They say you learn something new every day. The other day, I learned something of significance (to me, anyway). Half my lifetime ago, I read a book that had me spellbound with its use of language and brilliant insight into shallow, spurious characters; as well as a scathing yet subtle look at the excessive and image conscious people living in 1980s New York. That novel was The Bonfire of the Vanities, and its view of media manipulation influenced me in the writing of what became my first novel, Calumny While Reading Irvine Welsh. Well, if you have been following this blog, you will know that I have been indulging in The Borgias on Stan. Those Renaissance times were rather interesting in their own way, although I'm glad I'm living in this period of time (notwithstanding I see stuff that makes me think it would be a good time for the Cosmos to hoik another asteroid at the planet, kind of like that one that decimated the dinosaurs). Part of the history deals with a Dominican Friar named Savonarola - hey, it's lucky he's not in Australia because his nickname would be Sav-On-A-Roll-A! - but back to my point: this dour Dominican wasn't a sunny chap at all. He called for the destruction of secular art and culture (What did secular art and culture ever do to YOU, you miserable old fart?). Anyway, he had the Ferrara folk burning all their nice things, or as he called them: 'vanities'. Towns people everywhere were being pushily exhorted to throw their 'vanities' on the fire.
And just like the proverbial bolt from the blue, it hit me. A Damascene cascade of scales tumbled from my eyes and onto my lap, whereupon they were duly brushed away to the floor, and the dog ran over and ate them, like he does with all crumbs that fall to the floor.
Pointing to the television, scale-free eyes bulging in their sockets like watery golf balls, I exclaimed, 'THAT'S where we get the saying 'Bonfire of the Vanities'!' I'd like to say my voice was a dramatic gasp, or a stentorian thunder that would befit such a profound revelation, but it was more an excitable squawk. Picture a chimpanzee sucking helium; it might paint an accurate picture.
Mystery solved, and it's a mystery over which I've never turned to Google, surprisingly. I guess it didn't torture me too much. It was only something I'd idly wonder whenever I reached for the novel. I've read it many times since the first time I read it on the bus journey to visit my sick mother.
Speaking of torture, Savonarola was tortured and tried as a heretic, before being burned at the stake. I imagine he was probably used to pain, because his cheeks and head must have ached like crazy because he sucked all the joy out of Ferrara.
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