November 16, 2007

butterfly hearing

my most favorite-est book in the whole wide world is about to be released as a movie. and how do i feel about it? definitely ambivalent. the beauty of the book and the impressions created beg to remain unspoiled; will 'hollywood's' interpretation taint it? the jury is out. it also being french i cannot vouchsafe for its wholesomeness.

johnny depp was originally scheduled to play the lead, but instead turned it down to make a 3rd Pirates of the carribean. I think he may be regretting that choice now.

for trailer & movie information, click here.

for an even better experience, check out the book itself. the original hard copy 1st edition is my preference; however, that edition has become more and more elusive. i've stopped loaning out my beloved copy; i guess i need to consider purchasing a few loaner copies since i loan it out so much. . .

the diving bell & the butterfly, by jean-dominique bauby

My diving bell becomes less oppressive, and my mind takes flight like a butterfly. There is so much to do. You can wander off in space or in time, set out for Tierra del Fuego or for King Midas's court.

You can visit the woman you love, slide down beside her and stroke her still-sleeping face. You can build castles in Spain, steal the Golden Fleece, discover Atlantis, realize your childhood dreams and adult ambitions.

Enough rambling. My main task now is to compose the first of these bedridden travel notes so that I shall be ready when my publisher's emissary arrives to take my dictation, letter by letter. In my head I churn over every sentence ten times, delete a word, add an adjective, and learn my text by heart, paragraph by paragraph.

Seven-thirty. The duty nurse interrupts the flow of my thoughts. Following a well- established ritual, she draws the curtain, checks tracheostomy and drip feed, and turns on the TV so I can watch the news. Right now a cartoon celebrates the adventures of the fastest frog in the West. And what if I asked to be changed into a frog? What then?

"Far from such din, when blessed silence returns, I can listen to the butterflies that flutter inside my head. To hear them, one must be calm and pay close attention, for their wingbeats are barely audible. Loud breathing is enough to drown them out. This is astonishing: my hearing does not improve, yet I hear them better and better. I must have butterfly hearing."

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