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A review by thomasgoddard
The Recognitions by William Gaddis
5.0
A whirlwind of a novel. A narrative peppered with the chatter of nearby voices. I've never read a novel more evocative of the public space than this. Where at any moment we might meet someone new, but only for an instant as their voice is heard and lost in the crowd. Even television adverts invade the attention in this same haphazard but purposeful way. Sublime writing.
The romantic disease 'originality'. A whole monologue early on is about how new art is foolish for focusing on originality over technical skill. So desperate to be original that the form is lost to artistic theory. To the imagining of art rather than its actual creation. The splash of modern art; over the precision of light controlled by old masters.
I have to say that I agree. I think our world is corrupted by the desire for newness. An appreciation of the old, the vintage, the crafted form... that depends on an education, effort of research and attention. One might love vintage clothing and not apply the same discretion to one's choice of furniture. There's a sense of inconsistency. I'm more of a passionate advocate for true skill and craft over abstractions and posturing. Authenticity is vital to my life.
Whereas a new splash of paint... a new NFT... all has the same potential for arbitrary value placed on it. No foundation. No history to recommend it past its own existence. A shadow of value. A sneeze of value. The moment tastes change, the value is lost. Keep minting them, but you'll just be riding a wave that will drown someone... Even if it isn't you. Which I think is a little shameful. Stock market morality. Pyramid scheming. That's just how I feel about it. My perspective.
But great art... That lingers. It lingers because it is a demonstration of how far we have come. All that has led up to that moment. As much as a precise and soulful creative effort. I think that's bedrock for me. That most people ignore history, family, philosophy... They care only for the new and the now. But to each their own.
'People passed in the wet recommending each other to God, instead of God to each other.'
Always there is this sense of misalignment in the novel. Between what is said and what is carried out. What is promised and what is done. The same as in life.
Characters cling to their idea of authenticity in a world that betrays them. The forgery of self. An anchor caught on a gravestone.
There's religion here. One cult following another and rediscovered again.
The whole thing is just like this handkerchief and this bowling ball falling in this vacuum. The idea of what is heavy completely upended by environment.
I'll read this over and over.
The romantic disease 'originality'. A whole monologue early on is about how new art is foolish for focusing on originality over technical skill. So desperate to be original that the form is lost to artistic theory. To the imagining of art rather than its actual creation. The splash of modern art; over the precision of light controlled by old masters.
I have to say that I agree. I think our world is corrupted by the desire for newness. An appreciation of the old, the vintage, the crafted form... that depends on an education, effort of research and attention. One might love vintage clothing and not apply the same discretion to one's choice of furniture. There's a sense of inconsistency. I'm more of a passionate advocate for true skill and craft over abstractions and posturing. Authenticity is vital to my life.
Whereas a new splash of paint... a new NFT... all has the same potential for arbitrary value placed on it. No foundation. No history to recommend it past its own existence. A shadow of value. A sneeze of value. The moment tastes change, the value is lost. Keep minting them, but you'll just be riding a wave that will drown someone... Even if it isn't you. Which I think is a little shameful. Stock market morality. Pyramid scheming. That's just how I feel about it. My perspective.
But great art... That lingers. It lingers because it is a demonstration of how far we have come. All that has led up to that moment. As much as a precise and soulful creative effort. I think that's bedrock for me. That most people ignore history, family, philosophy... They care only for the new and the now. But to each their own.
'People passed in the wet recommending each other to God, instead of God to each other.'
Always there is this sense of misalignment in the novel. Between what is said and what is carried out. What is promised and what is done. The same as in life.
Characters cling to their idea of authenticity in a world that betrays them. The forgery of self. An anchor caught on a gravestone.
There's religion here. One cult following another and rediscovered again.
The whole thing is just like this handkerchief and this bowling ball falling in this vacuum. The idea of what is heavy completely upended by environment.
I'll read this over and over.