The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
the b-side
Thursday, April 9, 2015 — 3B
Cover designer
talks new edition
Stephane Mallarme
gets a revamped
cover for new
translation
By COSMO PAPPAS
Daily Arts Writer
Like the oceans of waste we
pump out every day, there are
faraway graveyards of thrown-
away
books,
untouched
or
unseen
for
millennia.
The
carcasses of discarded volumes
form the very ground on which
we walk and stuff the furniture
on which we sit. Geologists
have
determined
that
the
combustion in the bowels of
the Earth is powered not by
the
decay
of
uranium-238
and potassium-40, but by an
inferno of trammeled copies of
GQ and Teen Vogue. Rummage
sales are the mass execution
yards where John Grisham dies
a million deaths in effigy.
It is easy to forget that text
and books have not always
been
so
disposable,
given
the ubiquity of mass-market
paperbacks and an amount of
digitally published text much
larger than any person could
ever possibly read. In contrast
with the decadent, gimmicky
“deluxe
editions”
you
see
coming
out
of
publishers
like Penguin, there are many
traditions of textual production
that do much more in terms of
substantively thinking through
the relationship between text,
image and the book as physical
object.
This
sets
the
stage
for
Stephane Mallarme and the
retranslation of his major late
work “Un coup de Des jamais
n’abolira le hasard” (“A Roll of
the Dice Will Never Abolish
Chance”)
from
Seattle-based
Wave Books. A 19th-century
French poet (1842-1898) in the
league of Charles Baudelaire and
Arthur Rimbaud, Mallarme held
massive influence through his
poetry, his prose and criticism,
his editorial work on various
publications, including a short-
lived fashion magazine, and
his salons. The regulars of his
philosophical, literary meetings
included Paul Verlaine, W.B.
Yeats and Rainer Maria Rilke.
Many critics of the 20th and
21st centuries hold him up as
an antecedent of some of the
most
important
theoretical
developments in critical theory
and literary criticism.
His poem, “A Roll of the
Dice,”
is
a
“typographical
extravaganza,” to use Brian Kim
Stefans’s phrase from his review
of French philosopher Quentin
Meillassoux’s 2012 “The Number
and the Siren: a Decipherment
of Mallarme’s Coup de Des.”
Mallarme’s instructions for the
1897 edition to his publisher,
Vollard,
were
meticulous
and exacting, although never
executed either in his lifetime or
after except for one undertaking
in 2004 and, now, the efforts of
translator Robert Bononno and
Ypsilanti-based translator and
designer Jeff Clark (Quemadura
Studio). They bring Mallarme’s
radical vision to life in their
powerful and beautiful edition.
The words are set in different
sizes,
italicized
or
not,
in
descending
and
scattered
movements across the page.
“The ‘white spaces’ (les blancs),
in effect, assume importance,
are the first that strike our
eyes; versification has always
required them, usually as an
encompassing silence, such that
a poem ... occupies, centered,
about a third of the page: I don’t
disregard this method, merely
disperse it,” Mallarme says in
the preface to his poem. In some
literary historical accounts, this
emphasis on movement and
speed anticipates the Futurist
and
Dadaist
avant-garde
movements of the twentieth
century.
Taking his cue from the
Mallarme’s
instructions
for
the
Vollard
edition,
Clark
substitutes
the
“vaguely
nautical”
lithographs
by
Odilon
Redon
with
his
own
illustrations.
These
illustrations, he explains, are
“randomly-lit,
burst-mode
photographs
of
black-and-
white laserprints” that lend an
impersonal and austere air to
Bonanno and Clark’s impressive
translation. The result, coupled
with
the
“extended
weight
of Helvetica” that Clark opts
for in the English text, is a
gorgeous work that prompts
questions of aesthetic unity
involving the book itself as an
aesthetic object. All the while,
these
questions
are
given
body and made exciting in
their eminently recognizable
contemporary English.
Mallarme
consciously
positioned his literary project,
embodied both in “A Roll
of the Dice” and his thirty-
year-in-the-making
“utopian
enterprise”
titled
simply
“Le Livre” (The Book), as a
sort of atheist inheritance of
what David Roberts calls the
“Catholic tradition of mystery”
in his book “The Total Work of
Art in European Modernism.” It
was through a “numerologically
structured ceremony of public
reading”
that
Mallarme
sought
“to
found
a
new
poetic religion that would be
secular modernity’s answer to
Christianity,” says Adam Kotsko
in The New Inquiry.
Roberts also describes how
Mallarme’s
aim
stands
in
contrast with another aesthetic
paradigm of 19th century –
Richard Wagner’s concept of
the total work of art, or the
Gesamtkunstwerk.
Wagner
sought
to
unify
all
modes
of
aesthetic
representation
in the theater through his
ambitious
operatic
works.
Mallarme, by contrast, aspired
to the creation of a book that
incorporated
everything
through
an
act
of
poetic
“dematerialization, abstraction,
and generalization,” Roberts
says. But if their ideas are
antithetical (and again, this
is an incredibly complicated
debate that I can’t delve into
here), they at least share a
drive toward unity and totality.
Everything was made in order
to end up in a book, Mallarme
remarked in conversation with
Jules Huret, which our same
Orhan Pamuk cited in a 2008
interview with Carol Becker in
the Brooklyn Rail.
Although
Mallarme
worked “(to invent) a style
of critical prose as well as
poetry”
that
emphasizes
“ellipses,
discontinuities,
and
obscurities,”
Barbara
Johnson explains in her review
of a biography of Mallarme
in
the
London
Review
of
Books, “(this) is not to say
that
Mallarme’s
late,
most
stylistically radical books have
nothing to do with the desire
for coherence.” “(Along) with
his fragmentation of all the
usual modes of meaning, he also
imagined that ‘The Book’ would
put everything back together
in a higher synthesis. This
impersonal, prismatic, grand
oeuvre would also be a key to
all mythologies, the ‘Orphic
explanation of the earth.’”
This is what’s at stake when
Clark approaches this book
as a designer. His task is to
animate Mallarme’s ambitions
through the interplay between
translation,
typography,
illustration
and
how
these
are all packaged in the book’s
overall design. And it is crucial
to note that Mallarme’s hopes
play out in real-life, material
books.
“The reason ‘A Roll of the
Dice’
and
its
presentation
are
different
from
highly
collectible, lavishly produced
book-of-the-month
club
limited edition type stuff is
that Mallarme was fussing over
trim size and paper stock and
typography because he placed
a lot of hope in this particular
poem. And so not only every
word of this poem was hyper
sought-out by him and agonized
over, but he carried that sort of
intensive work into the actual
material embodiment of the
book,” Clark said.
The final product of Clark and
Bonnono’s labors is a vindication
of books whose physicality and
materiality have something to
say, books that are more than
chic “fetish objects” (Clark’s
words). But this is not done in the
service of a large profit margin,
as partly illustrated by how
Mallarme’s “fussing” over the
paper and typeface of his book no
doubt exasperated his publisher.
Mallarme’s poem, and Clark and
Bonnono’s amazing rendering
of it, confronts questions of the
possibility of totality in art and
how this process plays out on an
object made out of ink-spattered
paper glued to cardboard that
circulates in a market.
“Hopefully she (the reader)
will come away with a sense
that every part of the book is
yet another extrapolation of
the ideas that are at stake in the
poem itself,” Clark said.
MUSIC COLUMN
Tidal and the future
of free music
I
was in Indianapolis this
past weekend, and while
I thought the city was
fantastic, I was frustrated by
one thing: I didn’t see a single
drinking
fountain
over the
course of
my entire
visit.
I hated
having to
do it, but
multiple
times I was
forced to
pay $3 for a bottle of water
from one of the many food
vendors set up throughout the
city. I wished I could get the
plain old hydration I needed
from a free source, but instead,
I had to shell out for purified
Aquafina.
What does this have to
do with music? I’ll let Jay
Z explain. Last week, when
he and the rest of the music
Illuminati rolled out Tidal, a
new streaming service that
promises high-quality audio
and will only be available with
a paid subscription, he showed
a desire to make the music
industry more like the bottled
water industry.
“If a person can pay $6 for a
bottle of water, something that
used to be free, if someone can
do that? I can definitely show
you why you should pay for
Lauryn Hill’s album. There
are 14 reasons, it’s incredible.
Someone’s changed our
mindset to believe that that
bottle of water is worth $6,”
he said.
Hov is right. While Big
Bottled Water has changed
the game so now we don’t
even blink when we pay a few
bucks for their product, the
music industry has completely
lost control of the idea that
music should cost money. CD
sales have been falling for
years with no end in sight, but
now even digital downloads
are dropping. And as iTunes
loses its business to Spotify,
a mostly free service that
typically pays artists pennies
— even for thousands of plays.
According to Jay Z in his Tidal
press conference, Aloe Blacc
was only paid $4,000 for a song
(“The Man”) that was streamed
168 million times.
As the market for music gets
bleaker, it makes perfect sense
that musicians would rebel.
Taylor Swift — potentially
the biggest star music has
right now — pulled her entire
catalogue off Spotify last year,
citing a lack of significant
payment, and in the wake
of Tidal, Jay Z has pulled
Reasonable Doubt, his first
and arguably finest album,
from Spotify. These moves
ostensibly make the artists’
work inaccessible to those who
don’t want to pay for it.
The problem, though, is
that in the Internet age it’s
impossible for any artist to
close all channels of access.
Here, Reasonable Doubt is
available for listening in
its entirety on YouTube. A
commenter was even nice
enough to provide links to the
beginning of each song within
the whole video. And though
Taylor Swift and her lawyers
are much more proactive
about keeping her music away
from cheap fans (nothing on
YouTube except official music
videos and interviews), Swift
is so popular that the efforts
are futile. Search 1989 on the
world’s most famous torrent
site and you’ll find dozens
of copies of her most recent
album, just waiting to be
downloaded for free.
The only way it seems that
artists can force their fans to
pay for music is if the artist
is too obscure for anyone to
bother posting free copies.
Take Lifter Puller, a late-
’90s cult punk outfit from
Minneapolis that eventually
became The Hold Steady.
When I first got into the
band, I scanned the Internet
for download links to Lifter
Puller’s discography and found
nothing. A few hours later, I
was downloading Half Dead
and Dynamite and Fiestas and
Fiascos from the Amazon Store.
I certainly don’t regret my
purchase, but I understand
how, for those to whom music
is almost as essential as water,
the cost can really start to add
up. I don’t blame musicians in
the least for wanting their work
to be sold, not stolen, but given
the choice between a bottled
water vendor and a drinking
fountain around the corner,
where are you going to drink?
Music will always find a
way to get to those who want
to listen to it. Back in the
Soviet Union, way before the
Internet, Beatles’ records were
illicitly distributed on old x-ray
films and played on modified
record players. Kevin Bacon
brought dancing to a rural
town that outlawed rock music.
And practically anyone with
a computer and an Internet
connection can download
whatever music they want and
circumvent any advertisements
or paywalls they don’t wish to
be stuck behind. Nobody wants
to steal from their favorite
musicians, but when you’re on
a budget and it’s just so damn
easy, it’s tough to resist the
temptation.
We’re past the point where
artists can sell millions of
records in their first week of
release, but we still have no
idea where music is going to
go from here. Maybe for her
next project, Taylor Swift will
bypass her record company
and release an album straight
to Bandcamp. Or maybe Jay
Z and Beyoncé’s collaborative
record will be a Tidal exclusive
and everyone with an aversion
to torrenting will have to pony
up for a subscription. Perhaps
the follow-up to Yeezus will
be a cassette tape delivered
by Amazon’s drones. This
is a very exciting time for
experimentation, not just in
music itself, but in the medium
through which it’s delivered.
Tidal could be a huge
flop, but if it’s good enough,
maybe it could be embraced
as a legitimate alternative to
Spotify. If artists keep trying to
rethink how music is delivered
and disseminated, it’s possible
that fans will embrace one of
these methods that force them
to pay a few extra dollars out of
a love of music and musicians.
In short, maybe Tidal will
get over the pretentiousness
of its initial rollout and Jay Z
will become the next Kevin
Bacon, ushering in a new era
of music consumption. And if
that doesn’t happen, maybe our
next businessman/artist with a
vision will.
Theisen is teaching a small rural
town how to dance. To boogie with
him, email ajtheis@umich.edu.
ADAM
THEISEN
Music will
always find a
way to get to
listeners.
DO YOU LOVE “GAME OF THRONES”?
DOES RICHARD LINKLATER FLOAT YOUR BOAT?
CONSIDER YOURSELF A SARTORIALIST?
APPLY TO DAILY ARTS.
To request an application, email
CHLOELIZ@UMICH.EDU & ADEPOLLO@UMICH.EDU.
His task is
to animate
Mallarme’s
ambitions.
ÉDOUARD MANET
A portrait of Mallarme.