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【周更】每周推荐一部书/影/音

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滑小姬 发表于 2020-7-27 01:01:54 |阅读模式
社畜之后总感觉输入和输出都降得厉害,公众号动不动被人举报也懒得更新了,突然就想开个这样的帖子,也算是对我的一个正面激励吧,推荐的书/影/音肯定是看过或者正在看的,如果同样感兴趣可以在本帖或者我的主页留言获取电子书,希望有书友一起讨论。

本周推荐的是Eliese Colette Goldbach的《Rust : A Memoir of Steel and Grit》(锈带:钢铁和水泥的记忆),今年3月初出版的书,内容也还算新,里面还有不少对千禧世代和特朗普的吐槽,我是出版当月读完的,反复又看了几遍,因为家在东北老工业基地,我个人是有很强的废土情结的,喜欢Rebecca Litchfield的摄影集《苏维埃幽魂》,以前也会学着Rebecca Litchfield做一些城探,深夜打着手电翻进老建筑里拍摄之类,这其实是个危险的事情,那些工业遗址很多都是危楼,说不定就会有塌方事故,但是我乐此不疲,就像书里作者写的,进入工厂之前,她不懂克利夫兰,他和华盛顿特区的律师交谈时所介绍的故乡也是那样空洞,在学会欣赏克利夫兰的橙色火焰之前,她无法捍卫克利夫兰的精神。作者在某章末尾总结到,火焰在很大程度上是我们历史和身份的一部分。不断提醒你,即使在没有持久性的世界中,有些事情也可以经受时间的考验。

最后附上【新潮沉思录】对《极乐迪斯科》的评语:
“罗伯特将自己小说的世界观浓缩进了一张A4纸上,而ZA/UM则将他的想象变成了真实呈现在电脑屏幕上的画面,一个以他们青春时代生活的后冷战时期的东欧为蓝本的城市,在这里有铅灰色的海岸线、漂着油污的锈铜色溪流、倾颓破败的楼宇、肮脏晦暗的廉价公寓;在这里有着劣质烟、酒、致幻剂、也有蒸汽朋克风格的载具和超自然生物;最重要的是,在这里有着保X党、法X斯主义分子、共X主义者、自X主义者、无X府主义者,有秉持着从极左到极右,无数种意识形态,彼此剑拔弩张,却又被困在同一座小城的市民们,还有被他们轮流蹂躏,最后却又被他们的鲜血所染红的血色广场。

P.S.我想这是一本很值得分享给大家的书,关于历史、记忆与生产,关于看待这个世界的态度,这个月我也读了一篇和废土有关的文章,Andreas Huyssen的《Nostalgia for Ruins》(废墟的乡愁),或许能一定程度上解释这种废土情结,如果有很多人有兴趣的话我找个时间OCR下来贴在这个帖子里。

2020.7.27


每周推荐内容:

第一更 Eliese Colette Goldbach的《Rust : A Memoir of Steel and Grit》(锈带:钢铁和水泥的记忆)
引申阅读
Andreas Huyssen的《Nostalgia for Ruins》(废墟的乡愁)第一部分
Andreas Huyssen的《Nostalgia for Ruins》(废墟的乡愁)第二部分
Andreas Huyssen的《Nostalgia for Ruins》(废墟的乡愁)第三部分

第二更 Ben Lewis的《Hammer And Tickle : A History Of Communism Told Through Communist Jokes》(锤子和乐子:通过共义段子来讲述共义历史)
引申阅读
刘济昆整理的一些文革笑话集;英剧《Tiny Revolutions》
撩月 发表于 2020-7-27 10:08:22
优秀。监督楼主,flag 不要倒
 楼主| 滑小姬 发表于 5 天前
本周推荐的是Ben Lewis的《Hammer And Tickle : A History Of Communism Told Through Communist Jokes》(锤子和乐子:通过共义段子来讲述共义历史),这本书的主题大概可以总结为“It is a history of humour, more than a humorous history.”作者搜集了很多共义笑话,所有这些书都把共义笑话描述为中欧,东欧和俄罗斯的遗产。比较耐人寻味的一点是笑话背后的民族主义,它们都包含大致相同的笑话,但每个作者都声称大多数笑话起源于自己的国家。唯一没有夸耀这方面的国家是东德,因为他们知道没有人会相信他们。这些声明显示出其实相较于“苏联笑话”的名气来说,真正来源于苏共的笑话并不多,大约只有一千至一千五百。另外中国人,越南人和柬埔寨人似乎都没有以这种方式表达过他们的经历(其实中国有,作者不知道而已,譬如刘济昆整理的一些文革笑话集)。古巴人讲了很多关于卡斯特罗的笑话,但很多老笑话改编自欧洲共义国家的笑话,新笑话是古巴流亡者和右翼美国人发明的,很难将它们作为共义公民的真实表现进行研究。所以这种笑话可以简单统称为“苏联笑话”,这里面最著名的是斯洛伐克作家扬·卡利纳(Jan Kalina)撰写的1001笑话,该书于1969年在布拉迪斯拉发发行。1980年,他的笑话和亲身经历的审判故事成为英国电视剧《Tiny Revolutions》的主题。

有关“笑”的研究肯定是个偏右的话题,按照著名右派喜剧家陈佩斯的理论,“笑”来自于不平等(比如我们看到人出丑会发笑,就是建立在这种优越感之上),是一种对权威的解构。共义笑话形成于十九世纪末苏俄革命初期,一些作家迅速捕捉到共义理论和实践的缺点和矛盾——将处女政治制度强加给信息封闭、未受教育的人口(譬如一位未受过良好教育的公民期待着开会–“今天真的要召开全体会议,等到看到当前的法定人数后再讨论”,然后再讨论会议是“完全工业化”还是“完全实际”。),所以这个时候共义笑话的主要形式是复杂的文学讽刺,由于革命初期报刊审查不是很严格,这些笑话百花齐放,在二十世纪中叶的新经济政策时期与《真理报》每日发行量相同,到了斯大林治下的三十年代,由于言论管控以及笑话的质量民粹化,整体数量和质量都远远下滑,大多只是老笑话的翻版,不再具有曾经良性的创造力(苏俄革命初期很多苏联笑话的讽刺作家是同情支持苏维埃的),作者举的一个例子里,一个三十年代的苏联笑话甚至可以追溯至12世纪一位波斯诗人的著作。

最后说明一下,这本书写于2010年之前(再版过几次,我看的是08年的版本),那是个全球最右的时代,苏联的尸体吃出了很长时间资义国家主导的世界繁荣,中国也在不断融入“全球化”之中并在08年左右出现盛极转衰的趋势,而作者的立场在我看来无疑是偏右的,他的妻子则恰恰相反,出生于东德,经历过两德合并后西德对东德无休止的诋毁污蔑甚至暴力清场的她多少是怀念DDR的,不过这些都不重要,我们可以直接看那些笑话本身,孰是孰非交给自己思考。

最后带点私货,摘录下我喜欢的一段:
As I stood in the industrial ruin, craning my neck upwards, contemplating this gigantic failure of human effort, I was overcome with a sense of the sublime. I felt like an eighteenth-century Englishman on the Grand Tour, beholding for the first time in his life the panorama of the Roman Forum with its crumbling Ionic columns and cracked pediments, or, having climbed a steep Swiss Alp, looking across the expanse of a glacier under a darkening tempestuous sky. The scene was both picturesque and fearsome – an image of hubris and of a heroic struggle.
Then I woke up. It was a dream about a world I would never see. That old slogan had long been washed off the walls of Soviet factories, which had themselves long been torn down. I thought about what the dream meant with its Piranesian sense of scale: Lenin’s maths, and the fun had with it, tell us that Communist jokes were a David and Goliath struggle: small pebbles of wit slung against the hectoring Soviet giant.
In the beginning there was no Communism and no Communist jokes. Then came the Russian Revolution.


2020.8.3
国士无双 发表于 5 天前
赞一下

https://projects.iq.harvard.edu/80books

不由想到了这个项目,希望楼主能坚持。
袁野 发表于 2020-7-31 20:12:36
Li-guru 发表于 2020-7-27 07:54
内心极其赞赏不功利性的看书的人的

这个看需求,功利性看书相对来说目地性更明确。
MindBread 发表于 2020-7-28 15:06:43
发抖的小熊猫 发表于 2020-7-27 10:07
你看的是英文原版书吗? 可否分享一些读英文书的方法呢?
自从连续背单词突破100天之后(虽然每天只花了20几分 ...

https://www.laohuang.net/2017031 ... ocabulary-studying/
Li-guru 发表于 2020-7-27 07:54:24
内心极其赞赏不功利性的看书的人的
布拉格 发表于 2020-7-27 10:07:05
克利夫兰...让我想到詹姆斯,骑士队。查了下也是搞钢铁工业的,现在转型中。
发抖的小熊猫 发表于 2020-7-27 10:07:18
你看的是英文原版书吗? 可否分享一些读英文书的方法呢?
自从连续背单词突破100天之后(虽然每天只花了20几分钟), 我渐渐萌生了看英文书的想法...
冷血傲情 发表于 2020-7-27 16:49:51
下次请把链接放上谢谢
 楼主| 滑小姬 发表于 2020-7-27 19:49:58
发抖的小熊猫 发表于 2020-7-27 10:07
你看的是英文原版书吗? 可否分享一些读英文书的方法呢?
自从连续背单词突破100天之后(虽然每天只花了20几分 ...


我没啥方法,靠兴趣熬过适应期就好了,我最开始看英文书是二战史,国内这方面做得奇差,欧美的资料好得多,所以就边看边查硬啃下来的,后来就习惯了英文书,对我来说兴趣比较重要吧,我现在日文也就是只会五十音的程度,不妨碍我机翻看日轻。
Dus 发表于 2020-7-28 14:54:48
SURF-
等待阁下每周的小推荐。

如何只查看 楼主信息呢 @虫子 @滑小姬
赞助商作品
阿里云 更新于 2019年3月1日 23:33 来自 iPhone 11 Pro Max
国内云服务扛把子,阿里云白嫖价,上车不宜迟!

与寄生于公众号、知乎等平台不同,当你拥有一个自己的云服务器,就可以尽情折腾!练练刚学了不久的编程技术,把你的小创意呈现在线上的网站,是一件很有成就感的事情。当然云服务器的应用场景还远不止如此...

撩月 发表于 2020-7-29 11:34:24
@Dus 进个人主页,点 收听TA 就可以了。
left_freckle 发表于 5 天前
起手有点高端啊
琦六七 发表于 5 天前
同为社畜,只能给你手动赞一个
 楼主| 滑小姬 发表于 5 天前
琦六七 发表于 2020-8-3 16:41
同为社畜,只能给你手动赞一个

谢谢,加油~
 楼主| 滑小姬 发表于 3 天前
《Nostalgia for Ruins》(废墟的乡愁)
The dictionary defines nostalgia as “homesickness” or a “longing for something far away or long ago.”1 The word is made up of the Greek nostos = home and algos =pain. Nostalgia’s primary meaning has to do with the irreversibility of time: something in the past is no longer accessible. Since the European seventeenth century,with the emergence of a new sense of temporality increasingly characterized by the radical asymmetries of past, present, and future, nostalgia as a longing for a lost past has developed into the modern disease perse.2 This predominantly negative coding of nostalgia within modernity is easily explained: nostalgia counteracts, even undermines linear notions of progress, whether they are framed dialectically as philosophy of history or sociologically and economically as modernization. But nostalgic longing for a past is always also a longing for another place. Nostalgia can be a utopia in reverse. Temporality and spatiality are necessarily linked in nostalgic desire. The architectural ruin is an example of the indissoluble combination of spatial and temporal desires that trigger nostalgia. In the body of the ruin the past is both present in its residues and yet no longer accessible, making the ruin an especially powerful trigger for nostalgia.
The cult of ruins has accompanied Western modernity in waves since the eighteenth century. But over the past decade and a half, a strange obsession with ruins has developed in the countries of the northern transatlantic as part of a much broader discourse about memory and trauma, genocide and war. This contemporary obsession with ruins hides a nostalgia for an earlier age that had not yet lost its power to imagine other futures. At stake is a nostalgia for modernity that dare not speak its name after acknowledging the catastrophes of the twentieth century and the lingering injuries of inner and outer colonization. Yet this nostalgia persists, straining for something lost with the ending of an earlier form of modernity. The cipher for this nostalgia is the ruin.
The Ruin Craze
At a time when the promises of the modern age lie shattered like so many ruins, when we speak with increasing frequency both literally and metaphorically of the ruins of modernity, a key question arises for cultural history: What shapes our imaginary of ruins in the early twenty-first century, and how has it developed historically? How can we speak of a nostalgia for ruins as we remember the bombed out cities of World War II (Rotterdam and Coventry, Hamburg and Dresden,Warsaw, Stalingrad, and Leningrad). Bombings, after all, are not about producing ruins. They produce rubble. But then the market has recently been saturated with stunning picture books and films (documentary and fictional; e.g., The Downfall,2004) of the ruins of World War II. In them, rubble is indeed transformed, even aestheticized, into ruin.
Nostalgia is at stake in the northern transatlantic when one looks at the decaying residues of the industrial age and its shrinking cities in the industrial heartlands in Europe, the former Soviet Union, the United States, and elsewhere: abandoned auto factories in Detroit; the monstrous blast furnaces of former steelworks in the Ruhr, now incorporated into public parks; the gigantic coal-steel conglomerates in Eastern Europe surrounded by ghost towns, ciphers of the end of socialism; and soon. Such ruins and their representation in picture books, films, and exhibits are a sign of the nostalgia for the monuments of an industrial architecture of a past age that was tied to a public culture of industrial labor and its political organization. We are nostalgic for the ruins of modernity because they still seem to hold a promise that has vanished from our own age: the promise of an alternative future. Such nostalgia for the ruins of the modern can be called reflective in Svetlana Boym’s sense and refutes historian Charles Maier’s pithy pronouncement that nostalgia is to memory like kitsch is to art.3 “Reflective nostalgia cherishes shattered fragments of memory and temporalizes space. . . . [It] reveals that longing and critical thinking are not opposed to one another, as affective memories do not absolve one from compassion, judgment or critical reflection.”
The present fascination with industrial ruins raises other questions. To what extent is the contemporary love affair with ruins in the countries of the northern transatlantic still energized by an earlier imagination that had fastened on to the ruins of classical antiquity? And what is the relation of this imaginary of ruins to the obsession with urban preservation, remakes, and retrofashions, all of which seem to express a fear or denial of the ruination by time? Our imaginary of ruins can be read as a palimpsest of multiple historical events and representations, and the intense concern with ruins is a subset of the current privileging of memory and trauma both inside and outside the academy.
Given this overdetermination in the way we imagine and conceptualize ruins, can something like an “authentic” ruin of modernity be the subject of reflective nostalgia? An answer can be found in the imaginary of ruins that developed in the eighteenth century’s querelle des anciens et des modernes and was carried forth in romanticism and privileged in the nineteenth-century search for national origins, only to end up in the ruin tourism of the present. The work of Giovanni Battista Piranesi stands as one of the most radical articulations of the ruin problematic within modernity rather than after it. My interest in Piranesi and his ruins may well be itself nostalgic—nostalgic, that is, for a secular modernity that had a deep understanding of the ravages of time and the potential of the future, the destructiveness of domination and the tragic shortcomings of the present; an understanding of modernity that—from Piranesi and the romantics to Baudelaire, the historical avant-garde, and beyond—resulted in emphatic forms of critique, commitment, and compelling artistic expression. Here, as in any form of nostalgia, it is difficult to walk the line between sentimental lament over a loss and the critical reclaiming of a past for the purposes of constructing alternative futures. But Piranesi may have lessons for us as we reflect upon the loss of an earlier modernity and its visions of alternative futures.
My interest in coupling the abstract concept of authenticity with the concreteness of ruins and their imaginary is based on the idea that both the ruin in its emphatic sense and the notion of the authentic are central topoi of modernity itself rather than simply concerns of the late twentieth century. Modernity as ruin was a topos well before the twentieth century and most certainly before postmodernism. The authentic ruin is not to be understood as some ontological essence of ruins but as a significant conceptual and architectural constellation that points to moments of decay, falling apart, and ruination already present in the beginnings of modernity in the eighteenth century. Just as the imaginary of ruins was created in early modernity rather than being modernity’s end product, the notion of authenticity is a thoroughly historical concept produced, like nostalgia itself, by modernity rather than referring to an atemporal transcendent essence or to some premodern state of grace. Tied in literature and art to eighteenth-century notions of authorship, genius, originality, selfhood, uniqueness, and subjectivity, the idea of authenticity accumulated desires and intensities the more it was threatened by alienation, inauthenticity, and reproducibility during the course of modernization. As a term in that broader semantic field, authenticity had its heyday in the second half of the twentieth century together with the boom in nostalgias of all kinds, and it has its currency today in retro-authenticity, authentic remakes, and the Web’s “authenticity consulting,” all phenomena which implicitly deny what they claim to be. At the same time, authenticity has fallen on hard times in intellectual discourse. From Adorno to Derrida authenticity has been disparaged as ideology or metaphysics, tied to a jargon of Eigentlichkeit, pseudo-individualization, and delusions of self-presence.
Nevertheless, I am not ready to abandon the concept altogether, and I take comfort in the fact that even Adorno, one of the most radical critics of a specific post-1945 form of Eigentlichkeit, still spoke of the authenticity of modernist art as radical negation. His is a notion of the authentic aware of its own historicity. Similarly, I will locate the “authentic ruin” of modernity in the eighteenth century, and I will suggest that this earlier imaginary of ruins still haunts our discourse about the ruins of modernity in general. At the same time, I acknowledge that the twentieth century has produced a very different imaginary of ruins that has made that earlier authentic ruin obsolete. Even genuine (“echt” rather than authentic) ruins have metamorphosed. The element of decay, erosion, and a return to nature so central to eighteenth-century ruins and their nostalgic lure is eliminated when Roman ruins are sanitized and used as mise en scène for open-air opera performances (Terme di Caracalla in Rome); when medieval castle ruins or dilapidated estates from later centuries are restored to yield conference sites, hotels, or vacation rentals (the Paradores of Spain, the Landmark Trust in the United Kingdom); when industrial ruins are made over into cultural centers; or when a museum like the Tate Modern installs itself in a decommissioned power plant on the south bank of the Thames. Authenticity seems to have become part of museal preservation and restoration, a fact that can only increase nostalgia.
“Authentic ruins,” as they still existed in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, seem no longer to have a place in late capitalism’s commodity and memory culture. As commodities, things in general don’t age well. They become obsolete, are thrown out or recycled. Buildings are torn down or restored. The chance for things to age and to become ruin has diminished in the age of turbo capitalism, ironically in step with the continuing rise in the average age of the populace. The ruin of the twenty-first century is either detritus or restored age. In the latter case, real age has been eliminated by a reverse face-lifting. The new is made to look old rather than the old made to look young. Repro- and retrofashions make it increasingly hard to recognize that which is genuinely old in this culture of preservation and restoration. The German writer and filmmaker Alexander Kluge once spoke tellingly of “the attack of the present on the rest of time.”
 楼主| 滑小姬 发表于 3 天前
滑小姬 发表于 2020-8-5 01:48
《Nostalgia for Ruins》(废墟的乡愁)
The dictionary defines nostalgia as “homesickness” or a “lo ...

Authenticity and Nostalgia
If in the late twentieth century, as Lyotard has claimed, architecture and philosophy lay in ruins, leaving us with only the option of a “writing of the ruins” as a kind of micrology, then the question arises whether the whole tradition of modernist thought all the way into postmodernism isn’t overshadowed by a catastrophic imagination and an imaginary of ruins that has accompanied the trajectory of modernity since the eighteenth century.6 Architecture in decay or a state of destruction seems to be an indispensable topos for this tradition. Real ruins of different kinds function as projective screens for modernity’s articulation of asynchronous temporalities and for its fear of and obsession with the passing of time.7 If, as Benjamin said, allegory in the realm of thought corresponds to the ruin in the realm of things, then this implies a production principle of modern art, literature, and architecture that is a priori directed toward the ruinous.8 For Adorno, in analogous fashion, the most authentic works of modernity are those that are objectively and formally determined by the ruinous state of the present. The architectural ruin seems to hover in the background of an aesthetic imagination that privileges fragment and aphorism, collage and montage, freedom from ornament and reduction of the material. Perhaps this is the secret classicism of modernism that, however different from eighteenth-century classicism in its coding of temporality and space, is still predicated on an imaginary of ruins. Classicism in Winckelmann and Goethe’s times constituted itself through the ruins of antiquity, but it aimed at the totality of style rather than privileging montage, dispersion, and fragmentariness as modernism would later do. One doesn’t have to accept a metaphysics of history in order to see the field of classical modernism as a fascinating and oscillating landscape of ruins left from a failed attempt to create an alternative kind of totality that in architecture went under the name of the International Style.
As a product of modernity rather than a phenomenon from a deep premodern past, authenticity is analogous to Benjamin’s aura. Originality and uniqueness, which characterize the auratic work of art in Benjamin, were made into privileged categories in the romantic age that was already flooded by reproductions, translations, and copies of all kinds. Analogously, the ideological value of authenticity rose in proportion to print culture’s inherent tendency to reproduction and repetition. Even in the transition from a Fordist to a post-Fordist mode of production, we can detect the attempt to return the semblance of authenticity and uniqueness to commodities by way of customization. Aura and authenticity are analogous to each other. Both have to be framed historically rather than ontologically. Modernist decisionism declared both of them dead and gone, but both have proven to be quite resistant to all manner of ideology critique. The desire for the auratic and the authentic has always reflected the fear of inauthenticity, the lack of existential meaning, and the absence of individual originality. The more we learn to understand all images, words, and sounds as always already mediated, the more, it seems, we desire the authentic and the immediate. The mode of that desire is nostalgia. A gap opens up between intellectual insight into the obsolescence of the concept and the lifeworld’s desire for the authentic. The longing for authenticity is the media and commodity culture’s romantic longing for its other. Reality TV is its pathetic expression. Authentic cuisine, authentic clothing, authentic identities of any and all kinds follow suit. The positing of stable origins and of a historical telos is never far when the authenticity tune is being played. The same is true for the discourse of ruins that has played such a central role in legitimizing the claims to power by modern nation states.
Indeed, romantic ruins guaranteed origins and promised authenticity, immediacy, and authority. However, there is a paradox. In the case of ruins that which is allegedly present and transparent whenever authenticity is claimed is present only as an absence; it is the imagined present of a past that can now only be grasped in its decay. This makes the ruin subject to nostalgia. Even if the modern ruin is not exhausted by the semantics of pastness, its temporality, which points to past glory and greatness, is different from the claims to plenitude and presentness invariably at stake in the discourse of authenticity. Authenticity claims, however, are often contaminated by doubts that then have to be compensated by further mythmaking. Thus some would claim that authentic authenticity was possible only in past ages when the world was allegedly still more transparent and not under the shadow of mass-media representation and distortion. We know what kind of ideological phantasms such projections of authenticity have caused in anthropology and other cultural sciences—the authenticity of the archaic and primitive, the privileging of
authentic community, the anomie and artificiality of modern societies. Especially in the post-Enlightenment invention of origins and national identities, the present of modernity appeared (more often than not) as a ruin of authenticity and of a better and simpler past. Against this idea of a deep authenticity embodied in the ruins of a glorified past, I posit the idea of the authentic ruin as product of modernity itself rather than as royal road toward some uncontaminated origin.
Nostalgia is never far when we talk about authenticity or about romantic ruins. The political critique of the nostalgia for ruins simply as regression corresponds to the philosophical critique of authenticity as a phantasm grounding stable identities. But such a critique misses the fundamental ambiguity of the ruin, of nostalgia, and of the authentic. However justified it may be to criticize the nostalgia markets and their ideological instrumentalization of authenticity claims, it will not do to simply identify the desire for authenticity with nostalgia and to dismiss it as a cultural disease, as Susan Stewart argues in her book On Longing.9 Neither will it do to understand the modern imagination of ruins and its link with the sublime as expressing nothing but fantasies of power and domination, though that is indeed the case for Albert Speer’s theory of ruin value. The dimension present in any imaginary of ruins but missed by such reductive critiques is the hardly nostalgic consciousness of the transitoriness of all greatness and power, the warning of imperial hubris, and the remembrance of nature in all culture.
At stake with the “authentic ruin of modernity” is not simply the genuineness (Echtheit) of specific ruins; nor is it some suprahistorical memento mori. Genuineness as naturalness in opposition to artificiality and the fake—a topos central to eighteenth-century aesthetics and middle class culture—is an empirically verifiable criterion of the ruin, and the memento mori dimension is not limited to modernity. We can speak of the modern authenticity of ruins only if we look at the ruin aesthetically and politically as an architectonic chiffre for the temporal and spatial doubts that modernity has always harbored about itself. In the ruin, history appears spatialized and built space temporalized. An imaginary of ruins is central for any theory of modernity that wants to be more than the triumphalism of progress and democratization or longing for a past power of greatness. As against the optimism of Enlightenment thought, the modern imaginary of ruins remains conscious of the dark side of modernity, that which Diderot described as the inevitable “devastations of time” visible in ruins. It articulates the nightmare of the Enlightenment that all history might ultimately be overwhelmed by nature, a fear succinctly represented in Goya’s famous etching El sueño de la razón produce monstruos.
Giovanni Battista Piranesi
The ambiguity of Goya’s title is well-known. “El sueño de la razón” means both the dream and the sleep of reason, thus pointing to what later came to be known as the dialectic of the Enlightenment. A third reading is possible, however. Imagine that the figure, dreaming or having fallen asleep at his table upon which we see the utensils of his writing, is the artist imagining the other of reason, imagining that which will become the etching—its swarm of owllike, nefarious monsters crowding his imagination. Assume Goya’s figure is Piranesi at the moment of dreaming the shape of ruins as they will come alive in his etchings. Putting the emphasis on sueño as fantasy and representation rather than simply sleep or utopian anticipation permits a reading of Piranesi as the creator of an authentic imaginary of ruins that reveals something central to modernity and its representations.
Piranesi’s etchings from the middle of the age of Enlightenment point toward a critical and alternative understanding of modernity that always stood against the naive belief in progress and the moral improvement of mankind. Although Piranesi’s nightmarish image world had a strong influence on romantic literature, romantic images of ruins in the nineteenth century mostly tended toward domesticating and beautifying ruins by way of the picturesque. It is no coincidence that Piranesi’s work was emphatically rediscovered in the twentieth century, often in the context of reductively realistic claims that his Carceri anticipated the univers concentrationnaire of fascism or Communism’s gulag or that his etchings articulated the existential exposure and cast-out state of the modern individual in the face of overwhelming systems as described in Kafka’s novels. Ignored by such readings was the inner connection between Piranesi’s fantasies of incarceration and the major part of his work: his archival documentation of the architectural ruins of the Roman Empire. Art historians tended to read the Carceri as the bizarre work of the artist as a young man, while focusing on Piranesi’s role in the eighteenth-century quarrel over whether the architecture of Athens or that of Rome should have pride of place. This question was surely central to Piranesi’s archival work in and around Rome, but exclusive focus on this debate does not pay tribute to the fact that the various reworkings of the Carceri spanned most of Piranesi’s working life. It also fails to make much of the fact that the later versions of the Carceri are visually close to the etchings of Roman ruins. With the help of an alternative body of Piranesi scholarship, especially the work of Ulya Vogt-Göknil, Piranesi’s imaginary of ruins can be adequately understood only if his archive-driven etchings of Roman ruins are read together with the fantasy-driven spaces of his architecture of incarceration. Only then can one speak of an authentic imaginary of ruins in a precise historical sense. Piranesi’s ruins and his jails are artifice through and through. That is what constitutes their authenticity within his rather dark vision of a modernity still much in the shadows of a glorious Roman past. It is an authenticity that is captured by Adorno: “The proof of the tour de force, the realization of the unrealizable, could be adduced from the most authentic works.”10 What else are the Carceri if not unrealizable as architecture and tour de force as drawing? For Piranesi and for Adorno, who never wrote about this Italian artist, the refusal of wholeness and classical closure is the sign of authenticity. Authentic ruins in Piranesi and authentic artworks in Adorno point to an absence, the utopia that cannot be named in Adorno, the nightmarish dystopia that is inscribed into the utopia of neoclassicism in Piranesi. The tour de force in Piranesi’s craft points to that moment of coercion and violence implicit in all authenticity as carrier of authority. Authentic works for Adorno are fragmentary works whose achievement must be located in their lack of completion and whose “failure [is] the measure of their success,”11 works such as those by Lenz, Hölderlin, Kleist, or Büchner “that succumbed to the terror of idealism’s scorn.”12 At first popular in France and England, Piranesi’s etchings, both of the Carceri and of the antique ruins, eventually suffered a similar fate and fell into oblivion only to be rediscovered after World War II. For the nineteenth-century ideologues of the classical tradition they were not reconcilable with a post-Winkelmannian idea of classicism, and they didn’t allow for Matthew Arnold’s vision of antiquity as sweetness and light.
The height of authentic architecture for Piranesi was the monumental Roman temples, palaces, triumphal archs, and tombs of the Via Appia. In his many volumes of etchings, from the Prima Parte di Architetture, e Prospettive (1743) and the Varie Vedute di Roma (1743) to the four volumes of Le Antichità Romane (1756) and Della Magnificenza ed Architettura de’ Romani (1761), he captured their overgrown residues with archival precision and in a decidedly unique style. Even in decay, the monumentality and sublimity of these ruins of the past were more impressive than the miserable present that denied the trained architect Piranesi any real possibility to build in grand style. Piranesi mobilized all available visual tricks to achieve the monumental mise en scène of those ruins. In the dedication to Prima Parte di Architetture of 1743 he writes, “Io vi diró solamente, che di tali immagini mi hanno riempiuto lo spirito queste parlanti ruine, che di simili non arrivai a potermene mai formare sopra i disegni, benchè accuratissimi, che di queste stesse ha fatto l’immortale Palladio, e che io pur sempre mi teneva innanzi agli occhi.” [I would only say that these speaking ruins have filled my spirit with images of a kind which even precise drawings such as those by the immortal Palladio, which I always kept before my eyes, can never conjure up.]
At stake here is the subjective effect achieved by the representation, the production of phantasms that the ruins bring to life. Speaking ruins flood the senses with architectonic images that include not only the views of antique Rome but also the Carceri. Especially in their second, significantly darker version, the Carceri show close affinities with the etchings of antique ruins. In their spatial configuration, the Carceri belong with Piranesi’s imagined antiquity rather than with the concentration camps of the twentieth century or the panoptic jails of modern industrial societies. Roman architectural elements such as arcades of columns, broad flights of stairs, large portrait busts, tomb sculptures, and Latin inscriptions fill Piranesi’s vast jails down to their distant corners. In their style of representation, however, the Carceri as well as the overgrown ruins of Rome itself belong with a present-day modernity, and not just that of the eighteenth century.
 楼主| 滑小姬 发表于 3 天前
滑小姬 发表于 2020-8-5 01:49
Authenticity and Nostalgia
If in the late twentieth century, as Lyotard has claimed, architecture  ...

Despite all affinities, Piranesi’s views of Roman ruins are ultimately distinguished from the prison etchings and stand in productive tension with them. The ruins are located in an outside, in the urban landscape of Rome and its environs, the Campagna. Their erosion and natural decay point to that central aspect of the imaginary of ruins that Georg Simmel has emphasized best: the return of architecture to nature.
What appears all too romantically as a reconciliation of spirit and nature in Simmel, however, assumes features of the uncanny in Piranesi. Masonry and soil are organically coupled and made to look as if the ruins have grown out of the innards of the earth. In their erosion, some of the buildings appear like sublimely threatening and inhospitable rock formations. Mysteriously and uncannily these eroding and decaying monuments and remnants of gigantic buildings tower over a dwarflike present. The voices of the dead appear to speak through Piranesi’s ruin images. Instead of nature morte, Piranesi created an architettura morta, which not only reminds the present of its own transitoriness but seems to include a warning about a culturally destructive forgetting of the past. While his etchings of antique remnants focus on the intertwining of nature and architecture in decay, the Carceri present, as it were, pure architectural spaces far from all nature, complex interior halls that seem to be partly ruins, partly unfinished buildings.
This impression is exacerbated by the fact that spatial constriction typical of any prison is not constituted by the absence of space but paradoxically by an opening up of space toward infinity.14 Passages, staircases, and halls seem to disperse in all directions and lack spatial closure. The possibility of an outside (even when not represented) is therefore not in principle excluded. Certainly, the natural light streaming into the prisons points indirectly to some outside space. The Carceri are so fascinating because both their temporality and their spatiality remain so indefinable. Just as the opposition of proximity and distance seems abolished in their confusing spatial arrangements, the borders between past, present, and future no longer seem to obtain. Even though Piranesi was influenced by baroque theater decorations for prison dramas, his mise-en-scène of the prisons has to be read primarily as a formal architectonic proposition rather than as a simple message about the condition humaine. Bruno Reudenbach put it well when he wrote, “We see illogical spatial structures not because the goal is to represent prisons. On the contrary, building on an already developed iconography of prisons, the Carceri represent experimental space.”15 Piranesi was interested in prisons as a model for a vast interior space whose representation allows the artist’s architectonic fantasy to take off independent of any realistic limitations. As he had done in some of the architectonic fantasies of the Prima Parte, Piranesi canceled the laws of Euclidean space. Units of built space are connected atectonically and illogically. Any single etching requires several distinct perspectives so that the gaze of the spectator never comes to rest. The closer the spectator looks, the more his or her gaze is disturbed. In a detailed analysis of the architectural structure of the Carceri, Ulya Vogt-Göknil has shown how three-dimensional spaces evolve into two-dimensional planes, how depth dimensions are being pulled apart and breadth dimensions are being shrunk.16 Especially uncanny is the relationship between space and a kind of light that seems to produce darkness. Rays of light leave their natural trajectory. They bend and curve around things, sliding from one object to another, occasionally jumping over interstitial spaces. In all these instances, the walls seem to be sucking up the light instead of reflecting it. The rules of tectonics and central perspective are canceled. Horace Walpole noted of Piranesi: “He has imagined scenes that would startle geometry.”17 And Goethe in his Italienische Reise emphasized the difference between his perception of real ruins and Piranesi’s attempt to create effects through fabulation.
Contrary to certain claims, such observations must not be attributed to some inability or to simple playfulness on Piranesi’s part. Piranesi refused to represent homogeneous enlightened space in which above and below, inside and outside could be clearly distinguished. Instead he privileged arches and bridges, ladders and staircases, anterooms and passageways. While massive and static in their encasings, the prisons do suggest motion and transition, a back and forth, up and down that disturbs and unmoors the gaze of the spectator. Instead of viewing limited spaces from a fixed-observer perspective and from a safe distance, the spectator is drawn into a proliferating labyrinth of staircases, bridges, and passageways that seem to lead into infinite depths left, right, and center. It is as if the spectator’s gaze is imprisoned by the represented space, lured in and captured because no firm point of view can be had as the eye wanders around in this labyrinth. Contrary to what Alexander Kupfer claims, this does not suggest that space and time lose all meaning.19 The lack of central perspective and a firm point of view, the proliferation of perspectives and unfolding of spaces must be read differently: Piranesi followed to their logical conclusion the spatialization of history and the temporalization of space that already characterized his etchings of antiquities. In his Carceri d’invenzione—the modifying noun is significant—times and spaces are shoved into each other, telescoped and superimposed as if in a palimpsest whereby this complex temporally fraying imagination of space becomes itself a prison of invention. Tour de force, as Adorno says of what are to him the most authentic works of art.
Manfredo Tafuri has argued that by breaking with the temporal and spatial perspectivalism of the Renaissance, the Carceri d’invenzione already point toward basic principles of construction as developed much later by the cubists, constructivists, and surrealists.20 Equally important, however, is a fundamental difference between Piranesi and the historical avant-garde. Piranesi’s imagination is not energized by some constructive utopian ideal of multiperspectivalism and spatial fluidity (Eisenstein); nor does he privilege montage or the fragment in the same way. He rather remains haunted by the threatening aura of ruins, by their oppressive interlocking of past and present, nature and culture, death and life. The work undermines any enlightened and secure standpoint in the course of time and in the location in space, and it is quite distant from the avant-garde’s ethos of alternative futures. Ultimately, Piranesi’s prisons are also ruins, more authentic even than the Roman ruins of the Vedute di Roma. The irritating and threatening simultaneity of times and spaces, of condensed and displaced perspectives, which is exacerbated in the second version of the prison etchings by the increased presence of torture instruments, pushes the impression of uncanny space to an extreme only in the Carceri.
Conclusion
In their reciprocal tension and their obsessive intermingling of times and spaces, Piranesi’s prisons and ruins can be read as allegories of a modernity whose utopia of freedom and progress, linear time and geometric space they not only question but cancel out. A past embodied in ruined and memory-laden architecture seems to tower over the present of the age of Enlightenment. Piranesi’s imaginary of ruins is thus the product of an age that only slowly freed itself from the overwhelming ideal of classical antiquity. In its decay, antique architecture articulates that dialectical constellation of nature and history that posits the changeability and contingency of both nature and history instead of opposing blind mythological nature to history as enlightened ontological agency. Piranesi’s work thus belongs with a self-critical consciousness that has accompanied enlightened modernity from its beginning. The authenticity of Piranesi’s imaginary of ruins lies in this critical aesthetic consciousness and its articulation in terrifyingly beautiful etchings. If the etchings of decaying classical architecture point to a natural history of destruction in a Sebaldian mode, then the Carceri suggest a cultural history of incarceration in an infinite inner space that no longer has any outside—a critique of Romanticism avant la lettre.
Reading Piranesi through Adorno and through Benjamin’s concept of natural history, which is grounded in a philosophy of history, will also reveal the historical limits of this authentic imaginary of ruins. As a form of secularized theology with its rises and falls, declines and redemptions of cultures, the philosophy of history produced by the Enlightenment stands itself like a ruin in our twenty-first-century present. Analogously, Piranesi’s imaginary of ruins has itself become a ruin. Modernist architecture points to another historical boundary of an imaginary of ruins à la Piranesi. Concrete, steel, and glass building materials aren’t subject to erosion and decay the way stone is. Modernist architecture refuses the return of culture to nature. Furthermore, the real catastrophes of the twentieth century have mainly left rubble rather than ruins in Piranesi’s sense, even if some of that rubble has lent itself quite well to beautifying representations. The age of the “authentic ruin,” at any rate, is over; its genealogy can be written, but it cannot be resurrected. The present is an age of preservation, restoration, and authentic remakes, all of which cancel out the idea of the authentic ruin that has itself become historical. But Piranesi’s ruins are accessible to reflective nostalgia. They embody a dialectic of modernity that should be remembered as we try to imagine a future beyond the false promises of corporate neoliberalism and the globalized shopping mall. The future, not just of nostalgia, is at stake.
羚芈 发表于 3 天前
刚看完第二篇,最近在看那本文革笑料集,有时间也把楼主推荐的找来读一下。
另外稍微提一个建议:楼主能把每周推荐的楼层链接复制出来,在一楼依次罗列。可以方便大家阅读。
 楼主| 滑小姬 发表于 3 天前
羚芈 发表于 2020-8-5 08:49
刚看完第二篇,最近在看那本文革笑料集,有时间也把楼主推荐的找来读一下。
另外稍微提一个建议: ...


好建议,谢谢,但是我不知道每层的链接怎么复制,我先把每周推荐的内容贴上一楼。
羚芈 发表于 3 天前
滑小姬 发表于 2020-8-5 09:06
好建议,谢谢,但是我不知道每层的链接怎么复制,我先把每周推荐的内容贴上一楼。 ...

单击一下每层楼的右上角楼层数(有时候是推荐),可以复制链接。
例如第二更 《Hammer And Tickle: A History Of Communism Told Through Communist Jokes》
 楼主| 滑小姬 发表于 3 天前
羚芈 发表于 2020-8-5 10:32
单击一下每层楼的右上角楼层数(有时候是推荐),可以复制链接。
例如第二更 《Hammer And Tickle: A Hi ...

好的谢谢
羚芈 发表于 3 天前

不客气,期待越办越好哦。:D
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