The act of reading invokes a similar process. The adult reader rarely views individual letters which, at the end of the word, begin to mean something. Instead, as a person’s ability to read increases, so does his capacity to recognize whole words, even phrases. The reader focuses on an individual word or phrase, and the peripheral vision prepares the eye for what will most likely follow. The reader's personal collection of archtypes advises the peripheral vision by offering suggestions about words that might be encountered. As an exercise, consider all the differences between reading a paragraph and reading a sequence of 50 or so random words. If the peripheral vision is not able to rely on the readers system of symbols to help in the prediction of subsequent words, the reader is slowed considerably.
Dali and the uncanny response are allowed to enter this arena through a distinction in the sort of slowing that might occur. Compare the two following sentences:
The eye is drawn smoothly through the first. Not only is the sentence brief, clear, and simple, but it is most likely familiar to the reader. The second, however, possesses a rather clumsy obstacle, settled firmly in the middle of the sentence. The part of speech is not appropriate and it is not conceptually linked to the words that precede it. The effect is particularly pronounced in this case. The earlier, untainted sentence is a familiar one, so the offending word represents a real departure from what is expected. The response experienced, however, is not uncanny. One is most apt to feel like something is wrong with the sentence—perhaps a typographic error.
In contrast, read the following variation of the lyric.
While the difference is pronounced, it is subtler than in sentence (2). First, the part of speech is correct. Given the reader’s experience with the song and the images therein, an object of some sort is expected. In fact, the image of people riding ‘something’ is not forced from the reader’s mind at all. The departure is purely conceptual. In the case above, even the sound of the word is familiar, aiding in the effect. The eye is allowed to traverse the entire sentence without incident. It is as though the mind has strolled through a spider web—something is awry, but it is not yet clear where the problem lies. The image of the one horse open slave, whatever that might be, is part of the portrait before the mind is able to reject it. The mind is simply using the archetypes available to bridge lapses in reason, since it has not been forced to question the scene outright, as it does upon encountering the pumpkin.
Dali uses the latter of these techniques in his writing. It is perhaps the most evident aspect of his bibliography. The difference between Dali and the example above is that Dali uses words which, to him, are clear and whose meaning is crystalline. His archetypes seem fundamentally different. His prose, especially in his diaries, is very smooth—nearly fluid. It has been called “a lexicographer’s nightmare” because of the physical nature of his manuscripts. He combines words at will, composing entire paragraphs without lifting his pen. He creates bizarre, but remarkably dynamic, compound words, composed of puns, names, and freelance cognates. For example, the term renecrevelate is used to describe his uplifting effect on a friend who suffered from bouts of crippling depression. The recipe includes the French verb naitre--to be born, the prefix re--again, and crever--to die. These ingredients are crushed in Dali’s cognitive maw and spat upon the page as renecrevelate. The friend, Rene Crevel, is reborn through his visits with Dali.
| back | next |