Into My Own
One of my wishes is that those dark trees,
So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze,
Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom,
But stretched away unto the edge of doom.
I should not be withheld but that some day
Into their vastness I should steal away,
Fearless of ever finding open land,
Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.
I do not see why I should e'er turn back,
Or those should not set forth upon my track
To overtake me, who should miss me here
And long to know if still I hold them dear.
They would not find me changed from him they knew--
Only more sure of all I thought was true.
-- Robert Frost --
This is one of his early poems, first published in A Boy's Will which first came out in 1913 and then a second edition in 1915. For some strange reason, whenever I've opened my collection of Frost's poems, I have always skimmed by this one and never really looked closely at it, until now. While it may be one of his early poems, it is still a classic example of Frost being his usual perverse self.
It's a growing up poem, in that the narrator hopes that the darkness of the future is ever-present: one will never know just what one will encounter, or what will encounter him. Some of his later poems take up this issue more specifically, I think. But, here, it is enough that he realizes that he must go on, even though he may never see a clearing or "Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand." That's a great line: I can see that wagon wheel rolling down the road, catching up and dropping the sand and dust of the road.
He sees no reason for turning back. And, he realizes that others who miss him may wish to follow him to see if he still "hold(s) them dear." But, the last two lines, as frequently happens in Frost's poems, turns expectancies around. What should happen when those who have come in pursuit find him. Why, they should find him different, for after all, people have always gone off into the wilderness to seek a vision or a new life or a new philosophy to share with others. Aren't we products of our environment, conditioned by those around us? Different environment = a different person,
Many psychological theories insist that there is no hard core to the personality, that there really is no "I," that the "I" is really a delusion, a construct of desires, momentary flitting ideas, sensory impressions, responses to our environment. Therefore, setting off alone, without the familiar, should result in a change in the personality over a period of time as the person adjusts to the new environment and as new ideas and behaviors are incorporated.
But--
"They would not find me changed from him they knew--
Only more sure of all I thought was true. "
Frost disagrees for he says that they won't find him changed for this isolation, this time of separation will allow him to get a clearer view of what he is, to see himself as he really is, and, therefore, more secure in his self-image.
Another example of Frost being Frost.
Saturday, May 17, 2014
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Some novels, stories, and poems that I revisit regularly, Pt. 2
These are stories and authors who popped up after I began the first post on works I regularly reread. And, as I think about what I'm going to write about them, the urge to jump up, hustle over to the bookcase, and dust them off for another reread is ever present. Oh well, it's that old "too few hours or years and too many books" problem as usual.
Herman Melville
Mardi
I have a theory that every writer has a wild book tucked down deep inside somewhere. Some manage to get it out, while others either repress it or aren't aware of it. If it does get out, then readers and critics are confused and generally don't like it, for it's not what they want or expect from the writer. I think Melville's wild book is Mardi. And, in my usual contrary way, I consider it a favorite. Mardi is satire, rather like Gulliver's Travels which was published in 1726 and revised in 1735, whereas Melville's work was published in 1849. Melville may have been influenced by Jonathan Swift, but I haven't read any scholarly commentary that suggests that.
In Mardi, Taji, the narrator, is in pursuit of his lost love, Yillah, a Polynesian woman whom he had rescued from native priests who were going to sacrifice her to their gods. She was once again kidnapped, and Taji, in a small boat, went off in search of her once again. He is accompanied on his mission byKing Media, who was bored with his duties and looked for adventure; Babbalanja, a philosopher; Mohi, an historian; and Yoomy, a poet. As you can imagine, with such a crew representing the political, the philosophical, the historical, and the poetic viewpoints, there are long and sometimes confusing discussions about the universe and everything else as they traverse the South Seas in search of Yillah. During their journey they visit various islands, each of which exhibits some facet of human cruelty or weakness or folly. One of the islands is obviously Europe and another is the US in the late 1840s.
Some contemporary critics have called it an allegory and others "a mess." Some have called it both an allegory and a mess. It's one of those books that the reader has to go along with Melville (or Taji) and enjoy the ride and not insist on a tightly woven consistent narrative with no loose ends at the end.
Read it for fun, and whatever else you can get out of it.
Herman Melville
The Confidence Man: This is a short allegorical novel set on a Mississippi riverboat, the Fidele, Fidelity or Faith in English, if I'm not mistaken. It consists of a series of encounters that passengers have with various confidence men (or perhaps really only one in disguise), all "representing" various charitable organizations. Perhaps what fascinates me the most is that I'm never quite sure what underlies the various encounters.
Herman Melville
Moby Dick is probably considered his greatest work, if not one of the greatest novels written in the US during the nineteenth century, if not also the twentieth century. It's too early to say anything definite about the twenty-first century, but so far I haven't seen anything to compare to it. It's a comedy, a tragedy, a revenge play, a travelogue, a history of whaling, and a scientific treatise on cetology. Enough said.
Greg Benford:
The Galactic Center Series
Six novels. The first is In the Ocean of Night which was published in 1977. It is set in the late 1990s on Earth and near-Earth space and features the adventures of Nigel Walmsley, a Brit who somehow got himself a position as an astronaut in the NASA Space Program. He wanted to go into space and England didn't have a space program. The sixth novel is Sailing Bright Eternity, published in 1996 and is set some 30,000+ years in the future in the vicinity of the black hole at the center of our galaxy.
In between are some of the most spectacular science fiction adventures I've ever read and that covers 60+ years of reading SF. In volume three, Great Sky River, published in 1987, we jump ahead some 30,000 years and meet Kileen Bishop and his group of friends and relatives on the run from the mech civilization, AIs and robots who are determined to wipe out all organic life. Bishop and the other humans are closer to being cybernetic hybrids than 100% human with their metal and plastic reinforced exoskeletons and electronically enhanced senses. Volumes Four, Five, and Six are mostly concerned with the activities of the Bishop clan and their struggle to avoid destruction by the mechs. However, there a few surprises in store for the reader.
Dashiell Hammett
The Maltese Falcon
It's one of the great mystery novels, at least to my way of thinking. Part of its attraction may be that when I read the novel, I always see the actors from the film playing their respective roles. I must also admit that I've seen the film more often than I've read the novel. Actually I saw the film first, actually long before I read the novel. It features a tough, cynical detective, a femme fatale, sleezy villains, and, of course, the Falcon! Great stuff.
Nikos Kazantzakis
Zorba the Greek
This is another example of having seen the film first and then reading the novel, primarily because of the film. A young bookish intellectual attempts to escape his cloistered life by reopening a lignite mine on Crete which he has inherited. He is aided and abetted and confused by Zorba, an adventurer, miner, soldier, and survivor. Zorba is the exact opposite of the intellectual--earthy, practical, exuberant, almost a life force in himself. The book is ironic in that it encourages the reader to put down the book and go out and do something in the real world. After reading Zorba, I got so entranced by Kazantzakis' works, that I went out and read everything of his that I could find. I think that by now I've read almost everything he's written that's been translated.
George R. Stewart
Earth Abides
This is another of my favorite SF post-holocaust novels. It's what I call a quiet novel in that it depicts the quiet day-by-day struggles of the survivors of a war that killed most of the humans on Earth. There are no mutant, slavering monsters, semi-human or otherwise. The threats are the typical ones of providing food and shelter, and dealing accidents and disease in a world without ERs and vaccines. And, of course, there are some who figure taking food, etc. is easier than working. It's also the story of how myths about the survivors or first families begin in a society that is largely illiterate and how those survivors might be viewed in the future. One other element is that of the making of a sacred symbol purely by accident.
Lawrence Durrell
The Alexandria Quartet
I was hooked from the first pages of Justine, the first novel in the series. It was on the reading list of a class I took, and I immediately went out and got the next three. I've read it at least 3 or 4 times now and had to search for the hardbound copies as the paperback ones were disintegrating.
Justine: LGD's accounting of events of past year spent in Alexandria just before outbreak of WWII--primarily of his relationship with several women, one of whom is the enigmatic Justine.
Balthazar: LGD sent his manuscript to Balthazar, one of his friends in Alexandria who also appears in the manuscript. Balthzar then returns the novel with his version of those same events as seen from his perspective. We now have two versions of what happened.
Mountolive: a third version of that same period by Mountolive (who is mentioned in the first two books) of the same events, giving a third and completely different version of LGD's relationship with Justine.
Clea: this is an accounting of the events that take place when LGD returns to Alexandria in the midst of WWII, about a year or so after the events told in the first three novels.
The series really asks us if we really ever know the full story of our own history.
Durrell's second series, The Avignon Quintet--he sometimes referred to it as The Quincunx and consists of the following five novels: Monsieur, Livia, Constance, Sebastian, and Quinx.
This is a strange series of novels in which Durrell creates an Author who creates a character who writes a novel in which the Author includes a number of his friends and acquaintances, but takes "poetic" license in his creation. This is the first novel in the series--Monsieur.
The remaining four novels are about the Author and his experiences in Egypt and France during WWII. What is bizarre is that "fictional" characters from the first novel appear in other later four novels and interact with the Author and his friends. In addition, several characters from "The Alexandria Quartet" also briefly appear. It's all rather confusing at times, and I had to create a diagram to keep the characters separate as many of the characters from the first novel are actually created from different friends and acquaintances of the Author.
One of these days I will go back and reread both series for a third? fourth? time.
Ursula Le Guin
The Left Hand of Darkness
This novel is one of my top ten SF novels. If anyone ever asks me to recommend an SF novel for someone who has never read SF, I always mention this one. It is well-written and has an engaging main character, action, and an idea to explore. The idea is simple. Humans do not have sexually active periods like so many of our fellow residents here on earth. Humans are sexually active all the time. Moreover, humans like most of our neighbors here have two genders, male and female. Le Guin in this novel asks the question: What if humans had specific periods in which they were sexually active and in between those periods, they were sexually neuter?
Winter or Gethen, as the inhabitants call it, is a planet in which someone has apparently modified humans. Humans on this planet become sexually active every three weeks and remain so for several days. At this point they develop sexual characteristics, typically at random, so that humans on this planet can become either male or female. If a Gethen is paired with someone It (they are genderless during this period--what pronoun would you use?) likes, then the first one to go into kemmer (their term for the sexually active period) becomes by chance either male or female. The other one then becomes the other sex. If the one who becomes a female at that point gets pregnant, then that person will remain female and nurse the child until it is weaned. At which point, that person then reverts to the sexually neutral state. So, in a family pair with two children, each of the two adults could have been the mother of one of the two children. As you can see, this upsets all of our ideas about what males and females are like. In fact, that's the issue Le Guin explores in this work: what are the real characteristics that belong exclusively to males and females. If you haven't read this one yet, I strongly recommend you do so.
Kim Stanley Robinson
Three Californias: Wild Shore, The Gold Coast, and Pacific Edge
When first published, they were known as the Orange County Trilogy, but the series title was changed when the trade paperback edition was issued. My own name for these three is The California Troika. A troika is a Russian horse-drawn vehicle in which the three horses are side-by-side, so there is no lead horse. The three novels in this series all take place in the Orange County area at approximately the same time, some years in the future. But, this is an alternate universe series like no other I have read. I have made several posts on these works, and clicking on the label Three Californias or The California Trioka will take you to them. If you decide to read them, it makes no difference with which one you start.
The Wild Shore is set some half century or so after the US was destroyed by a sneak nuclear attack. It is the story of a young male, late teens, and his experiences during one year in a small village that has grown up after the bombing. In that respect, it is somewhat similar to another of my favorite post-holocaust novels, Earth Abides by George Stewart.
The Gold Coast is set some years in the future and is an extrapolation of what life would be like if there were no dramatic changes. The main character, again, is a young male, whose father is an engineer in the military-industrial complex--he works for a company that strives to get contracts to build hardware for the US military. Like most of his friends, our hero is mildly opposed to what his father does for a living, and he is mostly concerned about the latest designer drugs, sex, and the contemporary music scene. The novel is the story of events in this person's life that change him.
If the others can be classified as SF, then Pacific Edge is clearly a fantasy. It is set some years in the future, again in Orange County, in a world that has gone green. Large corporations and nation states have been broken up all over the world. Small is beautiful. Recycling has become an important activity. Cars are a rarity and most people get around a bicycles. The main character is a young man, possibly in his early20s who has become the local expert in remodeling and fixing up abandoned houses. Local politics features strongly in the novel.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky
"Notes from the Underground"
This is almost impossible for me to describe. The first part is a philosophical rant against those who think that human behavior will eventually be completely predictable and explainable by the immutable laws of science. In addition the narrator contends that there are two types of people: the doers and the thinkers or the intellectuals. Everything that is accomplished is done only by the doers, because the thinkers are paralyzed when they attempt to handle all the ramifications of acting.
The second part shows our reclusive narrator in action and supports both of the arguments put forth in the first part. In one sense, the work is an essay and an example of many of Dostoyevsky's themes that he depicts in his novels.
There are others, of course, but I have resolutely refused to think about them for fear that what was supposed to be one post will expand to a trilogy, or even worse. Some may find it hard to believe that I actually do so much rereading, but I do and this explains why I really am decades behind in my knowledge of contemporary literature. But, that's a decision I made long ago. I'm sure you made your own and very likely it's not the one I made. Be that as it may, there's room for both of us, isn't there?
I just realized that the title of the posts includes poems, and I haven't mentioned any at all. Oh well, maybe some time in the not too distant future. . .
I hope you consider reading some of these.
Herman Melville
Mardi
I have a theory that every writer has a wild book tucked down deep inside somewhere. Some manage to get it out, while others either repress it or aren't aware of it. If it does get out, then readers and critics are confused and generally don't like it, for it's not what they want or expect from the writer. I think Melville's wild book is Mardi. And, in my usual contrary way, I consider it a favorite. Mardi is satire, rather like Gulliver's Travels which was published in 1726 and revised in 1735, whereas Melville's work was published in 1849. Melville may have been influenced by Jonathan Swift, but I haven't read any scholarly commentary that suggests that.
In Mardi, Taji, the narrator, is in pursuit of his lost love, Yillah, a Polynesian woman whom he had rescued from native priests who were going to sacrifice her to their gods. She was once again kidnapped, and Taji, in a small boat, went off in search of her once again. He is accompanied on his mission byKing Media, who was bored with his duties and looked for adventure; Babbalanja, a philosopher; Mohi, an historian; and Yoomy, a poet. As you can imagine, with such a crew representing the political, the philosophical, the historical, and the poetic viewpoints, there are long and sometimes confusing discussions about the universe and everything else as they traverse the South Seas in search of Yillah. During their journey they visit various islands, each of which exhibits some facet of human cruelty or weakness or folly. One of the islands is obviously Europe and another is the US in the late 1840s.
Some contemporary critics have called it an allegory and others "a mess." Some have called it both an allegory and a mess. It's one of those books that the reader has to go along with Melville (or Taji) and enjoy the ride and not insist on a tightly woven consistent narrative with no loose ends at the end.
Read it for fun, and whatever else you can get out of it.
Herman Melville
The Confidence Man: This is a short allegorical novel set on a Mississippi riverboat, the Fidele, Fidelity or Faith in English, if I'm not mistaken. It consists of a series of encounters that passengers have with various confidence men (or perhaps really only one in disguise), all "representing" various charitable organizations. Perhaps what fascinates me the most is that I'm never quite sure what underlies the various encounters.
Herman Melville
Moby Dick is probably considered his greatest work, if not one of the greatest novels written in the US during the nineteenth century, if not also the twentieth century. It's too early to say anything definite about the twenty-first century, but so far I haven't seen anything to compare to it. It's a comedy, a tragedy, a revenge play, a travelogue, a history of whaling, and a scientific treatise on cetology. Enough said.
Greg Benford:
The Galactic Center Series
Six novels. The first is In the Ocean of Night which was published in 1977. It is set in the late 1990s on Earth and near-Earth space and features the adventures of Nigel Walmsley, a Brit who somehow got himself a position as an astronaut in the NASA Space Program. He wanted to go into space and England didn't have a space program. The sixth novel is Sailing Bright Eternity, published in 1996 and is set some 30,000+ years in the future in the vicinity of the black hole at the center of our galaxy.
In between are some of the most spectacular science fiction adventures I've ever read and that covers 60+ years of reading SF. In volume three, Great Sky River, published in 1987, we jump ahead some 30,000 years and meet Kileen Bishop and his group of friends and relatives on the run from the mech civilization, AIs and robots who are determined to wipe out all organic life. Bishop and the other humans are closer to being cybernetic hybrids than 100% human with their metal and plastic reinforced exoskeletons and electronically enhanced senses. Volumes Four, Five, and Six are mostly concerned with the activities of the Bishop clan and their struggle to avoid destruction by the mechs. However, there a few surprises in store for the reader.
Dashiell Hammett
The Maltese Falcon
It's one of the great mystery novels, at least to my way of thinking. Part of its attraction may be that when I read the novel, I always see the actors from the film playing their respective roles. I must also admit that I've seen the film more often than I've read the novel. Actually I saw the film first, actually long before I read the novel. It features a tough, cynical detective, a femme fatale, sleezy villains, and, of course, the Falcon! Great stuff.
Nikos Kazantzakis
Zorba the Greek
This is another example of having seen the film first and then reading the novel, primarily because of the film. A young bookish intellectual attempts to escape his cloistered life by reopening a lignite mine on Crete which he has inherited. He is aided and abetted and confused by Zorba, an adventurer, miner, soldier, and survivor. Zorba is the exact opposite of the intellectual--earthy, practical, exuberant, almost a life force in himself. The book is ironic in that it encourages the reader to put down the book and go out and do something in the real world. After reading Zorba, I got so entranced by Kazantzakis' works, that I went out and read everything of his that I could find. I think that by now I've read almost everything he's written that's been translated.
George R. Stewart
Earth Abides
This is another of my favorite SF post-holocaust novels. It's what I call a quiet novel in that it depicts the quiet day-by-day struggles of the survivors of a war that killed most of the humans on Earth. There are no mutant, slavering monsters, semi-human or otherwise. The threats are the typical ones of providing food and shelter, and dealing accidents and disease in a world without ERs and vaccines. And, of course, there are some who figure taking food, etc. is easier than working. It's also the story of how myths about the survivors or first families begin in a society that is largely illiterate and how those survivors might be viewed in the future. One other element is that of the making of a sacred symbol purely by accident.
Lawrence Durrell
The Alexandria Quartet
I was hooked from the first pages of Justine, the first novel in the series. It was on the reading list of a class I took, and I immediately went out and got the next three. I've read it at least 3 or 4 times now and had to search for the hardbound copies as the paperback ones were disintegrating.
Justine: LGD's accounting of events of past year spent in Alexandria just before outbreak of WWII--primarily of his relationship with several women, one of whom is the enigmatic Justine.
Balthazar: LGD sent his manuscript to Balthazar, one of his friends in Alexandria who also appears in the manuscript. Balthzar then returns the novel with his version of those same events as seen from his perspective. We now have two versions of what happened.
Mountolive: a third version of that same period by Mountolive (who is mentioned in the first two books) of the same events, giving a third and completely different version of LGD's relationship with Justine.
Clea: this is an accounting of the events that take place when LGD returns to Alexandria in the midst of WWII, about a year or so after the events told in the first three novels.
The series really asks us if we really ever know the full story of our own history.
Durrell's second series, The Avignon Quintet--he sometimes referred to it as The Quincunx and consists of the following five novels: Monsieur, Livia, Constance, Sebastian, and Quinx.
This is a strange series of novels in which Durrell creates an Author who creates a character who writes a novel in which the Author includes a number of his friends and acquaintances, but takes "poetic" license in his creation. This is the first novel in the series--Monsieur.
The remaining four novels are about the Author and his experiences in Egypt and France during WWII. What is bizarre is that "fictional" characters from the first novel appear in other later four novels and interact with the Author and his friends. In addition, several characters from "The Alexandria Quartet" also briefly appear. It's all rather confusing at times, and I had to create a diagram to keep the characters separate as many of the characters from the first novel are actually created from different friends and acquaintances of the Author.
One of these days I will go back and reread both series for a third? fourth? time.
Ursula Le Guin
The Left Hand of Darkness
This novel is one of my top ten SF novels. If anyone ever asks me to recommend an SF novel for someone who has never read SF, I always mention this one. It is well-written and has an engaging main character, action, and an idea to explore. The idea is simple. Humans do not have sexually active periods like so many of our fellow residents here on earth. Humans are sexually active all the time. Moreover, humans like most of our neighbors here have two genders, male and female. Le Guin in this novel asks the question: What if humans had specific periods in which they were sexually active and in between those periods, they were sexually neuter?
Winter or Gethen, as the inhabitants call it, is a planet in which someone has apparently modified humans. Humans on this planet become sexually active every three weeks and remain so for several days. At this point they develop sexual characteristics, typically at random, so that humans on this planet can become either male or female. If a Gethen is paired with someone It (they are genderless during this period--what pronoun would you use?) likes, then the first one to go into kemmer (their term for the sexually active period) becomes by chance either male or female. The other one then becomes the other sex. If the one who becomes a female at that point gets pregnant, then that person will remain female and nurse the child until it is weaned. At which point, that person then reverts to the sexually neutral state. So, in a family pair with two children, each of the two adults could have been the mother of one of the two children. As you can see, this upsets all of our ideas about what males and females are like. In fact, that's the issue Le Guin explores in this work: what are the real characteristics that belong exclusively to males and females. If you haven't read this one yet, I strongly recommend you do so.
Kim Stanley Robinson
Three Californias: Wild Shore, The Gold Coast, and Pacific Edge
When first published, they were known as the Orange County Trilogy, but the series title was changed when the trade paperback edition was issued. My own name for these three is The California Troika. A troika is a Russian horse-drawn vehicle in which the three horses are side-by-side, so there is no lead horse. The three novels in this series all take place in the Orange County area at approximately the same time, some years in the future. But, this is an alternate universe series like no other I have read. I have made several posts on these works, and clicking on the label Three Californias or The California Trioka will take you to them. If you decide to read them, it makes no difference with which one you start.
The Wild Shore is set some half century or so after the US was destroyed by a sneak nuclear attack. It is the story of a young male, late teens, and his experiences during one year in a small village that has grown up after the bombing. In that respect, it is somewhat similar to another of my favorite post-holocaust novels, Earth Abides by George Stewart.
The Gold Coast is set some years in the future and is an extrapolation of what life would be like if there were no dramatic changes. The main character, again, is a young male, whose father is an engineer in the military-industrial complex--he works for a company that strives to get contracts to build hardware for the US military. Like most of his friends, our hero is mildly opposed to what his father does for a living, and he is mostly concerned about the latest designer drugs, sex, and the contemporary music scene. The novel is the story of events in this person's life that change him.
If the others can be classified as SF, then Pacific Edge is clearly a fantasy. It is set some years in the future, again in Orange County, in a world that has gone green. Large corporations and nation states have been broken up all over the world. Small is beautiful. Recycling has become an important activity. Cars are a rarity and most people get around a bicycles. The main character is a young man, possibly in his early20s who has become the local expert in remodeling and fixing up abandoned houses. Local politics features strongly in the novel.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky
"Notes from the Underground"
This is almost impossible for me to describe. The first part is a philosophical rant against those who think that human behavior will eventually be completely predictable and explainable by the immutable laws of science. In addition the narrator contends that there are two types of people: the doers and the thinkers or the intellectuals. Everything that is accomplished is done only by the doers, because the thinkers are paralyzed when they attempt to handle all the ramifications of acting.
The second part shows our reclusive narrator in action and supports both of the arguments put forth in the first part. In one sense, the work is an essay and an example of many of Dostoyevsky's themes that he depicts in his novels.
There are others, of course, but I have resolutely refused to think about them for fear that what was supposed to be one post will expand to a trilogy, or even worse. Some may find it hard to believe that I actually do so much rereading, but I do and this explains why I really am decades behind in my knowledge of contemporary literature. But, that's a decision I made long ago. I'm sure you made your own and very likely it's not the one I made. Be that as it may, there's room for both of us, isn't there?
I just realized that the title of the posts includes poems, and I haven't mentioned any at all. Oh well, maybe some time in the not too distant future. . .
I hope you consider reading some of these.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Gregory Benford: The Galactic Center Companion, an ebook
First things first: truth in advertising or full disclosure or whatever it's called. First, I received a free copy of The Galactic Center Companion. Since I don't have an eBook reader, Gregory Benford sent it to me by way of a link in an email. Second, I am one of the contributors to the book. A series of posts I made in this blog were combined into an article for the New York Review of Science Fiction which Benford included in this eBook. It is included in the last section, titled "Perspectives." I do not receive any financial remuneration from the sale of the work. My sole reward, therefore, is being included in the work and being associated in some small way with what I consider to be the most imaginative hard SF series ever written.
Sections
INTRODUCTION
A Bit of History
A brief history of the sequence of the creation of the Galactic Center series during the years 1972 to 1995
A HUNGER FOR THE INFINITE
"Hunger for the Infinite" is a novella written for Robert Silverberg's Far Horizons, a collection of short works set in an author's universe. The collection includes short works by Ursula Le Guin, Anne McCaffrey, Joe Haldeman, Nancy Kress, Dan Simmons and others.
This story tells of an attempt by the Mantis (a recurring character in the last four of the six novels in the series) to gain a fuller and deeper understanding of the way organic beings think. One of the mysteries which the Mantis and all the higher intelligences of the mech civilization can not crack is that of art. Mechs can do just about everything humans can do, but art is something that puzzles the Mantis. Is art something that could enhance mech survival? In "A Hunger for the Infinite," the Mantis interacts with a human in an attempt to discover the nature of art and its significance to humans.
LIFE AT THE GALACTIC CENTER: THE BIOLOGY I ENVISIONED THERE.
An accounting of the various life forms at the galactic center that Benford created for the series.
WRITING THE GALACTIC CENTER SERIES: THOUGHTS ON WRITING A SERIES ALMOST WITHOUT MEANING TO
An extensive account by Benford of the growth of the series from 1972-1995.
ASTROPHYSICAL JOURNAL, 1988: An Electrodynamic Model of the Galactic Center: my first published paper on the physics of the galactic center.
This is just what the title suggests: Benford's first paper on the galactic center and much of the science in the series comes from this paper.
PERSPECTIVES
Reviews and commentaries
Articles by
Gary K. Wolfe
Damien Broderick and Paul Di Filippo
Fred Runk
Interview conducted by Paul Witcom
Sections
INTRODUCTION
A Bit of History
A brief history of the sequence of the creation of the Galactic Center series during the years 1972 to 1995
A HUNGER FOR THE INFINITE
"Hunger for the Infinite" is a novella written for Robert Silverberg's Far Horizons, a collection of short works set in an author's universe. The collection includes short works by Ursula Le Guin, Anne McCaffrey, Joe Haldeman, Nancy Kress, Dan Simmons and others.
This story tells of an attempt by the Mantis (a recurring character in the last four of the six novels in the series) to gain a fuller and deeper understanding of the way organic beings think. One of the mysteries which the Mantis and all the higher intelligences of the mech civilization can not crack is that of art. Mechs can do just about everything humans can do, but art is something that puzzles the Mantis. Is art something that could enhance mech survival? In "A Hunger for the Infinite," the Mantis interacts with a human in an attempt to discover the nature of art and its significance to humans.
LIFE AT THE GALACTIC CENTER: THE BIOLOGY I ENVISIONED THERE.
An accounting of the various life forms at the galactic center that Benford created for the series.
WRITING THE GALACTIC CENTER SERIES: THOUGHTS ON WRITING A SERIES ALMOST WITHOUT MEANING TO
An extensive account by Benford of the growth of the series from 1972-1995.
ASTROPHYSICAL JOURNAL, 1988: An Electrodynamic Model of the Galactic Center: my first published paper on the physics of the galactic center.
This is just what the title suggests: Benford's first paper on the galactic center and much of the science in the series comes from this paper.
PERSPECTIVES
Reviews and commentaries
Articles by
Gary K. Wolfe
Damien Broderick and Paul Di Filippo
Fred Runk
Interview conducted by Paul Witcom
Monday, May 5, 2014
Ray Bradbury: "Kaleidoscope"
Spoiler Warning: I reveal the ending,
This story was an eye opener for me. I read it back when I was very young. Up to that time, I had read many SF short stories, most of which were problem stories. Something dangerous was happening, there was a threat to humans in space or on other planets, but humans always were successful at the end. When I started reading it, I assumed this would end happily, for several of the crew members anyway, and Hollis especially.. The opening lines should have prepared me for something different, but I noticed nothing.
"The first concussion cut the rocket up the side with a giant can opener. The men were thrown into space like a dozen wriggling silverfish. They were scattered into a dark sea; and the ship, in a million pieces, went on, a meteor swarm seeking a lost sun.
. . . . .
They fell. They fell as pebbles down wells. They were scattered as jackstones are scattered from a gigantic throw. And now instead of men there were only voices--all kinds of voices, disembodied and impassioned, in varying degrees of terror and resignation."
In the story we see Hollis and the rest of the crew attempting to come to grips with their fate. Death is certain: unlike many SF stories I had read up to this time, it appears as though there will be no last minute rescue.
As the story unfolds we see the way Hollis and the various crew members react to the shock of the loss of the ship and then the full realization of their situation. All this is conveyed over the radios found in each space suit. The captain makes an attempt to "rally" the crew but soon learns what some crew members really think of him.
Bitter antagonisms and feelings among the crew which had been repressed for so long finally emerge as various members of the crew decide now is the time to tell others what they think of them. It is not pretty: this is not a shining example of the stiff upper lip and heroic behavior found so often in films and stories. As time passes, some regret their outbursts and try to make amends by taking back what they had said in panic and fear. Eventually they do reach the point where the anger and fear has passed and they are resigned.
As I posted the first lines of the story, it's only appropriate that I post the last lines:
"The small boy on the country road looked up and screamed, 'Look, Mom, look! A falling star!'
The blazing white star fell down the sky of dusk in Illinois.
"Make a wish,' said his mother. 'Make a wish.'"
As so frequently happens in Bradbury's tales, the ending is ironic. Whenever I look up at the stars at night and see a falling star, I can't help but think of "Kaleidoscope."
This story was an eye opener for me. I read it back when I was very young. Up to that time, I had read many SF short stories, most of which were problem stories. Something dangerous was happening, there was a threat to humans in space or on other planets, but humans always were successful at the end. When I started reading it, I assumed this would end happily, for several of the crew members anyway, and Hollis especially.. The opening lines should have prepared me for something different, but I noticed nothing.
"The first concussion cut the rocket up the side with a giant can opener. The men were thrown into space like a dozen wriggling silverfish. They were scattered into a dark sea; and the ship, in a million pieces, went on, a meteor swarm seeking a lost sun.
. . . . .
They fell. They fell as pebbles down wells. They were scattered as jackstones are scattered from a gigantic throw. And now instead of men there were only voices--all kinds of voices, disembodied and impassioned, in varying degrees of terror and resignation."
In the story we see Hollis and the rest of the crew attempting to come to grips with their fate. Death is certain: unlike many SF stories I had read up to this time, it appears as though there will be no last minute rescue.
As the story unfolds we see the way Hollis and the various crew members react to the shock of the loss of the ship and then the full realization of their situation. All this is conveyed over the radios found in each space suit. The captain makes an attempt to "rally" the crew but soon learns what some crew members really think of him.
Bitter antagonisms and feelings among the crew which had been repressed for so long finally emerge as various members of the crew decide now is the time to tell others what they think of them. It is not pretty: this is not a shining example of the stiff upper lip and heroic behavior found so often in films and stories. As time passes, some regret their outbursts and try to make amends by taking back what they had said in panic and fear. Eventually they do reach the point where the anger and fear has passed and they are resigned.
As I posted the first lines of the story, it's only appropriate that I post the last lines:
"The small boy on the country road looked up and screamed, 'Look, Mom, look! A falling star!'
The blazing white star fell down the sky of dusk in Illinois.
"Make a wish,' said his mother. 'Make a wish.'"
As so frequently happens in Bradbury's tales, the ending is ironic. Whenever I look up at the stars at night and see a falling star, I can't help but think of "Kaleidoscope."
Sunday, May 4, 2014
The Face of Another, the novel
Kobo Abe'
The Face of Another
This is the novel that is the basis for the film of the same name which I commented on a short time ago. While Kobo Abe' is also credited with being the screenwriter for the film, there are some differences between the film and the novel. The anonymous narrator is a research scientist whose face has been disfigured in a laboratory accident. When he leaves his house, he wears bandages that cover his entire head, much like the hero/villain in H. G. Wells' The Invisible Man. He has been unable to reconcile himself to his condition and to a considerable extent takes his anger out on his wife. He decides to create a life-like mask which will allow him to lead a more or less normal life.
The novel is a 1st person narrative, ostensibly coming from three notebooks the anonymous narrator has written for his wife in which he speaks throughout directly to her. The three notebooks cover the time when he decides to create the mask, the period when he is involved in creating the mask, and the events that follow his creation of the mask. In the film, the psychiatrist actually creates the mask and is a very significant character throughout, whereas in the novel, the psychiatrist plays a very minor role and the narrator is the one who creates the mask.
Since much of the novel is actually the narrator's thoughts about his situation as he considers, creates, and wears the mask, Abe' obviously decided the best way for the film to portray this would be through the interaction between the narrator and another person, the psychiatrist being the most obvious. Another difference is that in the film, the relationship with his wife, while bad, does not seem to carry the same importance that it does in the novel. In the novel, as I mentioned above, the three notebooks, which constitute the novel, are written for and directed to his wife. In the notebooks, he addresses her throughout and seems totally unconcerned about any other person. In the film it appears as though his most significant relationship is with the psychiatrist who plays only a very minor role in the novel.
The dominant theme in the novel is the struggle within the narrator to maintain control of events and not turn it over to the mask. He is obsessed by the thought that the mask is trying to take over his life, and this becomes especially clear in the third notebook or the last part of the novel when the mask is completed and he wears it. At first he treats it as though it were a separate entity--when he wears the mask outside for the first time, he says he will take it for a walk, as if it's a dog. However, this attitude changes over time until he becomes convinced that the mask is trying to control him and that he must struggle to maintain his freedom of action.
The Face of Another is an intense psychological drama in which we see the internal struggle of a damaged human being, damaged both physically and psychologically. The endings of the novel and the film are quite different; at least that is how it appears to me. Others may differ.
I found that watching the film and reading the novel to be rather intense experiences, but I felt that I had to continue on to see where they were going. I'm not sure that I understand the ending, if there is one.
The Face of Another
This is the novel that is the basis for the film of the same name which I commented on a short time ago. While Kobo Abe' is also credited with being the screenwriter for the film, there are some differences between the film and the novel. The anonymous narrator is a research scientist whose face has been disfigured in a laboratory accident. When he leaves his house, he wears bandages that cover his entire head, much like the hero/villain in H. G. Wells' The Invisible Man. He has been unable to reconcile himself to his condition and to a considerable extent takes his anger out on his wife. He decides to create a life-like mask which will allow him to lead a more or less normal life.
The novel is a 1st person narrative, ostensibly coming from three notebooks the anonymous narrator has written for his wife in which he speaks throughout directly to her. The three notebooks cover the time when he decides to create the mask, the period when he is involved in creating the mask, and the events that follow his creation of the mask. In the film, the psychiatrist actually creates the mask and is a very significant character throughout, whereas in the novel, the psychiatrist plays a very minor role and the narrator is the one who creates the mask.
Since much of the novel is actually the narrator's thoughts about his situation as he considers, creates, and wears the mask, Abe' obviously decided the best way for the film to portray this would be through the interaction between the narrator and another person, the psychiatrist being the most obvious. Another difference is that in the film, the relationship with his wife, while bad, does not seem to carry the same importance that it does in the novel. In the novel, as I mentioned above, the three notebooks, which constitute the novel, are written for and directed to his wife. In the notebooks, he addresses her throughout and seems totally unconcerned about any other person. In the film it appears as though his most significant relationship is with the psychiatrist who plays only a very minor role in the novel.
The dominant theme in the novel is the struggle within the narrator to maintain control of events and not turn it over to the mask. He is obsessed by the thought that the mask is trying to take over his life, and this becomes especially clear in the third notebook or the last part of the novel when the mask is completed and he wears it. At first he treats it as though it were a separate entity--when he wears the mask outside for the first time, he says he will take it for a walk, as if it's a dog. However, this attitude changes over time until he becomes convinced that the mask is trying to control him and that he must struggle to maintain his freedom of action.
The Face of Another is an intense psychological drama in which we see the internal struggle of a damaged human being, damaged both physically and psychologically. The endings of the novel and the film are quite different; at least that is how it appears to me. Others may differ.
I found that watching the film and reading the novel to be rather intense experiences, but I felt that I had to continue on to see where they were going. I'm not sure that I understand the ending, if there is one.
Friday, May 2, 2014
Some novels, stories, and poems that I revisit regularly
The following is a short list of some novels, poems, and short stories that I reread irregularly for the most part. There's no particular order or schedule to this. One day I will get the urge to read something once again, and so I dig it out, settle down in my recliner, surrender to the cat's demand for some lap time, and leave this world for a while. There are others whose names I can't come up with right now, but sometime tomorrow or the next day, week, month, year, I will see one in my bookcase or read a comment by somebody about it and that's it--time for a another visit.
J. R. R. Tolkien
The Silmarillion, The Hobbit, and The Lord of the Rings
These three books are the ones that I have read more than any other work on my reread list, which is strange because I prefer SF to fantasy. Right now, I am slowly reading The Silmarillion and expect to get to the others this year.
Thomas Mann
The Magic Mountain
This may be the second most reread book on my list. I first read it while an undergraduate sometime during the years 1958-1961. It was for a lit course, and I had to choose a novel from a list provided by the professor to write the outside paper on. I choose this one, probably because of the title, and I haven't stopped reading it since. I am now on my second hardbound copy as the first one is falling apart.
Life in a TB sanitarium doesn't sound that enthralling, but once begun, I found it impossible to put down. It's partially based on a true experience. Mann's wife went to a sanitarium for several months because of a lung complaint. While visiting her, Mann underwent some testing and, like his hero Hans Castorp, was told that it would be a good idea if he signed himself in. Unlike Castorp, he refused and, instead, wrote a novel about the experience.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Crime and Punishment
I've reread this a number of times, perhaps as often as The Magic Mountain, or close to it anyway. I consider this book a very significant work because it first introduced me to Dostoyevsky (I think I've read everything of his that's been translated into English), secondly it introduced me to Russian literature, and thirdly it was my introduction to foreign literature. Moreover, I may not have selected Mann's The Magic Mountain a year or so later. and instead. I might have gone with an English language work instead.
Raskolnikov believes himself to be a superior person who is not bound by the laws of human society. The average person is someone who, if he kills someone, is caught and punished. On the other hand, superior people, such as Napoleon, can be responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands, if not millions, and are seen as one of the Great Ones. He kills a pawnbroker, someone useless and odious, to prove that he belongs among the elite.
Jack Finney
Time and Again
Simply the best time travel novel ever written. Time is a mental construct, and the mind can be fooled into traveling into the past if the environment is appropriate and if the individual can be convinced that he or she is actually living at that particular time. It's a mystery and a romance, and Finney provides sufficient information, along with appropriate photos, to make this a special work, and one that leaves me wishing this was real.
Umberto Eco
The Name of the Rose
A marvelous amalgam of mystery and history and religious conflict is all that this is. Brother William of Baskerville, a monk, has been called to the monastery to act as a mediator and a witness between two conflicting religious ideas of importance. While there, he is persuaded to investigate a series of murders in the monastery, and his name should provide a vital clue as to his methods. If he is unable to solve the murders, the Inquisition will be called in, and nobody wants that. Adso or Adson of Melk is his amanuensis. The novel is supposedly an edited copy of Adso's recounting of their stay at the monastery.
PD James
Anything
I've read all of her mysteries a number of times, even though I have figured out the villain shortly after getting into the story. The plots and characters are complex, carefully drawn out. There seldom is the expected denouement at the end where Commander Adam Dalgliesh gathers all the suspects in the drawing room and slowly works his way around the room, pointing his finger at each in turn. Instead, the process is a slow one, developing throughout the novel as each suspect is considered and then dismissed until it's a matter of uncovering the final bit of evidence rather than uncovering the identity of the guilty party.
Jane Austen
Everything including her juvenilia.
I tried reading Pride and Prejudice several times, but I always stopped reading. Then at age 42 I returned to graduate school in the English Department. In the first course I took, the reading list included Sense and Sensibility. I groaned a bit and then settled down to read it. I loved it and then went out to read everything else by her. I guess I had to mature a bit before I was ready for her. If I was forced to list my favorites among her works, I would say Persuasion would be No. 1 and Mansfield Park would be next. The others follow closely behind. It's been a while since I read them all, so I shall probably dust them off and settle down once again.
Russell Hoban
Riddley Walker
This is one of my favorite post-holocaust novels, thanks to a Chaucer course I took a year or two prior to reading the novel. In the Chaucer course, we had to read The Canterbury Tales in Middle English (the language it was written in). I struggled mightily because I had always hated reading something that wasn't written in Standard English. I really didn't want to pay attention to the language; that was too much work. However, at the end of the course, leaving the classroom for the last time, I felt as if I had lost a world somehow that I would never return to.
A year or so later, I had to take my qualifying exams and The Tales was on the list. I decided to play it smart and bought a modern translation and settled down to read. However, something important was missing, and so I got out the Middle English text and happily reread it in Middle English.
What has this to do with Riddley Walker? The answer is simple: Russell Hoban has written the novel in what he speculates English would be like maybe 500 years from now after a nuclear war and during that period most people have been illiterate. Those few who could read and write learned from their predecessors and not from teachers or texts which would have kept the language unchanged. If I had not learned to accept non-standard English texts from the Chaucer course, I never would have finished the novel. The following is the opening paragraph. If you read it out loud, as you should do with poetry, you will find it much easier to read.
"On my naming day when I come 12 I gone front spear and kilt a wyld boar he parbly ben the las wyld pig on the Bundel Downs any how there hadnt ben none for a long time befor him nor I aint looking to see none agen. He dint make the groun shake nor nothing like that when he come on to my spear he weren't all that big plus he lookit poorily. He done the reqwyrt he ternt and stood and clattert his teef and make his rush and there we wer then. Him on 1 end of the spear kicking his life out and me on the other end watching him dy. I said, 'Your tern now my tern later. . ."
I've made some other posts about Riddley Walker and some other works by Russell Hoban. You may want to check them out. Russell Hoban is a unique writer, with a wild imagination. Reading anything by him is well worth the time spent.
Walter M. Miller, Jr.
A Canticle for Leibowitz
This is another of my favorite post-holocaust novels. It too is set hundreds of years after a nuclear war. The locale seems to be somewhere in New Mexico, where monks at a monastery manage to survive as monks did during the so-called Dark Ages perhaps almost 2000 years earlier. And, along with their farm duties (they have to be completely self-sustaining) they also are dedicated to keeping records of the achievements of the past, even if they don't know what it is that they are painstakingly copying. They have faith that some day human knowledge will increase to the point that these arcane books and schematics and diagrams will be not only intelligible but also help to spark a resurgence of human learning.
Their task is much like that of the Encyclopediasts in Isaac Asimov's "Foundation series." However, the monks of the Order of Blessed Leibowitz do not have high tech aides and spaceships to travel about, but only sandals, and if they are lucky, a mule. The novel is really three novellas, set roughly centuries apart, with only monastery and the monks' task of preserving knowledge to link them. Well, there's always Benjamin, but he really can't be the Wandering Jew, several thousand years old, could he?
Joseph Conrad
Heart of Darkness
I'm never certain about whether this is a short novel or a long novella, so I will guess this time and call it a novel. It's the work by Conrad that I've read most often for I find it fascinates me, both in its description of the countryside, the inhabitants, and the Europeans who plague the inhabitants. It's a biting indictment of the treatment of the black Africans by the white Europeans who have come there supposedly to civilize and bring the benefits of European civilization and in reality end up brutalizing them in search of profit.
The POV character is Marlow, but the center of the novel is Kurtz Marlow has taken a job as the captain of a steamer on the Congo River. Far up the river is a trading outpost run by Kurtz, who has been amazingly successful in obtaining ivory for the company. Suddenly all shipments stop, and after a few months of silence, Marlow is ordered to take the steamer up the river to Kurtz's trading post. He is accompanied by the district manager and a group of ivory hunters and treasure seekers, along with a crew consisting of a few cannibals. Marlow becomes obsessed with the idea of Kurtz and only slowly does he realize that Kurtz is not only at the heart of darkness, but also he is the heart of darkness.
The film, Apocalypse Now, is loosely, very loosely, based on the novel--more of an adaptation than a recounting. The film is set in Vietnam during the war. Captain Willard, of the US Army, is sent up the Nung River into Cambodia to find Col. Kurtz and assassinate who has set himself up as a god among the local tribes people and is conducting his own brand of guerrilla warfare against the Viet Cong. While much of the novel has been changed for the film, I still found the film to be very close in capturing the tone or atmosphere of the novel--the absurdity and arrogance of the white invaders.
Something happened that I did not account for. I initially said that this would be a short list, something around ten, maybe even fifteen, but the list keep growing. I'm now at ten and I still have the same amount left. I guess I will end this here and continue with the rest on Part Two. I hope this doesn't turn out to be similar to those fantasy trilogies that reach double digits.
J. R. R. Tolkien
The Silmarillion, The Hobbit, and The Lord of the Rings
These three books are the ones that I have read more than any other work on my reread list, which is strange because I prefer SF to fantasy. Right now, I am slowly reading The Silmarillion and expect to get to the others this year.
Thomas Mann
The Magic Mountain
This may be the second most reread book on my list. I first read it while an undergraduate sometime during the years 1958-1961. It was for a lit course, and I had to choose a novel from a list provided by the professor to write the outside paper on. I choose this one, probably because of the title, and I haven't stopped reading it since. I am now on my second hardbound copy as the first one is falling apart.
Life in a TB sanitarium doesn't sound that enthralling, but once begun, I found it impossible to put down. It's partially based on a true experience. Mann's wife went to a sanitarium for several months because of a lung complaint. While visiting her, Mann underwent some testing and, like his hero Hans Castorp, was told that it would be a good idea if he signed himself in. Unlike Castorp, he refused and, instead, wrote a novel about the experience.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Crime and Punishment
I've reread this a number of times, perhaps as often as The Magic Mountain, or close to it anyway. I consider this book a very significant work because it first introduced me to Dostoyevsky (I think I've read everything of his that's been translated into English), secondly it introduced me to Russian literature, and thirdly it was my introduction to foreign literature. Moreover, I may not have selected Mann's The Magic Mountain a year or so later. and instead. I might have gone with an English language work instead.
Raskolnikov believes himself to be a superior person who is not bound by the laws of human society. The average person is someone who, if he kills someone, is caught and punished. On the other hand, superior people, such as Napoleon, can be responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands, if not millions, and are seen as one of the Great Ones. He kills a pawnbroker, someone useless and odious, to prove that he belongs among the elite.
Jack Finney
Time and Again
Simply the best time travel novel ever written. Time is a mental construct, and the mind can be fooled into traveling into the past if the environment is appropriate and if the individual can be convinced that he or she is actually living at that particular time. It's a mystery and a romance, and Finney provides sufficient information, along with appropriate photos, to make this a special work, and one that leaves me wishing this was real.
Umberto Eco
The Name of the Rose
A marvelous amalgam of mystery and history and religious conflict is all that this is. Brother William of Baskerville, a monk, has been called to the monastery to act as a mediator and a witness between two conflicting religious ideas of importance. While there, he is persuaded to investigate a series of murders in the monastery, and his name should provide a vital clue as to his methods. If he is unable to solve the murders, the Inquisition will be called in, and nobody wants that. Adso or Adson of Melk is his amanuensis. The novel is supposedly an edited copy of Adso's recounting of their stay at the monastery.
PD James
Anything
I've read all of her mysteries a number of times, even though I have figured out the villain shortly after getting into the story. The plots and characters are complex, carefully drawn out. There seldom is the expected denouement at the end where Commander Adam Dalgliesh gathers all the suspects in the drawing room and slowly works his way around the room, pointing his finger at each in turn. Instead, the process is a slow one, developing throughout the novel as each suspect is considered and then dismissed until it's a matter of uncovering the final bit of evidence rather than uncovering the identity of the guilty party.
Jane Austen
Everything including her juvenilia.
I tried reading Pride and Prejudice several times, but I always stopped reading. Then at age 42 I returned to graduate school in the English Department. In the first course I took, the reading list included Sense and Sensibility. I groaned a bit and then settled down to read it. I loved it and then went out to read everything else by her. I guess I had to mature a bit before I was ready for her. If I was forced to list my favorites among her works, I would say Persuasion would be No. 1 and Mansfield Park would be next. The others follow closely behind. It's been a while since I read them all, so I shall probably dust them off and settle down once again.
Russell Hoban
Riddley Walker
This is one of my favorite post-holocaust novels, thanks to a Chaucer course I took a year or two prior to reading the novel. In the Chaucer course, we had to read The Canterbury Tales in Middle English (the language it was written in). I struggled mightily because I had always hated reading something that wasn't written in Standard English. I really didn't want to pay attention to the language; that was too much work. However, at the end of the course, leaving the classroom for the last time, I felt as if I had lost a world somehow that I would never return to.
A year or so later, I had to take my qualifying exams and The Tales was on the list. I decided to play it smart and bought a modern translation and settled down to read. However, something important was missing, and so I got out the Middle English text and happily reread it in Middle English.
What has this to do with Riddley Walker? The answer is simple: Russell Hoban has written the novel in what he speculates English would be like maybe 500 years from now after a nuclear war and during that period most people have been illiterate. Those few who could read and write learned from their predecessors and not from teachers or texts which would have kept the language unchanged. If I had not learned to accept non-standard English texts from the Chaucer course, I never would have finished the novel. The following is the opening paragraph. If you read it out loud, as you should do with poetry, you will find it much easier to read.
"On my naming day when I come 12 I gone front spear and kilt a wyld boar he parbly ben the las wyld pig on the Bundel Downs any how there hadnt ben none for a long time befor him nor I aint looking to see none agen. He dint make the groun shake nor nothing like that when he come on to my spear he weren't all that big plus he lookit poorily. He done the reqwyrt he ternt and stood and clattert his teef and make his rush and there we wer then. Him on 1 end of the spear kicking his life out and me on the other end watching him dy. I said, 'Your tern now my tern later. . ."
I've made some other posts about Riddley Walker and some other works by Russell Hoban. You may want to check them out. Russell Hoban is a unique writer, with a wild imagination. Reading anything by him is well worth the time spent.
Walter M. Miller, Jr.
A Canticle for Leibowitz
This is another of my favorite post-holocaust novels. It too is set hundreds of years after a nuclear war. The locale seems to be somewhere in New Mexico, where monks at a monastery manage to survive as monks did during the so-called Dark Ages perhaps almost 2000 years earlier. And, along with their farm duties (they have to be completely self-sustaining) they also are dedicated to keeping records of the achievements of the past, even if they don't know what it is that they are painstakingly copying. They have faith that some day human knowledge will increase to the point that these arcane books and schematics and diagrams will be not only intelligible but also help to spark a resurgence of human learning.
Their task is much like that of the Encyclopediasts in Isaac Asimov's "Foundation series." However, the monks of the Order of Blessed Leibowitz do not have high tech aides and spaceships to travel about, but only sandals, and if they are lucky, a mule. The novel is really three novellas, set roughly centuries apart, with only monastery and the monks' task of preserving knowledge to link them. Well, there's always Benjamin, but he really can't be the Wandering Jew, several thousand years old, could he?
Joseph Conrad
Heart of Darkness
I'm never certain about whether this is a short novel or a long novella, so I will guess this time and call it a novel. It's the work by Conrad that I've read most often for I find it fascinates me, both in its description of the countryside, the inhabitants, and the Europeans who plague the inhabitants. It's a biting indictment of the treatment of the black Africans by the white Europeans who have come there supposedly to civilize and bring the benefits of European civilization and in reality end up brutalizing them in search of profit.
The POV character is Marlow, but the center of the novel is Kurtz Marlow has taken a job as the captain of a steamer on the Congo River. Far up the river is a trading outpost run by Kurtz, who has been amazingly successful in obtaining ivory for the company. Suddenly all shipments stop, and after a few months of silence, Marlow is ordered to take the steamer up the river to Kurtz's trading post. He is accompanied by the district manager and a group of ivory hunters and treasure seekers, along with a crew consisting of a few cannibals. Marlow becomes obsessed with the idea of Kurtz and only slowly does he realize that Kurtz is not only at the heart of darkness, but also he is the heart of darkness.
The film, Apocalypse Now, is loosely, very loosely, based on the novel--more of an adaptation than a recounting. The film is set in Vietnam during the war. Captain Willard, of the US Army, is sent up the Nung River into Cambodia to find Col. Kurtz and assassinate who has set himself up as a god among the local tribes people and is conducting his own brand of guerrilla warfare against the Viet Cong. While much of the novel has been changed for the film, I still found the film to be very close in capturing the tone or atmosphere of the novel--the absurdity and arrogance of the white invaders.
Something happened that I did not account for. I initially said that this would be a short list, something around ten, maybe even fifteen, but the list keep growing. I'm now at ten and I still have the same amount left. I guess I will end this here and continue with the rest on Part Two. I hope this doesn't turn out to be similar to those fantasy trilogies that reach double digits.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Franz Werfel: Star of the Unborn, Pt. 2
What will humans and civilization be 100,000 years from now?
The planet is unrecognizable to someone from the 21st century. For the most part, the mountains have disappeared and the world is uniformly flat. The ground is covered by something that sounds like artificial turf, grey and flexible. It is also the main means of transportation. The people have a device that they can enter in the coordinates of any spot on the planet and they will be transported there. Actually, according to F. W., their destination is brought to them! Just how this was done and just what would happen if two people in opposite directions both wanted the same destination at the same time was never explained.
Most people now live underground. It's seems as though this happened centuries ago before the present time of peace and prosperity was established. Constant warfare made it necessary to build homes underground, rather than build above ground with some sort of underground shelter. It just seemed more practical to go underground at that time. Today there really is no need, but habits and traditions are hard to overcome, especially, it seems, when there's no real need for them.
The people are uniformly beautiful, if small statured and slight of build, reminiscent of the Eloi, one of the two human races found in H. G. Wells' The Time Traveler. Most seem to have little to do except enjoy themselves, as most of their needs are free. The human race at this time seems fragmented. and while F.W. spends time visiting the other groups, he spends most of his time with those whose life is spent in leisure.
Various groups have their own domiciles, separate from each other and the general population: the Roman Catholic hierarchy, Scientists and Scholars, Workers, Jews, all live in their own ghettos, separate from the population. There are rebels also. Parts of the transformed earth seem to be reverting back to its wild state, and there are those who have abandoned contemporary civilization and moved into these jungles, as they are called by the rest of the population.
Most animals and insects have disappeared, except for some that have been modified to form dwarf versions. The many varieties of dogs have disappeared, and those that are left are physically similar, as well as being able to use a limited form of speech. They seem to be obsessed with acting like humans. However, there is one species that hasn't changed. They are still the same size, still come in a variety of colors, and still act as they always have--the cat. For some inexplicable reason, humans have been unable to modify the cat. And, more and more cats are disappearing into the "jungles." As usual, the cat goes its own way.
As I mentioned in an earlier post, this is one of the most unique SF novels I have ever read. It is not an easy read, but it's well worth the effort. It is on my reread list.
The planet is unrecognizable to someone from the 21st century. For the most part, the mountains have disappeared and the world is uniformly flat. The ground is covered by something that sounds like artificial turf, grey and flexible. It is also the main means of transportation. The people have a device that they can enter in the coordinates of any spot on the planet and they will be transported there. Actually, according to F. W., their destination is brought to them! Just how this was done and just what would happen if two people in opposite directions both wanted the same destination at the same time was never explained.
Most people now live underground. It's seems as though this happened centuries ago before the present time of peace and prosperity was established. Constant warfare made it necessary to build homes underground, rather than build above ground with some sort of underground shelter. It just seemed more practical to go underground at that time. Today there really is no need, but habits and traditions are hard to overcome, especially, it seems, when there's no real need for them.
The people are uniformly beautiful, if small statured and slight of build, reminiscent of the Eloi, one of the two human races found in H. G. Wells' The Time Traveler. Most seem to have little to do except enjoy themselves, as most of their needs are free. The human race at this time seems fragmented. and while F.W. spends time visiting the other groups, he spends most of his time with those whose life is spent in leisure.
Various groups have their own domiciles, separate from each other and the general population: the Roman Catholic hierarchy, Scientists and Scholars, Workers, Jews, all live in their own ghettos, separate from the population. There are rebels also. Parts of the transformed earth seem to be reverting back to its wild state, and there are those who have abandoned contemporary civilization and moved into these jungles, as they are called by the rest of the population.
Most animals and insects have disappeared, except for some that have been modified to form dwarf versions. The many varieties of dogs have disappeared, and those that are left are physically similar, as well as being able to use a limited form of speech. They seem to be obsessed with acting like humans. However, there is one species that hasn't changed. They are still the same size, still come in a variety of colors, and still act as they always have--the cat. For some inexplicable reason, humans have been unable to modify the cat. And, more and more cats are disappearing into the "jungles." As usual, the cat goes its own way.
As I mentioned in an earlier post, this is one of the most unique SF novels I have ever read. It is not an easy read, but it's well worth the effort. It is on my reread list.
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Carl Sandburg: Southern Pacific, a poem
Southern Pacific
"Huntington sleeps in a house six feet long.
Huntington dreams of railroads he has built and owned.
Huntington dreams of ten thousand men saying: Yes, sir.
Blithery sleeps in a house six feet long.
Blithery dreams of rails and ties he laid.
Blithery dreams of saying to Huntington: Yes, sir.
Huntington,
Blithery sleep in houses six feet long."
-- Carl Sandburg --
from Harvest Poems
It's a common enough point, but one that can't be made too often. Thomas Gray made it also:
"Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Death is the great leveler
"Huntington sleeps in a house six feet long.
Huntington dreams of railroads he has built and owned.
Huntington dreams of ten thousand men saying: Yes, sir.
Blithery sleeps in a house six feet long.
Blithery dreams of rails and ties he laid.
Blithery dreams of saying to Huntington: Yes, sir.
Huntington,
Blithery sleep in houses six feet long."
-- Carl Sandburg --
from Harvest Poems
It's a common enough point, but one that can't be made too often. Thomas Gray made it also:
"Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the poor.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Awaits alike the inevitable hour.
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
-- Thomas Gray --
from "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard"
Death is the great leveler
Sunday, April 13, 2014
Eric Hoffer: Troublemakers
The following are aphorisms taken from the chapter "Troublemakers" by
-- Eric Hoffer --
from Reflections on the Human Condition
#46
"It is cheering to see that the rats are still around--the ship is not sinking."
Of course, they won't leave. It's their duty to save us from ourselves by showing us their road to paradise (and make a few bucks lecturing, appearing on talk shows, and selling books at the same time).
#47
"Right now it seems that they who have a truth to reveal also have a lie to hide."
This reminds me of numerous books whose titles begin with "20 Lies Your ______ (Parents? Teachers? Religious Teachers?--fill in your favorite here) Told You." I found a copy of one of them at a used bookstore for twenty-five cents. After reading it, I felt like going back and asking for a refund. The lies? fell into two categories. The majority of them were the type that belong in a category with Santa Claus, the tooth fairy, George Washington and the cherry tree, etc. In other words, most adults, in fact most teens, no longer believe these things. The other type, I found, couldn't be verified or came from dubious sources and also had an obvious political agenda.
#49
"Though dissenters seem to question everything in sight, they are actually bundles of dusty answers and never conceived a new question. What offends us most in the literature of dissent is the lack of hesitation and wonder."
I never met a true dissenter who didn't believe he/she had a direct line of communication with the Deity and as well as being gloomy and inflexible.
#50
"Nonconformists travel as a rule in bunches. You rarely find a nonconformist who goes it alone. And woe to him inside a nonconformist clique who does not conform with nonconformity."
I remember the hippies in the '60s who insisted they had broken out of the conformist trap and were becoming their own person, unique and individual unto themselves. What was funny was that one could always identify these unique individualists by their uniform--jeans, t-shirts, headbands, beads, long hair, and sandals. The women were slightly more individualistic as they alternated between granny dresses and jeans, usually cutoffs or with numerous holes.
-- Eric Hoffer --
from Reflections on the Human Condition
#46
"It is cheering to see that the rats are still around--the ship is not sinking."
Of course, they won't leave. It's their duty to save us from ourselves by showing us their road to paradise (and make a few bucks lecturing, appearing on talk shows, and selling books at the same time).
#47
"Right now it seems that they who have a truth to reveal also have a lie to hide."
This reminds me of numerous books whose titles begin with "20 Lies Your ______ (Parents? Teachers? Religious Teachers?--fill in your favorite here) Told You." I found a copy of one of them at a used bookstore for twenty-five cents. After reading it, I felt like going back and asking for a refund. The lies? fell into two categories. The majority of them were the type that belong in a category with Santa Claus, the tooth fairy, George Washington and the cherry tree, etc. In other words, most adults, in fact most teens, no longer believe these things. The other type, I found, couldn't be verified or came from dubious sources and also had an obvious political agenda.
#49
"Though dissenters seem to question everything in sight, they are actually bundles of dusty answers and never conceived a new question. What offends us most in the literature of dissent is the lack of hesitation and wonder."
I never met a true dissenter who didn't believe he/she had a direct line of communication with the Deity and as well as being gloomy and inflexible.
#50
"Nonconformists travel as a rule in bunches. You rarely find a nonconformist who goes it alone. And woe to him inside a nonconformist clique who does not conform with nonconformity."
I remember the hippies in the '60s who insisted they had broken out of the conformist trap and were becoming their own person, unique and individual unto themselves. What was funny was that one could always identify these unique individualists by their uniform--jeans, t-shirts, headbands, beads, long hair, and sandals. The women were slightly more individualistic as they alternated between granny dresses and jeans, usually cutoffs or with numerous holes.
Friday, April 4, 2014
Wallace Stevens: "From the Misery of Don Joost"
From the Misery of Don Joost
I have finished my combat with the sun;
And my body, the old animal,
Knows nothing more.
The powerful seasons bred and killed,
And were themselves the genii
Of their own ends.
Oh, but the very self of the storm
Of sun and slaves, breeding and death,
The old animal,
The senses and feeling, the very sound
And sight, and all there was of the storm,
Knows nothing more.
-- Wallace Stevens --
As I have mentioned in previous posts, Wallace Stevens intrigues me. Possibly part of his attraction for me is the problem I have with his poetry. I find them, to a great extent, mystifying. I'm not speaking here of any deep, dark underlying symbolism, but of the overt, sometimes literal, meaning of his poems.
This one I find a bit more understandable, thanks to a clue I found in the Wikipedia entry on this poem. Don Joost, according to a letter Stevens wrote in response to a question about "Don Joost," is a "jovial Don Quixote." I agree with the author of the entry that this may be Don Quixote, but he certainly isn't jovial. Don Quixote's struggles with the giants and warlocks and enemy armies were all in his mind. He creatively transformed mundane reality into something magical and marvelous. In a sense, this is what the poet does or tries to do--to transform mundane reality so that one sees it anew, sees it differently. Joseph Conrad expressed a similar desire when he wrote "by the power of the written word to make you hear, to make you feel... before all, to make you see. That – and no more, and it is everything."
The overall sense, as I read it, is the end of life or perhaps of his creative life. All is gone, sight and sense and sound and feeling. Nothing is left and even the storm, perhaps the struggle between creativity and mediocrity, has ended.
In addition, the seasons, which may stand for the seasons of life, a common and universal symbol for the ages of man in poetry going back long before Shakespeare, have ended and were the cause of their own ends. They could not last forever.
I can almost see the title as being truncated: the full title might be "Escape From the Misery of Don Joost." The only lasting escape from the struggle to be, to do, to create, is death.
But, then again, I have often been accused of over-reading, and this may be just another example of one of my besetting sins. It is for you to decide.
I have finished my combat with the sun;
And my body, the old animal,
Knows nothing more.
The powerful seasons bred and killed,
And were themselves the genii
Of their own ends.
Oh, but the very self of the storm
Of sun and slaves, breeding and death,
The old animal,
The senses and feeling, the very sound
And sight, and all there was of the storm,
Knows nothing more.
-- Wallace Stevens --
As I have mentioned in previous posts, Wallace Stevens intrigues me. Possibly part of his attraction for me is the problem I have with his poetry. I find them, to a great extent, mystifying. I'm not speaking here of any deep, dark underlying symbolism, but of the overt, sometimes literal, meaning of his poems.
This one I find a bit more understandable, thanks to a clue I found in the Wikipedia entry on this poem. Don Joost, according to a letter Stevens wrote in response to a question about "Don Joost," is a "jovial Don Quixote." I agree with the author of the entry that this may be Don Quixote, but he certainly isn't jovial. Don Quixote's struggles with the giants and warlocks and enemy armies were all in his mind. He creatively transformed mundane reality into something magical and marvelous. In a sense, this is what the poet does or tries to do--to transform mundane reality so that one sees it anew, sees it differently. Joseph Conrad expressed a similar desire when he wrote "by the power of the written word to make you hear, to make you feel... before all, to make you see. That – and no more, and it is everything."
The overall sense, as I read it, is the end of life or perhaps of his creative life. All is gone, sight and sense and sound and feeling. Nothing is left and even the storm, perhaps the struggle between creativity and mediocrity, has ended.
In addition, the seasons, which may stand for the seasons of life, a common and universal symbol for the ages of man in poetry going back long before Shakespeare, have ended and were the cause of their own ends. They could not last forever.
I can almost see the title as being truncated: the full title might be "Escape From the Misery of Don Joost." The only lasting escape from the struggle to be, to do, to create, is death.
But, then again, I have often been accused of over-reading, and this may be just another example of one of my besetting sins. It is for you to decide.
Monday, March 31, 2014
Franz Werfel: Star of the Unborn, an SF novel
Franz Werfel
Star of the Unborn
Published posthumously in 1946
607 pages
Opening lines from Franz Werfel's Star of the Unborn
"This is a First Chapter simply because it seemed inappropriate to begin this opuscule with a Second Chapter. The only factors that stood in the way of placing the words 'Chapter Two' on the first page of this novel were the publisher's sense of propriety, the reading public's well-known propensity for the discovery of monstrous typographical errors, and finally, the author's mania for originality, since he feared that some colleague in the gaily flippant era of romanticism must certainly have begun one of his rank works with a Second Chapter. For these reasons we begin with chapter One, no matter how superfluous this chapter may be for the progress of the action, or, more accurately, of the exploration."
The novel is a first person narrative, of a little more than 600 pages. Therefore, the nature or the personality of the narrator, especially in a long work such as this, becomes vital to the work and highly significant to the reader. Consequently, it behooves me to tell you somewhat about the narrator, as a sort of preparation for what you will experience if you decide to take up this work. And, since the narrator introduces himself in the very next paragraph (sort of, anyway), I have decided to let the narrator do all the work and simply let my fingers do the walking.
"Since we are dealing with a kind of travelogue I feel the obligation to introduce the hero, or, more modestly, the central figure of the occurrences here set forth. This particular literary form has the unfortunate weakness that the eye that sees, the ear that hears, the spirit that comprehends, the voice that narrates, the 'I' that is involved in many adventures, constitutes the central point about which, in the most literal sense, everything revolves. This central point, candidly designated as F. W., is, unfortunately, I myself. Purely from an innate aversion to getting into difficulties, I should have preferred not to be I-myself in these pages. Still it was not only the most natural, but the only way, and I was regrettably unable to invent any 'he' that could adequately have borne the burden of the 'I' for me. And so the 'I' of this story is not a deceptive, novelistic, assumed, fictitious 'I' any more than the story itself is the mere offspring of speculative imagination. It happened to me, as I must confess, quite against my will. Without the slightest preparation or premonition, contrary to all my habits and instincts, I was sent out one night as an explorer. What I experienced, I really experienced. I am quite prepared to embark upon a frank discussion of this little word 'really' with any philosophically minded reader and I am confident that I will with the argument in every instance."
As you no doubt may have noticed F. W. rambles on and on, but he does eventually get there, in a very roundabout way. And, that for me, is one of the charms of this very unique work as he somehow manages to drag in most of the social, economic, psychological, environmental, and religious issues of the day, which we have not yet managed to solve some seventy years later. Since we began with a quotation from the beginning of Chapter One, it is only appropriate that we conclude these introductory words with the last paragraph of Chapter One.
"And under the words 'Chapter One' that are still waiting for the story of our monstrous reality, I decided to sketch the foregoing paragraphs. It is a superstitious trick. I have not forfeited anything. I have not given up my original task. The 'Chapter One' that was to have borne an incomparable load, with the full agreement of my readers, is not a First Chapter. Instead, Chapter Two assumes the function of Chapter One."
And, thus he begins his little adventure in "Chapter Two."
F. W. is a time traveler, in a way. He lived and apparently died sometime during the 20th century. He now finds himself approximately 100,000 years in the future. He has been resurrected as a wedding gift by B. H., who had been a friend of his some 100,000 years ago.
B. H. had gone to Tibet and studied and learned the basic tenets of reincarnation so thoroughly that he has been successfully reincarnated and retained memories of his reincarnations for 100, 000 years now. Admittedly his memories of the far past were getting a bit jumbled, but he still remembered F. W. and had used the highly developed science of the day to bring F. W. back to life for some undetermined time as a wedding gift. B. H. was not fully accepted as a true member of the present civilization at this time and had hoped to gain admittance by presenting this unusual wedding gift.
Fantasy?
SF?
Satire?
Surreal allegory?
Socio/political commentary?
All of the above?
None of the above?
Some of the above?
Something entirely different?
I'm not sure what to make of this work. I first read it decades ago and recently came across it gathering dust in a remote corner of my bookcase. Intrigued, I reread it and now it's scheduled for another reread in the near future. There's just too much going on here to take it all in within one reading or two, or three.
This book requires a real commitment to finish, primarily because it is so different from what is popular today. It can't be read in ten or fifteen minute segments. Most people will never read it because of this. Moreover, the narrator's rambling discursive style will also turn readers off. And, some of those who have decided to read the book will never get around to it because they will wait for the right moment when they have enough time to spend on this book. But, this decision is unfortunate because spending the time with this book is far more rewarding than spending the same amount of time on lesser works. The best way to handle this is to get the book and start reading, without waiting for the opportune moment, for it will never arrive.
I supposed I've scared off most of you who have taken the time to get this far in my ramblings. I hope not, but . . .
Highly recommended.
Star of the Unborn
Published posthumously in 1946
607 pages
Opening lines from Franz Werfel's Star of the Unborn
"This is a First Chapter simply because it seemed inappropriate to begin this opuscule with a Second Chapter. The only factors that stood in the way of placing the words 'Chapter Two' on the first page of this novel were the publisher's sense of propriety, the reading public's well-known propensity for the discovery of monstrous typographical errors, and finally, the author's mania for originality, since he feared that some colleague in the gaily flippant era of romanticism must certainly have begun one of his rank works with a Second Chapter. For these reasons we begin with chapter One, no matter how superfluous this chapter may be for the progress of the action, or, more accurately, of the exploration."
The novel is a first person narrative, of a little more than 600 pages. Therefore, the nature or the personality of the narrator, especially in a long work such as this, becomes vital to the work and highly significant to the reader. Consequently, it behooves me to tell you somewhat about the narrator, as a sort of preparation for what you will experience if you decide to take up this work. And, since the narrator introduces himself in the very next paragraph (sort of, anyway), I have decided to let the narrator do all the work and simply let my fingers do the walking.
"Since we are dealing with a kind of travelogue I feel the obligation to introduce the hero, or, more modestly, the central figure of the occurrences here set forth. This particular literary form has the unfortunate weakness that the eye that sees, the ear that hears, the spirit that comprehends, the voice that narrates, the 'I' that is involved in many adventures, constitutes the central point about which, in the most literal sense, everything revolves. This central point, candidly designated as F. W., is, unfortunately, I myself. Purely from an innate aversion to getting into difficulties, I should have preferred not to be I-myself in these pages. Still it was not only the most natural, but the only way, and I was regrettably unable to invent any 'he' that could adequately have borne the burden of the 'I' for me. And so the 'I' of this story is not a deceptive, novelistic, assumed, fictitious 'I' any more than the story itself is the mere offspring of speculative imagination. It happened to me, as I must confess, quite against my will. Without the slightest preparation or premonition, contrary to all my habits and instincts, I was sent out one night as an explorer. What I experienced, I really experienced. I am quite prepared to embark upon a frank discussion of this little word 'really' with any philosophically minded reader and I am confident that I will with the argument in every instance."
As you no doubt may have noticed F. W. rambles on and on, but he does eventually get there, in a very roundabout way. And, that for me, is one of the charms of this very unique work as he somehow manages to drag in most of the social, economic, psychological, environmental, and religious issues of the day, which we have not yet managed to solve some seventy years later. Since we began with a quotation from the beginning of Chapter One, it is only appropriate that we conclude these introductory words with the last paragraph of Chapter One.
"And under the words 'Chapter One' that are still waiting for the story of our monstrous reality, I decided to sketch the foregoing paragraphs. It is a superstitious trick. I have not forfeited anything. I have not given up my original task. The 'Chapter One' that was to have borne an incomparable load, with the full agreement of my readers, is not a First Chapter. Instead, Chapter Two assumes the function of Chapter One."
And, thus he begins his little adventure in "Chapter Two."
F. W. is a time traveler, in a way. He lived and apparently died sometime during the 20th century. He now finds himself approximately 100,000 years in the future. He has been resurrected as a wedding gift by B. H., who had been a friend of his some 100,000 years ago.
B. H. had gone to Tibet and studied and learned the basic tenets of reincarnation so thoroughly that he has been successfully reincarnated and retained memories of his reincarnations for 100, 000 years now. Admittedly his memories of the far past were getting a bit jumbled, but he still remembered F. W. and had used the highly developed science of the day to bring F. W. back to life for some undetermined time as a wedding gift. B. H. was not fully accepted as a true member of the present civilization at this time and had hoped to gain admittance by presenting this unusual wedding gift.
Fantasy?
SF?
Satire?
Surreal allegory?
Socio/political commentary?
All of the above?
None of the above?
Some of the above?
Something entirely different?
I'm not sure what to make of this work. I first read it decades ago and recently came across it gathering dust in a remote corner of my bookcase. Intrigued, I reread it and now it's scheduled for another reread in the near future. There's just too much going on here to take it all in within one reading or two, or three.
This book requires a real commitment to finish, primarily because it is so different from what is popular today. It can't be read in ten or fifteen minute segments. Most people will never read it because of this. Moreover, the narrator's rambling discursive style will also turn readers off. And, some of those who have decided to read the book will never get around to it because they will wait for the right moment when they have enough time to spend on this book. But, this decision is unfortunate because spending the time with this book is far more rewarding than spending the same amount of time on lesser works. The best way to handle this is to get the book and start reading, without waiting for the opportune moment, for it will never arrive.
I supposed I've scared off most of you who have taken the time to get this far in my ramblings. I hope not, but . . .
Highly recommended.
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Seconds and Faces and Masks
Seconds
Directed by John Frankenheimer
Released in 1966
Cheryl, one of my frequent visitors here, suggested a resemblance between the Japanese film The Face of Another and the US film Seconds, starring Rock Hudson. The Face of Another is the story of a Japanese businessman whose face is horribly scarred in a laboratory accident. He covers his head with bandages, resembling the character in films of H. G. Wells' The Invisible Man. He is not adapting well, so his psychiatrist suggests a radical solution. He will make a mask that is so lifelike few will ever realize it is a mask.
In Seconds, the businessman is a successful officer at a bank and seems likely to become bank president in the near future. However, he is suffering from what was called a midlife crisis. His job is boring and the romance has gone from his marriage. His daughter has grown up and is now married and living far away, sending only a few letters and making an occasional phone call. He has come to the point that life means little or nothing to him--just endless tedium.
Then, he is contacted by a friend, a shock, for he thought Sam had died. Sam tells him there is a company that will solve his problems for him, for a fee of course. The solution is plastic surgery. The company will arrange everything: plastic surgery so he won't be recognized and his "death," so he won't be searched for. The company will even provide him with a new life--something like a witness protection program for the bored.
After a bit of coaxing, he finally agrees. This part is the one that doesn't work for me--the plastic surgery. He changes from a 50 year old man, of average height, and somewhat overweight to Rock Hudson, who is 6'4" with an athlete's body. A few weeks of workouts in the gym is not going to change his body that much nor can it add maybe a half foot to his height. However, once I got past that, I found it an interesting and absorbing film.
Rock Hudson comes up with one of his finest acting jobs in this film. Regardless of his physical appearance, Hudson really seems to be a 50 year old man, still tired and now lost in his new life. As in Face, events do not go the way all had hoped for.
While Face is concerned with a mask and Seconds employs plastic surgery, the overlying theme in the two films is the same--the change of one's external appearance and the effects of that change. In Face, the mask seems to release the inner monster or at least it allows one to become something other than it was without the mask, while the plastic surgery in Seconds may change one's physical appearance, it does not change the inner person.
In Thomas Mann's short novel (perhaps even a novella) The Transposed Heads, Mann proposes a third answer to the question of the significance of the physical body to the spirit. In the story two vastly different friends, one an intellectual and decidedly not athletic and the other a hardworking farmer commit suicide in order to allow the other to win the heart of the woman they both love. She, on her part, finds it impossible to choose between them. Discovering that they have committed suicide by praying to the goddess Kali to decapitate them, she attempts to save them by putting their heads back with their bodies and praying to Kali to resurrect them. Kali hears her plea and brings them back to life, but unfortunately in her grief and panic the young woman had placed the wrong heads on the bodies.
Over a period of time, the intellectual appearing head with the intellectual mind began to change a bit. The features coarsened somewhat, its interests and thinking processes were not quite as intellectual as before, and the body began to soften and to resemble the body of an intellectual. And, the head of the farmer on the intellectual body began to change in the opposite direction. The head began to resemble that of the intellectual while the body became tougher and stronger. Mann's point, as I see it, is that the spirit and the body are one unit and influence each other. The two friends over time may resemble each other in physique and mind more than they did before they committed suicide.
So, there are three positions here: the spirit controls the body or the outward appearance, the outward appearance greatly influences the spirit, and the spirit and the body mutually influence each other for they are really one.
One side note here--in psychology the term "persona" refers to "the role that a person assumes in order to display his conscious intentions to himself and others." The term "persona" comes from Latin and it means "mask." So, the persona is a mask assumed to display his conscious intentions to himself and others. The relationship to others is very clear, but what does it mean when we assume a mask to display our conscious intentions to ourselves?
I'm not sure what this all means, but the interrelationship among the terms persona, person, and mask is fascinating. And how does Robert Louis Stevenson's The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde fit in here, as well as stories about the doppelgangers by Poe, Dostoyevsky, and others?
Directed by John Frankenheimer
Released in 1966
Cheryl, one of my frequent visitors here, suggested a resemblance between the Japanese film The Face of Another and the US film Seconds, starring Rock Hudson. The Face of Another is the story of a Japanese businessman whose face is horribly scarred in a laboratory accident. He covers his head with bandages, resembling the character in films of H. G. Wells' The Invisible Man. He is not adapting well, so his psychiatrist suggests a radical solution. He will make a mask that is so lifelike few will ever realize it is a mask.
In Seconds, the businessman is a successful officer at a bank and seems likely to become bank president in the near future. However, he is suffering from what was called a midlife crisis. His job is boring and the romance has gone from his marriage. His daughter has grown up and is now married and living far away, sending only a few letters and making an occasional phone call. He has come to the point that life means little or nothing to him--just endless tedium.
Then, he is contacted by a friend, a shock, for he thought Sam had died. Sam tells him there is a company that will solve his problems for him, for a fee of course. The solution is plastic surgery. The company will arrange everything: plastic surgery so he won't be recognized and his "death," so he won't be searched for. The company will even provide him with a new life--something like a witness protection program for the bored.
After a bit of coaxing, he finally agrees. This part is the one that doesn't work for me--the plastic surgery. He changes from a 50 year old man, of average height, and somewhat overweight to Rock Hudson, who is 6'4" with an athlete's body. A few weeks of workouts in the gym is not going to change his body that much nor can it add maybe a half foot to his height. However, once I got past that, I found it an interesting and absorbing film.
Rock Hudson comes up with one of his finest acting jobs in this film. Regardless of his physical appearance, Hudson really seems to be a 50 year old man, still tired and now lost in his new life. As in Face, events do not go the way all had hoped for.
While Face is concerned with a mask and Seconds employs plastic surgery, the overlying theme in the two films is the same--the change of one's external appearance and the effects of that change. In Face, the mask seems to release the inner monster or at least it allows one to become something other than it was without the mask, while the plastic surgery in Seconds may change one's physical appearance, it does not change the inner person.
In Thomas Mann's short novel (perhaps even a novella) The Transposed Heads, Mann proposes a third answer to the question of the significance of the physical body to the spirit. In the story two vastly different friends, one an intellectual and decidedly not athletic and the other a hardworking farmer commit suicide in order to allow the other to win the heart of the woman they both love. She, on her part, finds it impossible to choose between them. Discovering that they have committed suicide by praying to the goddess Kali to decapitate them, she attempts to save them by putting their heads back with their bodies and praying to Kali to resurrect them. Kali hears her plea and brings them back to life, but unfortunately in her grief and panic the young woman had placed the wrong heads on the bodies.
Over a period of time, the intellectual appearing head with the intellectual mind began to change a bit. The features coarsened somewhat, its interests and thinking processes were not quite as intellectual as before, and the body began to soften and to resemble the body of an intellectual. And, the head of the farmer on the intellectual body began to change in the opposite direction. The head began to resemble that of the intellectual while the body became tougher and stronger. Mann's point, as I see it, is that the spirit and the body are one unit and influence each other. The two friends over time may resemble each other in physique and mind more than they did before they committed suicide.
So, there are three positions here: the spirit controls the body or the outward appearance, the outward appearance greatly influences the spirit, and the spirit and the body mutually influence each other for they are really one.
One side note here--in psychology the term "persona" refers to "the role that a person assumes in order to display his conscious intentions to himself and others." The term "persona" comes from Latin and it means "mask." So, the persona is a mask assumed to display his conscious intentions to himself and others. The relationship to others is very clear, but what does it mean when we assume a mask to display our conscious intentions to ourselves?
I'm not sure what this all means, but the interrelationship among the terms persona, person, and mask is fascinating. And how does Robert Louis Stevenson's The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde fit in here, as well as stories about the doppelgangers by Poe, Dostoyevsky, and others?
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Baltasar Gracian: digging up the dirt
No. 125
"Not the police court blotter. The sign of blemish in yourself, to point to the shame of another: some seek with the spots of others to cover their own, either to white-wash them, or thus to console themselves, which is the solace of fools: the breath smells badly from those who are the sewers of a city's filth, in which stuff he who digs deepest, soils himself most: few are free from some original sin, be it of commission, or omission, only, the sins of little known people are little known; let the man alert guard against being a recorder of evil, for it is to be a man despised, and one who even though human, is inhuman."
--Baltasar Gracian --
from The Art of Worldly Wisdom
translated by Martin Fischer
"the police court blotter" This seems to be a bit of an anachronism here. I'm not sure that police courts existed in the 17th century when Gracian lived. I wonder what Gracian had written that Martin Fischer decided to translate this way. Obviously the police court blotter would be one place that a person so inclined could dig up embarrassing information about someone.
I wonder what Gracian would have to say about today when he discovers that there's a multi-million dollar business whose sole reason for existence is publishing scandal, some of which might be true and much of which is false, about anybody whose name the public might recognize. In addition, I see ads on the Internet which inform me that if I click here, I can find out the dirt about anybody I want, famous or not.
It's true that those people who specialize in this are lowlife scum, but they do it because it's profitable. What can we say about the people who pay for this wallowing in dirt? I think they are the ones that Gracian is talking about. As usual, if no audience existed, nobody would be doing it.
What do you think? Is there something unhealthy or even unclean about wanting to find out the dirt about others?
"Not the police court blotter. The sign of blemish in yourself, to point to the shame of another: some seek with the spots of others to cover their own, either to white-wash them, or thus to console themselves, which is the solace of fools: the breath smells badly from those who are the sewers of a city's filth, in which stuff he who digs deepest, soils himself most: few are free from some original sin, be it of commission, or omission, only, the sins of little known people are little known; let the man alert guard against being a recorder of evil, for it is to be a man despised, and one who even though human, is inhuman."
--Baltasar Gracian --
from The Art of Worldly Wisdom
translated by Martin Fischer
"the police court blotter" This seems to be a bit of an anachronism here. I'm not sure that police courts existed in the 17th century when Gracian lived. I wonder what Gracian had written that Martin Fischer decided to translate this way. Obviously the police court blotter would be one place that a person so inclined could dig up embarrassing information about someone.
I wonder what Gracian would have to say about today when he discovers that there's a multi-million dollar business whose sole reason for existence is publishing scandal, some of which might be true and much of which is false, about anybody whose name the public might recognize. In addition, I see ads on the Internet which inform me that if I click here, I can find out the dirt about anybody I want, famous or not.
It's true that those people who specialize in this are lowlife scum, but they do it because it's profitable. What can we say about the people who pay for this wallowing in dirt? I think they are the ones that Gracian is talking about. As usual, if no audience existed, nobody would be doing it.
What do you think? Is there something unhealthy or even unclean about wanting to find out the dirt about others?
Saturday, March 22, 2014
Museum Hours: a film
Museum Hours
Written and directed by Jem Cohen
Released in 2013
107 minutes
This is one of those special, quiet films that I thoroughly enjoyed but can't really tell you why. The plot is simple: Anne, a woman from Montreal, goes to Vienna to be with her cousin who is in a coma. Just what happened to her cousin is never really explained, or at least I missed it, if it was. It really isn't the focal point of the film.
While in Vienna, she visits the Art History Museum and meets Johann, a museum guard. They get to talking, and she explains briefly why she is in Vienna. Since she is a stranger and alone in Vienna and he has few friends, he offers to be her guide to Vienna. Much of the film takes place in the Museum or the surround areas since neither has much money. Over the course of the film, they learn about Vienna, the Museum, and each other. Johann, at one point, thinks to himself how lucky he is for having the opportunity to see his city through the eyes of someone new to Vienna.
The main attraction of the film, though, is the combination of their quiet, joyful association and the photography. The photography may have been designed by an artist--striking scenes where the colors suddenly become noticeable--not vivid in a glossy way, but strong, even browns and greys stand out. I know nothing of the technology of film so I can't say how it's done--special filters or screens, perhaps in the film processing.
We are presented with striking juxtapositions between the street scenes and the paintings in the museum. Frequently the street scenes resemble works of art from the museum, or perhaps it's the art works that resemble street scenes. At times I wasn't sure whether I was seeing a painting or a street shot. Some scenes from outside the museum could easily be titled "A Still Life." And, in addition, the treatment of many of the people in the film become portraits as we see them in repose.
The film is available on Netflix and the local public library. I would recommend getting it from the library because it comes with a booklet that's not available from Netflix. I have only 10 DVDs in my personal collection, two of which are gifts. I am seriously considering buying this film.
This film goes on my must see again list.
Written and directed by Jem Cohen
Released in 2013
107 minutes
This is one of those special, quiet films that I thoroughly enjoyed but can't really tell you why. The plot is simple: Anne, a woman from Montreal, goes to Vienna to be with her cousin who is in a coma. Just what happened to her cousin is never really explained, or at least I missed it, if it was. It really isn't the focal point of the film.
While in Vienna, she visits the Art History Museum and meets Johann, a museum guard. They get to talking, and she explains briefly why she is in Vienna. Since she is a stranger and alone in Vienna and he has few friends, he offers to be her guide to Vienna. Much of the film takes place in the Museum or the surround areas since neither has much money. Over the course of the film, they learn about Vienna, the Museum, and each other. Johann, at one point, thinks to himself how lucky he is for having the opportunity to see his city through the eyes of someone new to Vienna.
The main attraction of the film, though, is the combination of their quiet, joyful association and the photography. The photography may have been designed by an artist--striking scenes where the colors suddenly become noticeable--not vivid in a glossy way, but strong, even browns and greys stand out. I know nothing of the technology of film so I can't say how it's done--special filters or screens, perhaps in the film processing.
We are presented with striking juxtapositions between the street scenes and the paintings in the museum. Frequently the street scenes resemble works of art from the museum, or perhaps it's the art works that resemble street scenes. At times I wasn't sure whether I was seeing a painting or a street shot. Some scenes from outside the museum could easily be titled "A Still Life." And, in addition, the treatment of many of the people in the film become portraits as we see them in repose.
The film is available on Netflix and the local public library. I would recommend getting it from the library because it comes with a booklet that's not available from Netflix. I have only 10 DVDs in my personal collection, two of which are gifts. I am seriously considering buying this film.
This film goes on my must see again list.
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Simon J. Ortiz: The Boy and Coyote
The Boy and Coyote
for a friend, Ed Theis, met at VAH
Fort Lyons, Colorado, November
and December 1974
You can see the rippled sand rifts
shallow inches below the surface.
I walk on the alkalied sand.
Willows crowd the edges of sand banks
sloping to the Arkansas River.
I get lonesome for the young aftenoons
of a boy growing at Acoma.
He listens to the river,
the slightest nuance of sound.
Breaking thin ice from a small still pool,
I find Coyote's footprints.
Coyote, he's always somewhere before you;
he knows you'll come along soon.
I smile at his tracks when are not fresh
except in memory and say a brief prayer
for good luck for him and for me and thanks.
All of a sudden, and not far away,
there are the reports of a shotgun,
muffled flat by saltcedar thickets.
Everything halts for several moments,
no sound, even the wind holds to itself.
The animal in me crouches, poised immobile,
eyes trained on the distance, waiting
for motion again. The sky is wide;
blue is depthless; and the animal
and I wait for breaks in the horizon.
Coyote's preference is for silence
broken only by the subtle wind,
uncanny bird sounds, saltcedar scraping,
and the desire to let that man free,
to listen for the motion of sound.
-- Simon J. Ortiz --
from Woven Stone
A quiet moment of reflection for a man and recollection of a similar moment as a child. I remember times when I've been out hiking and hearing a gun shot and the sudden silence that follows. Like Ortiz, I, too, crouched and waited, waited for what I don't know, but waited for something. Something was out there that was inimical to life--killing because killing was fun.
for a friend, Ed Theis, met at VAH
Fort Lyons, Colorado, November
and December 1974
You can see the rippled sand rifts
shallow inches below the surface.
I walk on the alkalied sand.
Willows crowd the edges of sand banks
sloping to the Arkansas River.
I get lonesome for the young aftenoons
of a boy growing at Acoma.
He listens to the river,
the slightest nuance of sound.
Breaking thin ice from a small still pool,
I find Coyote's footprints.
Coyote, he's always somewhere before you;
he knows you'll come along soon.
I smile at his tracks when are not fresh
except in memory and say a brief prayer
for good luck for him and for me and thanks.
All of a sudden, and not far away,
there are the reports of a shotgun,
muffled flat by saltcedar thickets.
Everything halts for several moments,
no sound, even the wind holds to itself.
The animal in me crouches, poised immobile,
eyes trained on the distance, waiting
for motion again. The sky is wide;
blue is depthless; and the animal
and I wait for breaks in the horizon.
Coyote's preference is for silence
broken only by the subtle wind,
uncanny bird sounds, saltcedar scraping,
and the desire to let that man free,
to listen for the motion of sound.
-- Simon J. Ortiz --
from Woven Stone
A quiet moment of reflection for a man and recollection of a similar moment as a child. I remember times when I've been out hiking and hearing a gun shot and the sudden silence that follows. Like Ortiz, I, too, crouched and waited, waited for what I don't know, but waited for something. Something was out there that was inimical to life--killing because killing was fun.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Helene Wecker: The Golem and the Jinni
Helene Wecker
The Golem and the Jinni
486 pages
After reading the novel, the following kept running through my mind, adapted from a soap opera of many decades ago: "Can a Jewish Golem and a Jinni from the sands of Arabia find happiness in the teeming tenements of nineteenth century New York City."
And the answer is--Perhaps.
This is her first novel, and, frankly, I consider it to be a great debut. I'm not one who normally reads fantasy, (this was a selection for a book discussion group I belong to), but I'm glad I was forced to read this one. It definitely escapes the boundaries of most fantasy today. While it isn't obtrusive, she also provides considerable background and setting for the immigrant ghettos of late nineteenth century New York.
The first third of the novel is essentially background and preparation for the meeting between the Golem and the Jinni and their eventual conflict with Joseph Schaalman who has unpleasant plans for the two of them. Initially, the three are not aware of the close ties that bind them, so the remaining two thirds of the novel reveals their relationship and the eventual resolution of the conflict.
Shortly after finishing the novel, I found something interesting and had to go back to check it out. I was thinking about the characterization of the Golem and the Jinni something seemed vaguely familiar. I know little about the author, so I don't know what her reading habits are, but I wonder if she is familiar with the Chinese concept of Yin-Yang, the view that the world is made of opposites which are an integral part of the world. The following table lists attributes of the Yin-Yang dichotomy and the characteristics of the Golem and the Jinni.
Yin--the Golem Yang--the Jinni
feminine masculine
dark light
cold hot
moist dry
passive aggressive
slow fast
soft hard
earth sun
rest motion
Throughout the book, the Golem and the Jinni are described or depicted in the ways listed above. She is created from clay while the Jinni is fire, although the spell he is under forces him to remain in the shape of a human. She is described as having dark hair and is sometimes referred to as the dark lady, while he is always depicted as light and those with special sensitivity see his face as beaming light. They have been in New York City for about the same length of time and while she has barely stirred from her apartment to go only a few blocks to work, he has spent his off hours exploring much of the city. Both have jobs: she works in a bakery while he works for a metalsmith.
Overall Rating: an interesting read about two legendary characters who do not get much attention today. I will be interested to discover what her next novel will be about.
The Golem and the Jinni
486 pages
After reading the novel, the following kept running through my mind, adapted from a soap opera of many decades ago: "Can a Jewish Golem and a Jinni from the sands of Arabia find happiness in the teeming tenements of nineteenth century New York City."
And the answer is--Perhaps.
This is her first novel, and, frankly, I consider it to be a great debut. I'm not one who normally reads fantasy, (this was a selection for a book discussion group I belong to), but I'm glad I was forced to read this one. It definitely escapes the boundaries of most fantasy today. While it isn't obtrusive, she also provides considerable background and setting for the immigrant ghettos of late nineteenth century New York.
The first third of the novel is essentially background and preparation for the meeting between the Golem and the Jinni and their eventual conflict with Joseph Schaalman who has unpleasant plans for the two of them. Initially, the three are not aware of the close ties that bind them, so the remaining two thirds of the novel reveals their relationship and the eventual resolution of the conflict.
Shortly after finishing the novel, I found something interesting and had to go back to check it out. I was thinking about the characterization of the Golem and the Jinni something seemed vaguely familiar. I know little about the author, so I don't know what her reading habits are, but I wonder if she is familiar with the Chinese concept of Yin-Yang, the view that the world is made of opposites which are an integral part of the world. The following table lists attributes of the Yin-Yang dichotomy and the characteristics of the Golem and the Jinni.
Yin--the Golem Yang--the Jinni
feminine masculine
dark light
cold hot
moist dry
passive aggressive
slow fast
soft hard
earth sun
rest motion
Throughout the book, the Golem and the Jinni are described or depicted in the ways listed above. She is created from clay while the Jinni is fire, although the spell he is under forces him to remain in the shape of a human. She is described as having dark hair and is sometimes referred to as the dark lady, while he is always depicted as light and those with special sensitivity see his face as beaming light. They have been in New York City for about the same length of time and while she has barely stirred from her apartment to go only a few blocks to work, he has spent his off hours exploring much of the city. Both have jobs: she works in a bakery while he works for a metalsmith.
Overall Rating: an interesting read about two legendary characters who do not get much attention today. I will be interested to discover what her next novel will be about.
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
The Face of Another
The Face of Another
Director: Hiroshi Teshigahara
1966
black-and-white film
Japanese dialogue with English subtitles
This film is based on the novel of the same name by Kobo Abe, who also served as screenwriter for the film. I haven't read the novel yet as I wanted to see the film first. I find that reading the novel first will prejudice me against the film as I then focus on the film's correspondence to the novel, which is really only one of the criteria for judging a film. Since Abe is the screen writer, it should be interesting to see what he does with his novel in adapting it for film.
Okuyama is a business man whose face has been horribly scarred in a laboratory accident. He is having considerable difficulty in handling his situation. He has decided to keep his head completely covered in bandages, which reminded me very strongly of films of H. G. Wells' The Invisible Man. I wonder if Abe or the director did this deliberately.
Okuyama is seeing a psychiatrist, hoping that this might help him. His relationship with his wife is deteriorating, as is his work on his job. The psychiatrist suggests, rather tentatively, that there's a possible solution. He knows of an amazing synthetic fabric that looks very much like skin. He might be able to create a mask which Okuyama might be able to wear in public. While the psychiatrist has considerable ethical and moral problems with this procedure, Okuyama is desperate enough to try it. They find a man whose has a nice face, not extraordinarily handsome but a pleasant face, and pay him for the opportunity to make a mold of it.
The psychiatrist is concerned about the consequences of creating a mask for Okuyama and for society if the process proves successful and is made available to the public. One major question is that of identity: does our identity come from inside or outside? Would we be a different person if we had a different face? What would happen to society if we never knew the real faces of people, but only the masks they chose to wear?
Some might argue that we already wear a mask. One is Paul Lawrence Dunbar whose poem I have already posted here, but "We Wear the Mask" deserves another reading in conjunction with this film:
We Wear the Mask
We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,--
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be otherwise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
-- Paul Laurence Dunbar --
In 1966 this film was considered SF, but recent articles regarding at least two face transplants suggest that this issue now requires some discussion. Also, in Europe there is considerable turmoil regarding the Moslem custom of veils for women's faces. A mask or a veil is worn to hide or conceal one's identity from others, even though, paradoxically, wearing one in public makes one stand out among others whose faces are open for all to see. In a sense, a mask or a veil makes it obvious that one wishes to remain anonymous.
The film has some surrealistic elements that occasionally become confusing. The psychiatrist's laboratory is a bizarre room with glass and strange diagrams and, frankly, it seems to change each time we visit it. There are also quick changes between the major plot with Okuyama and the secondary plot of a young woman with radiation scars on one side of her face. She covers the scars with her long hair combed forward, while her hair is combed back on the other side of her face. She mentions Nagasaki once when she asks her brother if he remembers the sea there when they were children, perhaps a hint as to the cause of her scarred face.
The theme of the double or the doppelganger is also strongly brought out in the film. Okuyama himself is the most obvious example as he is wearing a mask of someone else's face. Some conversations seem to be repetitions of previous encounters, as well as doubling depicted in the early and late scenes in the film. After he gets the mask, Okuyama supposedly leaves town but actually remains. He rents two suites in an apartment building, once wearing his bandages and the second wearing his mask.
The endings of both plots are clear and unambiguous: we know what happened. However, the rationale for the Okuyama plot is not. Just why did Okuyama do what he did? The ending of the second plot is much more understandable.
I would recommend this film strongly with one warning. It is in Japanese, so if you don't understand Japanese, you will have to rely on subtitles. Occasionally I found myself pausing the film and backtracking because the subtitles appeared and disappeared so quickly I had trouble reading them. Aside from this minor inconvenience, I thoroughly enjoyed the film. I now intend to read the novel and then rent the film again.
Director: Hiroshi Teshigahara
1966
black-and-white film
Japanese dialogue with English subtitles
This film is based on the novel of the same name by Kobo Abe, who also served as screenwriter for the film. I haven't read the novel yet as I wanted to see the film first. I find that reading the novel first will prejudice me against the film as I then focus on the film's correspondence to the novel, which is really only one of the criteria for judging a film. Since Abe is the screen writer, it should be interesting to see what he does with his novel in adapting it for film.
Okuyama is a business man whose face has been horribly scarred in a laboratory accident. He is having considerable difficulty in handling his situation. He has decided to keep his head completely covered in bandages, which reminded me very strongly of films of H. G. Wells' The Invisible Man. I wonder if Abe or the director did this deliberately.
Okuyama is seeing a psychiatrist, hoping that this might help him. His relationship with his wife is deteriorating, as is his work on his job. The psychiatrist suggests, rather tentatively, that there's a possible solution. He knows of an amazing synthetic fabric that looks very much like skin. He might be able to create a mask which Okuyama might be able to wear in public. While the psychiatrist has considerable ethical and moral problems with this procedure, Okuyama is desperate enough to try it. They find a man whose has a nice face, not extraordinarily handsome but a pleasant face, and pay him for the opportunity to make a mold of it.
The psychiatrist is concerned about the consequences of creating a mask for Okuyama and for society if the process proves successful and is made available to the public. One major question is that of identity: does our identity come from inside or outside? Would we be a different person if we had a different face? What would happen to society if we never knew the real faces of people, but only the masks they chose to wear?
Some might argue that we already wear a mask. One is Paul Lawrence Dunbar whose poem I have already posted here, but "We Wear the Mask" deserves another reading in conjunction with this film:
We Wear the Mask
We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,--
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be otherwise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
-- Paul Laurence Dunbar --
In 1966 this film was considered SF, but recent articles regarding at least two face transplants suggest that this issue now requires some discussion. Also, in Europe there is considerable turmoil regarding the Moslem custom of veils for women's faces. A mask or a veil is worn to hide or conceal one's identity from others, even though, paradoxically, wearing one in public makes one stand out among others whose faces are open for all to see. In a sense, a mask or a veil makes it obvious that one wishes to remain anonymous.
The film has some surrealistic elements that occasionally become confusing. The psychiatrist's laboratory is a bizarre room with glass and strange diagrams and, frankly, it seems to change each time we visit it. There are also quick changes between the major plot with Okuyama and the secondary plot of a young woman with radiation scars on one side of her face. She covers the scars with her long hair combed forward, while her hair is combed back on the other side of her face. She mentions Nagasaki once when she asks her brother if he remembers the sea there when they were children, perhaps a hint as to the cause of her scarred face.
The theme of the double or the doppelganger is also strongly brought out in the film. Okuyama himself is the most obvious example as he is wearing a mask of someone else's face. Some conversations seem to be repetitions of previous encounters, as well as doubling depicted in the early and late scenes in the film. After he gets the mask, Okuyama supposedly leaves town but actually remains. He rents two suites in an apartment building, once wearing his bandages and the second wearing his mask.
The endings of both plots are clear and unambiguous: we know what happened. However, the rationale for the Okuyama plot is not. Just why did Okuyama do what he did? The ending of the second plot is much more understandable.
I would recommend this film strongly with one warning. It is in Japanese, so if you don't understand Japanese, you will have to rely on subtitles. Occasionally I found myself pausing the film and backtracking because the subtitles appeared and disappeared so quickly I had trouble reading them. Aside from this minor inconvenience, I thoroughly enjoyed the film. I now intend to read the novel and then rent the film again.
Friday, March 7, 2014
J. R. R. Tolkien: THE SILMARILLION--"Ainulindale"
J. R. R. Tolkien
"Ainulindale"
Part One of The Silmarillion
"Ainulindale" is the first part, appropriately enough, of The Silmarillion, which is a collection of stories set in Middle Earth prior to the events of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. I say appropriately enough since an alternate title for "Ainulindale" could easily be The Book of Genesis. In Genesis, the Lord says, "Let there be Light." Iluvator, in "Ainulindale," essentially says let there be music.
I find it difficult to read "Ainulindale" (A) without thinking of Genesis (G) , because of the similarities and the differences between them. There is but one God in both creation myths, and both depict God as the First and Only being who is responsible for all of creation.
And in both are spiritual or non-material beings: angels in G and the Ainur in A. However, I can find no specific mention of the creation of the angels in G, although one might assume they were created sometime during the six days of creation. The first mention I can find of an angel occurs when a Cherubim was stationed at the gate of Eden to prevent Adam and Eve from returning to eat the fruit of the Tree of Life and becoming immortal after they had been expelled for eating of the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. In contrast, in the first line of "The Ainulindale" Tolkien specifically states that Iluvatar created the Ainur.
Iluvatar, unlike the Creator in Genesis, does not work alone in the act of creation. He proposes a "Great Music" to the Ainur.
"Then the voices of the Ainur, like unto harps and lutes, and pipes and trumpets, and viols and organs, and like unto countless choirs singing with words, began to fashion the theme of Iluvatar to a great music: and a sound arose of endless interchange melodies woven in harmony that passed beyond hearing into the depths and into the heights, and the place of the dwelling of Iluvatar were filled to overflowing, and the music and the echo of the music went out into the Void, and it was not void."
Such is the act of Creation in "Ainulinidale."
In spite of Tolkien's great, in-depth knowledge of Northern European myths, he elected to base his Creation myth on those of the Mediterranean area, and his treatment of the existence of evil in the universe comes from the same tradition. Melkor, like his counterparts in the Judeo-Christian-Moslem traditions, is actually a creation of God or Allah, and is one who turned against his creator as a result of pride.
Satan or Lucifer is not actually named as the tempter of Eve in the Garden, but later Christian theologians have decided that must be who the serpent was. Like Satan, Melkor was considered to be the brightest of Iluvatar's creations, and, just as in Christian teachings, Melkor could not created something that would live on its own. Melkor could only debase that what was already alive.
Evil has always been a problem for those religious traditions that posit a Supreme Good who creates all things. How does evil appear in the world created by one who is All Goodness, and why? One of the first thinkers who confronted the idea of evil in the world is Zoroaster, in the 7th BC. There may have been earlier conceptualizations of this problem, but the writings of Zoroastrianism are the earliest we have. From the Wikipedia entry on Zoroastrianism, we find the following:
"Zoroaster simplified the pantheon of early Iranian gods into two opposing forces: Ahura Mazda (Illuminating Wisdom) and Angra Mainyu (Destructive Spirit) in the 7th century BCD. Zoroaster's idea led to a formal religion bearing his name by about the 6th century BCE and have influenced other later religions including Judaism, Gnosticism, Christianity, and Islam."
Zoroaster appears to have been the first to have proposed the Final Judgement Day in which the forces of Good and Evil would meet in a final battle to determine who shall control the universe and these forces would include not only all those living but also those who had died before. According to Zoroaster, which side would win was in doubt.
The religious traditions that were influenced by Zoroaster all made several significant changes. In Zoroastrianism, the Destructive Spirit was an independent entity and equal in strength to Ahura Mazda and that evil might ultimately win out. In later religious traditions, the evil side is actually a creation of the Good and is one who has through pride isolated itself from the Supreme Good. In addition, in the later traditions the Evil force is weaker than the Good and is doomed to ultimate failure.
Melkor is clearly within this tradition as he cannot create anything on his own. He can only debase and deform what is already existing. He can create destructive storms but only because the elements are already there. Orcs are not created by Melkor, or his follower Sauron, but are the result of experiments on captive elves.
Many of the Ainur became enamored of Iluvatar's universe and elected to assume physical shapes and reside there, in order to protect it from Melkor's destructive meddling. These were called Valar, and each of the Valar assumed responsibility for a particular aspect of this new world. A more specific listing appears in the next part of The Silmarillion, "The Valaquenta." A great struggle ensues between the Valar and Melkor and his followers for control of Arda (Earth) and while Arda did not correspond to the ideas of the Valar, it slowly took shape.
In the next part, "Valaquenta," we learn much about Iluvatar's first creations: the Valar, the Maiar, and Melkor and his followers. Two names appear that will play an important role in The Lord of the Rings--Sauron, who was Melkor's chief follower, and Olorin, one of the Maiar, who is sometimes called Mithrandir, but who is probably better known as Gandalf.
"Ainulindale"
Part One of The Silmarillion
"Ainulindale" is the first part, appropriately enough, of The Silmarillion, which is a collection of stories set in Middle Earth prior to the events of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. I say appropriately enough since an alternate title for "Ainulindale" could easily be The Book of Genesis. In Genesis, the Lord says, "Let there be Light." Iluvator, in "Ainulindale," essentially says let there be music.
I find it difficult to read "Ainulindale" (A) without thinking of Genesis (G) , because of the similarities and the differences between them. There is but one God in both creation myths, and both depict God as the First and Only being who is responsible for all of creation.
And in both are spiritual or non-material beings: angels in G and the Ainur in A. However, I can find no specific mention of the creation of the angels in G, although one might assume they were created sometime during the six days of creation. The first mention I can find of an angel occurs when a Cherubim was stationed at the gate of Eden to prevent Adam and Eve from returning to eat the fruit of the Tree of Life and becoming immortal after they had been expelled for eating of the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. In contrast, in the first line of "The Ainulindale" Tolkien specifically states that Iluvatar created the Ainur.
Iluvatar, unlike the Creator in Genesis, does not work alone in the act of creation. He proposes a "Great Music" to the Ainur.
"Then the voices of the Ainur, like unto harps and lutes, and pipes and trumpets, and viols and organs, and like unto countless choirs singing with words, began to fashion the theme of Iluvatar to a great music: and a sound arose of endless interchange melodies woven in harmony that passed beyond hearing into the depths and into the heights, and the place of the dwelling of Iluvatar were filled to overflowing, and the music and the echo of the music went out into the Void, and it was not void."
Such is the act of Creation in "Ainulinidale."
In spite of Tolkien's great, in-depth knowledge of Northern European myths, he elected to base his Creation myth on those of the Mediterranean area, and his treatment of the existence of evil in the universe comes from the same tradition. Melkor, like his counterparts in the Judeo-Christian-Moslem traditions, is actually a creation of God or Allah, and is one who turned against his creator as a result of pride.
Satan or Lucifer is not actually named as the tempter of Eve in the Garden, but later Christian theologians have decided that must be who the serpent was. Like Satan, Melkor was considered to be the brightest of Iluvatar's creations, and, just as in Christian teachings, Melkor could not created something that would live on its own. Melkor could only debase that what was already alive.
Evil has always been a problem for those religious traditions that posit a Supreme Good who creates all things. How does evil appear in the world created by one who is All Goodness, and why? One of the first thinkers who confronted the idea of evil in the world is Zoroaster, in the 7th BC. There may have been earlier conceptualizations of this problem, but the writings of Zoroastrianism are the earliest we have. From the Wikipedia entry on Zoroastrianism, we find the following:
"Zoroaster simplified the pantheon of early Iranian gods into two opposing forces: Ahura Mazda (Illuminating Wisdom) and Angra Mainyu (Destructive Spirit) in the 7th century BCD. Zoroaster's idea led to a formal religion bearing his name by about the 6th century BCE and have influenced other later religions including Judaism, Gnosticism, Christianity, and Islam."
Zoroaster appears to have been the first to have proposed the Final Judgement Day in which the forces of Good and Evil would meet in a final battle to determine who shall control the universe and these forces would include not only all those living but also those who had died before. According to Zoroaster, which side would win was in doubt.
The religious traditions that were influenced by Zoroaster all made several significant changes. In Zoroastrianism, the Destructive Spirit was an independent entity and equal in strength to Ahura Mazda and that evil might ultimately win out. In later religious traditions, the evil side is actually a creation of the Good and is one who has through pride isolated itself from the Supreme Good. In addition, in the later traditions the Evil force is weaker than the Good and is doomed to ultimate failure.
Melkor is clearly within this tradition as he cannot create anything on his own. He can only debase and deform what is already existing. He can create destructive storms but only because the elements are already there. Orcs are not created by Melkor, or his follower Sauron, but are the result of experiments on captive elves.
Many of the Ainur became enamored of Iluvatar's universe and elected to assume physical shapes and reside there, in order to protect it from Melkor's destructive meddling. These were called Valar, and each of the Valar assumed responsibility for a particular aspect of this new world. A more specific listing appears in the next part of The Silmarillion, "The Valaquenta." A great struggle ensues between the Valar and Melkor and his followers for control of Arda (Earth) and while Arda did not correspond to the ideas of the Valar, it slowly took shape.
In the next part, "Valaquenta," we learn much about Iluvatar's first creations: the Valar, the Maiar, and Melkor and his followers. Two names appear that will play an important role in The Lord of the Rings--Sauron, who was Melkor's chief follower, and Olorin, one of the Maiar, who is sometimes called Mithrandir, but who is probably better known as Gandalf.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Contentment?
I think Lao Tzu said something like this: "Those who are content with what they have will always have enough." The corollary then would be that those who are not content with what they have will never have enough. Following are two who say that their needs are minimal and neither extravagant nor excessive. They will be content with a few wants.
Solitude
Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal aces bound,
Centent to breathe his native air
In his own ground.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter, fire.
Blest, who can unconcernedly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away
In health of body, peace of mind;
Quiet by day.
Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mixed, sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please
With meditation.
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die,
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
-- Alexander Pope --
He wishes for solitude and the simple life: a small farm perhaps with dairy cows, no doubt, that he will milk. His fields will supply his bread, and, of course, he will do what is necessary to grow the wheat, harvest it, grind it for flour, and then bake it for bread while he is tending his herd of cows. And, in addition to this he will personally watch over his flock of sheep, while doing all the rest, sheer them, prepare the wool, and then make up his "attire."
I think his solitude and simple life will require some assistance.
Contentment
"Man wants but little here below"
Little I ask; my wants are few;
I only wish a hut of stone,
(A very plain brownstone will do,)
That I may call my own;--
And close at hand is such a one,
In yonder street that fronts the sun.
Plain food is quite enough for me;
Three courses are as good as ten;--
If Nature can subsist on three,
Thank Heaven for three. Amen!
I always thought cold victual nice;--
My choice would be vanilla ice.
I care not much for gold or land;--
Give me a mortgage here and there,--
Some good bank-stock,--some note of hand,
Or trifling railroad share;--
I only ask that Fortune send
A little more than I shall spend.
Honors are silly toys, I know,
And titles are but empty names;--
I could, perhaps, be Plenipo,--
But only near St. James;--
I'm very sure I should not care
To fill our Gubernator's chair.
Jewels are baubles; 'tis a sin
To care for such unfruitful things;--
One good-sized diamond in a pin, --
Some, not so large, in rings,--
A ruby, and a pearl, or so,
Will do for me;--I laugh at show.
My dame should dress in cheap attire;
(Good, heavy silks are never dear;)--
I own perhaps I might desire
Some shawls of cashmere,--
Some marrowy crapes of China silk,
Like wrinkled skins on scalded milk.
I would not have the horse I drive
So fast that folks must stop and stare;
An easy gait--two, forty-five--
Suits me, I do not care;--
Perhaps, for just a single spurt,
Some seconds less would do no hurt.
Of pictures, I should like to own
Titians and Raphaels three or four,--
I love so much that style and tone,--
One Turner, and no more,--
(A landscape,--foregound golden dirt,
The sunshine painted with a squirt.)
Of books but few,--some fifty score
For daily use, and bound for wear;
The rest upon an upper floor;--
Some little luxury there
Of red morocco's gilded gleam,
And vellum rich as country cream.
Busts, cameos, gems, --such things as these,
Which others often show for pride,
I value for their power to please,
And selfish churls deride;--
One Stradivarius, I confess,
Two Meerschaums, I would fain possess.
Wealth's wasteful tricks I will not learn,
Nor ape the glittering upstart fool;--
Shall not carved tables serve my turn,
But all must be of buhl?
Give grasping pomp its double share,--
I ask but one recumbent chair.
Thus humble let me live and die,
Nor long for Midas' golden touch,
If Heaven more generous gifts deny,
I shall not miss them much,--
Too grateful for the blessing lent
Of simple tastes and mind content!
-- Oliver Wendell Holmes --
Which, if any, of the two do you think will be content with what he has?
Solitude
Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal aces bound,
Centent to breathe his native air
In his own ground.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter, fire.
Blest, who can unconcernedly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away
In health of body, peace of mind;
Quiet by day.
Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mixed, sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please
With meditation.
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die,
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
-- Alexander Pope --
He wishes for solitude and the simple life: a small farm perhaps with dairy cows, no doubt, that he will milk. His fields will supply his bread, and, of course, he will do what is necessary to grow the wheat, harvest it, grind it for flour, and then bake it for bread while he is tending his herd of cows. And, in addition to this he will personally watch over his flock of sheep, while doing all the rest, sheer them, prepare the wool, and then make up his "attire."
I think his solitude and simple life will require some assistance.
Contentment
"Man wants but little here below"
Little I ask; my wants are few;
I only wish a hut of stone,
(A very plain brownstone will do,)
That I may call my own;--
And close at hand is such a one,
In yonder street that fronts the sun.
Plain food is quite enough for me;
Three courses are as good as ten;--
If Nature can subsist on three,
Thank Heaven for three. Amen!
I always thought cold victual nice;--
My choice would be vanilla ice.
I care not much for gold or land;--
Give me a mortgage here and there,--
Some good bank-stock,--some note of hand,
Or trifling railroad share;--
I only ask that Fortune send
A little more than I shall spend.
Honors are silly toys, I know,
And titles are but empty names;--
I could, perhaps, be Plenipo,--
But only near St. James;--
I'm very sure I should not care
To fill our Gubernator's chair.
Jewels are baubles; 'tis a sin
To care for such unfruitful things;--
One good-sized diamond in a pin, --
Some, not so large, in rings,--
A ruby, and a pearl, or so,
Will do for me;--I laugh at show.
My dame should dress in cheap attire;
(Good, heavy silks are never dear;)--
I own perhaps I might desire
Some shawls of cashmere,--
Some marrowy crapes of China silk,
Like wrinkled skins on scalded milk.
I would not have the horse I drive
So fast that folks must stop and stare;
An easy gait--two, forty-five--
Suits me, I do not care;--
Perhaps, for just a single spurt,
Some seconds less would do no hurt.
Of pictures, I should like to own
Titians and Raphaels three or four,--
I love so much that style and tone,--
One Turner, and no more,--
(A landscape,--foregound golden dirt,
The sunshine painted with a squirt.)
Of books but few,--some fifty score
For daily use, and bound for wear;
The rest upon an upper floor;--
Some little luxury there
Of red morocco's gilded gleam,
And vellum rich as country cream.
Busts, cameos, gems, --such things as these,
Which others often show for pride,
I value for their power to please,
And selfish churls deride;--
One Stradivarius, I confess,
Two Meerschaums, I would fain possess.
Wealth's wasteful tricks I will not learn,
Nor ape the glittering upstart fool;--
Shall not carved tables serve my turn,
But all must be of buhl?
Give grasping pomp its double share,--
I ask but one recumbent chair.
Thus humble let me live and die,
Nor long for Midas' golden touch,
If Heaven more generous gifts deny,
I shall not miss them much,--
Too grateful for the blessing lent
Of simple tastes and mind content!
-- Oliver Wendell Holmes --
Which, if any, of the two do you think will be content with what he has?
Monday, March 3, 2014
Eric Hoffer: dissipation
#9
"DISSIPATION is a form of self-sacrifice. The reckless wasting of one's vigor is a blind striving to 'liquidate' an unwanted self. And as one would expect, the passage from this to other forms of self-sacrifice is not uncommon. Passionate sinning has not infrequently been an apprenticeship to sainthood. Many of the insights of the saint stem from his experience as a sinner."
-- Eric Hoffer --
from The Passionate State of Mind
In other words, dissipation is an indirect form of suicide. This seems reasonable to me. Or perhaps it's a way of punishing oneself for some sin or transgression.
Does this seem reasonable to you?
That great sinners sometimes become saints has been noted before. One of the most famous examples is St. Augustine who, after spending many years in dissipation, converted and became one of the most respected leaders of the early Christian Church.
This is the point made by C. S. Lewis in his great satirical work, The Screwtape Letters, specifically in the section titled "Screwtape Proposes a Toast." Screwtape is responding to complaints by other devils that the souls served up at the banquets recently have been bland and tasteless, flabby and insipid. He agrees, but he then points out that while the quality of souls has decreased, the quantity has considerably increased. There is no risk of famine today because of the great number of souls that just sort of end up in hell without even choosing to do evil. The reason for the diminished quality of souls is clear:
"The great (and toothsome) sinners are made out of the very same material as those horrible phenomena the great Saints."
This, I believe, is the same point Hoffer is making at the end of his statement. Strong or passionate feelings are the same, but what makes the difference in them is the focus of those feelings. There are ways of measuring the intensity of one's feelings, but there's no way of identifying the focus of those passions, short of asking the individual. Emotions are much the same in all, but what makes the difference is the focus of those strong passions.
"DISSIPATION is a form of self-sacrifice. The reckless wasting of one's vigor is a blind striving to 'liquidate' an unwanted self. And as one would expect, the passage from this to other forms of self-sacrifice is not uncommon. Passionate sinning has not infrequently been an apprenticeship to sainthood. Many of the insights of the saint stem from his experience as a sinner."
-- Eric Hoffer --
from The Passionate State of Mind
In other words, dissipation is an indirect form of suicide. This seems reasonable to me. Or perhaps it's a way of punishing oneself for some sin or transgression.
Does this seem reasonable to you?
That great sinners sometimes become saints has been noted before. One of the most famous examples is St. Augustine who, after spending many years in dissipation, converted and became one of the most respected leaders of the early Christian Church.
This is the point made by C. S. Lewis in his great satirical work, The Screwtape Letters, specifically in the section titled "Screwtape Proposes a Toast." Screwtape is responding to complaints by other devils that the souls served up at the banquets recently have been bland and tasteless, flabby and insipid. He agrees, but he then points out that while the quality of souls has decreased, the quantity has considerably increased. There is no risk of famine today because of the great number of souls that just sort of end up in hell without even choosing to do evil. The reason for the diminished quality of souls is clear:
"The great (and toothsome) sinners are made out of the very same material as those horrible phenomena the great Saints."
This, I believe, is the same point Hoffer is making at the end of his statement. Strong or passionate feelings are the same, but what makes the difference in them is the focus of those feelings. There are ways of measuring the intensity of one's feelings, but there's no way of identifying the focus of those passions, short of asking the individual. Emotions are much the same in all, but what makes the difference is the focus of those strong passions.
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