I spend a lot of time walking through my neighborhood. It is quiet and contemplative, gives me a chance to let my mind wander. The marigny is my own little haven; I know the sounds, the scarred streets, my eccentric neighbor who never wears pants, the feeling of being outside the chaos of Uptown New Orleans but with debauchery just around the corner if I am so inclined to partake. There is, however, a new installation to my habitat that can not go unnoticed: several times a day I trip over young kids passed out in the gutters, clad in denim that was possibly washed in 1981, mangy, malnourished dogs with nope around their necks attached in some way to the owner that attempts to relieve me of my box of left overs, some form of payment that could be exchanged for a tall boy tucked into a brown paper bag, or simply howls into the sky about how difficult it is to live on the streets, strumming a Martin guitar that I know costs at least $500. It is the newly fashioned New Orleans transient gutter punk that so often interrupts my reverie. The young kids that leave their suburban homes in Kentucky, hop on a freight train and end up sucking down whiskey on my front lawn (or stoop rather--alas! I have no yard or grass). It is the exploitation of those that are actually homeless or in need of monetary aid that really pisses me off. These kids ran away from mothers that would love to welcome them back into their brick homes, wash their denims, give them lunch money and tuck them into bed. But this population lives a life of choice poverty, toting expensive musical instruments and bragging about drug and alcohol addiction. It is here that I bring in the charismatic opiate lover himself, Thomas De Quincey.
As stated in biographical information, De Quincey dropped out of school, ran away from an affluent family, renounced his money and took up a life of chosen poverty where he developed a drug habit and enjoyed pretending to be poor so that he could participate in some self indulgent form of what he calls "the pleasures of the poor." The first thirty pages of his confessions talk about squatting in a mansion on Oxford street, struggling to survive from want of food. I understand the fascination with opium that has propelled him to think that this was a sort of romantic idea (not of course in the literary sense), but he simultaneously attempts to convince the reader that his scholarship is his most cherished past time. I would think that it is hard to critically review literature when you are bent over in a gutter begging for your life, or you only feel alive on Tuesday and Saturday nights pumped full of laudanum drifting through an Italian opera. This is not an expansion of mind, it is a rejection of reality for a fantasy life in which nothing becomes of value except desire to continue this fantastic vision of the world.
Not to mention De Quincey's inconsistencies throughout the text in his descriptions of the experience of the drug itself. At one point he claims that opium in no way isolates the user, that it enables the user to more enjoy social settings, yet describes the happiest year of his life as alone in a cottage behind Worsworth during winter with opium and books as his only companions. I do not want to suggest that De Quincey is a complete discredit to the Romantic movement, I just want to claim that he is unlike the others that we have studied in that his habitual reliance upon opium, and the means to which he started this lifestyle, perpetuates a sort of illusion--a role that he condemned himself to that is not transcendence, as Blake or Wordsworth is aching for, but a veil that keeps him from truly experiencing sublime vision. It is an imitation of sublime vision that leaves De Quincey with little more than nightmares, terrible health, and a chronic opium dependency.
So I warn you gutter punks out there, it may be fun to play the starving artist/ musician role for a while, but eventually you are going to wake up one morning pining for breakfast, a bar of soap, and a conversation with someone other than your dog.
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I too would have to say that I do not find Thomas De Quincey's drug addiction captivating, but I think we are neglecting the fact that our generation, and modern times in general, have become hardened to the "public exposure of our own errors and infirmities" to a point of harsh disinterest. We do not take into account just how sensitive such material was at De Quincey's time:
ReplyDelete"Nothing, indeed, is more revolting to the English feelings than the spectacle of a human being obtruding on our notice his moral ulcers or scars..."
Nor do we acknowledge just what De Quincey was doing with his distinct realism amidst the illusions of opium addiction; everything was out in the open, even his own deluded reasoning behind his lifestyle choices. Aside from the sensational appeal of His life and his willingness to expose it to a society which rarely accepted differences in other men, would De Quincey have been one of the few great writers we study today? Probably not, but for some reason this gutter punk continues to be studied, and we have to try to see why.
I share your antipathy towards the gutter punk culture in New Orleans--it's one of the city's negatives for sure. Also, I'm not too keen on the liteary drug-users from Baudelire to Burroughs as you are, but I am interested in how opium effects their writing style and psychology. For example, De Quincey attempts to correct the general misperception of opium, especially its effects upon one's mind and body. But he fails to construct his desired aim, because the attempt linguistically deprives the autobiographical narrative of its authenticity, and eventually creates the critical distance which separates the author from his desired figure in the text.
ReplyDeleteI was thinking the same thing about DeQuincey myself, a wannabe starving artist desperate for attention. As we discussed in class, DeQuincey separated himself from the Lake Poets like Wordsworth because he was not accepted after he decided being a groupie wasn’t working. By writing something that was completely different from everything at the time, he not only pleased his ego but also gained great acclaim (or at the very least, famed attention). It is the same with his opium addiction. Although I am sure that he did not want to become addicted to opium, it does suit his need to separate himself from contemporary mainstream culture. As Danny said, "his failure to construct his desired aim linguistically... separates the author..."
ReplyDeleteI agree with the fact that gutter punks in New Orleans and Portland do it for fashion and social acceptance, and are insulting to people who don't bend over in pity to give them money, yet spend every day up in arms about the wrongs capitalism sets upon the globe, and sought social acceptance from other "punks" because they didn't like the bully-esque nature of the people they found themselves in contact with in the "real world." I wonder if they, themselves, are aware that they are currently leeching off of people who need to exercise capitalism as a means to live, and they have also become exclusive clubs of bullies. I know some personally, and I know their parents, and it's heartbreaking.
ReplyDeleteI don't agree, however, with even the slightest mention of De Quincey in the same thought process as those careless people. De Quincey was, yes, severely addicted to Opium and had a tumultuous life, but with that kind of talent and what he saw as a sort of 'breaking away' from whatever he felt was holding him back, I don't consider him less of an influencial presence than he has come to be. I loved reading his "confessions" and I didn't really get the idea that he was even looking for any type of response from his readers, other than for them to simply read it. Torment and heartbreak are written about frequently, and I hope those people won't be discredited or seen as those seeking sympathy. For are those who speak of happiness in search of congratulations?