John Crowley Little and Big

The Art of Unmemory

The Art of Unmemory

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I noticed a feature of the Amazon listings I hadn't before.  I was looking at the Little, Big page, checking (purely for comparison) its Amazon ranking (665,000something), and saw a listing at the bottom of the page a list of "books that cite this book."  One was the Notebooks of Northrop Frye.  This was exciting!  Frye is a hero of sorts of mine; his book The Secular Scripture, a study of the structure of romance, is a key text in my understanding of what my writing,, and much of what's called fantasy literature is about -- but I don't have to tell this crowd that.  Anyway, I went on over to Amazon's page where the Notebooks are listed, and found I could look in to the book, and search in it for my name.  This is the reference I found:

"John Crowley’s Little, Big, a book the author handed to me when I was lecturing at Smith College, seems to move in and out of this world with considerable expertise.  I notice one of his sections is headed “Sylvie and Bruno Concluded.”  Bruno gets linked with Giordano and memory theaters."

(He's talking about fairy worlds, Celtic mythologies, etc.)

In the Introduction to the notebooks, and on the same topic, the editor says:  

"An important literary fantasist who caught Frye’s interest in this context is John Crowley, who made Frye a gift of his novel Little, Big (1982), about the otherworld of the fairies."

A footnote to the passage where Frye mentions Little, Big notes that “NF presented ‘Framework and Assumption” at Smith College, in Northampton, Mass., on 24 October 1985.”

How wonderful that Frye remembered that I gve him that book!  I had not long before come to live in Northampton, and L. and I sometimes went to lectures and readings at Smith.  Of course I wouldn't have missed an appearance by Frye, and the chance to give him a book that was so influenced by his thinking.

The only trouble is -- I don't remember this at all.  Not the lecture, not attending it, not the giving of the book.  None.  Nothing.  Nada.  He remembered and I didn't.  I am stunned, slightly.  What other great men and women have I met, given books to, in whose memories I persisted?  I'll never know.
 




 
  • remembering nada

    Well, Nabokov once told me how he enjoyed your giving him your childhood set of Little Nemo in Slumberland, during that week you spent together walking the streets and paths of Geneva and talking over so many things.
  • And that night in Prague with--

    But you know.

    Nine
  • Always strange, isn't it, how what was just a glitch in the radar to one's self turns out to have been Hugely Important, to someone else?
    I've had this happen, though with personal acquaintances, rather than with an author I respected.
  • I'm reading the new biography of Frances Partridge and am continually gobsmacked by the quantities of diaries, letters, date-books, and other seeming ephemera that must underlie this book. Of course this is Bloomsbury but still. People used to keep better track of things, I think.
  • Interesting.

    Could be it happened in his timeline and not in yours, and at some point the two timelines merged.




    .


  • Perhaps he had you confused with Rev. Dodgson? };->
    • You could also maybe have partial complex epilepsy without knowing it.

      Or something.





      .
      • Oh well, that's the most obvious answer -- I was thinking of something wilder.
        • Well, I was serious about the merging timelines. It does happen, though by its very nature it is unproveable either way. Like telepathy, it just takes one experience to convince a person of its reality, but the person that experiences it would be wise not to make too much of his experience, at least in any public way.





          .
          • (Anonymous)
            Because there is after all more than one history of the world.

            If the many-worlds model of quantum mechanics is valid, it would seem to me that realities resulting from such splitting would again be merged through some principle akin to conservation of energy when the distinctions that separated them became sufficiently trivial, leaving only small anomalies of memory to indicate such had occurred.

            Realities that fork into wild disparity, of course, may remain separate, known to each other only through brief glimpses that might occur in consciousness as daydreams or fantasies, giving rise to speculative fictions in which one world-track is described to another.

            I wonder if anyone is actually studying such possibilities, or whether one could get a grant to do so.
            • Yes, you can get a grant, actually many large ones, but not in this quantum track.

              If you get this same snarky response again, or many such, they will be coming from other loser tracks like, but not the same as, ours.
              • Myrrh

                The resin incense 'myrrh' is a powerful psychoactive drug. It is soporific and it kills pain in a fashion similar to but not as effectively as opium does.

                I have done extensive experiments with myrrh and extracts from myrrh and (one of) the effect(s) that it has is to give you a set of memories from one or more alternate time tracks. You go into this sort of half-sleep where you have 'opium dreams' regarding what your avatar is up to in the other time-track, and when you come out of the state you retain the memories. This can be problematic, as if you do this enough you may become confused as to which time-track you are actually inhabiting.



                .
  • Prosaically: is it possible someone else gave him the book and he just assumed it was the author?
    • I wondered that myself. I suppose it is possible. But the year and the place argue that it was likely me. I guess I'll never know. Maybe I gave the book to somebody to give to Frye because I couldn't make it, and Frye assumed he was me. That would make me feel less non compos mentis.
      • non compos mentis

        You're the only person whom I've known, apart from my mom, to use that phrase... a lovely one.

        In reading through this thread I'm reminded of A.E. Van Vogt, who if he were at hand might just spin for you an explanation of an alternative-universe You giving the book to an alternative-universe Frye. So how many more of (each of) you might be out there on the loose, one wonders.

        By the way, I'm in the midst of Four Freedoms and wish I could stay home from work to read it all day. Thank you.
        • Re: non compos mentis

          (Anonymous)
          HEH. My mother too. It is cute.
          The explanation that you gave it to someone to give to Frye has legs, IMO.

          - Genevieve
  • Well, you could take a pill. Three grains of Ununmemorium ought to do the trick.
    • A psychologist/friend refers to this casually as "benign senentia," which means you don't have to fret until someone thanks you for the book and you remark - "Little what...?"
      • I like the “benign’ theory since I’ve had equally disturbing memory disconnects (in that they carried enough emotional weight to earn them a place in the family room of my memory mansion instead of the unused shed where they landed). It’s why I think the moment in “Novelty” when the narrator discovers he’s not only spoken to the attractive woman in the bar before but he’s actually told her he was writing a novel—he has no memory of either—is so right in that subtle, satisfying way stories sometimes achieve. That moment, and his ensuing vague uneasiness over whether he’s just repeating all his best stories to her, serve as the perfect (and very funny) ballast to his imaginative flights. Which reminds me, benignly enough. At some point while I was reading “Novelty” I thought, wait a minute, I’ve been in this bar before. I didn’t remember the name, but I definitely remembered the feel of the place, the tinted windows and so forth. And then it came to me that the last time I was there was with Auberon. Under different management it was then, as I recall.
        • Truth to tell: yes, the bar did appear, under the same name, in Little, Big, but it also existed, in another plane of reality, on Third Avenue between 26th and 27th Streets in New York City; it was called Caliban, and had that vast tinted window, and a wonderful ancient bar of blackened oak with mirrors and pillars and carved moustachioed faces. I... spent a little time in there ca. 1975,
          • Thank you for making me remember the appearance of the bar in Novelty. Though I read it, I didn't remember this common element with Little, Big and I loved so much Little, Big (like many here) that I am eager to receive more of it in any form possible.

            (May I complain here by the way about the fact that I will surely miss the yet upublished text from Little, Big that is schedulded to appear in the deluxe version of the anniversary edition, an edition that my finances won't allow me to purchase, even if I'd like to? Sorry about that.)

            • I'm afraid you will have to address all complaints to the publisher, who is a hard man.
  • Well, I actually hadn't heard of The Secular Scripture, so thanks for giving me that.
  • Northrop Frye
    Was exceedingly sly.
    He performed his metamythical heavy lifting
    By concocting anecdotes of authorial gifting.
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