Seducing the demon , 我与Erica Jong | Sep 16 2006- Jong Seducing the demon, һϾͷˡϸagentϵ֪ʲôʱлϣܵõⱾķȨ
10ǰʶJongЩһֱҵĵMentorҵѧʦҵѡС˵·ڶԼĴǡҶϲݳκһλŮҡ
ڰһЩҷⱾDZȵbest sellerΪԼҲΪаддָ飺
Isaac Baqshevis Singer wrote a wonderful story called "Taibele and her demon." in it, a man pretending to be a demon visits by night a pretty young woman whose children have died and whose husband has walked out in utter despair.
at first the demon terrifies her with his ugliness, but then she falls in love with him-as much for his vivid stories of hell and heaven as for his demonic lovemaking. she completely forgets that he's ugly and becomes more and more attached to him-even though after a while she can see his human failings. yes, this demon "perspired, sneedzed, hisccupped, yawned." yes, "sometimes his breath smelled of onion, sometimes of garlic...his body felt like the body of her husband, bony and hairy, with an adam's apple and a navel...his feet were not goose feet, but human with nails and frost blisters.
once taibele asked him the meaning of these things, and hurmizah(the demon's assumed name) explained;"when one of us consorts with a human female, he assumes the shape of a man. Otherwise she would die of fright."
"yes, taibele got used to him and loved him. she was on longer terrified of him and his impish antics."
perhaps she suspected he was really a man, but not wanting to know it, she refused to. Singer's story is a kind of reverse scheherazade:the woman falls in love with the teller of tales and welcomes his lovemaking no matter what his looks. but it is more than that. it's a fable of disguise to give each other permission to love each other. she needs to believe he is a demon so that she thinks she has no choice but to submit to him. he needs to be convinced that she believes him in order to keep up the elaborate fantasy that turns her on. Many marriages are based on less.
the story of Taibele has always seemed to me the perfect metaphor for my life as a writer.
the job of the writer is to seduce the demons of creativity and make up stories. often you go to bed with a man who claims to be a demon and later you find out he's just an everday slob. by then he may have inspired a novel. the novel remains though the demon has departed.
........
So who is my demon?
He is wild, uncivilized and lives entirely in the moment. He makes up stories and acts them out. He is never polite. He didnt go to college and certainly did not get an MFA at Iowa. He doesnt know which fork to use. He never heard about the ten commandments-and certainly not the one about adultery. He has hairy feet and ver likely a tail.
Lets see if you can tell when the demon appears. It shouldnt be hard. He casts a jagged shadow. And he leaves a wet spot on the sheet.
Of course, for male writers he is a she. She becomes whatever physical type the writer favors, since men care so much more about appearance than women do. Does he like big rits with rosy nipples? .....
For a gay write, hes the perfect boy. He has idealized muscles like Michelangelos david. He may even be a lovely Bacchus or a Hermes with winged sandals.
Hes Greek, of course. The Greeks had the most beautiful boys. And they competed naked with their adorable cocks bound up in leather thongs so as not to swing. Oh what repture to watch them run! Nobody was gay or straight then-only human.
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Nobody wants to read-or write-about perfect people. Perfection is boring. And unbeliebable. It was my curse or blessing to have interesting relatives. They were all smart and talented. But I was the one with guts to rish disapproval and defeat. Talent is nver enought. Talent without guts gets you exactly nowhere. Which is why I am most proud of Molly. She has guts. She has never been afraid to take me on. Or the world.
.....
When you are the writer in the house, it is your version that gets told. Naturally, other people resent that. The problem is that you must live with them and at the same time live with your own demon. The demon says: the hell with them. Tell the story! the family says: be mice, dont embarrass us. And above all be good to isreal!
There is no way to make peace between these two conflicting demands.
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when we are young, our parents case these huge shadows. Then they shrink and shrink until its time to put them in a box. How would I have survived thse metaphorphoses without wirting?
My demon thinks I want to nurder my mother. Can he possibly be rigtht? I have often wundered why wirters a re so obsessed with murder. Is it because we all need to murder out parents in order to go on?