Sunday, 29 January 2012

Watched Name of the Rose again. Well, half of it; the movie is a neon long. But I like it, especially because unlike the novel, it ends well. At least for the boy, not so much for the books. And I like how some of the issues are handled. I like the portrayal of Jorge's constant scold – of laughter, of ‘idolizing the reason’…  Sick old fuck. How women are spoken of as if they were bacteria, admittedly the wombs of all the men, but sinners for it and thus disgusting. Christ. I love the way reality of cloisters is portrayed onscreen – what a dense, miser, horrible world that must have been. Still, it was better than the outside. It makes sense why pope wanted to abolish the Franciscans, who lived by the poverty oath and why the lovely were considered so filthy and corrupt. Compared to that entire gruesome monastery, being able to touch someone warm and beautiful and honest meant the world to Adso when he got laid to someone else than a fellow friar. It would make sense how those poor people lived in such terrible conditions: nobody ever taught them better. The Christians hid away all the knowledge, burnt all the midwives and herbalists and kept people in ignorance and in fear with silly stories and ugly statues. Nobody knew you *have* to bathe, you *have* to clean your home, you *have* to avoid fluids, you *have* to isolate the ill from the rest… That must have been such a terrible, terrible time to exist. Especially for the books. Originals got burnt, after being “translated” (read: heavily edited, forged and censored) so that it’s almost impossible to tell what the antique authors wrote, exactly.

There is one thing odd, however, that I notice… In the movie (well, the story; novel, too) Brother William is utterly restless until he finally finds the library – and then he’s on his turf. I know how restless I am as well, when I venture someplace and I can’t get to the books. We gravitate to the tomes as if they were oxygen. I know how I would feel if I was in an institution where I KNEW there was a library and couldn’t get t it. It would twist me like an addiction. Funny that. I suppose if a grand, bright library with a good view and an endless shelves of all shapes and sizes and cushy seating arrangements, too, is my Heaven, then I suppose being on the outside looking in would be my Hell. That which gives us wings can equally bring us wishing blindness, eh? How religious of me.