Greg Benford: In the Ocean of Night, Galactic Center Book I

I've just begun rereading Greg Benford's "Galactic Center" series, which I consider to be one of the best SF series ever written. Unfortunately, I find I'm pretty much alone in this as I've never heard anyone speak of the series or even of one of the books in it.

The first one in the series is In the Ocean of Night, which begins in 1999, with a classic threat to Earth--a threatened encounter with Icarus, an asteroid whose orbit approached Earth's but never posed a threat until it began emitting a plume of gas and dust, thus turning it into a cometary object and gaining considerable interest among solar system astronomers. Not only was it transformed, but its trajectory was affected and put it on a collision course with Earth. Something was going to have to be done about it, and soon.

The novel actually consists of three separate encounters within some twenty years--the abandoned asteroid ship, an AI probe that passes through the solar system gathering information about the system and life forms, and a crashed spaceship on the moon, but these are not three completely separate incidents, for several reasons.

One reason and the most obvious reason is that the Nigel Walmsley is the significant character in all three encounters. Nigel is a rather unique character; for example, he's British, and he somehow convinced NASA to accept him as an astronaut. Moreover, when Icarus' threat is discovered, he somehow ends up being chosen to approach and plant the h-bomb which is expected to destroy it. However, once there, Nigel discovers that the asteroid/comet isn't what it seems to be. It is a small rocky body that has been turned into a spaceship, one that is at least several hundred thousand years old. It is at this point that Nigel, on the scene, and Houston, back on Earth, began to differ about what to do next.

Nigel is always one to make his own decisions, regardless of what Houston Control decides. So, he's frequently on the black list at NASA, but, rather than quit as many would do, he sticks around and slowly and quietly and unobtrusively works his way back into significant positions. So, when the next encounter occurs, he's there on the spot causing more problems for those who disagree with him, but only in a non-confrontational way, if possible (while his former enemies in the bureaucracy have long since moved up and out). What his supervisors find most irritating about Nigel is that he tends to be right, more often than not, or at least more often right than they are.

Nigel's personal life is also intriguing. He's married or at least partnered with Alexandria. Then there's Shirley, who makes up the third of the trio; she's decided that her role in the threesome is to protect Alexandria from Nigel--they make up an interesting menage-a-trois. (Correct my French, if necessary.)

Another subplot involves a religious group, the New Sons. They have gained sufficient political power that they can control or direct scientific research on the basis of their religious beliefs-- obviously a fantasy as such things could not happen here.

Almost forgot another subplot: one of Nigel's friends has a close encounter with several hairy? shaggy? furry? bipeds in Northern California.

The other reason the three incidents are closely related is not so obvious at first because the full importance of the three encounters is not fully realized on Earth until the second book, Across the Sea of Suns, which takes place some three or four decades later. At the end of In the Ocean..., Nigel and some of his friends suspect there's a connection of some sort, but they don't have sufficient information to draw a connection.

This delayed revelation of the threat reminds me of E. E. (Doc) Smith's fabulous Lensmen series in which each novel initially gave the reader a slightly better idea of the threat looming in the background. After the series was initially published, Smith then produced the first novel which provided the necessary background, so subsequent readers all knew from the beginning who the real villains were.

In the Ocean of Night is an independent work, though, and according to the inside cover it is the first in a trilogy, which was probably Benford's thinking at that time. However, we all know what frequently happens to two or three book series. This trilogy turned into a sextet.

It's going to be a great trip.

Combination Plate 3: Thornton Wilder's The Bridge of San Luis Rey, Dickens' A Tale Of Two Cities, and A Matter of Justice by Charles Todd

Thornton Wilder: The Bridge of San Luis Rey, a book discussion group selection. I had always wanted to read this novel but never got around to it. Therefore, when a book group that I belong to selected it, I was pleased. My "one of these days" list is much too long, and this would help shorten it, a bit, anyway.

Wilder doesn't squander any time in getting to the subject. The novel begins "On Friday noon, July the twentieth, 1714, the finest bridge in all Peru broke and precipitated five travellers into the gulf below. This bridge was on the highroad between Lima and Cuzco and hundreds of persons passed over it every day."

One of the witnesses was Brother Juniper who happened to be approaching the bridge as it broke.

"Anyone else would have said to himself with secret joy: 'Within ten minutes myself...!' But it was another thought that visited Brother Juniper: 'Why did this happen to those five?' If there were any plan in the universe at all, if there were any pattern in a human life, surely it could be discovered mysteriously latent in those lives so suddenly cut off. Either we live by accident and die by accident or we live by plan and die by plan. And on that one instant Brother Juniper made the resolve to inquire into the secret lives of those five persons, that moment falling through the air, and to surprise the reason of their taking off."

The remainder of the novel tells of Brother Juniper's efforts to learn about the five victims and to see if any possible reason could be found for their deaths at that moment and place. I think this is one of the perennial problems or questions that have bothered and bewildered humans since they developed the facility for asking questions. Is there a plan or is it chance that dictates our future?

Does Wilder answer the question? I think he does since he is the one who created the lives of the five victims. If you do decide to read it, let me know if you agree that Wilder answered the question and what you think the answer is.

Overall Rating: Recommended.

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Charles Dickens: A Tale of Two Cities, a book discussion group selection. I doubt there's any need to briefly bring up the plot as I suspect most are familiar with it, even if they haven't read it. It's one of Dickens' most serious novels as one doesn't find the numerous caricatures of secondary characters that enliven Dickens' novels, or at least enliven the ones I've read.

I have gained the impression over the years that most people read this in high school for the first time. In fact, the only other novel that is mentioned as frequently as being on an high school reading list is Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter. I wonder if that's still true today.

This novel is unique in that it's the only one I know of that has one of the most famous and most often quoted and misquoted beginnings and endings in all of western literature. They are like bookends, as one of the discussion group members said. The novel begins with:

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair..."

But, most often, when it is quoted, the ending is left off or ignored, which gives it a slightly different slant:

"...in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."

In other words, it is just like today.


The ending is equally well-known: the narrator tells us that this would have been Sydney Carton's final thought as he awaits the guillotine:

"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."

The one character that stands out the most for me is Madame Defarge. In Greek mythology we find the three fates: Clotho, who spins the thread of life from her distaff onto her spindle; Lachesis, who measures the thread of life allotted to each person; and Atropos, who chose the mode and time of a person's death. Madame Defarge, always knitting, is a symbol of all three, but most strongly I see her as Atropos, the one who decides how and when.

Overall Rating: Recommended, especially if you want to read something by Dickens and don't have much free time. It's one of his shorter novels.

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Charles Todd: A Matter of Justice, a mystery series featuring Inspector Ian Rutledge of Scotland Yard. The series is set just after the end of World War I. This novel begins on May 1920. This is the eleventh in the series by Todd, who is/are? in reality a mother-and-son writing team who live on the east coast of the US.

What makes this series stand out from others is the presence of Hamish MacLeod. Rutledge served in the British army during WWI, and his corporal was Hamish MacLeod. Rutledge was wounded in action, and in the hospital he discovered that he could hear the voice of Hamish, not saying things he remembered from the past but commenting on what was currently going on--which was impossible since MacLeod died during the war. Readers can choose to accept Hamish as a spirit/ghost occupying Rutledge's mind or see him as Rutledge's way of punishing himself for MacLeod's death. Hamish doesn't think much of Rutledge's abilities as a police officer and often offers his own interpretation of the clues and regularly delivers his own opinions about the various suspects.

A Matter of Justice is a somewhat convoluted novel in which the reader knows more from the beginning about the crime than Rutledge does for about four-fifths of the novel. The interest here is whether Rutledge, with Hamish's help (or hindrance?), will be able to overcome the hostility of the local police officer and get to the root of the crime, which actually extends back before WWI, to another war which the British might well want to forget about, the Boer War.

Overall Rating: recommended for those who enjoy police procedurals, the time and setting just after WWI in England, and a touch of the supernatural, perhaps.

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Charlaine Harris: Dead Until Dark, a book discussion group selection. SGRVM says it all--Southern Gothic Romantic Vampire Mystery.

This is the novel that is the basis for the HBO series, True Blood. The heroine is a telepathic waitress named Sookie Stackhouse, who falls in love with a vampire named Bill. Her boss at the diner is Mel, who, unbeknownst to her, is a shape changer. And, then there's a serial killer running around who always drives a wooden stake into the heart of his/her victims.

Overall Rating: great book for a discussion group--excellent for comedy relief from more serious works.

The Rubaiyat: Quatrain V

First Edition: Quatrain V

Iram indeed is gone with all its Rose,
And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,
And still a Garden by the Water blows.



Second Edition: Quatrain V

Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose,
And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
But still a Ruby gushes from the Vine,
And many a Garden by the Water blows.



Fifth Edition: Quatrain V

Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose
And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine,
And many a Garden by the Water blows.


This quatrain focuses on the brevity of human endeavors--the glories of the past have gone and are almost forgotten. Iram and Jamshyd are no more. Iram, a fabulously wealthy city, has disappeared, and Jamshyd, once the most powerful king in the world, is no more. His cup, the source of immortality and power, is lost. In comparison, the natural world goes on as it always has.

The three versions do differ to some extent, but the main focus is still the same--the transience of human power and glory.



FIRST LINE: The first edition refers to "with all its Rose." This is changed in all subsequent editions to "with all his Rose."

Why the change from the neuter pronoun to the masculine escapes me.



SECOND LINE:

"And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;"

No change through all five editions.



THIRD LINE:
1st Edition: But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,
2nd Edition: But still a Ruby gushes from the Vine,
3rd Edition: But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine.

The focus has shifted from the Vine in the first edition to the Ruby in later versions. The meaning of Ruby undergoes some subtle shifts over the various editions. In the first version, the Vine yields the Ruby, which suggests the Vine must give it up. This could suggest that the Ruby could be the grape itself, or perhaps wine.

The second version refers to the Ruby as it gushes from the Vine. The Ruby is now the active element, and it "gushes," suggesting the Vine is a pipeline only. That it "gushes" implies, to me anyway, that FitzGerald is referring to a liquid, which would be the wine, as liquids would be more likely to be seen as gushing than solid objects would be.

The final version is intriguing. The Ruby no longer is yielded by the Vine or gushes from the Vine, but it "kindles in the Vine." "Kindles" can be either active or passive. It can either cause something to break into flame or glow or it can arouse or inspire something, or, on the other hand, it can itself break into flame or glow or become aroused or inspired.

The grape can be seen as something that glows because of its reddish color or even something aflame set against the green of the vine. On the other hand, wine can be seen as glowing or aflame and also that which can inflame or arouse or inspire others.

Rather than decide between them, I shall take the cowardly way out and say that FitzGerald meant to suggest both.



FOURTH LINE:

1st Edition: And still a Garden by the Water blows.
2nd Edition: And many a Garden by the Water blows.
3rd Edition: And many a Garden by the Water blows.


There's clear comparison made in the first version. The past human glories are gone, but "still a garden" blooms. The second version becomes the final version also. It weakens the comparison by removing the word "still" and sort of trails off with "And many a Garden..." To say that there are many of them seems to reduce them to the level of the common and ordinary. Perhaps that was what FitzGerald had in mind, that the singular glories of human endeavors are survived by nature's ordinary and commonplace activities--a grapevine or a garden in bloom.




Notes:

The following is abstracted and paraphrased from Wikipedia entries on Iram and Jamshyd.

Iram was a trading center in the southern part of the Arabian Peninsula. It seems to have existed from 3000 B.C. to the first century A. D. It was a very wealthy city, gaining its riches from trade between the coastal regions and population centers of the Middle-East and Europe. It was later abandoned and eventually felt to be only a myth. However, recent archeological excavations have now shown it to be a real place.

Jamshyd, according to various ancient accounts, was the fourth king of the world. He had command over all the angels and demons of the world and had become the greatest monarch the world had ever known. He was also said to have had a magical seven-ring cup, Jam-e Jam which was filled with the elixir of immortality and allowed his to observe the universe. But Jamshid's pride grew with his power, and he began to forget that all the blessings of his reign were due to God. He boasted to his people that all of the good things they had came from him alone, and demanded that he should be accorded divine honors, as if he were the Creator. That, of course, was his downfall. He lost the favor of the Creator and his power diminished and his kingdom vanished into obscurity over time.

In the Beginning...

In a recent post I said that a novel written by Thomas H. Cook, Breakheart Hill, had a first line that reminded me of the first line of a favorite novel of mine, Ford Madox Ford's The Good Soldier. Ford began his novel with "This is the saddest story I have ever heard," while Cross started with "This is the darkest story that I ever heard."

Several days later, I turned to the first page of another novel and found awaiting me the following: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness..." Of course, Dickens' Tale of Two Cities is a unique novel in that it is the only one that I am aware of that not only has one of the most famous opening sentences in literature, but also one of the most famous endings in literature: it is Sidney Carton's soliloquy that ends the novel: "It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."

This set me off thinking about well-known beginnings; just hearing them brings back memories of the works involved. I suspect many of them would be recognized even by people who had never read the texts.

Part of the popularity of these openings is the relationship to the novel. For example, Ford's narrator, Dowell, and Cook's narrator, Ben, tell us that this story is one that they heard. It's as if they also are readers, and not participants as we would expect. What's intriguing about this is the puzzle creates for the reader--just why do Dowell and Ben tell us this is a story they heard?

Another well-known opening, perhaps, some might argue, the most famous in English literature, is "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife." I suspect this is more "universally acknowledged" among mothers of marriageable young ladies than it is among single men with good fortunes. And, in Austen's Pride and Prejudice, we see how this works out, with three marriages taking place between the covers of the book. A careful reading will show that actually only one of the single men involved was in want of a wife, and he was the one without a fortune. Perhaps Bingley and Darcy didn't know they were wanting a wife, in the beginning anyway.

Melville's Moby Dick is longer than any of the novels I've mentioned so far, so it is only fitting that it has one of the shortest opening sentences: "Call me Ishmael!" He's being bit evasive here as he says to call him Ishmael, not that his name is Ishmael. In the Bible, Ishmael is the son of Abraham and his wife's servant Hagar. Abraham disowned him and drove both Ishmael and Hagar out into the wilderness when his wife, Sarah, gave birth to Issac. Ishmael now has the meaning of a exile or outcast. Who is Melville's Ishmael?

A opening to a work that I suspect is the most widely read and recognized would be from Genesis--

"In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.
2. And the earth was without form, and void: and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.
3. And God said, Let there be light; and there was light."

Along with being one of the most widely-known opening lines, it is no doubt one of the most influential opening lines.


Novels aren't alone in producing memorable opening statements. Beethoven's opening to his Fifth Symphony is recognized by many who have never heard the entire symphony. And, I wouldn't be surprised if hundreds of people could identify and finish the following opening to a TV show that ran more than forty years ago: "Space. The Final Frontier. These are the voyages of the ..." George Lucas was also well aware of the importance of the opening statement when he began the "Star Wars" series, not with an opening action scene, but with a text message that slowly scrolled its way from the bottom to the top of the screen: "A long time ago in a galaxy far away..." That evoked memories of an opening statement that is almost a cliche: "Once upon a time...," surely the most common opening, in English anyway, for a fantasy tale.

I have a few personal favorites too:

"Whose woods these are I think I know,
His house is in the village though.
He won't see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow."

and

"Awake! For Morning in the Bowl of Night
Has flung the Stone that put the stars to flight:
And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light."


How about you?

Any favorite openers?

Or, ones that I've forgotten?

Franz Kafka: A Hunger Artist

I have read Franz Kafka's "A Hunger Artist" a number of times and have had difficulties in the past trying to make sense of it. However, just as I was falling asleep shortly after reading it, this idea slowly emerged. Try it on and let me know what you think.

The story is about a man who makes his living by fasting for 40 days at a time. He is on display in a cage surrounded by an audience who come to watch him. The impresario attempts to have people in the area observe him 24 hours a day and who will swear he hasn't had anything to eat. The story depicts his eventual decline as an attraction that can draw an audience.

Several critics have suggested the story is about art, whether it be literature or painting or sculpture or music. Building on that concept, I should point out that the title is, after all, "A Hunger Artist." The initial article "A" suggests that this person is not unique, but one of several, if not many.

One of the characteristics of art that I hold to is that art to be art must communicate with others. If there is no audience, there is no art. It may be a painting or a musical composition, a poem or a work of fiction, but it isn't art, not without an audience. Note that at the beginning of the story, our artist has an audience--people who come to see him, study him, and even question him. He has an audience who are interested in him.

One point that is important but gets buried is that there are limits--40 days for the performance. If it goes over 40 days, he loses his audience. Similarly, if a poet or painter or composer goes beyond certain limits then that artist loses the audience--consider the case of modern painting, poetry, literature, and music. They have lost their audience and now, for the most part, appeal mostly to specialists and experts. It also happens that artists who realize that they are losing their audience sometimes go to extremes to the extent that they eventually lose or chase away whatever audience is left. At one point, our hunger artist goes beyond the 40 day limit and becomes so weak he cannot even sit and be seen anymore. All forget him, and he is lost.

Another point is that of fashion. Trends in the arts appear and go out of fashion. The same happened to the hunger artist. His day was over, and he was relegated to a circus, just one among many other attractions. He no longer is a headliner, able to draw an audience on his own. I am reminded of a museum where various artistic attractions are gathered so that an audience can come and browse among the many formerly powerful and influential trends, but now are just one among equals.

Something similar happens in the field of classical music. Artistic directors for orchestras are aware that if they scheduled a program of all modern music, Schoenberg or Cage, for example, they would see a much reduced audience. So, they sandwich a piece by Cage or Schoenberg in between two more traditional pieces which will bring in an audience. I heard a interview with one director who said that he always placed the modern work either first or second, because if he placed it last, after the break, he would lose a large portion of the audience. In the circus, our hunger artist is now placed in such a way that people had to pass by him to get to the wild animal cages.

The panther is the new fashion, and it is interesting to note that it is the opposite of the hunger artist. It is active and alive, and we read that the audience enjoys watching it eat. The panther is the opposite of the hunger artist; frequently, when one trend or fashion dies out, it is replaced by its opposite.


A Hunger Artist: Historical Context

One brief note--apparently Kafka did not create the hunger artist. There supposedly were such exhibitions in Europe during the early 20th century. Breon Mitchell, in "Kafka and the Hunger Artists," tells of "a world famous hunger artist whose coverage in local newspapers may have inspired Kafka's story. Mitchell point out that 'almost every detail' of Kafka's story corresponds to 'the actual profession of fasting for pay." This is an excerpt from the enote.com article at

http://tinyurl.com/dxpnad

Unfortunately it costs $8.00 to see the complete article.

Combination Plate 2

Daniel Keyes: "Flowers for Algernon"

I just finished rereading Daniel Keyes' "Flowers for Algernon." It's s a fascinating depiction of an individual whose intellectual capacity increases from subnormal to supernormal, but who still essentially remains the same person.

He is still the kind, decent person he was prior to his newly found ability to understand the world about him. He also realizes that, in spite of his initial intellectual impairment, he had those attributes which make one human to a greater degree than did those who may have had greater intellectual capacity but who lacked the human capacity for compassion and empathy and concern for others.

This is a remarkable accomplishment for a genre that tends to downplay character and focus on science or technology. Unlike others I have read that go back a half century or so, "Flowers
for Algernon" is as good now as it was then. Perhaps it is that human element that allows it to survive over time.

I haven't read the novel version which came some five or six years later, or the film, Charley, which came out about ten years after the short story was published. After having read the original story, I'm now curious about the expanded version and the film. To be honest, I have generally found that the expanded versions or films of prize-winning novellas or short stories are seldom as good.

But, there are always exceptions.

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Edith Wharton: The Glimpses of the Moon, a novel
The novel opens with very familiar characters--two young people who are bright, handsome, intelligent, well-liked but poor. They are of socially prominent families that have seen better days. Neither can afford to live much longer in the class in which they were born, and neither wants to abandon those friends and acquaintances. Nick Lansing tries to make a living as a writer, while Susy Branch lives off her friends.

Nick and Susy aren't lovers, though they are best of friends. In spite of this, they come up with a rather unique solution--marry, combine their economic resources, and live for the day. They decide that they could probably survive for about a year, and perhaps longer, depending upon the generosity of their friends. And their friends do come through for them, allowing them to stay with them, and even opening up a home for a honeymoon in Italy that they have shut down while they lived in their US residence.

There is one more precondition: if either one of them finds a better opportunity--in other words, a suitor with money--then the other would quickly grant a divorce.

It is at this point that the novel turns absolutely, completely, wholly predictable. I'm not going to reveal the ending, save to say that all you have to do is imagine the most commonplace, ordinary, traditional plot and resolution for a romantic comedy and you have it.

The story, as are all of Wharton's works, is well-written with her usual sharp eye for the foibles and excesses of the upper classes. The characters are interesting, aside from Nick and Susy, who seem to be the typical young couple trapped in a romantic comedy--the interest is not in them, but in their situation. Nick and Susy, to be honest, seem rather bland and unremarkable, while their friends and acquaintances are far more interesting.

Overall: it's definitely not a typical Wharton work. Except for the rather banal plot, I would give it high marks for everything else.

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Samuel R. Delany: Babel-17, a novel

This is early Delany, and, therefore, Delany at his best--back when he was more interested in writing to entertain than writing to insure his place in literary history.

Earth and its allies are at war with The Invaders. Just who the Invaders are is never really made clear. There are some hints that the Invaders are humans who have gone off and colonized another part of the galaxy and then have returned with malice in their hearts.

The two sides are evenly matched until the Invaders come up with an unbreakable code, or at least a code the Earth Alliance code breakers are unable to decrypt. One of the codebreakers suggests that the only person who could help decode Babel-17 is Rydra Wong, a former codebreaker who left to become a poet. She had an intuitive sense for words and patterns of words that no one else had.

The story, then, is of her quest to understand Babel-17 before it is too late. Along the way the reader will encounter individuals who have decided that they weren't happy with their appearance, so they add beaks, or claws, or inches, or bony spurs for fighting, or even wings. The body sculpters are very good at this time. Today's plastic surgeons are at the same level in comparison to the practicioners of that day as removing a splinter would be to open heart surgery today. In addition, part of her ship's crew are discorporate individuals--the dead, in other words.

Delany serves up an interesting mileu along with an interesting cast of characters and even a bit of space warfare along the way, in addition to some interesting thoughts about language and poetry.

Overall: many steps above the usual space adventure novel. If you are looking for some action and some ideas to contemplate, this is one for you.

The Rubaiyat: Quatrain IV

Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Where the White Hand of Moses on the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.


This was the version as it appeared in the first edition, and FitzGerald kept it the same throughout the following four editions.

Quatrain IV appears to introduce a shift from the first three quatrains which occur at dawn to a season of the year. In Persia, the New Year begins with the vernal equinox, which we call the first day of spring. The "White Hand of Moses" and "Jesus from Ground" are spring flowers, according to what I've been able to find out. In Exodus iv, 6, Moses' hand is turned white as if leprous and then healed. This would suggest that Moses could perform miracles of healing. It was also believed that even Jesus' breath could cure the sick and ailing.

Spring is the season for rebirth, and those cured of illness or a disability could be said, in some sense, to be reborn. Spring, of course, is the season traditionally associated with renewal, with new beginnings, which could connect it to the previous quatrains which took place in the morning of a new day, which is also considered a time of beginnings. As the quatrain tells us, the New Year or Spring is the time for "reviving old desires." We have come full circle here, because it is "old desires" that are being revived and not the emergence of new ones.


The second line puzzles me though; it almost hints that this may not be an unqualified blessing--

"The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires".

Could this rebirth or renewal be something to flee? I am reminded of a haiku by Issa that also seems to suggest an idea that is contrary to the usual portrayal of spring, the time of new beginnings and hope:


Spring begins again;
Upon folly,
Folly returns.
- Issa -


On the other hand, it might also be telling us that the beginning of the New Year is the time for reflecting back upon the past year, upon our successes and failures: What went right--and why? What went wrong--and why? In this context, Issa seems to be rather pessimistic about the possibilities of improvement.

This quatrain suggests the cyclic nature of the world; the wheel has turned. It is time for rebirth and renewal, but some of those "old desires," as Issa tells us, may be folly; therefore, a thoughtful soul will draw back and consider past successes and follies, as a guide for the future.

Thomas H. Cook: Breakheart Hill

Thomas H. Cook's Breakheart Hill was recommended to me by a friend. This is the first one by him that I've read, and frankly, I probably wouldn't have read it without a recommendation. It's not that I have heard anything about him that would discourage me, but there are so many writers out there that he would most likely have gotten lost in the crowd, without being pointed out to me.

Therefore, when I opened the book, I had no idea of what to expect and was grabbed immediately by the very first sentence. The novel begins, "This is the darkest story that I ever heard." I was instantly reminded of one of my favorite novels, Ford Madox Ford's The Good Soldier, which begins "This is the saddest story I have ever heard." Coincidence? And, as I read the novel, I couldn't help but wonder if Cook had read Ford's novel.

Both novels are first person narratives in which the narrator looks back on his life and on the lives of those around him. Both narrators tell the story not in a chronologically coherent manner but wander back and forth, from the present to the past and then to the present again, and somehow at the end do manage to get the story told. Both writers employ the first person narrative to give the work a claustrophobic air by suggesting that there is so much more to be told, but the reader is trapped inside the head of a narrator who either doesn't understand what is going on until it is all over (Ford's novel) or chooses not to tell all he knows (Cook's novel). In addition, both novels focus on the actions of a small group of people and the way each affects the others in the group.

While there are structural similarities between the two novels, they are still quite different. Cook may have been influenced by Ford when he decided on the narrative structure and the opening sentence, but this is where the similarity ends. Dowell, Ford's narrator, knows nothing of what is going on around him. The relationships of his wife, and their best friends, the Ashburnhams, and the transient members of their little group, escape him completely. Consequently, he is unable to see the impending tragedy until he is confronted by it. On the other hand, Ben, Cook's narrator, frequently tells the reader that he alone knows the full story, and that he has spent the past 30 years making sure it never gets out, at least by him, anyway. The reader can only wonder why, and speculate.

Breakheart Hill is aptly named. It is the story of the events leading up to and resulting from a murderous attack on a teen-aged girl which took place on the appropriately named Breakheart Hill, just outside of the small town of Choctaw, Alabama. It is this event that has haunted the narrator and his friends for the past thirty years, and it is clear that her life wasn't the only one that was ultimately destroyed, or damaged in some way. At the end, I could only wish that she hadn't submitted that poem, or that Ben had not agreed to become the editor of the school paper, for it is a story about small and seemingly insignificant events and their unintended and unimagined consequences.

I'm not giving anything away when I say that the central question throughout the work is the narrator's involvement in the crime. It is, to me, the most significant element of the novel. This question arises in the first chapter:


"And yet there are times when I do hear certain things very distinctly: her body plunging through the undergrowth..."

"From time to time, though rarely, I actually hear her voice. It is faint, but persistent. Sometimes it comes in the form of a question: Why are you doing this to me?"


Elsewhere, he says that he can see her eyes raised to him in confusion and bewilderment.

And, it is clear that others, including Luke, his best friend of 30+ years, look at him suspiciously. Or, is that only his guilty conscience at work?

Throughout the work, I considered three possibilities: 1) he is guilty; 2) he is indirectly responsible; or 3) he has deluded himself into blaming himself for it. Cook skillfully encourages this by Ben's numerous, ambiguous reflections on past events that could support all three possibilities, and probably a fourth that I didn't see.

Breakheart Hill is not an action-oriented, page-turner. It moves deliberately, as the narrator slowly unveils the events that inexorably lead up to Breakheart Hill. It is not to be read in small portions--a page or two hastily in a few spare moments--but in large chunks, free from distractions.

Overall Rating: Highly recommended.

Combination Plate: Books and Films

BOOKS:

Batya Gur (1947-2005): The Saturday Morning Murder, the first in her short series (six novels) of police procedurals set in Jerusalem, featuring Chief Inspector Michael Ohayon of the Jerusalem police force. I was hooked by the first novel and got all that followed, without even bothering to skim through them.

Her strong points are

1. the interesting characters who populate her works, from the police squad members to the suspects, including of course the various victims;

2. the specific environment for each crime, which ranged from a psychiatric training institute (The Saturday Morning Murder) to an university literature department ( A Literary Murder) to a kibbutz (Murder on a Kibbutz);

3. and the locale, Jerusalem and the Middle East, which poses special problems for the police who attempt to do their job in a country that seems to be permanently on a war-time status.

This "Psychoanalytic Case" bears on the murder of a senior member of a psychiatric training institute who is revered, almost worshipped by her colleagues and student. She was found in the institute hours before she was to give a lecture on ethical problems encountered in analytic treatment. No copies of the lecture can be found, nor can any notes be located. Is there a connection between her murder and the nature of the lecture?

Overall Rating: A+

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

C. J. Cherryh: Foreigner. A starship encounters navigational problems. Lost, various members of the human crew are forced to settle on a planet that already has a sentient population, the atevi. The humans, although technologically superior, are outnumbered and must enter into a precarious working relationship with one of the associations of the atevi.

The treaty gives the humans the right to occupy an island without interference from the atevi. In return, the humans will gradually turn over to the atevi their technology and scientific knowledge. All humans are required to remain on the island, except for one who will live with the atevi and function as a paidhi or mediator/interpreter between the atevi and the humans.

The paidhi's task is to explain the atevi to the humans and the humans to the atevi. Among numerous differences between the two races is the inability of the atevi to understand the human concept of liking or regard for another individual and also the importance humans place on boundaries. The atevi have no word to express love and have 14 words to express the concept of betrayal The atevi are motivated primarily through individual loyalties, almost feudal
in nature.

Moreover, assassination is an accepted and legal course of action in atevi society, as long as one files a permit and registers with the appropriate governmental agency one's intent to assassinate a specific individual. The story begins with an assassination attempt directed against Bren, the present paidhi.

The novel is action-oriented, but at the same time we spend much time inside Bren's head as he attempts to work his way through the labyrinth of the atevi society.

Overall Rating: A

==================================================================

FILMS:

The 7 Faces of Dr. Lao (1964): this film is based on the novel by Charles G. Finney, The Circus of Dr. Lao. I haven't read the story, so I can't comment on the faithfulness of the film to the novel.

Briefly, Dr. Lao is a Chinese magician and brings a circus to this small western town, probably late 19th or early 20th century, from the look of the few autos present. The circus has six attractions, all of whom are played by Tony Randall, who also plays Dr. Lao. The film was nominated for an Oscar for special effects, and William Tuttle was given an honorary award for his work on Tony Randall's makeup.

There is a villain, of course, and a romance, naturally, which involves a properly reluctant widow and the crusading editor of the town's newspaper. Thanks to the efforts of Dr. Lao (and the other six circus attractions), all ends well. The film's strong point is Tony Randall's efforts at portraying, among others, the Abominable Snowman, two magicians (both Dr. Lao and Merlin), a fortune teller, and Pan.

Overall Rating: B, lots of fun, definitely a feelgood film.
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Lethal Weapon IV: this is the fourth in the series starring Mel Gibson and Danny Glover. I thought the first film was excellent, primarily because of the buddy relationship between the characters played by Gibson and Glover. But, as happens so frequently, the sequels proved to be less interesting as the numbers increase.

I couldn't finish this one as those inconsequential elements--plot, interesting characters, and dialogue--were ignored or downplayed in order to get more chase scenes, explosions, gun battles, and fights on the screen.

Overall Rating: D

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Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (aka Indiana Jones IV) I did manage to finish this one. However, my reaction to this was similar to my response to Lethal Weapon IV,
all action and minimal plot, etc.

Overall Rating: C-

Kim Stanley Robinson: The Martians

I just finished Kim Stanley Robinson's collection of short stories, The Martians. It consists of numerous short works, all related to his great trilogy, "RGB Mars." A number of the stories give us more information about the relationships among the various characters. For example, one is about the relationship between Maya and Coyote. Another tells of Coyote's search for Hiroko.

Some are whimsical tales about the red nanopeople--the real Martians. Those, also, obviously never were included. Others consist of short exploratory trips and hikes on Mars. One is clearly a mythic tale, a sort of Martian Paul Bunyan.

Another is an alternate beginning to the series, in which Michel recommends against sending a large ship with the 100 to begin a colony. Instead, he suggests trips in which fewer people go and colonization takes place over decades. His recommendation is accepted, and consequently the events of the first book never "take place." The history of the eventual colonization or settlement of Mars, therefore, is very different.

The longest story is "Green Mars," a tale about climbing Olympus Mons, which I think is considered to be the tallest mountain in the solar system. KSR must be a mountain climber, because the details of that climb are so realistic.

One could read the stories without having read "RGB Mars," but it adds a lot if one has read them.

I wonder if Robinson has visited the Red Rocks area and Arches National Park of southeastern Utah. That country, some of the most beautiful and striking scenery as anything I have found in the US, is the closest that I have seen to Robinson's description of the Martian landscape.


Highly recommended for those like me who are fascinated by and want more of

1. KSR's depiction of the colonization and settlement of Mars,
2. the Martian landscape, and
3. Mars' effects on the people
---a. who went there,
---b. who were born there, and
---c. who came afterwards.

Science Fiction: What if...? or If this goes on...

Many years ago, in an intro to an SF book, the author suggested that there were two broad types or categories of SF. One asked "What if...?" and the other suggested that "If this goes on..."
I remember neither the book nor the author, but this idea has remained with me for a long time. It's a bit simplistic, but it is an interesting way to think about any particular story. And, it also provides a way begin to think about a story if, for some reason, one can't grab on to anything particular about it.

The "What if...?" story posits something unusual happening and then speculates on the meaning or consequences of that event. For example, "What if an alien spaceship should suddenly appear in the skies?" What would be the consequences of that occurrence? The answers to that question are many and varied, as numerous SF writers have demonstrated. Some writers would postulate that this was a hostile act with dire consequences for humanity, as HG Wells did in The War of the Worlds or as Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle also suggested in Footfall, or as numerous other authors and film directors have done.

Other writers would suggest a different outcome, as did Harry Bates in his short story "Farewell to the Master" which became one of the best SF films ever made--The Day the Earth Stood Still. The aliens came, not to destroy humanity, but to warn them that its warlike behavior would lead to its destruction. In Arthur C. Clarke's Childhood's End, the aliens appeared because they were to act as the guides or mentors for the human race as it evolved into a higher level of being.

Other stories ask "What if..." about the discovery of faster-than-light travel or controllable extra-sensory powers or the collision between earth and a large meteorite or immortality or the destruction of the sun. Stories that are listed as alternative world tales are all in the "What if" category. What if the Germans and Japanese won WWII. Philip K. Dick's The Man in the High Castle is just one story that plays with that idea. I'm sure any SF reader could come up with numerous titles of stories that answer any of those questions, or questions that I haven't mentioned.

The other category, "If this goes on...," takes a different strategy. The author looks at something going on in society or the culture at that time and speculates about the consequences of this trend continuing and even strengthening over time. Fred Pohl and Cyril Kornbluth collaborated on several novels that would fit into this category. Their Space Merchants developed the idea of advertising agencies eventually becoming so powerful that they became the de facto government.

Over-population is another trend. Numerous authors have speculated on the consequences that might result if the human race continued to reproduce and spread over the entire planet. Harry Harrison's Make Room, Make Room is just one example of this. During the latter part of the 20th century, there was considerable discussion about multi-use buildings. Instead of developing building that were solely for residential use or business/commercial use, there was talk about buildings in which people could live and work and shop, and consequently seldom have to leave. Both Robert Silverberg in The World Inside and Isaac Asimov's Caves of Steel play with this concept.

However, a story that is placed in one category doesn't always have to remain in that category. A story written in the 1950s or earlier about a problem on a space station or during a trip to the moon would be science fiction, whereas today it would be considered an action oriented tale and probably not even shelved in the SF section.

Beginning in the 1940s, Isaac Asimov wrote a number of SF stories about robots. At that time, I would have placed them in the "What if.." group. However, now, in the 21st century, I would be very likely to place them in the "If this goes on..." category.

I wonder now about stories that are about longevity for humans--"If this goes on...?" Perhaps. But immortality tales would still belong to the "What if..? category. Right? Along with F-T-L drives or hyperdrives or warp drives or ESP powers and alien contact stories--benign or otherwise.

Akira Kurosawa: East and West

It was Kipling who wrote:

OH, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet.


I don't know what Kipling would think today if he saw the many Japanese and Korean cars parked in driveways and parking lots in Western countries, or what he would make of Chinese, Japanese, and Korean singers, violinists, pianists on the concert circuit playing those exotic "Eastern" composers--Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms. Perhaps he might think differently today.

One of the most fruitful and interesting "meeting places" is in the work of Akira Kurosawa, one of the greatest of Japanese film directors, and arguably one of the twentieth century' s great film directors, regardless of race or nationality.

I don't claim to be an expert on Kurosawa, and what I know about him comes from viewing many of his films, the bonus features on the DVDs, and the Wikipedia page about him. But, even a cursory glance at material about him reveals the West's influence on him and his influence on the West.

For example, at least four films directed by Kurosawa are directly or indirectly inspired by Western texts. There are others, no doubt, but these are the ones that I've been able to identify.

Ikiru, Kurosawa has been quoted as saying, was inspired by Tolstoy's novella "Death of Ivan Illych." Both the story and the film concern a man who realizes he is dying, without ever really having lived. Illych is able to accept only near the end that his life has been empty and wasted; the novella therefore focuses on his struggle to achieve a true picture of his life. Kanji Watanabe, on the other hand, comes to the same conclusion about his own life much earlier, and the film explores the various ways he attempts to make his life mean something at the end.

Kurosawa's film The Idiot is a faithful adaptation of Dostoyevsky's novel The Idiot, in which he changes the setting from 19th century St. Petersburg, Russia, to post WWII Hokkaido. The subplots in the novel have been dropped, and the film centers on the interrelationship among the Japanese counterparts of Myshkin, Rogozhin, Nastasya, and Aglaya. Kurosawa's winter scenes are a clear reminder of Russian winters.

Ran tells the story of a warlord who tires of the responsibilities of rule and divides his territory among his three sons. He, however, retains or attempts to retain, the privileges and benefits of power without actually possessing it. The plot is based partially on actual events from Japanese history and, of course, Shakespeare's King Lear.

Throne of Blood opens with two men returning from a great victory over their king's enemy. They meet three "weird sisters" who foretell that one of them will be greatly honored and rewarded by the king and eventually will become king himself. The film is a faithful adaptation of Shakespeare's Macbeth, including the forest that comes to the castle.


However, the influence or inspiration has not been entirely in one direction. Kurosawa's films have influenced a number of Hollywood directors.

For example, The Seven Samurai is a film about a small village, repeatedly attacked by bandits, that decides to take action and hires seven samurai for defense. John Sturges moves the setting from Japan to Mexico and casts Yul Brynner as the leader of a group of seven gunfighters in The Magnificent Seven. It is interesting to view the two back-to-back and see what Sturges kept and what he dropped. What is also intriguing is that Kurosawa has said that this film was inspired by US westerns--perhaps a full circle here.

Another of Kurosawa's films that made it to Hollywood is Rashomon, the story of the death of a samurai as seen by three people: his wife, a bandit, and the samurai himself (as revealed by a shaman who went to the underworld to get the husband's version). Director Martin Ritt also moved the setting from Japan to Mexico and cast Paul Newman as the bandit, Claire Bloom as the wife, and Laurence Harvey as the husband. The film, The Outrage, did not gain the same recognition as The Magnificent Seven. It will finally be released on DVD next month, and while I haven't seen it yet, the list of characters does show some resemblance to the cast list of Rashomon.

George Lucas has been quoted as saying that one of the sources of inspiration for Star Wars was Kurosawa's The Hidden Fortress. In Kurosawa's film, a young woman is trapped within enemy territory and must make her way back to her homeland in order to rally the people to resist the coming invasion. Accompanying her are a wise old general and two mostly cowardly and greedy country bumpkins, included apparently for comedic relief. If we add two young men to this group, we have Ben Obi-Wan Kenobe (the wise old general), Hans Solo, Luke Skywalker, Princess Leia (the perky princess) , and R2D2 and C3PO as the two country bumpkins.


My last example seems to be one that is best described as a full circle. Dashiell Hammet's Red Harvest is a 1920's novel about a nameless private eye who is hired to save a small town that is being destroyed by two gangs of bootleggers, struggling to gain complete control. Kurosawa's Yojimbo is the story about a wandering samurai who enters a town that is being torn apart by two gangs in their struggle to eliminate each other. Sergio Leone transported the setting from Japan to (where else?) Mexico where the sword-wielding samurai is replaced by Clint Eastwood with a short cigar, a serape, and a six-shooter. In 1996, director Walter Hill decided the world was ready for yet another version, and the result is Last Man Standing, starring Bruce (these guns never go empty) Willis. Both Leone and Hill kept the plot very close to Kurosawa's, but both, especially Hill, focused more on the violence and less on character development.

One last point that I would like to make is that these are all excellent stories which, no doubt, is why Kurosawa borrowed them from the West and why Western film makers adapted his films. I would recommend that those who are interested should read the stories and see the films, both Kurosawa's efforts and the Western adaptations and the various sources.

I suspect there are numerous others that reflect a Western influence on Kurosawa and his influence on Western film makers. But the ones I've discussed give some idea of the interrelationship that existed even half a century ago and is probably even more true today.

Sleuth: a puzzling title

Sleuth, as I stated above, is a puzzling title for this film. I was expecting a murder mystery or at least some sort of detective story, but that's definitely not what I got. Perhaps the viewer is supposed to be the sleuth. This is, essentially, a two-person play with Michael Caine playing the role of Andrew Wyke, an aging novelist, and Jude Law as Milo Tindle, the man who is having an affair with Wyke's wife. Tindle has come down from London to persuade Wyke to give his wife a divorce, but things don't go exactly the way Tindle expected.

Wyke has a proposition for Tindle: Tindle is to break into Wyke's house and steal some very expensive pieces of jewlery and then take off with Wyke's wife and the jewelry. Wyke insists he doesn't want his wife back, so Tindle is welcome to her. Both will benefit from Wyke's proposition: Tindle gets the woman and the jewelry, and Wyke is free of his wife and gets the insurance money for the "stolen" jewels.

I'm not going to say what happens after this because that would spoil all the fun. The interaction between the two turns into a psychological game of oneupmanship, in which the viewers, as well as the characters, are uncertain as to what is really taking place. Psychological control of the situation switches back-and-forth between the two men, until eventually, the viewers, at least this viewer anyway, no longer can distinguish between when the two are game-playing and when they aren't.

One of the problems I had was with the setting. The country house was unlike any country house I have seen. The exterior was typical for the English countryside, but the interior was stark and bare--mostly glass, metal, bare walls, open spaces, and high ceilings. It was also very hi-tech with CCTV, covering both the inside and outside of the house. Electronic controls were very prevalent. I found this distracting and lost track of the story as I spent more time looking at the setting than paying attention to the dialogue.

This film was made in 2007. It stars Michael Caine and Jude Law. The director is Kenneth Branagh, and the screenwriter is Harold Pinter, whose minimalist characteristics were evident in both the dialogue and the setting. The film is based on a play written by Anthony Shaffer.

There's one other point I should make about Sleuth. This is a remake of an earlier production which came out in 1972. The cast at that time included Lawrence Olivier as Andrew Wyke and Michael Caine as Milo Tindle. The 1972 version also included several others in the cast, so the 2007 version is a pared down version and definitely influenced by Pinter, I should say.

So, in 1972 we see Lawrence Olivier as Andrew Wyke, the aging novelist, and a younger Michael Caine as Milo Tindle. In 2007, we get an older Michael Caine as Wyke, the aging novelist, and Jude Law in the role of the younger man who steals Caine's wife. In 2042, will we see Jude Law as the aging novelist and ??? as Milo Tindle.

Unfortunately, I haven't been able to see the 1972 version as it is not yet available on Netflix or at the public library. Perhaps it's time for a visit to one of the local rental places.

J. R. R. Tolkien: 1892-1973

J. R. R. Tolkien was born on January 3, 1892 and died September 2, 1973.

He wrote The Silmarillion, The Hobbit, and The Lord of the Rings.

He restored fantasy to the adult world with several scholarly essays.

'nuf said.

Isaac Asimov: 1920-1992

Isaac Asimov was born on Jan. 2, 1920 in Petrovichi, Russia, and died on April 6, 1992. In his 72 years, he wrote or edited over 500 books. In the Wikipedia entry about him, it was stated that his works were included in 9 of the 10 major categories of the Dewey Decimal System, the one exception being the category for Philosophy/Psychology.

I no longer remember the first SF story I ever read, but it most likely was a short story, and very well could have been one by Asimov.

My favorite works are "The Foundation Trilogy" and the Lije Baley/R. Daneel SF detective novels, Caves of Steel and The Naked Sun. I thought the third one, The Robots of Dawn, written twenty-five years later, was considerably weaker than the first two. This was written when Asimov attempted to unify his two major series, the robotless "Foundation" universe and his numerous robot stories.

I doubt if it will surprise anyone familiar with Asimov to find that my favorite Asimov short story is "Nightfall."

Of the many works that he edited, my favorite would have to be Isaac Asimov Presents: the Great SF Stories. This twenty-five volume work, edited by Asimov and Martin H. Greenberg, is just one of many anthologies co-edited by them, but the best, in my estimation. The first volume begins with stories published in 1939 and ends with Vol. 25, the stories of 1963. I managed to get the complete set and find it invaluable when searching for SF stories during that quarter century. Asimov and Greenberg may have missed some great stories, but only a few, I suspect.

I think he can justifiably be called one of the Founders of Modern Science Fiction.

GREETINGS

HAPPY NEW YEAR


ONE AND ALL!


MAY 2009 BRING YOU MORE PEACE AND CONTENTMENT THAN 2008.

Sinclair Lewis--ARROWSMITH

I had read Sinclair Lewis' Babbitt and Main Street, so I fully expected him to sharpen up his pen and go after the medical profession in this novel. I wasn't disappointed. It is a pointed and painful depiction of the medical field, ranging from small town practitioners to large urban medical facilities to research organizations. The various characters that Martin Arrowsmith meets verge on the Dickensian at times.

Lewis was also prophetic in that the large research institution he depicted has become the norm for today. Most research now comes from large, well-funded institutions, such as universities and drug companies, because the costs of the necessary equipment and supplies have become too expensive in many cases for any but a very wealthy individual.

I had two problems with the novel, something I hadn't encountered in Lewis' other works that I read. One was Martin Arrowsmith, the protagonist, whom we follow over the course of several decades as he attempts to make his way through the world of Sinclair Lewis. There is a saying that goes something like this: "Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me!"

Well, Arrowsmith doesn't get fooled just once or twice but at least four times and possibly five. He just doesn't learn. At the end, he ends up probably where he should have been all along, but it isn't because of some blinding insight on his part. It is the only course left for him, as he's tried and failed at everything else.

Part of his problem was the structure of the novel--which is the second problem I came across. It is highly repetitive. The pattern begins when Arrowsmith moves into a new situation. He is ecstatic; this is Edenic. He admires the people with whom he will be working and intends to model himself after them. After six months or so, he is disillusioned. He intensely dislikes those around him, many of whom he has no respect for any more, and they resent him as much, if not more. He alienates important people, and the only question is whether he will move on before he gets terminated.

He luckily finds a better position in which he is once again highly impressed by the quality of the people and the environment. Then, six months or a year later, he once more finds himself at odds with others around him, and eventually he moves on.

This pattern appears at least four times throughout the novel, and I lost interest in the novel because of this predictability. Ultimately, Arrowsmith comes across as a puppet who marches through various scenarios as his Master pulls the highly visible strings. This is not a novel about the trials and tribulations of Martin Arrowsmith, but an exposure of a particular environment, the medical field in this case.

I would recommend it for Lewis' perspective on the medical field of his day, for both the situations and the various characters. It is as sardonic as his view of the middle class and small town Americans.

GREETINGS

PEACE ON EARTH


GOOD WILL TO ALL

The Rubaiyat: Quatrain III

Quatrain III, from the First Version:

And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted--"Open then the Door!
You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more."

FitzGerald was obviously satisfied with this quatrain, or at least he couldn't come up with a version he liked better, for this one remained unrevised throughout all five versions.

I think the most interesting point to be made is the shift of the speaker from inside the Tavern/Temple to outside. Whereas in Quatrain II, the speaker was inside exhorting those outside to come, here we see the speaker to be among those waiting outside and demanding to be let in. The speakers, however, in both quatrains, inside and outside, concentrate on the issue of time passing.

There appears to be a difference of opinion as to why the worshipers remain outside. Those inside wonder at the delay of those outside, but those outside argue that the door is closed. It's almost as if something appears to be blocking the entrance, but that the inside speaker does not see it. Perhaps a later quatrain will explain.


The speaker in QIII also added further reason for hurry:

"You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more."

Life is short and there's no second chance. This appears to be an expression of the philosophy of carpe diem, or "seize the day, sometimes expressed as "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die."

One of my favorite examples is found in Andrew Marvel's "To His Coy Mistress," when the speaker tells his coy mistress that she deserves a long courtship--

But at my back I always hear
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song:
...

The grave's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.


A bit of trivia: Peter Beagle wrote a fine short story about two ghosts who fall in love in a graveyard; the title is, of course, "A Fine and Private Place."

Ford Madox Ford: December 17, 1873 – June 26, 1939

Born on this day in 1873 is one of my favorite novelists, Ford Madox Ford. His novel The Good Soldier is permanently installed in my top ten favorite novels list. His WWI tetralogy Parades End is one that I have read several times and will continue to reread regularly.

His importance or effect on English literature is not limited to the works he himself wrote. The following is a quote from the Wikipedia entry:

"In 1908, he founded The English Review, in which he published Thomas Hardy, H. G. Wells, Joseph Conrad, Henry James, John Galsworthy, and William Butler Yeats, and gave debuts to Wyndham Lewis, D. H. Lawrence, and Norman Douglas. In the 1920s, he founded The Transatlantic Review, a journal with great influence on modern literature. Staying with the artistic community in the Latin Quarter of Paris, France, he made friends with James Joyce, Ernest Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, Ezra Pound, and Jean Rhys, all of whom he would publish (Ford is the model for the character Braddocks in Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises). In a later sojourn in the United States, he was involved with Allen Tate, Caroline Gordon, Katherine Porter and Robert Lowell (who was then a student). Despite his deep Victorian roots, Ford was always a champion of new literature and literary experimentation."

His collaboration with Joseph Conrad produced two novels, Inheritance, a novel about aliens from another dimension who are gradually taking control of England, and Romance, a swashbuckling novel set mostly in the Caribbean and features pirates, buried treasure, damsels in distress, and last minute rescues. Apparently it was made into a film in 1927 under the title of The Road to Romance, starring Ramon Navarro. Ford and Conrad also collaborated on a shorter work, The Nature of a Crime, a work I believe neither could have written alone. In fact, Conrad later denied having even heard of the work and was convinced of his part in it only when Ford showed him drafts in Conrad's handwriting.

If you haven't read it yet, I would strongly recommend reading at least Ford's The Good Soldier. I would also recommend Parades End and various works by Conrad, including their collaborations.