David Markson – Reading Markson Reading

The Dedication to The Waste Land in David Markson’s copy of Poems by T. S. Eliot:

On which Markson has made a number of notes…

     He placed a line in the margin and wrote that the quote:
     “NAM Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: Σίβυλλα τί θέλεις; respondebat illa: ἀποθανεῖν θέλω.”
     Is from:
     “Petronius.”

     He underlined:
     “ἀποθανεῖν θέλω”
     And translated it as:
     “(I WISH TO DIE)”

     He underlined:
     “Il miglior fabbro”
     And translated it as:
     “(That greater magician)”

     He then created his own table of contents in the lower right corner, naming the five parts of The Waste Land:
     “I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD
     II. A GAME OF CHESS
     III. THE FIRE SERMON
     IV. DEATH BY WATER
     V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID”

—-

Markson saw the four novels that make up the Notecard Quartet, his tetralogy, as somewhat similar, if still inferior, to Eliot’s The Waste Land.

     Markson claims This Is Not A Novel could be seen as:
     “An ersatz prose alternative to The Waste Land, if Writer so suggests.”
     – This Is Not A Novel, pg. 101.

Likewise, his friend and literary compatriot, Ann Beattie, wrote of Reader’s Block:
“Finally, a prose sequel to Eliot’s The Waste Land.”

Like Eliot’s The Waste Land, the novels in Markson’s Notecard Quartet warrant the kind of close reading, study and marginalia that Markson placed in his copy of Eliot’s master poem (as showcased in the above scan).

One wonders if Fannin, the detective in Markson’s Epitaph for a Tramp, did as close a reading of The Waste Land as Markson did…

“I sat around for a couple of hours, disciplining myself by not opening the next bottle until I could manage it without defacing the tax stamp, and trying to make sense of something called The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot which was the only book in the joint.”
– Epitaph for a Tramp, pg. 13 (of the collected Epitaph for a Tramp & Epitaph for a Dead Beat).

     “In such a misanthropic context, what better book to read than T. S. Eliot’s poem The Waste Land, given Fannin’s bittersweet humor?”
     A question asked by Françoise Palleau-Papin in her Markson study This Is Not A Tragedy.
     A question seconded by yours truly.

—-

The inside front cover and first page of David Markson’s copy of Les Philosophes: The Philosophers of the Enlightenment and Modern Democracy by Various (Ed. Norman L. Torrey):

On which Markson placed his name as an inscription.

—-

I apologize for falling off the map for the last couple days. For 200 and something days in a row I consistently posted a scan of Markson marginalia. And not just posted a scan but also thoroughly discussed its association with the life of the writer and the books he wrote. This will continue as soon as I return from the roadtrip to California that I have just embarked upon. I will be gone for exactly one month. When I return, expect more Reading Markson Reading posts.

This site is far from over.

Until then how about we just Read Markson?

And we’ll get back to Reading Markson READING in a month…

If this is your first time finding the site, I apologize for being away right at the time you’ve discovered my Markson blog—but feel free to peruse the more than 200 scans I’ve posted so far.

Also, remember, any of you out there who were able to get Markson-owned books from the Strand, please send me full-page scans of them and I will post them here. Thanks.

Anyways, hopefully I will be welcomed back with open arms upon my return by my fellow Readers (of Markson Reading), and I don’t fall victim to the same fate of Marco Polo:
“The credible folktale that Marco Polo and his father and uncle, disreputable and queerly dressed, were not recognized and almost denied entry to the Venice family home on their return from the East.” (Vanishing Point, pg. 35).

See you back here at the end of June?

Same bat time, same bat channel?

Pg. 237 of David Markson’s copy of Postmodern Sublime: Technology and American Writing from Mailer to Cyberpunk by Joseph Tabbi:

On which Markson placed a check in the margins of the book’s Works Cited next to mention of an essay on his own writing, namely:
“Wallace, David Foster. ‘The Empty Plenum: David Markson’s Wittgenstein’s
Mistress.’ Review of Contemporary Fiction 10 (Summer 1990):217-39.”

—-

David Foster Wallace, a great novelist in his own right, wrote the essay “The Empty Plenum: David Markson’s Wittgenstein’s Mistress” exploring that masterpiece of Markson’s that he had called “pretty much the high point of experimental fiction in this country” in a different article for Salon.

The entire text of David Foster Wallace’s “The Empty Plenum” can be read here.

But here is the opening bit of the essay which I thought I’d share for any of you Readers (of Markson Reading) out there who have never had the pleasure of coming across it:
“Certain novels not only cry out for critical interpretations but actually
try to direct them. This is probably analogous to a piece of music that both demands and defines the listener’s movements, say like a waltz. Frequently, too, those novels that direct their own critical reading concern themselves thematically with what we might consider highbrow or intellectual issues—stuff proper to art, engineering, antique lit., philosophy, etc. These novels carve out for themselves an interstice between flat-out fiction and a sort of weird cerebral roman à clef. When they fail, as my own first long thing did, they’re pretty dreadful. But when they succeed, as I claim David Markson’s Wittgenstein’s Mistress does, they serve the vital & vanishing function of reminding us of fiction’s limitless possibilities for reach & grasp, for making heads throb heartlike, & for sanctifying the marriages of cerebration & emotion, abstraction & lived life, transcendent truth-seeking & daily schlepping, marriages that in our happy epoch of technical occlusion & entertainment-marketing seem increasing consummatable only in the imagination. Books I tend to associate with this INTERPRET-ME phenomenon include stuff like Candide, Witold Gombrowicz’s Cosmos, Hesse’s The Glass Bead Game, Sartre’s Nausea, Camus’s Stranger. These five are works of genius of a particular kind: they shout their genius. Markson, in Wittgenstein’s Mistress, tends rather to whisper, but his w.o.g.’s no less successful; nor—particularly given the rabid anti-intellectualism of the contemporary fiction scene—seems it any less important. It’s become an important book to me, anyway. I’d never heard of this guy Markson, before, in ‘88. And have, still, read nothing else by him. I ordered the book mostly because of its eponymous title; I like to fancy myself a fan of the work of its namesake. Clearly the book was/is in some way ‘about’ Wittgenstein, given the title. This is one of the ways an INTERPRET-ME fiction clues the critical reader in on what the book’s to be seen as on a tertiary level ‘about’: the title: Ulysses’ title, its structure as Odyssean/Telemachean map (succeeds); R. Goldstein’s The Mind-Body Problem (really terrible); Cortázar’s Hopscotch (succeeds exactly to the extent one ignores the invitation to hop around in it); Burroughs’s Queer & Junkie (fail successfully (?)).”

Pg. 65 of David Markson’s copy of Mao II by Don DeLillo:

On which Markson placed a line next to the words:
“I think there’s an intensity that makes certain subjects a little dangerous. And we don’t have the camera between us. This changes everything, doesn’t it? Scott said six-thirty.”

He then responded to that passage by writing in the margins:
“Again the spurious mysticism.”

—-

Judging from the comments in the margins, Markson seems to find DeLillo’s whole book to be spurious.

In fact, bullshit.

As I’ve mentioned here many-a-times, he placed the word “Bullshit” in the margins of Mao II rather frequently.

Though I do not own his copy of DeLillo’s White Noise, Readers (of Markson Reading) familiar with the whole Markson Treasure Hunt also know that similar comments were written in Markson’s copy of that book as well.
Many of which can be found here: in the London Review of Books article by Alex Abramovich and in that article’s comments.

Markson’s DeLillo’s White Noise being, as the Abramovich article clearly shows, the book that began the whole Markson Treasure Hunt.

Some of his DeLillo comments in that White Noise…

     “I’ve finally solved this book—it’s sci-fi!”
     (Which was originally reported as “Oh I get it, it’s a sci-fi novel!” in the Abramovich article—hence the article’s title—but is corrected in the comments by the owner of the book Annecy Liddell.)
     (And which can be seen here.)

“Oh god the pomposity, the portentousness—the bullshit!”
(Which can be seen here.)

“Too cute.”
(Which can be seen here.)

“This book may have set the all-time record for boredom. At 1/3 of the length, it might have worked.”
(Which can be seen here.)

“D’ya ever fuck ‘er?”
(Which can be seen here.)

“Are we supposed to believe this?”
(Which can be seen here.)

“If this were not my first Delillo, I probably would have quit 100 pages ago. Surely now.”
(Which can be seen here.)

“Oh, wow! Big deal.”
(Which can be seen here.)

“This ‘ordinariness’ is just that—ordinary, i.e., a bore. Presumably it is meant as satire. Except, dammit, satire should be amusing!”
(Which can be seen here.)

“Boring boring boring.”
(Which can be seen here.)

“Once we get the point, it’s boring.”
(Which can be seen here.)

“I’ll say. Too bad you don’t convey them to us!”
(Which can be seen here.)

     “Oh God.”
     (Twice on one page.)
     (Which can be seen here.)

“Gawd. This is awful.”
(Which can be seen here.)

“We got the point of this stuff a long time ago. A long time ago. It’s now BORING! And has been.”
(Which can be seen here.)

The second page of the Foreword of David Markson’s copy of Dostoevsky: Works and Days by Avrahm Yarmolinsky:

On which Markson put a check next to Yarmolinsky writing:
“The author is greatly indebted to his wife, Babette Deutsch, for generous help in the preparation of this book.”

—-

Avrahm Yarmolinsky may be “greatly indebted to his wife,” but you know who else was?
David Markson.

Dedicating Going Down:
“To Elaine, my wife, and to the memory of Malcolm Lowry.”

David and Elaine Markson separated in 1982.

Markson didn’t release what is widely seen as his masterpiece—Wittgenstein’s Mistress—until 1988. Even though he supposedly finished it sometime around 1983.

“Although Elaine and David had separated by then, Elaine continued to represent her former husband’s work.”
Wrote Joanna Scott in her article “A Passionate Reader: On David Markson” in The Nation.

His late-life success he undeniably owes, at least in small part, to his literary agent:
His ex-wife Elaine Markson, from the Markson Thoma Literary Agency.

The author is greatly indebted to his wife.

The table of contents of David Markson’s copy of A History of Latin Literature by Moses Hadas:

On which Markson wrote next to the chapter on “SATIRE”:
“—Juvenal, Martial”

—-

     Speaking of Latin satire, let us glance at something Françoise Palleau-Papin wrote about Markson’s one novel that is no longer in print: Miss Doll, Go Home:
     “Markson chose the killer for a literary mouthpiece because, ironically enough, the man who eventually murders all his accomplices is a free spirit like no other. His iconoclastic love for literature as well as people turns into hatred and destruction taken with the same pleasure, both love and hate being the proverbial two sides of the coin. The gangster’s favorite reading gives the key to the composition of the crime novel, which is akin to Latin satire, etymologically ‘a satire in the modern sense of the word, but also in the original Latin sense of a medley, a composite genre that mixes prose, verse, tragedy and comedy into a delightful motley of tones and genres.’ That satire takes delight in the grotesque mixing of tones, in incongruous borrowings and a well-crafted off-hand manner. In the Satyricon, Eumolpus, a serious-minded character, defines the work of a poet in such terms: ‘not can a mind, unless unricht with learning, be deliver’d of a birth of poetry.’ (p. 190). Miss Doll is so ‘enriched with learning’ that the delivery is a hilarious mixture of genres.”
     From Pg. 36 of This Is Not A Tragedy by Françoise Palleau-Papin.

All Markson’s novels in some sense a satire?

Lanx satura.

“An assemblage.” – Reader’s Block, pg. 140.

“Bricolage.” – Reader’s Block, pg. 141.

Lanx satura.

As in: “A full dish of various kinds of fruits.”

“A hilarious mixture of genres.”

The first page of David Markson’s copy of The Spirit of Tragedy by Herbert J. Muller:

     On which Markson placed as an inscription:
     “Markson
     NYC – 1981”

—-

     This is my third post of Markson inscriptions from 1981.
     Not sure why I’m on a kick of posting his inscriptions.
     I have plenty of actual marginalia left.
     And why am I focusing on 1981?
     Sometimes there is no rhyme or reason.
     And sometimes rhyme and reason only become clear long after the fact.

Nonetheless, here is the first page of Herbert Muller’s The Spirit of Tragedy.

Tragedy is an important concept in Markson’s oeuvre.

Hence the title of the only book length study of Markson—at least the only one thus far:
This Is Not A Tragedy by Françoise Palleau-Papin.

As she explains:
“Markson does not wish to repeat Greek tragedy, which no longer suits our times. There is no chorus anymore, no coryphaeus leading it, no community implied in the misfortunes of a family torn by power and strife. The rule of everyone for his own has made secession irrevocable, and society has disintegrated. Today, we could only reread the Greek tragedies repeatedly, the way Karl Marx used to, according to Vanishing Point: ‘Karl Marx reread the Oresteia once every year.’ (VP, p. 73) Did the theorist of class struggle reread the Oresteia to immerse himself in a world that stayed coherent in spite of its being torn apart? His own world had lost the stability of the Ancient Greek cosmos. Ours could only claim such coherence under the yoke of totalitarian fanaticism. Precisely, what is most frightening in tragedy, from its ancient origin in a goat sacrifice, is that it reveals a community’s desire to sacrifice the other, the scapegoat.” (Pg. xxxi of the Intro).

“Goat song.”
Wrote Markson in Reader’s Block, pg. 30.

“And goatsong, Fern? Don’t you remember the derivation?”
Wrote Markson in Going Down, pg. 190.

“But the very word tragedy means ‘goat song,’ and as we have seen, he has several times given us the goat as well—so it is perhaps also of interest here that the chief objects of sacrifice at the rites of Dionysus were oxen and goats.”
Wrote Markson in Malcolm Lowry’s Volcano: Myth Symbol Meaning, pg. 160.

Scapegoatsong?

The first page of David Markson’s copy of Inferno by Dante Alighieri:

     On which Markson placed the inscription:
     “Markson
     NYC ‘81”

—-

Yes, another post with nothing but the classic inscription.

      And one with the exact inscription as my last post (even with the same date):
     “Markson
     NYC ‘81”

This time though, the book is Dante’s Inferno.

Inferno, of course, being the book which got Dante into some trouble with extreme fundamentalist Muslims in our “modern” times…

     Why? Well…
     “Dante situates Mohammed in the ninth chasm of the Malebolge for having sown division in the Church. He is seen slashed open from his chin to his anus and with his innards spilling out.
     In retaliation, Muslim fundamentalists in the early 1990s threatened to blow up Dante’s tomb in Ravenna.
     Seven hundred years after the fact.”
     Markson explained in his novel Reader’s Block. On pg. 68.

These extremists’ terrorist threats are not the only negative comments made toward Dante in Markson’s Notecard Quartet…

“A hyena that writes poetry on tombs, Nietzsche called Dante.” (This Is Not A Novel, pg. 16).

“Most of Homer is trash, determined Walter Savage Landor.
Who felt the same way about Dante.” (Vanishing Point, pg. 60).

“Santayana’s annoyance at the perpetual tremblings and tears and fainting fits in Dante.
This shivering and swooning philosopher—unquote.” (Vanishing Point, pg. 165).

“Dante will always remain popular because nobody ever reads him.
Said Voltaire.” (The Last Novel, pg. 83).

     Which all seem to amount to a sentiment expressed by a character in one of Markson’s non-Notecard Quartet novels: Going Down:
     “Dante, fuck you.”
     Found on pg. 259 of that novel.

But going back to his tetralogy, there were also—unsurprisingly—some positive comments on Dante to be found in the Notecard Quartet as well…

“No greater man ever walked the earth than he.
Said Michelangelo of Dante.” (Reader’s Block, pg. 101).

“Dante tires one quickly; it is like looking at the sun.
Said Joyce.” (Vanishing Point, pg. 137).

“The grete poete of Ytaille.
Chaucer referred to Dante as—in the late fourteenth century.” (The Last Novel, pg. 28).

Pg. 250 of David Markson’s copy of Man the Measure: A New Approach to History by Erich Kahler:

On which Markson placed an X next to the following information from a paragraph about the misuse of papal power by Popes that “did not behave at
all differently from the other Renaissance princes”:
“And Pope Leo X, the son of Lorenzo Medici, was credited with saying: ‘This story of Jesus has helped us a lot.’”

—-

     On pg. 184 of his novel (?) This Is Not A Novel, Markson made use of the above information:
     “This story of Jesus has helped us a lot.
     Allowed Pope Leo X.”

The first page of David Markson’s copy of Latin Poetry: The New Poets & The Augustans by Clarence W. Mendell:

     On which Markson wrote as an inscription:
     “Markson
     NYC ‘81”

—-

The above inscription is a fairly classic Markson inscription.

Though he has a few ways of writing his name on the inside front cover or first page of his books, it most often appears like this.

Mendell’s book, Latin Poetry: The New Poets & The Augustans, from which the above scan is taken, discusses such Latin poets as Lucretius, Catullus, Vergil, Horace, Tibullus, Propertius and Ovid.

A fact you would know of these men if you have read Markson’s Vanishing Point:
“Evidently not one of the major Latin poets in Rome was born in Rome itself.” (Pg. 89).