The Future of Addiction; The Death of a Utopia

While the themes of The Albertine Notes encompass a web of complex ideas, I found Moody’s treatment of drug use to be noteworthy in its range of literary functions.  It’s easy and formulaic to personify addiction as an antagonistic, destructive force that entices, grips, and destroys indiscriminately – and often, in literature and other mediums, it is reduced to such portrayals.  I found Moody’s approach to be divergent from oversimplification, and his Albertine exists as an illicit substance but also as a pathway to something far more sinister and perplexing within our own understanding of the past, present, and future.

Posted in Mac Warren, November, November 23 | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Born Witness

“The more provocative question would be, according to quantum indeterminacy, does New York City actually exist?  At least, if you take the hypothesis of theoretical physics to its logical conclusion… NYC [is] as an illusion purveyed by a malevolent scientist.” – Albertine Notes, page 200

The strangest thing about Rick Moody’s Albertine Notes is not its horror, physics or plot.  Nor is it even the utter plausibility (almost to the point of likelihood?) of his Manhattan-doomsday scenario.  No, what lends the novella its gripping power is its matter-of-fact, journalistic ease: the apocalypse, cast as an undercard headline in a soft-core porn mag.  As I read the Notes, I was struck also by its similarity to a certain other book of notes – Dostoevsky’s Notes From the Underground, to which Moody is certainly paying homage.  Like the classic underground man, our canary-hero reports quite naturally the greatest excesses of opinion and event, and leads his reader to question whether it’s the world or the man that has gone mad.  One of them, or both, has fissured beyond repair.

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Posted in November, November 23, Sam Barnes | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

Grecia’s Post

I’m posting this for Grecia because she couldn’t get online. Lee

Grecia Huesca

What is human life? The first third a good time; the rest remembering about it” –Mark Twain

“The Albertine Notes” is a tale of delirium and time travel induced by a crack-like drug epidemic in New York a year after a dirty bomb was dropped killing half of the city’s population. The citizens that survive the blast are trying to cope with the catastrophic event by going back into their memory archives trying to relive better times. But the more the go back in time, the less they remember the present, and the more the past, the present, and the future become all in the same.

The concept of time is central to story. The drug, Albertine, takes people back into their memories and allows them to relive the experience as if they were there again. It is a form of time travel into the past. The main dealer discovers that he has enough will power, the user can change the past through the memory. If the past is being changed, then maybe this is why people cannot understand the present when they come back, because it is a different present then the one they left.

The confusing part about reliving a memory so vividly is that maybe what one thinks it’s the future is actually the present, or the past, which means that no one can understand time in a linear fashion. Linear time does not exist because it is always changing. The past is being changed and therefore the present and future is being changed. The everything can be changed if people keep going back and changing things from an earlier time than another person. This manipulation of time is expressed in the lives of the people. The addicts are like other junkies, wasting away waiting for that next high that will take them back to that amazing moment.

Deana is a prophet, much like John The Revelator. She claims to have a vision of bearded men pouring jugs of poison into the city’s water supply. She claims that Jesus sent this message to her, and no one believes her because she is high. This makes a statement about modern prophets. We think of them as crazy, as drug addicts with nothing better to do then put up signs warning us about the end of the world. It made me think about what would today’s society classify as a prophet? What would the masses need in order to convince us that someone can see the future?

John The Revelator would have a hard time convincing me about his visions of the end of the world. I don’t believe it now that I look at it as a part of history; him approaching me today would most likely make me run away from him. Kevin’s perception of time in the tale is similar to John’s perception of time in his vision. They both see the past and the present and the future and go back to the “present”. The present for John is more concrete because he is out of the vision while Kevin still lives in the time warp created by Albertine and its users.

Cassandra is like a prophet herself, and when we first meet her, Kevin compares her to Eve when he says that “Her voice was frail at first, almost as if it were the first voice ever used.” (pg.143) After that, she knows a lot of things about Kevin because she has seen future conversations with him during her highs. She understands his importance in the big picture that is Albertine. She is also a catalyst for his importance because she gives him his first high. Before that, she also allows him to experience a memory by simply touching her.

People begin to disappear when others manipulate the memories and erase them from history. Kevin says “Our city was outside of history now, beyond surveillance.” (pg. 145) The problem with the drug and the manipulation of time is that people are changing the drug before understanding what the dangers. A user can allow another person, even a sober person, tap into his memories when he is high. Tapping into another’s memories is a form of surveillance. Memories are not only a way to see what people’s thoughts and past activities are, they are also a way to manipulate them and to change the course of their existence. There is nothing more private than thoughts, and this memories are very private. The users are not capable of controlling what they remember, which makes the drug scary, but those that learn to manipulate it have too much power.

Power is the ultimate struggle in the story. Power over the drug, power over time. But the ending of the story is very confusing. Eddy must have power over the drug so that he can drop the bomb in New York City, but without the bomb people do not become hooked onto the drug in the first place. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? This point in the plot still has me very confused, and I can’t seem to make light of it. Neither event could happen without the other but how did one happen in the first place?

Posted in Grecia Huesca, November, November 23 | Leave a comment

Carrying the Fire

The posts this week were truly exceptional and I want to thank each of you for contributing such thoughtful and well-written pieces.  It made me identify a bit with the father in novel.  There came a point in their journey when he realized that his son was able to go on without him.  For me, as a teacher, that is always the best goal to have.  Not that I want to stop short our semester!  Neither do I want the end of the term to be the end of knowing you.  And of course, it is not a matter of brutal survival.  But it is a matter of witnessing how you have taken the complex concepts basic to apocalyptic belief and grasped how they play out richly, and often ambiguously, in this novel, and with great sensitivity.  So I am struck by the extent to which you have become co-teachers.  I look forward to our discussion.

Posted in Lee Quinby, November, November 16 | 1 Comment

Borrowed Time, Borrowed World, and Borrowed Eyes with which to Sorrow it

Following up on our discussion last week regarding the role of God In “The Road”, I’d like to point out several passages from the latter half of the novel which help clarify our discussion. Sam had mentioned that the father is an Abrahamic figure in the novel, a god-like persona due to the fact that he persists in surviving no matter the hopeless odds. This seems to be echoed in the novel when, at the very end, the son claims “He tried to talk to God, but the best thing was to talk to his father”. The family the son is now with seems to have religious inclination, and it further seems as if they are attempting to impose it on the boy in order to help him overcome the hopelessness of a god-forsaken world. His apparent purity, and his inability to ‘find god’ per se (except in the figure of his father) suggest that McCarthy is making a statement here regarding the viability of religion in these circumstances. Instead of attempting to find a supreme potententate (if you will) in the sky during these post-apocalyptic times, perhaps we should search for the kindred soul with whom we share our bread, our warmth, our life. Our journey. Sam also mentioned in his most recent topic, the idea of a ‘cosmic unity’ in the face of the absence of an omnipotent God. This cosmic unity, as he correctly suggests, would be the unyielding power of love—love for our most kindred connections, for those who share our journey, and in some cases—our blood. In The Road, the power of love between the father and the son cannot be underestimated, and is in fact the driving force of the novel. It is this connection which is so strong, that replaces God in the post-apocalyptic wasteland they travel in. In this sense, The Road is more of a religious story than ‘Glorious Appealing’ which focuses on omnipotence, supremacy, power and bloody violence in order to amplify its message of organized and fundamentalist religion.

Posted in Andreas Apostolopoulos, November, November 16 | Leave a comment