Tam multa, ut puta genera linguarum sunt in hoc mundo: et nihil sine voce est.
Sunday, July 21, 2024
Humpty Dumpty: After the Fall
My wife is on some kind of weird diet recently which requires her to eat lots of hard-boiled egg whites every day but no yolks, so she always leaves the yolks for me. Often as I'm about to leave the house, she'll say, "Wait! Eat all the egg yolks before you go so I can wash the dish." Today it occurred to me that this makes me like Patrick in the William Alizio story (see "Pleased to meet you, hope you guess me name"), who has to eat all the Hidden Treasures before he, Tim, and William can leave. In the story, "Hidden Treasures" are a sugary breakfast cereal, but in The Hobbit, egg yolks are called hidden treasures:
A box without hinges, key, or lid, Yet golden treasure inside is hid.
I've been eating "hidden treasures" for my wife for a couple of weeks now but never made that connection until today.
This afternoon I visited a small used bookstore in Taichung with an even smaller foreign-language section, but I nevertheless hit the jackpot. I snapped up several dirt-cheap volumes of Baudelaire, Rimbaud, and Villon, some in French, others translated. I was about to leave with my loot but then thought that I might as well give the children's section a once-over and see if there was anything suitable for my school's library. That's when I saw this:
Funny that the author's name is Dan, which is the Chinese word for "egg."
Why does Humpty get up on the wall in the first place? This book makes the obvious connection, which I had nevertheless never thought of: Humpty is, in his inner nature and potential, a bird, and therefore longs to be high up:
Somehow -- it is never really explained -- Humpty survives the fall and is put back together again.
The incident leaves him with a fear of heights, though -- which is illustrated with, of all things, a picture of supermarket shelves full of sugary breakfast cereal.
He's afraid to climb the ladder to get the sugary cereals, so he has to content himself with the bland grown-up cereals on the lower shelves. One of these is called, interestingly, Leaves. Gray leaves, though, not the fiery ones of my own Humpty poem.
Humpty takes up the hobby of making paper airplanes and little model birds. When one of these lands on top of the wall, he has to face his fear and climb back up there, which he does. There, on top of the wall, Humpty starts to crack.
And then bursts out of his shell, a fully fledged adult bird.
Why does he emerge from the egg all ready to fly, rather than as a helpless hatchling? It is never explained in the book, just as it is never explained how he could possibly have survived his fall. In terms of symbolism, though, I think we have to conclude that it is because of the time he spent climbing walls when he was an egg. He entered the next stage of his life with that experience already behind him.
Whatever principle of intelligence we attain unto in this life, it will rise with us in the resurrection. And if a person gains more knowledge and intelligence in this life through his diligence and obedience than another, he will have so much the advantage in the world to come (D&C 130:18-19).
This ties in with something else I've been dwelling on recently as part of my Rosary meditations: the legend of the Visitation as recorded by Luke. In Luke's story, the mother of Jesus is related to the mother of John the Baptist and visits her while Jesus and John are both in the womb, and the fetal John somehow recognizes the fetal Jesus and jumps for joy. Taken literally, it's a fanciful story, as fanciful as that of an egg climbing a wall. I believe what happened is that Jesus told his disciples that one of the reasons John had been able to identify him as the Messiah was that the two of them had already met, before either of them was born. He was referring either to the spirit pre-existence or to past incarnations, but the story was misunderstood and eventually evolved into the form preserved by Luke.
Ever since coming up with this interpretation, I've associated the Visitation story with the phrase "The World is Bound by Secret Knots," which is the title of a Noe Venable album I used to listen to a lot. As I was writing the above paragraph just now, another phrase that came to mind was Elective Affinities, the title of a Goethe novel I've never read. I had a vague inkling of a memory that I'd once seen a copy of Elective Affinities with an egg on the cover, which led me to do an image search. It turns out that Elective Affinities is also the title of a Magritte painting. Perhaps that's what I was remembering, or perhaps some publisher once used the Magritte as cover art for the Goethe. In any case, the Magritte relates directly to After the Fall, as it depicts an egg trying prematurely to be a bird:
The surprise ending of After the Fall, where the transformed Humpty flies off into the sky, also reminds me of the ending of Goethe's Faust, where Faust, despite having literally sold his soul to the devil, unexpectedly ascends to Heaven at the end, because "Whoever strives with all his might / We are allowed to save." Since the Simon and Garfunkel album Bookends has recently come up ("Crescent waxing"), After the Fall also has a lot in common with one of the songs from that album, "Save the Life of My Child":
It's strange that I haven't thought of it at all as I've been making all these posts about Humpty Dumpty, but in 2020 or thereabouts I suddenly became very interested in climbing walls. Almost every night I would go out very late, and instead of just doing my usual night hike, I would find brick walls, climb them, and walk around on top of them, sometimes jumping from one wall to another, which was kind of a stupid thing to do if you think about it. Inevitably, I ended up having a "great fall" and having to limp all the way home with a sprained ankle. And that's why to this day I eat only Granola Harvest and Sad Clown cereal instead of the Hidden Treasures I used to enjoy. (That's a joke. I don't eat cereal at all. The rest of the story is true, though.)
I am embarrassed to admit it, but although in my story I've connected the character of Peter-Pharazon with both an Egg (Humpty) and a Bird (Gregor), I never actually connected the Egg with a Bird. You'd think that would have been obvious, but I totally missed it until I saw the illustration of Humpty cracking on top of the wall and turning into a bird. I was like "Oh yeah, birds come from eggs".
It really does help explain why Humpty was on top of that wall in the first place - he was a bird that just hadn't hatched yet, and being in high places was part of who he was.
Shortly after midnight yesterday, having seen it linked a few times through my usual browsing, I gave this a watch: youtube.com/watch?v=p-V7I2Hn0A0 It attempts to connect certain years-old prophecies of Kim Clement, and a much more recent one from a Brandon Biggs (full context youtube.com/watch?v=Ey0qVzG8_vU from 7:55), with the recent assassination attempt, suggesting it was the start of an acceleration of events (not just politics-related) through the rest of this year. When I saw your post shortly afterwards, fall immediately got my attention. The clips featuring Clement used the word in both directional and seasonal senses, notably at 16:30-18:30 and 26:45-32:00.
For something quite different, a few weeks ago I began Mark Z. Danielewski's House of Leaves, purely because whenever I looked at its spine amongst one of my "to-read" piles, I'd think of your syncs involving leaves. (The book is rather... experimental? so Wikipedia and TVTropes summarise it far better than I can, and in fact the latter is where I first heard of it, probably over a decade ago.) I only resumed reading earlier tonight, and over 100 pages in (not counting one of the appendixes), I have very little idea how leaves is relevant.
Anyway, I'm writing this because I came across another repeated fall. Attempting to be brief: as Johnny enters his tattoo-parlour-workplace's storeroom, he flicks the light on and it burns out. While in there he senses a clawed Something in the dark, terrifying him enough for his mind to "fall apart", believing he's not only soiled himself but "should be dead". As he exits the room with tray of inks in hand, he stubs his toe and tumbles down a set of steps. "What they [his boss and workmates] can't see though is the omen seen in a fall, my fall, as I'm doused in black ink"; I'll spare you the rest of that run-on sentence. The section ends with someone pointing out a long bloody scratch on the back of Johnny's neck; he didn't know how to respond, but in hindsight recalls disjointed words he thought of while in the storeroom. "'Known some call is air am.' Which is to say -- 'I am not what I used to be.'" Kind of syncs with Humpty's transformation, however creepy the context.
Another, smaller thing. House of Leaves' copyright page notes the existence of four editions, primarily based on the use of colour or black and white plates. While some photos are included in the appendices, the main use of colour is for certain words, particularly blue for house (and foreign-language equivalents). Unfortunately, I have the B/W edition, so house is printed in grey instead.
And... I hesitate to add this... On a personal level, I'm in a "grey" kind of state lately, a mixture of gloom and anxiety, not solely due to winter blues. Finding it difficult to do very much of substance. (I'm also feeling overly conscious about my textwalls. My apologies for those.)
"Known some call is air am" threw me for a loop there, but I think it's meant to be Latin spelled phonetically as English: Non sum qualis eram, probably referencing the poem by Ernest Dowson.
(I guess once again Big Goog decided I posted spam. Didn't even bother with link tags that time! My comment over at notesonthebom.blogspot.com/2024/07/the-purpose-of-plates-hypothesis.html also vanished a day afterwards. This is frustratingly ridiculous.)
You could be right about the phrase being a hidden reference. That book seems the type to have Easter eggs everywhere. (I imagine you'd get more out of it, being far better read/learned... I'm just in for the weird and meta-ness.)
Your friends, the roses and lilies, make an appearance in that poem. The same verse's dancing also strikes me.
Thank you, sir. Am hoping that, as my studies resume next week, moving between home and classrooms (all cages in a way) will shift the gloom. I'm not a cereal eater either, though sometimes toast can be the equivalent of Cardboard.
Before reading this post, I never had the idea that Humpty was an egg. I just thought he was a big head and an empty shell (which is symbolic). I guess I had this idea because in all the illustrations I'd ever seen of Humpty Dumpty, I never once saw any depiction of egg yolk spilling out of him after he fell and cracked open. And so, like other commenters here, I too never made the connection of Humpty being an unhatched bird.
After I became Red Pilled, I read an analogy somewhere of Humpty Dumpty being a brash promiscuous man (or woman); a play on the phrases, "Hump (or Pump) and Dump", and "Falling off (or Hitting) the Wall", with the idea that once his/her indiscretions are exposed, his reputation can never be restored, even by some great executive action, i.e. "Kings Horses and Kings Men".
While on the phone with a friend yesterday I became upset, describing the worries and fears of current (and past) grey moods. My friend did his best to console and advise at the same time. Overall it left me feeling relatively upbeat for most of the day, but in the moment, his calling me a "good egg" struck a sync-nerve.
7 comments:
That Humpty Dumpty book you found is pure gold.
I am embarrassed to admit it, but although in my story I've connected the character of Peter-Pharazon with both an Egg (Humpty) and a Bird (Gregor), I never actually connected the Egg with a Bird. You'd think that would have been obvious, but I totally missed it until I saw the illustration of Humpty cracking on top of the wall and turning into a bird. I was like "Oh yeah, birds come from eggs".
It really does help explain why Humpty was on top of that wall in the first place - he was a bird that just hadn't hatched yet, and being in high places was part of who he was.
I never made that very obvious connection, either? Not so quick on the uptake, are we?
My student Egbert, of shoe cubby fame, used to be teased by his classmates as “Egg-Bird.”
Humpty as an egg that hatches on his own, without a mother bird sitting on him, may tie in with Unhenned.
Shortly after midnight yesterday, having seen it linked a few times through my usual browsing, I gave this a watch: youtube.com/watch?v=p-V7I2Hn0A0
It attempts to connect certain years-old prophecies of Kim Clement, and a much more recent one from a Brandon Biggs (full context youtube.com/watch?v=Ey0qVzG8_vU from 7:55), with the recent assassination attempt, suggesting it was the start of an acceleration of events (not just politics-related) through the rest of this year. When I saw your post shortly afterwards, fall immediately got my attention. The clips featuring Clement used the word in both directional and seasonal senses, notably at 16:30-18:30 and 26:45-32:00.
For something quite different, a few weeks ago I began Mark Z. Danielewski's House of Leaves, purely because whenever I looked at its spine amongst one of my "to-read" piles, I'd think of your syncs involving leaves. (The book is rather... experimental? so Wikipedia and TVTropes summarise it far better than I can, and in fact the latter is where I first heard of it, probably over a decade ago.) I only resumed reading earlier tonight, and over 100 pages in (not counting one of the appendixes), I have very little idea how leaves is relevant.
Anyway, I'm writing this because I came across another repeated fall. Attempting to be brief: as Johnny enters his tattoo-parlour-workplace's storeroom, he flicks the light on and it burns out. While in there he senses a clawed Something in the dark, terrifying him enough for his mind to "fall apart", believing he's not only soiled himself but "should be dead". As he exits the room with tray of inks in hand, he stubs his toe and tumbles down a set of steps. "What they [his boss and workmates] can't see though is the omen seen in a fall, my fall, as I'm doused in black ink"; I'll spare you the rest of that run-on sentence. The section ends with someone pointing out a long bloody scratch on the back of Johnny's neck; he didn't know how to respond, but in hindsight recalls disjointed words he thought of while in the storeroom. "'Known some call is air am.' Which is to say -- 'I am not what I used to be.'" Kind of syncs with Humpty's transformation, however creepy the context.
Another, smaller thing. House of Leaves' copyright page notes the existence of four editions, primarily based on the use of colour or black and white plates. While some photos are included in the appendices, the main use of colour is for certain words, particularly blue for house (and foreign-language equivalents). Unfortunately, I have the B/W edition, so house is printed in grey instead.
And... I hesitate to add this... On a personal level, I'm in a "grey" kind of state lately, a mixture of gloom and anxiety, not solely due to winter blues. Finding it difficult to do very much of substance.
(I'm also feeling overly conscious about my textwalls. My apologies for those.)
"Known some call is air am" threw me for a loop there, but I think it's meant to be Latin spelled phonetically as English: Non sum qualis eram, probably referencing the poem by Ernest Dowson.
https://allpoetry.com/Non-Sum-Qualis-eram-Bonae-Sub-Regno-Cynarae
The disjointed nature of the string of words, together with the uncertainty as to what language it's meant to be, reminds me of WW's "words."
Sorry to hear about your gray mood and hope you're feeling better soon. I hope you haven't been restricting yourself to Sad Clown cereal.
(I guess once again Big Goog decided I posted spam. Didn't even bother with link tags that time! My comment over at notesonthebom.blogspot.com/2024/07/the-purpose-of-plates-hypothesis.html also vanished a day afterwards. This is frustratingly ridiculous.)
You could be right about the phrase being a hidden reference. That book seems the type to have Easter eggs everywhere. (I imagine you'd get more out of it, being far better read/learned... I'm just in for the weird and meta-ness.)
Your friends, the roses and lilies, make an appearance in that poem. The same verse's dancing also strikes me.
Thank you, sir. Am hoping that, as my studies resume next week, moving between home and classrooms (all cages in a way) will shift the gloom. I'm not a cereal eater either, though sometimes toast can be the equivalent of Cardboard.
Before reading this post, I never had the idea that Humpty was an egg. I just thought he was a big head and an empty shell (which is symbolic). I guess I had this idea because in all the illustrations I'd ever seen of Humpty Dumpty, I never once saw any depiction of egg yolk spilling out of him after he fell and cracked open. And so, like other commenters here, I too never made the connection of Humpty being an unhatched bird.
After I became Red Pilled, I read an analogy somewhere of Humpty Dumpty being a brash promiscuous man (or woman); a play on the phrases, "Hump (or Pump) and Dump", and "Falling off (or Hitting) the Wall", with the idea that once his/her indiscretions are exposed, his reputation can never be restored, even by some great executive action, i.e. "Kings Horses and Kings Men".
While on the phone with a friend yesterday I became upset, describing the worries and fears of current (and past) grey moods. My friend did his best to console and advise at the same time. Overall it left me feeling relatively upbeat for most of the day, but in the moment, his calling me a "good egg" struck a sync-nerve.
Post a Comment