurd the prince said, and his jokes made Varenka helpless with feeble but infectious laughter, which was something Kitty had never seen before. Kitty was glad of all this, but she could not be light-hearted. She could not solve the problem her father had unconsciously set her by his good-humored view of her friends, and of the life that had so attracted her. To this doubt there was joined the change in her relations with the Petrovs, which had been so conspicuously and unpleasantly marked that morning. Everyone was good-humored, but Kitty could not feel good-humored, and this increased her distress. She felt a feeling such as she had known in childhood, when she had been shut in her room as a punishment, and had heard her sisters’ merry laughter outside. “Well, but what did you buy this mass of things for?” said the princess, smiling, and handing her husband a cup of coffee. “One goes for a walk, one looks in a shop, and they ask you to buy. ‘_Erlaucht, Durchlaucht?_’ Directly they say ‘_Durchlaucht_,’ I can’t hold out. I lose ten thalers.” “It’s simply from boredom,” said the princess.

• From Anna Karenina (1877)

  “Who’s that? Your son?” asked Levin. “My baby,” said the old man with a tender smile. “What a fine fellow!” “The lad’s all right.” “Married already?” “Yes, it’s two years last St. Philip’s day.” “Any children?” “Children indeed! Why, for over a year he was innocent as a babe himself, and bashful too,” answered the old man. “Well, the hay! It’s as fragrant as tea!” he repeated, wishing to change the subject. Levin looked more attentively at Ivan Parmenov and his wife. They were loading a haycock onto the cart not far from him. Ivan Parmenov was standing on the cart, taking, laying in place, and stamping down the huge bundles of hay, which his pretty young wife deftly handed up to him, at first in armfuls, and then on the pitchfork. The young wife worked easily, merrily, and dexterously. The close-packed hay did not once break away off her fork. First she gathered it together, stuck the fork into it, then with a rapid, supple movement leaned the whole weight of her body on it, and at once with a bend of her back under the red belt she drew herself up, and arching her full bosom under the white smock, with a smart turn swung the fork in her arms, and flung the bundle of hay high onto the cart. Ivan, obviously doing his best to save her every minute of unnecessary labor, made haste, opening his arms to clutch the bundle and lay it in the cart. As she raked together what was left of the hay, the young wife shook off the bits of hay that had fallen on her neck, and straightening the red kerchief that had dropped forward over her white brow, not browned like her face by the sun, she crept under the cart to tie up the load. Ivan directed her how to fasten the cord to the cross-piece, and at something she said he laughed aloud. In the expressions of both faces was to be seen vigorous, young, freshly awakened love. Chapter 12 The load was tied on. Ivan jumped down and took the quiet, sleek horse by the bridle. The young wife flung the rake up on the load, and with a bold step, swinging her arms, she went to join the women, who were forming a ring for the haymakers’ dance. Ivan drove off to the road and fell into line with the other loaded carts. The peasant women, with their rakes on their shoulders, gay with bright flowers, and chattering with ringing, merry voices, walked behind the hay cart. One wild untrained female voice broke into a song, and sang it alone through a verse, and then the same verse was taken up and repeated by half a hundred strong healthy voices, of all sorts, coarse and fine, singing in unison.

• From Anna Karenina (1877)

  Shrinking from the cold, Levin walked rapidly, looking at the ground. “What’s that? Someone coming,” he thought, catching the tinkle of bells, and lifting his head. Forty paces from him a carriage with four horses harnessed abreast was driving towards him along the grassy road on which he was walking. The shaft-horses were tilted against the shafts by the ruts, but the dexterous driver sitting on the box held the shaft over the ruts, so that the wheels ran on the smooth part of the road. This was all Levin noticed, and without wondering who it could be, he gazed absently at the coach. In the coach was an old lady dozing in one corner, and at the window, evidently only just awake, sat a young girl holding in both hands the ribbons of a white cap. With a face full of light and thought, full of a subtle, complex inner life, that was remote from Levin, she was gazing beyond him at the glow of the sunrise. At the very instant when this apparition was vanishing, the truthful eyes glanced at him. She recognized him, and her face lighted up with wondering delight. He could not be mistaken. There were no other eyes like those in the world. There was only one creature in the world that could concentrate for him all the brightness and meaning of life. It was she. It was Kitty. He understood that she was driving to Ergushovo from the railway station. And everything that had been stirring Levin during that sleepless night, all the resolutions he had made, all vanished at once. He recalled with horror his dreams of marrying a peasant girl. There only, in the carriage that had crossed over to the other side of the road, and was rapidly disappearing, there only could he find the solution of the riddle of his life, which had weighed so agonizingly upon him of late. She did not look out again. The sound of the carriage-springs was no longer audible, the bells could scarcely be heard. The barking of dogs showed the carriage had reached the village, and all that was left was the empty fields all round, the village in front, and he himself isolated and apart from it all, wandering lonely along the deserted highroad. He glanced at the sky, expecting to find there the cloud shell he had been admiring and taking as the symbol of the ideas and feelings of that night. There was nothing in the sky in the least like a shell. There, in the remote heights above, a mysterious change had been accomplished. There was no trace of shell, and there was stretched over fully half the sky an even cover of tiny and ever tinier cloudlets. The sky had grown blue and bright; and with the same softness, but with the same remoteness, it met his questioning gaze.

• From Anna Karenina (1877)

  “I’m happy, very happy!” he said to himself. He had often before had this sense of physical joy in his own body, but he had never felt so fond of himself, of his own body, as at that moment. He enjoyed the slight ache in his strong leg, he enjoyed the muscular sensation of movement in his chest as he breathed. The bright, cold August day, which had made Anna feel so hopeless, seemed to him keenly stimulating, and refreshed his face and neck that still tingled from the cold water. The scent of brilliantine on his whiskers struck him as particularly pleasant in the fresh air. Everything he saw from the carriage window, everything in that cold pure air, in the pale light of the sunset, was as fresh, and gay, and strong as he was himself: the roofs of the houses shining in the rays of the setting sun, the sharp outlines of fences and angles of buildings, the figures of passers-by, the carriages that met him now and then, the motionless green of the trees and grass, the fields with evenly drawn furrows of potatoes, and the slanting shadows that fell from the houses, and trees, and bushes, and even from the rows of potatoes—everything was bright like a pretty landscape just finished and freshly varnished. “Get on, get on!” he said to the driver, putting his head out of the window, and pulling a three-rouble note out of his pocket he handed it to the man as he looked round. The driver’s hand fumbled with something at the lamp, the whip cracked, and the carriage rolled rapidly along the smooth highroad. “I want nothing, nothing but this happiness,” he thought, staring at the bone button of the bell in the space between the windows, and picturing to himself Anna just as he had seen her last time. “And as I go on, I love her more and more. Here’s the garden of the Vrede Villa. Whereabouts will she be? Where? How? Why did she fix on this place to meet me, and why does she write in Betsy’s letter?” he thought, wondering now for the first time at it. But there was now no time for wonder. He called to the driver to stop before reaching the avenue, and opening the door, jumped out of the carriage as it was moving, and went into the avenue that led up to the house. There was no one in the avenue; but looking round to the right he caught sight of her. Her face was hidden by a veil, but he drank in with glad eyes the special movement in walking, peculiar to her alone, the slope of the shoulders, and the setting of the head, and at once a sort of electric shock ran all over him. With fresh force, he felt conscious of himself from the springy motions of his legs to the movements of his lungs as he breathed, and something set his lips twitching.

• From Querelle (1953)

  tasies: a swagger, expressed in hips or shoulders; snapping your fingers to pun�tuate your words; blowing out cigarette smoke from one comer of the mouth; adjusting the belt buckle with the flat of your hand . . . , favorite expressions, out-of-the-way accessories : a plaited belt, thin-soled shoes, diagonal trouser pockets, all of them indications of the adolescent's fine awareness of such particulars as they appear in the world of men, more precisely, among the proud members of the criminal culture ) , but the very splendor inherent in that realization could only terrify someone as young as Gil. It would have been easier to accept even a very fast transition to the status of stickup artist or pimp, aspired to by every comer boy. But to be a murderer-that was almost too much for his eighteen years. Yet he had to try to benefit from the prestige he had won by that act. He was naive enough to assume that the real heavies would be glad to receive him into their order. Querelle knew the contrary to be the case. The process which finally brings forth a murderer is in itself so weird that whoever goes through it becomes a kind of hero. He remains free of the negative funkiness of crime. The professionals have a fine nose for this, and there are few killers among them. "I'll check him out. I have to talk to Nona. We'll see what can be done." "But what do you think? I mean, I've shown what I can do." "Yeah. You sure have. Anyhow, you can count on me. I'll keep you posted." "And Robert? I could work with Robert." "Do you know who he's working with?" "With Dede, I know that. He used to be a buddy of mine. I know that they stick together, even though Mario doesn't like it. But he leaves 'em alone. \Vhen you see Robert, why don't you ask him if I could swing things with the two of them. But don't tell him where I am." 111 I QUERELLE Querelle suddenly felt very pleased, not because he found himself in this cave dedicated to evil doings, but because he had in his possession a much deeper secret than the one Gil had just revealed to him. Querelle's question came in a very casual, offhand tone: "But why did you snuff that sailorboy? That didn't really make sense to me."

• From Querelle (1953)

  Insolence is simply an expression of our confidence in our wit, our speech. Lieutenant Seblon's innate cowardice was merely due to his physical recoil from any strong male, and to his certainty that he would be defeated : thus he had to compensate for it by an insolent attitude. At the time of the decisive scene (which, according to the habitual rules of narrative logic, we ought to have put at the end of this book) , his encounter with Gil at Police Headquarters, he approached the Police Commissioner in a manner that was high and mighty at first and then switched to the openly insulting. It was only too evident that he had recognized Gil as his attacker. He denied this only out of his adherence to a kind of "freethinking" that had taken hold of him ever since he had gotten to know Querelle. It had developed in him, slowly at first, but then picking up speed, quite vertiginously and devastatingly. The Lieutenant was more of a freethinker than all the Querelles in the Navy, he was the purest of the pure. He was able to sustain his newfound convictions to such a rigorous degree exactly because they did not involve his body, only his mind. When he saw Gil sitting on the bench, leaning against a radiator, Seblon immediately realized what they wanted him to do : incriminate and thus stamp out this boy. But within himself, a very light breeze began to blow, down among the grasses ( "a breeze, hardly a zephyr," it said in the diary ) : it grew stronger, it inflated hin1, and finally emerged in generous gusts through his vibrant mouth-or voice-in a torrent of words. "Well, do you recognize this man?" "N o, . su, I d o t no " . "By your leave, Lieutenant-! do understand the reasons you probably have for saying that, but this is a matter of criminal justice. Besides, I won't be too hard on him, in my report." The fact that the cop had recognized his generosity spurred the Lieutenant on to further sacrifices. It elated him. 210 I JEAN GENET "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me there. My deposition is equally based on my concern for justice. How could I accuse an innocent man?" Standing in front of the desk Gil hardly heard any of this. His body and his spirit disappeared in a kind of gray mist of dawn, which was what he felt himself turning into. "Do you really think I would not be able to recognize him? The fog wasn't all that dense, and his face was so close to . , m1ne . . .

• From Anna Karenina (1877)

  He was even thinner than three years before, when Konstantin Levin had seen him last. He was wearing a short coat, and his hands and big bones seemed huger than ever. His hair had grown thinner, the same straight mustaches hid his lips, the same eyes gazed strangely and naïvely at his visitor. “Ah, Kostya!” he exclaimed suddenly, recognizing his brother, and his eyes lit up with joy. But the same second he looked round at the young man, and gave the nervous jerk of his head and neck that Konstantin knew so well, as if his neckband hurt him; and a quite different expression, wild, suffering, and cruel, rested on his emaciated face. “I wrote to you and Sergey Ivanovitch both that I don’t know you and don’t want to know you. What is it you want?” He was not at all the same as Konstantin had been fancying him. The worst and most tiresome part of his character, what made all relations with him so difficult, had been forgotten by Konstantin Levin when he thought of him, and now, when he saw his face, and especially that nervous twitching of his head, he remembered it all. “I didn’t want to see you for anything,” he answered timidly. “I’ve simply come to see you.” His brother’s timidity obviously softened Nikolay. His lips twitched. “Oh, so that’s it?” he said. “Well, come in; sit down. Like some supper? Masha, bring supper for three. No, stop a minute. Do you know who this is?” he said, addressing his brother, and indicating the gentleman in the jerkin: “This is Mr. Kritsky, my friend from Kiev, a very remarkable man. He’s persecuted by the police, of course, because he’s not a scoundrel.” And he looked round in the way he always did at everyone in the room. Seeing that the woman standing in the doorway was moving to go, he shouted to her, “Wait a minute, I said.” And with the inability to express himself, the incoherence that Konstantin knew so well, he began, with another look round at everyone, to tell his brother Kritsky’s story: how he had been expelled from the university for starting a benefit society for the poor students and Sunday schools; and how he had afterwards been a teacher in a peasant school, and how he had been driven out of that too, and had afterwards been condemned for something. “You’re of the Kiev university?” said Konstantin Levin to Kritsky, to break the awkward silence that followed. “Yes, I was of Kiev,” Kritsky replied angrily, his face darkening.

• From Anna Karenina (1877)

  For a long while he could not understand what she had written, and often looked into her eyes. He was stupefied with happiness. He could not supply the word she had meant; but in her charming eyes, beaming with happiness, he saw all he needed to know. And he wrote three letters. But he had hardly finished writing when she read them over her arm, and herself finished and wrote the answer, “Yes.” “You’re playing _secrétaire_?” said the old prince. “But we must really be getting along if you want to be in time at the theater.” Levin got up and escorted Kitty to the door. In their conversation everything had been said; it had been said that she loved him, and that she would tell her father and mother that he would come tomorrow morning. Chapter 14 When Kitty had gone and Levin was left alone, he felt such uneasiness without her, and such an impatient longing to get as quickly, as quickly as possible, to tomorrow morning, when he would see her again and be plighted to her forever, that he felt afraid, as though of death, of those fourteen hours that he had to get through without her. It was essential for him to be with someone to talk to, so as not to be left alone, to kill time. Stepan Arkadyevitch would have been the companion most congenial to him, but he was going out, he said, to a _soirée_, in reality to the ballet. Levin only had time to tell him he was happy, and that he loved him, and would never, never forget what he had done for him. The eyes and the smile of Stepan Arkadyevitch showed Levin that he comprehended that feeling fittingly. “Oh, so it’s not time to die yet?” said Stepan Arkadyevitch, pressing Levin’s hand with emotion. “N-n-no!” said Levin. Darya Alexandrovna too, as she said good-bye to him, gave him a sort of congratulation, saying, “How glad I am you have met Kitty again! One must value old friends.” Levin did not like these words of Darya Alexandrovna’s. She could not understand how lofty and beyond her it all was, and she ought not to have dared to allude to it. Levin said good-bye to them, but, not to be left alone, he attached himself to his brother. “Where are you going?” “I’m going to a meeting.” “Well, I’ll come with you. May I?” “What for? Yes, come along,” said Sergey Ivanovitch, smiling. “What is the matter with you today?” “With me? Happiness is the matter with me!” said Levin, letting down the window of the carriage they were driving in. “You don’t mind?—it’s so stifling. It’s happiness is the matter with me! Why is it you have never married?” Sergey Ivanovitch smiled. “I am very glad, she seems a nice gi....” Sergey Ivanovitch was beginning.

• From The Annotated Lolita (1991)

  Gray-faced, baggy-eyed, fluffily disheveled in a scanty balding way, but still perfectly recognizable, he swept by me in a purple bathrobe, very like one I had. He either did not notice me, or else dismissed me as some familiar and innocuous hallucination—and, showing me his hairy calves, he proceeded, sleepwalker-wise, downstairs. I pocketed my last key and followed him into the entrance hall. He had half opened his mouth and the front door, to peer out through a sunny chink as one who thinks he has heard a half-hearted visitor ring and recede. Then, still ignoring the raincoated phantasm that had stopped in midstairs, master walked into a cozy boudoir across the hall from the drawing room, through which—taking it easy, knowing he was safe—I now went away from him, and in a bar-adorned kitchen gingerly unwrapped dirty Chum, taking care not to leave any oil stains on the chrome—I think I got the wrong product, it was black and awfully messy. In my usual meticulous way, I transferred naked Chum to a clean recess about me and made for the little boudoir. My step, as I say, was springy—too springy perhaps for success. But my heart pounded with tiger joy, and I crunched a cocktail glass underfoot. Master met me in the Oriental parlor. “Now who are you?” he asked in a high hoarse voice, his hands thrust into his dressing-gown pockets, his eyes fixing a point to the northeast of my head. “Are you by any chance Brewster?” By now it was evident to everybody that he was in a fog and completely at my so-called mercy. I could enjoy myself. “That’s right,” I answered suavely. “Je suis Monsieur Brustère . Let us chat for a moment before we start.” He looked pleased. His smudgy mustache twitched. I removed my raincoat. I was wearing a black suit, a black shirt, no tie. We sat down in two easy chairs. “You know,” he said, scratching loudly his fleshy and gritty gray cheek and showing his small pearly teeth in a crooked grin, “you don’t look like Jack Brewster. I mean, the resemblance is not particularly striking. Somebody told me he had a brother with the same telephone company.” To have him trapped, after those years of repentance and rage … To look at the black hairs on the back of his pudgy hands … To wander with a hundred eyes over his purple silks and hirsute chest foreglimpsing the punctures, and mess, and music of pain … To know that this semi-animated, subhuman trickster who had sodomized my darling—oh, my darling, this was intolerable bliss! “No, I am afraid I am neither of the Brewsters.”

• From Anna Karenina (1877)

  It was one of Kitty’s best days. Her dress was not uncomfortable anywhere; her lace berthe did not droop anywhere; her rosettes were not crushed nor torn off; her pink slippers with high, hollowed-out heels did not pinch, but gladdened her feet; and the thick rolls of fair chignon kept up on her head as if they were her own hair. All the three buttons buttoned up without tearing on the long glove that covered her hand without concealing its lines. The black velvet of her locket nestled with special softness round her neck. That velvet was delicious; at home, looking at her neck in the looking-glass, Kitty had felt that that velvet was speaking. About all the rest there might be a doubt, but the velvet was delicious. Kitty smiled here too, at the ball, when she glanced at it in the glass. Her bare shoulders and arms gave Kitty a sense of chill marble, a feeling she particularly liked. Her eyes sparkled, and her rosy lips could not keep from smiling from the consciousness of her own attractiveness. She had scarcely entered the ballroom and reached the throng of ladies, all tulle, ribbons, lace, and flowers, waiting to be asked to dance—Kitty was never one of that throng—when she was asked for a waltz, and asked by the best partner, the first star in the hierarchy of the ballroom, a renowned director of dances, a married man, handsome and well-built, Yegorushka Korsunsky. He had only just left the Countess Bonina, with whom he had danced the first half of the waltz, and, scanning his kingdom—that is to say, a few couples who had started dancing—he caught sight of Kitty, entering, and flew up to her with that peculiar, easy amble which is confined to directors of balls. Without even asking her if she cared to dance, he put out his arm to encircle her slender waist. She looked round for someone to give her fan to, and their hostess, smiling to her, took it. “How nice you’ve come in good time,” he said to her, embracing her waist; “such a bad habit to be late.” Bending her left hand, she laid it on his shoulder, and her little feet in their pink slippers began swiftly, lightly, and rhythmically moving over the slippery floor in time to the music. “It’s a rest to waltz with you,” he said to her, as they fell into the first slow steps of the waltz. “It’s exquisite—such lightness, precision.” He said to her the same thing he said to almost all his partners whom he knew well.

• From The Divine Comedy (1950)

  C A N T O X V The souls of the warriors of God upon the cross of Mars cease their hymn, that Dante may converse with one of their number, who shoots like a falling star from his place and, approaching Dante with such joy as Anchises showed to Æneas in the Elysian Fields, greets him as his offspring and as the recipient of unique grace, the twice-received (now and at his death) of heaven. Dante, giving heed to him and (now first in this higher sphere) looking on Beatrice, is smitten with twofold marvel. The spirit, after rapturous words beyond the scope of the Poet’s comprehension, gives thanks to God, tells Dante how eager yet how sweet has been his longing for his arrival, foreread in the heavens; confirms his thought that the spirits see all things in God, as the true mathematician sees all numbers in the conception of unity; but bids him none the less speak out his questions, though already known to him, in God, with their appointed answers. Dante, unlike the souls in glory, has no utterance adequate to show forth his thanks. The spirit, in answer to his question, reveals himself as his great-great-grandfather, the father of Alighieri from whom the Poet’s family name is derived. He describes the ancient Florence, confined within the walls to which the Badia was adjacent, and dwells upon the simple ways of her citizens. In such a city was he born, baptized and married. Thence he followed Conrad in his crusade, was knighted, was slain, and arose to the peace of heaven. THE BENIGN WILL-wherein distilleth ever the love that hath the right perfume, as doth, in the grudging will, cupidity— imposed silence on that sweet lyre and stilled the sacred strings, which the right hand of heaven looseneth and stretcheth. How shall those beings unto righteous prayers be deaf, who, to excite in me the will to make my prayer to them, agreed in silence? Right is it he should grieve without a limit, who, for the love of what endureth not, eternally doth strip him of this love. As through the tranquil and pure skies darteth, from time to time, a sudden flame setting a-moving eyes that erst were steady, seeming a star that changeth place, save that from where it kindleth no star is lost, and that itself endureth but a little; such from the horn that stretcheth to the right unto that cross’s foot, darted a star of the constellation that is there a-glow; nor did the gem depart from off its riband, but coursed along the radial line, like fire burning behind alabaster. With such-like tenderness Anchises’ shade proffered itself, if our greatest Muse deserveth credit, when in Elysium he perceived his son. 1 “Oh blood of mine! oh grace of God poured o’er thee! to whom, was ever twice, as unto thee, heaven’s gate thrown open?” So spake that light; wherefore I gave my heed to him.

• From Sex at Dawn (2010)

  The Joy of S.E.Ex. Understanding is a lot like sex; it’s got a practical purpose, but that’s not why people do it normally. FRANK OPPENHEIMER Desmond Morris spent months observing a British pro soccer team in the late 1970s and early 1980s, later publishing his thoughts in a book called The Soccer Tribe. As his title suggests, Morris found the behavior of the teammates to be strikingly similar to what he’d encountered among tribal groups in previous research. He noted two behaviors particularly salient in both contexts: group leveling and nonpossessiveness. “The first thing you notice when footballers talk among themselves,” Morris wrote, “is the speed of their wit. Their humour is often cruel and is used to deflate any team-mate who shows the slightest signs of egotism.” But echoes of prehistoric egalitarianism reverberate beyond ego deflation in the locker room, extending to sexuality as well. “If one of them scores (sexually), he is not possessive, but is only too happy to see his team-mates succeed with the same girl.” While this may strike some as unfeeling, Morris assured his readers that this lack of jealousy was “simply a measure of the extent to which selfishness is suppressed between team-mates, both on the field and off it.”7 For professional athletes, musicians, and their most enthusiastic female fans, as well as both male and female members of many foraging societies, overlapping, intersecting sexual relationships strengthen group cohesion and can offer a measure of security in an uncertain world. Sometimes, perhaps most of the time, human sex isn’t just about pleasure or reproduction. A casual approach to sexual relationships in a community of adults can have important social functions, extending far beyond mere physical gratification. Let’s try putting this liquid libido into dry, academic terms: we hypothesize that Socio-Erotic Exchanges (S.E.Ex. for short) strengthen the bonds among individuals in small-scale nomadic societies (and, apparently, other highly interdependent groups), forming a crucial, durable web of affection, affiliation, and mutual obligation. In evolutionary terms, it would be hard to overstate the importance of such networks. After all, it was primarily such flexible, adaptive social groups (and the feedback loop of brain growth and language capacities that both allowed and resulted from them) that enabled our slow, weak, generally unimpressive species to survive and eventually dominate the entire planet. Without frequent S.E.Ex., it’s doubtful that foraging bands could have maintained social equilibrium and fecundity over the millennia. S.E.Ex. were crucial in binding adults into groups that cared communally for children of obscure or shared paternity, each child likely related to most or all of the men in the group (if not a father, certainly an uncle, cousin…).*

• From The Art of the Graphic Memoir: Tell Your Story, Change Your Life (2018)

  The book is giddy and exuberant but also reflective as older Fink learns to appreciate all that younger Fink went through. It’s magnificent fun and structured utterly unlike most memoirs. Jess by Jess LEARNING IS THE KEY In all cases, learning is paramount. Stories are almost always about learning. In Kampung Boy, the learning is slow and casual. In NonNonBa, it’s more rapid, guided by a mentor’s hand, and in We Can Fix It!, it comes about late in life, after reflecting. Lat has learned! Fink has learned! Shigeru, too. Read this one right to left! Organizing Material MY STORY FROM PLACE TO PLACE, FROM TIME TO TIME In my case, since it was kind of a travelogue, there was a governing structure of the places we went to. The story went from place to place, with new events and people and thoughts coming at every location. But in some cases, events that happened in a certain section didn’t fit in their right time. This one (right), which happened early in our experience, for instance, was the wrong mood for the tone of the rest of the chapter that documented that period, which was somber and desolate. So I put this scene on the back burner and used it as a flashback later. It gave me the springboard I needed to go into the ending of the book—through Rosalie’s name—but this wasn’t the plan. I was guided by tone and mood. When I realized how well it would work in that context, I kept it happily on reserve until it came time to draw it. ALLOWING JUMPS FORWARD IN TIME And though I included lots of flashbacks into the past, it wasn’t until the panel below that I realized I could casually refer to the future, and I did so a number of other times, in cases where I needed to detail something small that was screaming to be mentioned, but not necessarily dramatized. So this allowed me to follow these trains of thought, which moved from events to associations and back again, rather than adhering to chronology. Since the book is so full of uncertainty and questions, I honored these natural paths the brain takes as the best option for structuring the material, believing that it would hold together. But I also came armed with a knowledge of traditional Western story structure, some ideas about mythic journeys, etc. The fact that my life events followed a lot of these made it natural to emphasize some of that underlying structure and mythic elements: the rupture of the old world, the entry into the new world, the guardians of the thresholds, the dark caves, the mentors and visions, etc. Underneath it has a simple mythic structure, but on top it’s digressive and organic. The book shifts from real events to thoughts about those events, to similar events in movies, stories, books, and even images in my own imagination. STRUCTURE Structure can sometimes change mid-project.

• From Querelle (1953)

  13 I QUERELLE who were united by the almost visible thread of their glances, by the freshness of their smiles; and Gil seemed t o be singing for the boy, and Roger, like the sovereign at some intimate rite of debauch, to be favoring this young eighteen-year-old mason, so that with his voice he could be the hero of a roadside tavern for a night. The way the sailor was watching the two of them had the effect of isolating them. Once again, Querelle became aware of his mouth hanging half-open. His smile became more pronounced at the corner of his mouth, almost imperceptibly. A tinge of irony began to spread over his features, then over his entire body, giving him and his relaxed posture leaning back against the wall an air of amused sarcasm. Altered by the raising of an eyebrow, to match the crooked smile, his expression became somewhat malicious as he continued his scrutiny of the two young men. The smile vanished from Gil's lips, as if the entire ball of string had been unrolled, and at the same moment expired on Roger's face; but four seconds later, regaining his breath and taking up the song again, Gil, once more on top of the table, resumed his smile, which brought back and sustained, until the very last couplet of the song, the smile on Roger's lips. Not for a second did their eyes stray from the eyes of the other. Gil was singing. Quere11e shifted his shoulders against the wall of the bistro. He became aware of himself, felt himself pitting his own living mass, the powerful muscles of his l;>ack, against the black and indestructible matter of that wall. Those two shadowy substances struggled in silence. Quere11e knew the beauty of his back. We shall see how, a few days later, he was to secretly dedicate it to Lieutenant Seblon. Almost without mov ing, he let his shoulders ripple against the wa11, its stones. He was a strong man. One hand-the other remaining in the pocket of his peacoat-raised a half-smoked cigarette to his lips, still holding the half-smile. Robert and the two other sailors were oblivious to everything but the song. Querelle retained his smi le. To use an expression much favored by soldiers, Quere11e shone by his absence. After letting a little smoke drift in the

• From Anna Karenina (1877)

  “Don’t say it! don’t say it!” shouted Levin, clutching at the collar of his fur coat with both hands, and muffling him up in it. “She’s a nice girl” were such simple, humble words, so out of harmony with his feeling. Sergey Ivanovitch laughed outright a merry laugh, which was rare with him. “Well, anyway, I may say that I’m very glad of it.” “That you may do tomorrow, tomorrow and nothing more! Nothing, nothing, silence,” said Levin, and muffling him once more in his fur coat, he added: “I do like you so! Well, is it possible for me to be present at the meeting?” “Of course it is.” “What is your discussion about today?” asked Levin, never ceasing smiling. They arrived at the meeting. Levin heard the secretary hesitatingly read the minutes which he obviously did not himself understand; but Levin saw from this secretary’s face what a good, nice, kind-hearted person he was. This was evident from his confusion and embarrassment in reading the minutes. Then the discussion began. They were disputing about the misappropriation of certain sums and the laying of certain pipes, and Sergey Ivanovitch was very cutting to two members, and said something at great length with an air of triumph; and another member, scribbling something on a bit of paper, began timidly at first, but afterwards answered him very viciously and delightfully. And then Sviazhsky (he was there too) said something too, very handsomely and nobly. Levin listened to them, and saw clearly that these missing sums and these pipes were not anything real, and that they were not at all angry, but were all the nicest, kindest people, and everything was as happy and charming as possible among them. They did no harm to anyone, and were all enjoying it. What struck Levin was that he could see through them all today, and from little, almost imperceptible signs knew the soul of each, and saw distinctly that they were all good at heart. And Levin himself in particular they were all extremely fond of that day. That was evident from the way they spoke to him, from the friendly, affectionate way even those he did not know looked at him. “Well, did you like it?” Sergey Ivanovitch asked him. “Very much. I never supposed it was so interesting! Capital! Splendid!” Sviazhsky went up to Levin and invited him to come round to tea with him. Levin was utterly at a loss to comprehend or recall what it was he had disliked in Sviazhsky, what he had failed to find in him. He was a clever and wonderfully good-hearted man. “Most delighted,” he said, and asked after his wife and sister-in-law. And from a queer association of ideas, because in his imagination the idea of Sviazhsky’s sister-in-law was connected with marriage, it occurred to him that there was no one to whom he could more suitably speak of his happiness, and he was very glad to go and see them.

• From Anna Karenina (1877)

  “Let us go to mamma!” she said, taking him by the hand. For a long while he could say nothing, not so much because he was afraid of desecrating the loftiness of his emotion by a word, as that every time he tried to say something, instead of words he felt that tears of happiness were welling up. He took her hand and kissed it. “Can it be true?” he said at last in a choked voice. “I can’t believe you love me, dear!” She smiled at that “dear,” and at the timidity with which he glanced at her. “Yes!” she said significantly, deliberately. “I am so happy!” Not letting go his hands, she went into the drawing-room. The princess, seeing them, breathed quickly, and immediately began to cry and then immediately began to laugh, and with a vigorous step Levin had not expected, ran up to him, and hugging his head, kissed him, wetting his cheeks with her tears. “So it is all settled! I am glad. Love her. I am glad.... Kitty!” “You’ve not been long settling things,” said the old prince, trying to seem unmoved; but Levin noticed that his eyes were wet when he turned to him. “I’ve long, always wished for this!” said the prince, taking Levin by the arm and drawing him towards himself. “Even when this little feather-head fancied....” “Papa!” shrieked Kitty, and shut his mouth with her hands. “Well, I won’t!” he said. “I’m very, very ... plea... Oh, what a fool I am....” He embraced Kitty, kissed her face, her hand, her face again, and made the sign of the cross over her. And there came over Levin a new feeling of love for this man, till then so little known to him, when he saw how slowly and tenderly Kitty kissed his muscular hand. Chapter 16 The princess sat in her armchair, silent and smiling; the prince sat down beside her. Kitty stood by her father’s chair, still holding his hand. All were silent. The princess was the first to put everything into words, and to translate all thoughts and feelings into practical questions. And all equally felt this strange and painful for the first minute. “When is it to be? We must have the benediction and announcement. And when’s the wedding to be? What do you think, Alexander?” “Here he is,” said the old prince, pointing to Levin—“he’s the principal person in the matter.” “When?” said Levin blushing. “Tomorrow. If you ask me, I should say, the benediction today and the wedding tomorrow.” “Come, _mon cher_, that’s nonsense!” “Well, in a week.” “He’s quite mad.” “No, why so?” “Well, upon my word!” said the mother, smiling, delighted at this haste. “How about the trousseau?”

• From Anna Karenina (1877)

  “Run and see what’s wanted. Some lady,” said Kapitonitch, who, not yet dressed, in his overcoat and galoshes, had peeped out of the window and seen a lady in a veil standing close up to the door. His assistant, a lad Anna did not know, had no sooner opened the door to her than she came in, and pulling a three-rouble note out of her muff put it hurriedly into his hand. “Seryozha—Sergey Alexeitch,” she said, and was going on. Scrutinizing the note, the porter’s assistant stopped her at the second glass door. “Whom do you want?” he asked. She did not hear his words and made no answer. Noticing the embarrassment of the unknown lady, Kapitonitch went out to her, opened the second door for her, and asked her what she was pleased to want. “From Prince Skorodumov for Sergey Alexeitch,” she said. “His honor’s not up yet,” said the porter, looking at her attentively. Anna had not anticipated that the absolutely unchanged hall of the house where she had lived for nine years would so greatly affect her. Memories sweet and painful rose one after another in her heart, and for a moment she forgot what she was here for. “Would you kindly wait?” said Kapitonitch, taking off her fur cloak. As he took off the cloak, Kapitonitch glanced at her face, recognized her, and made her a low bow in silence. “Please walk in, your excellency,” he said to her. She tried to say something, but her voice refused to utter any sound; with a guilty and imploring glance at the old man she went with light, swift steps up the stairs. Bent double, and his galoshes catching in the steps, Kapitonitch ran after her, trying to overtake her. “The tutor’s there; maybe he’s not dressed. I’ll let him know.” Anna still mounted the familiar staircase, not understanding what the old man was saying. “This way, to the left, if you please. Excuse its not being tidy. His honor’s in the old parlor now,” the hall-porter said, panting. “Excuse me, wait a little, your excellency; I’ll just see,” he said, and overtaking her, he opened the high door and disappeared behind it. Anna stood still waiting. “He’s only just awake,” said the hall-porter, coming out. And at the very instant the porter said this, Anna caught the sound of a childish yawn. From the sound of this yawn alone she knew her son and seemed to see him living before her eyes. “Let me in; go away!” she said, and went in through the high doorway. On the right of the door stood a bed, and sitting up in the bed was the boy. His little body bent forward with his nightshirt unbuttoned, he was stretching and still yawning. The instant his lips came together they curved into a blissfully sleepy smile, and with that smile he slowly and deliciously rolled back again. “Seryozha!” she whispered, going noiselessly up to him.

• From The Art of the Graphic Memoir: Tell Your Story, Change Your Life (2018)

  CHAPTER 3 ORGANIZING MATERIAL When we’ve got material—preferably too much—we can begin to look at the best way to structure it. Let’s remember that we have one important job: Keep the reader engaged. Sometimes we do that by infectious drawing, sometimes we do that by the wild events that we’re telling, but more often than not, we do that by crafting a story. People love stories. Stories are currency; we trade stories all the time. Good stories, short stories, long stories, funny stories, profound stories. Stories move us in ways that little else can; they give us empathy, and supply us with continuity that our own brains need to contextualize our lives. So let’s take our material that we’ve been gathering and begin to organize it into a story. Again, let’s look at three examples. These three are all childhood stories. KAMPUNG BOY by Lat Kampung Boy (2006, First Second) by Malaysian cartoonist Lat is made entirely of short anecdotes. The drawing is wild, infectious, gregarious, and fun. The premise of the book can be summed up as “Lat grows up having fun in a poor village.” He says about Kampung Boy, “We had become city rats and I wanted to tell people about our origins.” Two small threads weave through Kampung Boy —his delight playing with a set of three brothers from school, and everyone’s fascination with the tin dredge outside the village. LOOSE COLLECTION OF EPISODES A look at the outline of his book (below) shows Lat moving chronologically from anecdote to anecdote, whether it’s at the fishing pond or in the study hall, until he is grown enough to move to a neighboring town as a young man. It’s loosely structured. From a life of 10 or 11 years, he chose only between 18 and 19 anecdotes to tell. What keeps us reading is not the dramatic arc he has created, but the drawings, which are energetic, and the storytelling, which is rich and full of life. KAMPUNG BOY OUTLINE 1. Birth and birth rituals in the village. 2. Playing as a toddler with sunbeams, and his first look at the tin dredge. 3. Making rubber at age 4. 4. Looking at the tin dredge, yelled at from Mom; Mom’s fury. 5. Description of funny Dad, contrasted with Mom. Dad’s knowledge. Driving with Dad. 6. Trips shopping with Dad. 7. Description of the town, social scenes, the train. 8. Beginning Koran studies at age 6. 9. Three friends from school, brothers, fishing. 10. Passing the dredge. 11. A wedding party of distant relatives. Dad dancing. 12. Age of 9. Class, a new brother, shopping on his own. 13. Discussion of his playing with the three brothers. 14. Life and school at 9. More fishing and passing time with the brothers. 15. Almost 10 years old, time for his circumcision. 16. Panning for tin outside the dredge. Scolded. 17. Dad takes him to his 2-acre plantation. 18. Passes school test.

• From Querelle (1953)

  1 44 I JEAN GENET love to Querelle tonight. Nor to anyone else, for that matter. All my affective powers Bow into this joy of return, make me feel crowded wi th happiness. Just awoke from a horrible dream. This much I can say about it: We were in a stable (ten or so unknown accomplices). Which one of us would have to kill him (I don't know whom)? One young man accepted the task. The victim did not deserve to die. We watched the murder being done. The voluntary executioner struck the greenish back of the unfortunate man several times with a pitchfork. Above the victim, a mirror suddenly appeared, just in time for us to see our faces go pale. They grew paler and paler as the victim's back grew bloodier. The executioner kept on striking, in despair. ( I am sure , now, that this is a faithful description of the dream, beca use it is not as if I were remember ing it: I am reconstructing it, with the help of words. ) The vic tim-innocent-despite his atrocious suffering, helped the mur derer. He showed him where to strike. He took part in the drama, despite the desolate expression of reproach in his eyes. I also note the beauty of the murderer, and the sense of his being wrapped in garments of malediction. The whole day has been as if stained wi th blood by this dream. Almost literally, the day had a bleeding wound. Querelle' s hand was thick and strong, and Mario, though without giving it much thought, had expected it to be effemi nate and somewhat fragile. His own hand had not been pre pared for such a paw. He scrutinized Querelle. A large fellow, exceptionally handsome despite a day' s growth of stubble, with the same face and athletic bearing as Robert; he looked manly, a little brutal, tough. (The curtness of his gestures underlined this appearance of strength and brutality.) "Nono ain't here?" "No, he went out." "So you're in charge of the joint?"

• From Querelle (1953)

  201 I QUERELLE th e details of his task with a simplicity th at is the true nobility, he could be seen on deck in the mornings, squatting on his haunches, polishing the Lieutenant's shoes. His neck bent, his hair falling over his eyes, he would sometimes look up, the brush in one hand, a shoe in the other: he was smiling. Then he would get up, in one quick motion, return all his utensils to th eir box with a juggler's speed and g o back to the cabin. He walked with quick, limber steps, a steady joy in his body. "Here you are, sir." "Very good. But don't forget to put my cl othes away." The officer was too timid to smile. Faced with his joy and this power, he did not dare to show his own happiness, for he was certain that one single moment of abandon would leave him completely at the mercy of the beautiful beast. He was afraid of Querelle. No matter how severe he was, he never succeeded in casting a blight over that body, that smile. Yet he knew his own strength. He was even a little taller than the crewman, but he was aware of a certain weakness lurking in the depths of his own body. It was something almost tangible, and it was sending waves of fear through all the muscles of his body. "Did you go ashore, yesterday?" "Y essir. It was starboard watch ashore." "You could have reminded me of that. I needed you. Next time let me know before you go." "Aye-aye, sir. " The Lieutenant watched him dusting the desk and folding away clothes. He was looking for a pretext for a ch illing remark that would forestall any burgeoning of intimacy. The evening before he had gone to the forward sleeping quarters, ostensibly looking for Querelle to send him on some errand. He was hoping to see him come in or go out in his blue bell-bottoms and peacoat. There were only five men in the quarters, and they rose to their feet as he entered. "My steward isn't here?'' "No, sir. He's ashore."