the courSe oF reading graham robb'S excellent biography oF Victor hugo, have stumbled on two details that might have found their way into the fiction of patrick White, bearing mind that he would have studied Hugo as part of the Modern Languages program at Cambridge. the first relates to the episode The Tree of Man which stan centers his credo on a lump of sputum as a way of signifying the inclusiveness of his pantheism:don't you believe perhaps? asked the evangelist, who had be- gun to look around him and to feel the necessity for some further stimulus of confession. i can show you some books, he yawned.then the old man, who had been cornered long enough, saw, through perversity perhaps, but with his own eyes. He was illuminated.He pointed with his stick at the gob of spittle.that is God, he said.As it lay glittering intensely and personally on the ground. (476)the same modulation from spittle to deity occurs Hugo's L'Âne, which haven't read, but which Robb quotes at one point: in a passage of L'Âne, Man boasts about his glorious creations-his sculptures, his inventions, his pots and his books-and then the ass, losing patience with the egocentric fool, puts him firmly his place: 'Very well then, spit on the wall, and now compare . . . / the great starry sky is the spittle of God' (394). What Hugo presents antithetically, White elides, but it seems likely that his yoking of heterogeneous ideas by violence together might well owe something to Hugo.Robb also informs us that, at a point before the collage had become an es- tablished vector of high art, Hugo had made a point of incorporating extraneous materials and media into his graphic work:Attempts to drag Hugo into the mainstream, to offer his work as it were the benefits of an institution, serve a useful purpose but entail a serious distortion. one simply cannot have one's hero astoundingly original and well behaved at the same time. Anyone who investigates the origins of a new style should expect to find a mess. Hugo scribbled, smudged, scratched and toyed. He was a lover of substances and textures-inanimate and human-a frotteur and a voyeur, a hoarder and a thrower-out; a man who, old age, stirred his food into an indescribable sludge which he called gribouillis (scribble).the single aspect of his art that provides a key to all the others has been obscured by misplaced veneration. …
Read full abstract