18.9.14

Why Walking Helps Us Think

Nabokov, Joyce, Woolf and the science of walking
Photograph: Nick Walton
From Ferris Jabr (New Yorker) (thanks to Emily Blewitt for the link):
In Vogue’s 1969 Christmas issue, Vladimir Nabokov offered some advice for teaching James Joyce’s “Ulysses”: “Instead of perpetuating the pretentious nonsense of Homeric, chromatic, and visceral chapter headings, instructors should prepare maps of Dublin with Bloom’s and Stephen’s intertwining itineraries clearly traced.” He drew a charming one himself. Several decades later, a Boston College English professor named Joseph Nugent and his colleagues put together an annotated Google map that shadows Stephen Dedalus and Leopold Bloom step by step. The Virginia Woolf Society of Great Britain, as well as students at the Georgia Institute of Technology, have similarly reconstructed the paths of the London amblers in “Mrs. Dalloway.”

Such maps clarify how much these novels depend on a curious link between mind and feet. Joyce and Woolf were writers who transformed the quicksilver of consciousness into paper and ink. To accomplish this, they sent characters on walks about town. As Mrs. Dalloway walks, she does not merely perceive the city around her. Rather, she dips in and out of her past, remolding London into a highly textured mental landscape, “making it up, building it round one, tumbling it, creating it every moment afresh.”

Since at least the time of peripatetic Greek philosophers, many other writers have discovered a deep, intuitive connection between walking, thinking, and writing. (In fact, Adam Gopnik wrote about walking in The New Yorker just two weeks ago.) “How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live!” Henry David Thoreau penned in his journal. “Methinks that the moment my legs begin to move, my thoughts begin to flow.” Thomas DeQuincey has calculated that William Wordsworth—whose poetry is filled with tramps up mountains, through forests, and along public roads—walked as many as a hundred and eighty thousand miles in his lifetime, which comes to an average of six and a half miles a day starting from age five.

What is it about walking, in particular, that makes it so amenable to thinking and writing? The answer begins with changes to our chemistry. When we go for a walk, the heart pumps faster, circulating more blood and oxygen not just to the muscles but to all the organs—including the brain. Many experiments have shown that after or during exercise, even very mild exertion, people perform better on tests of memory and attention. Walking on a regular basis also promotes new connections between brain cells, staves off the usual withering of brain tissue that comes with age, increases the volume of the hippocampus (a brain region crucial for memory), and elevates levels of molecules that both stimulate the growth of new neurons and transmit messages between them. [Read More]

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30.12.13

Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Reveries of a Solitary Walker

A review by P. D. Smith
Jean-Jacques Rousseau
From P. D. Smith (The Guardian):
Although not intended for publication, Reveries has been hugely influential, as Russell Goulbourne's excellent introduction to his new translation makes clear. The Reveries inspired Wordsworth's ambulatory poem The Prelude and Baudelaire considered naming a collection of poems about Paris The Solitary Walker. Rousseau's walks are not urban, but there are also clear parallels with the Parisian flâneurs and the dérive of the Situationists. A powerful meditation on the quest for self-understanding. [Read More]

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21.7.13

Christopher Ricks on Lydia Davis

From an article in the Times Literary Supplement
Lydia Davis (Source)
From Christopher Ricks (TLS):
Lydia Davis was born in 1947 in Northampton, Massachusetts. Among her volumes of fiction there is a novel, The End of the Story (1995). The beginning of the story – of the stories – is now taken by her and her publishers to be Break It Down (1986), followed by Almost No Memory (1997), Samuel Johnson Is Indignant (2001), and Varieties of Disturbance (2007). These constitute The Collected Stories of Lydia Davis, more than 700 pages, 200 writings, the shortest a sentence or even less, the longest about forty pages. Writings, because just how to characterize them is to the point (at first, anyway), and has its power to intrigue. They fling their lithe arms wide to embrace many a kind. Should we simply concur with the official title and dub them stories? Or perhaps miniatures? Anecdotes? Essays? Jokes? Parables? Fables? Texts, or in the Beckett idiom, textes? Aphorisms, or even apophthegms? Prayers, or perhaps wisdom literature? Or might we settle for observations? This last, in the double sense of T. S. Eliot’s first book, Prufrock and Other Observations, where “observations” are the claims both of the perceptive eye and of the wise mind, both the remarkings and the remarks. Lydia Davis herself, in an interview: “I am very curious about strangers I observe – as in a bus line”. [Read More]

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8.8.11

Literary Friendships

Biographical connections between writers, poets and philosophers
Accredited Online Colleges has compiled a list of '11 Literary Friendships we can learn from', including Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus and Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau and Emily Dickinson and Thomas Wentworth Higginson [Read More]
8.6.11

Video Interview with J. M. Coetzee

Nobel winner on literature, landscape and music

Peter Sacks interviews J. M. Coetzee about his life, work and influences. Recorded at the Lensic Theater in Santa Fe, New Mexico on November 8, 2001. (Source)

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