THE LIMITS OF SELF-CONTROL

the thing is, i haven’t seen that jarmusch movie. and the other thing is that I haven’t read siamese, which was the first volume in stig sæterbakken’s “s trilogy” and might, i suppose (had i read it), have somehow informed my reading of self-control, the second volume in sæterbakken’s (so-called) trilogy. as for that first thing, i stand by my title. it might sound clever to anyone who has actually seen the movie; and now that i’m reading the synopsis online, i’m seeing that the movie, like self-control, is also about a solitary man with communication troubles. good. there’s that.

as for that other thing, i welcome the challenge. maybe my thing could be writing about second volumes of scandinavian trilogies. (then again i’ve only seen “the girl who played with fire.”) after all – and except maybe among the more devoted fans of the ewoks – i think the consensus is that “the empire strikes back” was the finest of that particular series. in saying so, however, i don’t mean to imply the inferiority of siamese or volume three. i haven’t read the former, and the latter has yet to be translated into english. of course that doesn’t mean that i won’t read either or both, but as of this writing i’m only familiar with “s” number two, which was translated from the original norwegian by seán kinsella. (and as of this moment i’ve just taken the time to confirm that the titles of the books in norwegian also begin with that letter – although i wouldn’t say “s” because i don’t know how that’s read in that other language.) but they seem to say that the (so-called) trilogy is, as they say, loose. good. there’s also that. so now for a bit of self-control…

but the thing is that this book, it made it kind of hard for me to maintain. it’s not terribly long, and, structurally, it’s very well balanced. but i do have to say that reading it was painstaking. andreas feldt, the solitary protagonist of self-control manages to keep it together – or some semblance of “it” anyway – but he’s also pushing it for sure. his story is a narrative of constant psychological brinkmanship, in which he’s engaged with both himself and all of the people who engage him – who we should probably suspect are engaging themselves in the same way.  (i might have called this “everyone on the verge of a nervous breakdown,” except that it isn’t at all clever and has nothing to do with the title of the book – although that movie by almodóvar is one i’ve actually seen.) i mean, wasn’t breaking down at the café or anything, but as i was reading, self-control was definitely wearing away at my composure.

andreas feldt is a father, and in an uncomfortable conversation with his daughter he breaks the tension by lying and telling her that he and her mother are getting a divorce. she’s startled. he gives her the money she’s come for and she leaves. andreas feldt is a machinist, and after he finally speaks his mind to an incompetent superior, he allows the tone of his interaction with the man to be shifted when the man tells him that his wife is ill. andreas feldt has friends, and after he shuts down a supercilious line of conversation started by an old friend and coworker, he then regrets his skepticism and allows his friend to continue with his blowhardiness (although only by fixating on his urge to jump on top of his friend and bite his nose – an urge which he represses). andreas feldt pops off but then is quick to silence himself. he teeters in the air over the other side of the line but always pulls himself back. andreas feldt is either master or a moron as regards the execution of his self-control.

i could understand. okay. but for the sake of eventual articulation i decided to make a flow chart. a diagram, i thought at any rate, might be a nice outlet for my own distracted nervous energy. “self-control,” it starts. and it goes from there in progression with andreas’ pushing its limits. it moves to over-analysis, to anxiety…and to violence and nausea. it goes through anger and indifference but branches along the way into an interconnected web of bitter disillusion, identity confusion, rationalization and compulsiveness. “it was as if I had based my entire life on the kindness and consideration i could derive from my immediate surroundings, which comfort i now had to accept no longer existed,” andreas realizes after deciding that, huh, maybe he will leave his wife and his job. “i felt like a fool,” he says, “like someone whose development has been at a standstill since his youth and has never been corrected, who’s never been made aware of the grotesque disparity between reality and his perception of reality.” then andreas feldt is a man with a pocket full of bank notes who will show this more or less likeable young woman an okay time before leaving the café while she’s in the bathroom.

“and suddenly i became aware of how fast my mind was racing…from one thing to the other at a furious pace, without me being able to hold on to a single thought.” so i stopped with the flow chart because in the course of those realizations of andreas’ i realized that i was essentially just charting the development of a panic attack. and anyway, the progress of self-control was probably better mapped as a periodic function. an oscillation between indulgence and restraint, except that the function wasn’t regular because the peak of indulgence kept getting higher and each successive plunge of restraint was more abrupt. maybe. so maybe it wasn’t periodic at all. but maybe it would be possible to map an asymptote above those peaks to represent a limit, that limit of self-control past which the social fabric would start to unravel. my mind had been racing from one thing to the other and i focused it by forgetting the movies and thinking about math.

so let’s back up to the book. no more charting. i also liked the social fabric metaphor. it’s a good metaphor for self-control. staying within its limits means keeping hold of the golden thread that keeps you in participation. but, as andreas is well aware, “even the slightest misdemeanor or memory lapse and that golden thread of trust, which has been laboriously spun for so many years snaps right in two.” but sometimes you just have to let go. andreas has all those bills in his pocket and he’s at the restaurant where he goes before he goes to the café and meets the likeable girl. “i'd gotten halfway through my drink,” he says, “when i suddenly felt the need…or the obligation, rather…to do something grand, something completely unexpected…outrageous if need be…make a splash…whatever the cost.” so were self-control and self-control about austerity and abnegation or the opposite? the golden thread is fragile, sure, but in the end are we happier (freer?) if we do what we want and let it break? what, andreas, are you trying to say?

he says quite a bit, but I don’t think he actually says – or anyway not in so many words. whatever the social concern neuroticizing us, stig sæterbakken seems to be saying that our collective neurosis is as kafkaesque as ever. or maybe it’s even more complex than that. foucault! deleuze and guattari! COMPLEXES! and film theory? the limits of self-control. get it? are we practicing restraint or are we giving in to repression? maybe i just wanted to figure out a way to create a walk-on role for paz de la huerta…even though i couldn’t have put a name to her face until recently. but i’m taking a chance. to make a splash. outrageous if need be. even though i haven’t seen that jarmusch movie or read siamese. but then, “foolish, i thought, to imagine you can entrust yourself, your future, to a choice in that way.” take a break.

if it wasn’t quite like the place had changed totally, then it was like hours had passed since i’d gone to the toilet. now the café was almost completely full…it was dark outside and the windows were black. but maybe it was only because i’d instinctively held onto the impression i'd gotten of the place when i arrived there earlier in the evening, when it was still sparsely occupied and the room had a lot of daylight and activity outside it; maybe i'd been sitting trying to hold on to that atmosphere without noticing that it had gradually changed.

what was i saying? self-control. back to the book. some self-control. my silly charts. because i was finding it hard to maintain. a solitary man with communication troubles. because andreas’ story was reminding me of something else. because my agitation was over being reminded of my preoccupation with something else. paz de la huerta could play the likeable one’s drunk friend… or something else hidden way back from the limit of my self-control. but no, i didn’t say. that’s the thing.