I'm a rather bookish fellow. I'll admit that to anyone. You can see it or read it--I'm fairly certain--in my face and demeanor, even in my photo below despite the surf-shirt and kayak paddle.
I know and have known a few people who have read more widely or more deeply than I, but I'm fairly sure I've taken more literature courses at the graduate and undergraduate levels than anyone I know. I've read far beyond mere courses (and I recommend the same) in an attempt to be fully versed in the literary traditions of the British Isles, the United States, medieval Europe, and ancient Greece and Rome. (Not finishing the dissertation was partially due to my reading too much, reading too hard for thought, as R. L. Stevenson warns in his "Apology for Idlers.") I'm quite attached to the poetry of Lord Byron, Seamus Heaney, and Pablo Neruda. I have probably a dozen books in my truck just in case I'm stuck somewhere sometime; there's a dozen to meet a range of moods, the verbal equivalent of a soundtrack, that I can choose from, as needed. Cannery Row, Beowulf, Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, Daniel Martin, Treasure Island, Don Juan, Braided Creek, The Heat Islands, and The Odyssey, among others.
I confess. I'm a lifelong bookworm, glasses and all, and yet at the end of a rough day or week, like this one, what do I turn to?
Now, I am a water-word-addict, as anyone who pays attention to this blog already knows. So, the jump from reading surfer mysteries to watching Jaws or The Deep or Into the Blue isn't so great. (And, if you check that shelf in the photo, I recommend Kem Nunn's Tapping the Source.) After a hard day, why not relax with some eye-candy, and I'm not necessarily talking about the girl in the blue bikini; I'm talking about eye-of-the-mind-candy: about the Bahamas, about blue skies and blue blue water, about swimming with sharks in search of lost pirate ships, about the vital dreams of youth and age.I like to pour that glass of rum, grab that copy of Melville or the current Surfer or The Surfer's Journal, and pop in that DVD of Into the Blue. Watch a little, read a little: that's the plan. I can never recall the director's name, but I like watching the video with his commentary for two reasons. 1. I already know the main tale pretty well. 2. I love the intricacies of story-telling, whether in prose, in poetry, or in motion pictures. John Stockwell, the director (now I remember), walks us through the film, commenting on the non-professional acting of the dog to issues of lighting, local highlights, and the real dangers of using actual sharks as part of the cast. (I recommend the director's commentary to Dark Blue too, by the way, though a different director.) Multiple angles; nuts and bolts. Also, watching the visuals without the usual dialogue and soundtrack is a way of noticing what the visuals are, how they work and combine, and how the director and editor really earn their pay, really share their vision.
Now, watching the director's commentary-version of Into the Blue doesn't mean I've given up on literary quality, not at all. But after a hard day or week, I want the water, the diving, the treasure hunting, and the beautiful seascapes. I want to relax and imagine myself in warm, blue water. I want those visuals and, sometimes, the story-telling perspective of that director's cut. Maybe watching that film once again will inspire me to get out the kayak or to make the drive and dive to and in Monterey Bay. Or, maybe just the relaxing and the imagining will be enough to get me working on homework, the way I should, this weekend. It's all good.
Don't judge me, but pass the rum.
Next week, I'll be neck-deep in Jane Austen and Samuel Taylor Coleridge. I promise.
