Pride

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.

Page 78 of 174 · 20 per page

• From How Emotions Are Made: The Secret Life of the Brain (2017)

  When I was a training therapist, I learned to intentionally synchronize my breathing with my clients’ to prepare them for hypnosis. 47 We likewise synchronize our concepts for emotion. My emotions are guided by my predictions. And as you observe me, the emotions you perceive are guided by your predictions. The sound of my voice and the motions of my body, as they are perceived by your brain, either confirm your predictions or become prediction error for you. Suppose you tell me, “My son got the lead in the school play. I’m so proud.” Your words and actions launch a population of predictions in my brain, helping to coordinate a shared concept of “Pride” between us in the moment. My brain computes probabilities based on past experience and winnows down its predictions to a winning instance, perhaps leading me to say, “Congratulations.” Then the process repeats in the other direction as you perceive me. We’ll be more in sync if we share a cultural background or other past experiences, and if we agree that certain facial configurations, body movements, vocal acoustics, and other cues have certain meanings in certain contexts. Little by little, we co-construct an emotional experience that we both identify with the word “proud.” In this scenario, our concepts don’t need to match exactly for me to understand how you feel; they just must have reasonably compatible goals. On the other hand, if I construct an instance of the unpleasant kind of pride, in which you’re arrogant and dismissive, I might obtusely fail to comprehend what you are saying, because you’ve used a concept that does not match mine in that instance. Note that our mutual construction is a continuous process with both brains in constant activity, even though I’m portraying it here as a simple back-and-forth sequence of events. The co-construction of experience also allows us to regulate each other’s body budgets; this is one of the great benefits that we get from living in groups. All members of a social species regulate each other’s body budgets—even bees, ants, and cockroaches. But we are the only species who can do so by teaching each other purely mental concepts, and then using them in synchrony. Our words allow us to enter each other’s affective niches, even at extremely long distances. You can regulate your friend’s body budget (and he yours) even if you are an ocean apart—by phone or email or even just by thinking about one another.

• From How Emotions Are Made: The Secret Life of the Brain (2017)

  We likewise synchronize our concepts for emotion. My emotions are guided by my predictions. And as you observe me, the emotions you perceive are guided by your predictions. The sound of my voice and the motions of my body, as they are perceived by your brain, either confirm your predictions or become prediction error for you. Suppose you tell me, “My son got the lead in the school play. I’m so proud.” Your words and actions launch a population of predictions in my brain, helping to coordinate a shared concept of “Pride” between us in the moment. My brain computes probabilities based on past experience and winnows down its predictions to a winning instance, perhaps leading me to say, “Congratulations.” Then the process repeats in the other direction as you perceive me. We’ll be more in sync if we share a cultural background or other past experiences, and if we agree that certain facial configurations, body movements, vocal acoustics, and other cues have certain meanings in certain contexts. Little by little, we co-construct an emotional experience that we both identify with the word “proud.” In this scenario, our concepts don’t need to match exactly for me to understand how you feel; they just must have reasonably compatible goals. On the other hand, if I construct an instance of the unpleasant kind of pride, in which you’re arrogant and dismissive, I might obtusely fail to comprehend what you are saying, because you’ve used a concept that does not match mine in that instance. Note that our mutual construction is a continuous process with both brains in constant activity, even though I’m portraying it here as a simple back-and-forth sequence of events. The co-construction of experience also allows us to regulate each other’s body budgets; this is one of the great benefits that we get from living in groups. All members of a social species regulate each other’s body budgets—even bees, ants, and cockroaches. But we are the only species who can do so by teaching each other purely mental concepts, and then using them in synchrony. Our words allow us to enter each other’s affective niches, even at extremely long distances. You can regulate your friend’s body budget (and he yours) even if you are an ocean apart—by phone or email or even just by thinking about one another.48 Your choice of words has a huge impact on this process, as those words shape other people’s predictions. Parents who ask a child, “Are you upset?” instead of the more general question, “How are you feeling?” are influencing the answer, co-constructing emotion and honing the child’s concepts toward being upset. Doctors who ask a patient, “Are you feeling depressed?” likewise make a positive response more likely than if they’d said, “Tell me how you’ve been.” These are leading questions, the same sort that attorneys utilize (and object to) with witnesses on the stand. In everyday life, as in the courtroom, you need to be mindful of influencing people’s predictions by your words.

• From Sex at Dawn (2010)

  In 1988, Roy Romer, then governor of Colorado, faced a feeding-frenzy of questions about his long-running extramarital affair that had become publicly known. Romer did what few public figures have dared. In the spirit of the Yucatán, he refused to accept the premise underlying the intrusive questions: that his extramarital relationship was a betrayal of his wife and family. Instead, he called an extraordinary press conference where he pointed out that his wife of forty-five years had known about and accepted the relationship all along. Romer confronted the tittering reporters with “life as it really happens.” “What is fidelity?” he asked the suddenly silent gaggle of reporters. “Fidelity is what kind of openness you have. What kind of trust you have, which is based on truth and openness. And so, in my own family, we’ve discussed that at some length and we’ve tried to arrive at an understanding of what our feelings are, what our needs are, and work it out with that kind of fidelity.”21 The Marriage of the Sun and the Moon In a sky swarming with uncountable stars, clouds endlessly flowing, and planets wandering, always and forever there has been just one moon and one sun. To our ancestors, these two mysterious bodies reflected the female and the male essences. From Iceland to Tierra del Fuego, people attributed the Sun’s constancy and power to his masculinity; the Moon’s changeability, unspeakable beauty, and monthly cycles were signs of her femininity. To human eyes turned toward the sky 100,000 years ago, they appeared identical in size, as they do to our eyes today. In a total solar eclipse, the disc of the moon fits so precisely over that of the sun that the naked eye can see solar flares leaping into space from behind. But while they appear precisely the same size to terrestrial observers, scientists long ago determined that the true diameter of the sun is about four hundred times that of the moon. Yet incredibly, the sun’s distance from Earth is roughly four hundred times that of the moon’s, thus bringing them into unlikely balance when viewed from the only planet with anyone around to notice.22 Some will say, “Interesting coincidence.” Others will wonder whether there isn’t an extraordinary message contained in this celestial convergence of difference and similarity, intimacy and distance, rhythmic constancy and cyclical change. Like our distant ancestors, we watch the eternal dance of our sun and our moon, looking for clues to the nature of man and woman, masculine and feminine here at home. Luc Viatour/www.lucnix.be AUTHORS’ NOTE

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  cerns our pride to goad him on; the more respect he has for ART AND PRACTICE OF ARAB our resistance, the more respect we demand of him. We L O V E , T R A N S L A T E D B Y A . J . ARBERRY would willingly say to you men: "Ah, in pity's name do not suppose us to be so very virtuous; you are forcing us to have too much of it." I knew once two great — N I N O N DE L'ENCLOS lords, brothers, both of them highly bred and highly accomplished Keys to Seduction gentlemen which did love two ladies, but the one of these was of much higher Think of seduction as a world you enter, a world that is separate and quality and more account than the other in all distinct from the real world. The rules are different here; what works respects. Now being entered in daily life can have the opposite effect in seduction. The real world fea- both into the chamber of 410 • The Art of Seduction this great lady, who for the tures a democratizing, leveling impulse, in which everything has to seem at time being was keeping her least something like equal. An overt imbalance of power, an overt desire for bed, each did withdraw power, will stir envy and resentment; we learn to be kind and polite, at least apart for to entertain his mistress. The one did on the surface. Even those who have power generally try to act humble and converse with the high-born modest—they do not want to offend. In seduction, on the other hand, you dame with every possible can throw all of that out, revel in your dark side, inflict a little pain—in respect and humble saluta-tion and kissing of hands, some ways be more yourself. Your naturalness in this respect will prove se-with words of honor and ductive in itself. The problem is that after years of living in the real world, stately compliment, without we lose the ability to be ourselves. We become timid, humble, overpolite. making ever an attempt to Your task is to regain some of your childhood qualities, to root out all this come near and try to force the place. The other brother, false humility. And the most important quality to recapture is boldness. without any ceremony of No one is born timid; timidity is a protection we develop. If we never words or fine phrases, did stick our necks out, if we never try, we will never have to suffer the conse-take his fair one to a recessed window, and quences of failure or success. If we are kind and unobtrusive, no one will incontinently making free be offended—in fact we will seem saintly and likable. In truth, timid peo-with her (for he was very ple are often self-absorbed, obsessed with the way people see them, and not strong), he did soon show

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  tance of an opponent can be used to make him fall. If people resist you be- She'll be glad \ To know cause they don't trust you, an apparently selfless deed, showing how far you you 're risking your neck, are willing to go to prove yourself, is a powerful remedy. If they resist be- and for her sake: that will offer \ Any mistress sure cause they are virtuous, or because they are loyal to someone else, all the proof of your love. better—virtue and repressed desire are easily overcome by action. As the — O V I D , T H E A R T O F L O V E , great seductress Natalie Barney once wrote, "Most virtue is a demand for TRANSLATED BY PETER GREEN greater seduction." There are two ways to prove yourself. First, the spontaneous action: a situation arises in which the target needs help, a problem needs solving, or, The man says: " . . . A simply, he or she needs a favor. You cannot foresee these situations, but you fruit picked from one's own must be ready for them, for they can spring up at any time. Impress the tar- orchard ought to taste sweeter than one obtained get by going further than really necessary—sacrificing more money, more from a stranger's tree, and time, more effort than they had expected. Your target will often use these what has been attained by 323 324 • The Art of Seduction greater effort is cherished moments, or even manufacture them, as a kind of test: will you retreat? Or more dearly than what is will you rise to the occasion? You cannot hesitate or flinch, even for a mo-gained with little trouble. As the proverb says: ment, or all is lost. If necessary, make the deed seem to have cost you more 'Prizes great cannot be than it has, never with words, but indirectly—exhausted looks, reports won unless some heavy spread through a third party, whatever it takes. labor's done.'" • The The second way to prove yourself is the brave deed that you plan and woman says: "If no great prizes can be won unless execute in advance, on your own and at the right moment—preferably some heavy labor's done, some way into the seduction, when any doubts the victim still has about you must suffer the you are more dangerous than earlier on. Choose a dramatic, difficult action exhaustion of many toils to be able to attain the favors that reveals the painful time and effort involved. Danger can be extremely you seek, since what you seductive. Cleverly lead your victim into a crisis, a moment of danger, or ask for is a greater prize." indirectly put them in an uncomfortable position, and you can play the res- • The man says: "I give you all the thanks that I cuer, the gallant knight. The powerful feelings and emotions this elicits can can express for so sagely

• From Querelle (1953)

  "It is, too. But only if I have your word that you won't mention me." Mario gave his word. Already he had abandoned his precautions, forgotten the plan to effect a mystical reconciliation with the underworld : he could not resist the chance to act as a policeman. He decided not to interrogate Querelle about the source of his information or about its reliability. He trusted the sailor. Very rapidly they decided what measures had to be taken to keep Querelle's name out of it forever. "Get that kid of vour .I s on his track. But see that he doesn't suspect anything." One hour later wlario gave Dede orders to go to the railroad station and keep a watch on all departing trains. He was to notify Police Headquarters as soon as he caugh t sight of Turko. He sold GiL By that act Dede detached himself from the world of his fellow beings. That was the beginning of his ascension, the meaning of which the reader has already been informed about. On board Le Vengeur Quereiie went on serving the officer, but the latter seemed to despise him, and this caused Querelle some degree of pain. Having been the target of armed aggression, the Lieutenant felt proud enough to develop a taste for adventure. In his diary we find the following statement: I feel in no way inferior to this young and marvelous hoodlum. I resisted. I was ready to die. 258 I JEAN GENET 0 0 0 To reward him for his assistance in Gil's arrest, the Police Commissioner entrusted him with special, almost official, assignments. It became his task to watch for youthful shoplifters, sailors and soldiers, in the Monoprix department store. As Dede rode the escalator, putting on his yellow leather gloves, he had the feeling of truly being "on his way up." He was an agent now. Everything was there to carry, to transport him. He was sure of himself. Getting off at the summit of his apotheosis, the store Boor on which he was to begin his new career, he knew that he had arrived. He had his gloves on, the floor was horizontal, Dede was master of his domain, free to be either magnanimous or a swine.

• From Querelle (1953)

  Nevertheless, he felt sad, and mean. He was not wearing that habitual smile. The fog dampened his nostrils, refreshed his eyelids and his chin. He was walking straight ahead, punching his weighty body through the softness of the fog. The greater the distance he put between himself and La Feria, the more he fortified himself with all the might of the police force, believing himself to be under their friendly protection now, and endowing the idea of "police" with the muscular strength of Nona, and with Mario's good looks. This had been his first encounter with a police officer. So he had met a cop, at last. He had walked up to him. He had shaken hands with him. He had just signed an agreement that would protect both of them against treachery. He had not found his brother there, but instead of him those two monsters of certainty, those two big shots. Nevertheless, while gaining strength from the might of the Police as he drew away from La Feria, he did not for one moment cease to be a sailor. Quere11e, in some obscure way, knew that he was coming close to his own point of perfection: clad in his blue garb, cloaked in its prestige, he was no longer a simple murderer, but a seducer as well. He proceeded down the Rue de Siam with giant strides. The fog was chilling. Increasingly the forms of Mario and Nono merged and insti11ed in him a feeling of submission, and of pride-for deep down the sailor in him strongly opposed the policeman: and so he fortified himself with the full might of the Fighting Navy, as well. Appearing to be running after his own form, ever about to overtake it, yet in pursuit, he walked on fast, sure of himself, with a firm stride. His body armed itself with cannon, with a hull of steel, with torpedoes, with a crew who were agile and strong, bellicose and precise. Querelle became "Le Querelle," a giant destroyer, warlord of the seas, an �ntelligent and invincible mass of metal. "Watch your step, you assholel" His voice cut through the fog like a siren in the Baltic. "But it was you who . . " . 33 I QUERELLE Suddenly the young man, polite, buffeted, thrown aside by the wake of Querelle's impassive shoulder, realized that he was being insulted. He said : "At least you could be civil about itl Or open your eyesl" If he meant "Keep your eyes open," for Querelle the message was "Light up the course, use your running light." He spun around : "What about my lights?""

• From Querelle (1953)

  The happiness of clasping in my arms a body so beautiful, even though it is huge and strong! Huger and stronger than mine. lS I QUERELLE 0 0 0 Reverie. Is this him? ''He'' goes ashore every night. When he comes back, "His" bell-bottom pants-which are wide, and cover his shoes, contrary to regulations-look bespattered, perhaps with jism mixed with the dust of the streets he has been sweeping with their frayed bottoms. His pants, they're the dirtiest sailor's pants fve ever seen. Were I to demand an explanation from "Him," "He" would smile as he chucked his beret behind him: "That, that's just from all the suckers going down on me. While they're giving me a blowjob, they come all over my jeans. That's just their spunk. That's all." "He" would appear to be very proud of it. "He" wears those stains with a glorious impudence: they are his medals. 'While it is the least elegant of the brothels in Brest, where no men of the Battle Fleet ever go to give it a little of their grace and freshness, La Feria certainly is the most renowned. It is a solemn gold and purple cave providing for the colonials, the boys of the Merchant Navy and the tramp steamers, and the longshoremen. 'Whereas the sailors visit to have a "piece" or a "short time,'' the dock workers and others say: ''Let's go shoot our wads." At night, La Feria also provides the imagination with .the thrills of scintillating criminality. One may always suspect three or four hoodlums lurking in the fog-shrouded pissoir erected on the sidewalk across the street. Sometimes the front door stands ajar, and from it issue the airs of a player piano, blue strains, serpentines of music unrolling in the dark shadows, curling round the wrists and necks of the workmen who just happen to be walking past. But daylight allows a more detailed view of the dirty, blind, gray and shame-ravaged shack it is. Seen only by the light of its lantern and its lo\vered Venetian blinds, it could well be overflowing with the hot 26 I JEAN GENET

• From Querelle (1953)

  Madame Lysiane did not grant her "boarders" the right to use black lace underwear. She approved of salmon pink, of green, certainly of beige, but she knew herself to be so beautiful in her own black outfit that she couldn't permit those young ladies to adorn themselves in a similar manner. It wasn't so much because the black enhanced the milky whiteness of her skin : what she liked about it was that it gave her undergarments a certain formality and sup·er-frivolity-and we shall see why. She was standing in her room, undressing, very slowly. As if nailed to the floor in front of the mirror by her high heels, undoing her dress which opened on her left side, the line of hasps stretching from her neck to her waist, the gestures of her right hand, quick and rounded, and in that quickness and roundness, in the liveliness of her fingers, perfect expressions of all that was sugar sweet, yet distinguished and catlike about her. It was a kind of dance, of Cambodian grace. Madame Lysiane loved these movements of her arms, the precise angle of her elbows, and was in every way certain of her superiority over the whores. "God, can · they be vulgar I Do you think Regine can be brought to understand that fringe hair-dos are out of fashion? Not on your life! All of them, and there isn't one exception, all of them seem to think that the clients like them when they look like whores. But that's where they're wrong, so wrong." She stared at herself dully, while she talked on. Now and again she cast a glance at Robert's reflection in the mirror. Robert was divesting himself of his clothes. "Darling, are you listening to me?" "Can't you see that I am?" 179 I QUERELLE He was listening. He admired her elegance and the fact that she had such distinction, compared to the common run of chippies, but he was not looking at her. Madame Lysiane let the fur-trimmed dress slide off her body, down to her ankles.

• From Querelle (1953)

  He particularly liked that last expression. It fit in perfectly with his present state of mind. He felt proud of not fearing anything, of standing there, so safe from reprisals, in his goldbraided uniform. Such cowardice is a great force. But only a slight twist is needed for it to turn around to find another adversary, then finding it in the coward himself. The way he punished or maltreated Quere11e without reason was no doubt cowardly, but even while he was committing such acts, he was aware of the presence of a will, or strength-his strength : and it was this force (discovered, then cultivated, in the center of his cowardice ) that enabled him ·to insult the police officer. F�ally, carried away on his own generous breath and sustained by the luminous presence of the actual criminal, he ended up by accusing himself for the theft of the money in question. When he heard the Commissioner give the detective the order to arrest him, Seblon hoped they would recognize his prestige as an officer, but as soon as he found himself in the lockup, feeling certain that there would be an incredible scandal, he was happy. Ever since he slew the Armenian, Querelle had always cleaned out the corpses. It is rare not to find the idea of robbery following the idea and the act of murder (and of those two, the act often is the less despicable one ) . When a young tough hits a homosexual who has accosted him, he as often as not gets his ZlZ I JEAN GENET wallet as well. It's P'lt that he hits him in order to get his wallet, but he gets his wallet because he has hit him. "Too damn bad you didn't get his dough, I 1nean that mason. You could have used it now." Querelle stopped, hesitated. The last words had been said with slight apprehension, noticeable only to himself. · "But how could I? The bistro was packed. I didn't even think of it." "Well, yeah, that's true. But what about the other one, that sailorboy. You had enough time there." "But I swear, Jo, that wasn't me. I swear." "Listen, Gil, I don't give a shit. I didn't con1e here to give you a bad time. You've got your reasons for keeping things to yourself. That only proves that you're a real tough kid. And when you say so, I believe you. All I was saying was that it don't really make sense to snuff out guys without having some benefit from it. So what you want to do, you want to become a real tough sonofabitch, that way too. I'm telling you, kiddo." "D'you think I could really make it out there?" "We'll see."

• From Sex at Dawn (2010)

  CR: Interesting question. It has. It’s made me much less critical of other people’s books. I don’t think I could write a negative review at this point. When I was younger, it was easy to point out the flaws in books, but at this point, I’m much more aware that there’s a person on the other side who did their best. If I were writing Sex at Dawn again, I’d probably tone down some of the snarkier bits. I’m also more aware of just how impossible it is to please everyone. We’ve been incredibly fortunate in the response to this book, but still, for every nine comments we get congratulating us for writing the book with humor, we’ll get one or two describing the writing style as “sophomoric” or “unserious.” Some people think serious issues can only be discussed in serious tones. It’s interesting to have become a public figure, even in the very limited way I’m experiencing it. People have the right to their responses to your work, positive or negative. I’ve learned not to take it personally, in either case. [image file=image_rsrc68N.jpg] Read onSex at Dawn OnlineFOR MORE INFORMATION about Sex at Dawn and the authors’ current doings, please visit sexatdawn.com, where you’ll find a selection of reviews, reader responses, TV and radio interviews, podcasts, and a reader-maintained forum for discussing anything and everything related to the book. Additionally, the authors maintain a Facebook page with a lively discussion of current events related to the book at www.facebook.com/sexatdawn. They can also be followed on Twitter: @SexatDawn. [image file=image_rsrc68N.jpg] Don’t miss the next book by your favorite author. Sign up now for AuthorTracker by visiting www.AuthorTracker.com. ADDITIONAL PRAISE FOR SEX AT DAWN“Ideas like [these] might do more to save marriage than anything else in today’s social-theory landscape. Seriously.” —Amy L. Keyishian, AOL “Sex at Dawn is an absolute must-read because this is the first book about sex that’s as fun to read as it is to…you know, do it.” —Moses Ma, editor, Tantric News “Sex at Dawn is a page-turner. It’s like a novel. You can’t put it down—it is so much fun to read…. It’s a fascinating book. I felt like this book was written for me!” —Susie Bright, legendary sex-positive feminist and author “I have not read such delightful, convincing, and readable science writing since the dearly lamented Stephen Jay Gould. This book is funny, absorbing, clear-eyed, and deeply anti-patriarchal in a way that feels incidental to the facts rather than rising from any agenda—which I find utterly, gleefully vindicating and deeply satisfying…. It made me laugh out loud every ten pages. Just as importantly, this book made me proud to be human.” —Haddayr Copley-Woods, Aqueduct Press “Sex at Dawn is the best, most fascinating, most unsettling, yet ultimately inspirational book on the evolutionary nature of human sexuality that’s out there!” —Susan Block, Ph.D., sexologist, author, radio and television host

• From Querelle (1953)

  122 I JEAN GENET The previous evening he had, while kissing Mario, cut across the even flow of an emotion that had begun long ago, and this first act of audacity had given him a glimpse of freedom, intoxi cated him and fortified him enough to permit him to make a second attempt. Yet that (successful) attempt had seemed to repulse the man (who, as we've said, lay slumbering) within him, aod who really was his own longed-for resemblance both to Mario and, in a greater degree, to Robert. Dede had known Robert when the latter was still working in the dockyards. Together they had pulled a couple of jv�s in the warehouses, and when Robert had graduated from docker to pimp, Dede had not told him about his relationship with the detective. All the same, because of their old friendship, and out of respect for Robert's success, Dede never thought of spying on him, but managed to obtain information from him that he could pass on to Mario. Querelle had gotten up again. Dede watched his buttocks contract. A mocking but appreciative voice yelled: "Wow, what a piece of ass! Wanna try it?" Through the denim of Querelle's bell-bottoms Dede could well imagine the workings of those muscles he knew so well-in Robert. He knew the reactions of those buttocks, thighs, calves; and he could see, despite the thick peacoat material, that tense back, those shoulders and arms. Querelle seemed to be fighting himself. Two women had appeared on the scene. At first they did not say a word. They clutched their shopping nets, filled with provisions, and long thin loaves of fancy bread close to their bodies. After a while they wanted to know why these two were fighting. No one had any idea. Family affair, most likely. The women were reluctant to continue on their way, as the street was blocked by the action, and they stood hypnotized by this knot of disheveled, sweating manhood. Closer and closer grew the resemblance between the two brothers. The expression on their faces had lost its cruelty. Dede remained calm. It seemed hardly important to him who won-whatever the outcome, it would

• From Anna Karenina (1877)

  Although all Vronsky’s inner life was absorbed in his passion, his external life unalterably and inevitably followed along the old accustomed lines of his social and regimental ties and interests. The interests of his regiment took an important place in Vronsky’s life, both because he was fond of the regiment, and because the regiment was fond of him. They were not only fond of Vronsky in his regiment, they respected him too, and were proud of him; proud that this man, with his immense wealth, his brilliant education and abilities, and the path open before him to every kind of success, distinction, and ambition, had disregarded all that, and of all the interests of life had the interests of his regiment and his comrades nearest to his heart. Vronsky was aware of his comrades’ view of him, and in addition to his liking for the life, he felt bound to keep up that reputation. It need not be said that he did not speak of his love to any of his comrades, nor did he betray his secret even in the wildest drinking bouts (though indeed he was never so drunk as to lose all control of himself). And he shut up any of his thoughtless comrades who attempted to allude to his connection. But in spite of that, his love was known to all the town; everyone guessed with more or less confidence at his relations with Madame Karenina. The majority of the younger men envied him for just what was the most irksome factor in his love—the exalted position of Karenin, and the consequent publicity of their connection in society. The greater number of the young women, who envied Anna and had long been weary of hearing her called _virtuous_, rejoiced at the fulfillment of their predictions, and were only waiting for a decisive turn in public opinion to fall upon her with all the weight of their scorn. They were already making ready their handfuls of mud to fling at her when the right moment arrived. The greater number of the middle-aged people and certain great personages were displeased at the prospect of the impending scandal in society.

• From Anna Karenina (1877)

  Alexey Alexandrovitch ordered tea to be brought to the study, and playing with the massive paper-knife, he moved to his easy chair, near which there had been placed ready for him a lamp and the French work on Egyptian hieroglyphics that he had begun. Over the easy chair there hung in a gold frame an oval portrait of Anna, a fine painting by a celebrated artist. Alexey Alexandrovitch glanced at it. The unfathomable eyes gazed ironically and insolently at him. Insufferably insolent and challenging was the effect in Alexey Alexandrovitch’s eyes of the black lace about the head, admirably touched in by the painter, the black hair and handsome white hand with one finger lifted, covered with rings. After looking at the portrait for a minute, Alexey Alexandrovitch shuddered so that his lips quivered and he uttered the sound “brrr,” and turned away. He made haste to sit down in his easy chair and opened the book. He tried to read, but he could not revive the very vivid interest he had felt before in Egyptian hieroglyphics. He looked at the book and thought of something else. He thought not of his wife, but of a complication that had arisen in his official life, which at the time constituted the chief interest of it. He felt that he had penetrated more deeply than ever before into this intricate affair, and that he had originated a leading idea—he could say it without self-flattery—calculated to clear up the whole business, to strengthen him in his official career, to discomfit his enemies, and thereby to be of the greatest benefit to the government. Directly the servant had set the tea and left the room, Alexey Alexandrovitch got up and went to the writing-table. Moving into the middle of the table a portfolio of papers, with a scarcely perceptible smile of self-satisfaction, he took a pencil from a rack and plunged into the perusal of a complex report relating to the present complication. The complication was of this nature: Alexey Alexandrovitch’s characteristic quality as a politician, that special individual qualification that every rising functionary possesses, the qualification that with his unflagging ambition, his reserve, his honesty, and with his self-confidence had made his career, was his contempt for red tape, his cutting down of correspondence, his direct contact, wherever possible, with the living fact, and his economy. It happened that the famous Commission of the 2nd of June had set on foot an inquiry into the irrigation of lands in the Zaraisky province, which fell under Alexey Alexandrovitch’s department, and was a glaring example of fruitless expenditure and paper reforms. Alexey Alexandrovitch was aware of the truth of this. The irrigation of these lands in the Zaraisky province had been initiated by the predecessor of Alexey Alexandrovitch’s predecessor. And vast sums of money had actually been spent and were still being spent on this business, and utterly unproductively, and the whole business could obviously lead to nothing whatever.

• From Querelle (1953)

  preserved a redoubtable elegance. Without really appearing to be working, he took care of the Lieutenant's business; Seblon no longer dared to look him in the face, after that unequivocally ironical answer given with the perfect assurance of Querelle's power over one who was in love with him. Querelle dominated his shipmates by his strength, his toughness and his reputation, which increased when they found out that he went to La Feria every evening. However, he only frequented its public parlor, where some of the sailors had seen him shaking hands with the owner and with Madame Lysiane. The reputation of La Feria's owner spanned the seven seas. Sailors spoke of him among themselves (as we have said ) as they did of ducks in China, as they did of Crillolla, Bousbir and Bidonville. They were impatient to get to know the joint, but when they first saw, in a dark, dank street, that small dilapidated house, surrounded by a stench of urine, its shutters closed, they were both surprised and uneasy. Many did not find the courage to go through the studded door. Becoming a regular visitor added to Querelle's stature. It was inadmissible to suppose that -he had gambled with the boss. Querelle was powerful enough for his reputation to remain unsullied and even to be further enhanced by his association with the place. And if he was never seen with a whore round his neck, that was just further proof that he did not go there as a client, but as a friend or pimp. To have a girlfriend in a brothel made a man of him, no longer just a sailor: he had as much authority as the guys with the stripes. Querelle knew himself surrounded by immense respect, and bathing in that glory sometimes made him forget himself. He became arrogant toward the Lieutenant, whose suppressed desire he well knew. Maliciously Querelle tried to exacerbate it; with remarkable natural talent he found . the most suggestive poses; he would lean against the doorjamb, one arm raised to show off his armpit; he would sit on the table, flexing his thighs and letting his trouser leg ride up to exhibit his muscular, hairy calves; he would throw in a little "bump" for good measure, or - 133 I QUERELLE

• From Anna Karenina (1877)

  Meanwhile spring came on, beautiful and kindly, without the delays and treacheries of spring,—one of those rare springs in which plants, beasts, and man rejoice alike. This lovely spring roused Levin still more, and strengthened him in his resolution of renouncing all his past and building up his lonely life firmly and independently. Though many of the plans with which he had returned to the country had not been carried out, still his most important resolution—that of purity—had been kept by him. He was free from that shame, which had usually harassed him after a fall; and he could look everyone straight in the face. In February he had received a letter from Marya Nikolaevna telling him that his brother Nikolay’s health was getting worse, but that he would not take advice, and in consequence of this letter Levin went to Moscow to his brother’s and succeeded in persuading him to see a doctor and to go to a watering-place abroad. He succeeded so well in persuading his brother, and in lending him money for the journey without irritating him, that he was satisfied with himself in that matter. In addition to his farming, which called for special attention in spring, and in addition to reading, Levin had begun that winter a work on agriculture, the plan of which turned on taking into account the character of the laborer on the land as one of the unalterable data of the question, like the climate and the soil, and consequently deducing all the principles of scientific culture, not simply from the data of soil and climate, but from the data of soil, climate, and a certain unalterable character of the laborer. Thus, in spite of his solitude, or in consequence of his solitude, his life was exceedingly full. Only rarely he suffered from an unsatisfied desire to communicate his stray ideas to someone besides Agafea Mihalovna. With her indeed he not infrequently fell into discussion upon physics, the theory of agriculture, and especially philosophy; philosophy was Agafea Mihalovna’s favorite subject.

• From Querelle (1953)

  Gil went on eating. He and Querelle seemed to have run out of words already, but Roger perc.:eived that a relationship was being established between them in which there was no room for him. It was, now, a matter of two men talking, in all earnest, about things a boy his age could only daydream abo�t. "Say, you're Robert's brother, the one who's staying at Nono's?" "Yeah. And I know Nono, too." Not for one n1inute did Querelle consider the nature of his relationship with Nono. There was no undertone of irony in his statement. "No kidding, you're a buddy of Nono's?" "You heard me. \Vhat about it?" "D'you think he . . . (Gil was going to say: "could help me," but realized it would be too much heartbreak to get a "no" for an answer) . He hesitated, then said : "Do you think he might help me?" In turning him into -an outlaw his crime naturally encouraged Gil to seek refuge among pimps and prostitutes, as they were people who lived-or so he thought-at the very borderline of legality. The murder he had committed would have totally crushed any laboring man of a riper age. Gil, on the contrary, was hardened by it, it made him glow from within, conferring, as it did, a reputation he would not have attained otherwise, and from the lack of which he had been suffering. Gil was a mason, but his life had been too short for him to identify him· self with his trade. He was still entertaining all sorts of vague dreams, and these had suddenly become true (what we call "dreams" are those little peculiarities that may indicate fan· 110 I JEAN GENET

• From Querelle (1953)

  34 I JEAN GENET as ridiculous as the bigheads who played to the gaiiery and then got shown up for the braggarts they were. Never had Quereiie said, "Me, I'm one of the guys from the Vengeur." Or even, "Me, I'm a French salt ... " But.now, having done so, he felt no shame; he felt completely at ease. "OK, scram." . He pronounced these words with a twisted sneer directed right at the landlubber, and with his face fixed in that expres sion he waited, hands in pockets, until the young man had turned and gone. Then, feeling good and even a little tougher than before, he continued on down the Rue de Siam. Arriving on board Quereiie instantly perceived an opportunity for the dispensation of rough justice. He was seized by sudden and violent fury on noticing that one of the sailors on the larboard deck was wearing his beret the very same way he thought Quereiie alone should wear it. He felt positively robbed, when he recognized that particular angle, that lock of hair sticking up like a flame, licking the front of the beret, the whole effect of it as legendary, now, as the white fur bonnet worn by Vacher, the kiiier of shepherds. Quereiie walked up, his cruel eyes fixed on those of the hapless sailor, and told him, in a matter-of.fact tone: "Put it on straight." The other one did not understand. A little taken aback, vaguely frightened, he stared at Quereiie without budging. With a sweep of his hand Querelle sent the beret flying down on to the deck, but before the sailor could bend down to pick it up, Querelle pounded his face with his fists, rapidly, and with a vengeance. Querelle loved luxury. It seems obvious that he had a feeling for the common beliefs, that he did glory in his Frenchness, to some extent, and in being a Navy man, suscepbole like any male to national and military pride. Yet we have to remember some facts of his early youth, not because these extend across the entire psyche of our hero, but in order to make plausible an

• From Holy Land: A Suburban Memoir (1996)

  Clark began buying farmland in Southern California and invested in a sugar mill in Los Alamitos in Orange County. There was money to be made in sugar beets. The government supported domestic production with a protective tariff of 76 percent. In 1904, Clark organized his Southern California holdings as the Montana Land Company with his brother, J. Ross Clark. Later, they made Clark Bonner, J. Ross Clark’s nephew, president of the company. William A. Clark died in 1925 and left an estate worth $200 million. In 1926, Clark Bonner closed the sugar mill and leased the company’s former beet fields to tenant farmers. In 1929, Clark Bonner began subdividing the company’s farmland. The Depression and the Second World War followed. 122 According to Mark Taper, the stockholders arranged to sell the Montana Land Company because postwar corporate taxes were 77 percent. It wasn’t profitable, he said, for the company to subdivide its land in small tracts to real estate developers. According to his son, Bonner was frustrated by so many acres without landmarks. 123 The sale of the Montana Land Company included all the remaining lots in the middle-class subdivision Clark Bonner laid out in 1929. The sale also included the company-run golf course, which Bonner had intended to be an exclusive country club. In the late 1940s, the doctors, college professors, and retired naval officers who lived in the houses east of the golf course still called it “the country club.” It had never been one; it has always been a public golf course. The property owners in Bonner’s subdivision reacted immediately to the sale of the Montana Land Company and the golf course. They were afraid the three developers planned to subdivide the course into more lots for thousand-square-foot tract houses. They knew who would live in them. The three developers needed the cooperation of the county to build 17,500 houses in thirty-three months. The three men quickly leased the golf course to the county. 124 Near the first tee at the golf course is a memorial to Clark Bonner. County Supervisor Herbert Legg suggested the memorial on the day the three developers were forced to lease the golf course to the county. The memorial is a bronze plaque, originally paid for by the members of the Chamber of Commerce. When county workers removed the plaque and lost it many years later, Bonner’s son bought a new plaque and replaced it. The plaque is mounted on the side of a platform built of tan Palo Verde stone. An olive tree grows in the center of the platform. The monument used to include a drinking fountain and a bench for golfers coming off the front nine holes. The county recently took these out and replaced Bonner’s plaque. On the new plaque, the bronze letters that spell out the name of the county supervisor for this district are as big as those that spell Bonner’s name.

• From Holy Land: A Suburban Memoir (1996)

  On Monday nights, my father taught a class for teenage Catholics who attended public high school. On Sunday mornings, he went to the county juvenile hall in Downey to instruct young men for their first Communion, something that usually occurs in the second grade. My father also arranged the more elaborate ceremonies of the year at our parish church. No one else in the parish knew how. Our parish priests, some ordained in Ireland only a year or two before, were mainly responsible for building a church and the school. My father had been a member of a religious order. He had been a sacristan and knew the rubrics of the Holy Week services that took place only once a year. My father instructed the boys who served on the altar, including my brother and me. He explained to the pastor and his assistants how they should walk in procession and what each should do during the ceremony. On the afternoon before Easter Sunday, he laid out the priests’ vestments, the beeswax candles, and the charcoal for lighting the new fire of Easter. 310 My father didn’t give very much to the city in which he lived. He didn’t join the Lions Club or the Kiwanis. He didn’t coach one of the park sports leagues that the city set up in 1957 to meet the overwhelming demand for recreational activities for children. He wasn’t active in politics. All twelve thousand names on the petition to incorporate the city in 1954 had to be published in the local newspaper. It took nearly a week to set the type, and cost the backers of incorporation $9,000. My mother’s name was printed in the newspaper. My father hadn’t signed the petition. But after my father’s funeral, several people came up to my brother and me and told us that my father had given them advice, or helped them when their marriage was in trouble. 311 Far from anyone he thought might care, my uncle Jack had his body donated to a medical school when he died. 312 My city sponsors an annual awards program for property owners. About four hundred houses are entered in the contest each year. Teams of volunteers judge the houses on their landscaping, maintenance, and overall appearance. A volunteer committee, chaired by a city council member, selects grand prize and first place winners. One of the awards is for a “classic” house—a house hardly changed from one of the models the three developers put up in 1950. Choosing the houses is difficult. Selection of a winner comes down to details. Rust stains on the driveway, for instance, may prevent a house from winning a prize. 313 The ceremonies for Holy Thursday include washing the feet of twelve men of the parish in commemoration of Jesus, who had washed the feet of the twelve apostles.