1 Nephi, 2 Nephi, Jacob: The Ongoing Issue of Grace & Works

Eden's purpose is part of the struggle.

1 Nephi 14-22: Grace & Works

The Book of Nephi begins a series of arguments over hell and grace and punishment that continues throughout The Book of Mormon. The issue was common in the nineteenth century but its history is far older. 

Two fundamental problems underscore much religious discourse. 

1. The problem of grace versus works—that is, the problem of a deity's mercy versus human merit.
2. The problem of an elect or elite, those who are supposedly entitled to God’s mercy and intervention.

Problem 1

In James’s statement, “Faith without works is dead” the word “works” is based on a Greek word, ergon, which refers to “energy.” The word is connected to the business of agriculture and trade—that is, it is connected to multiple roles that people may take in a community. (See this site here.)

That is, faith without energy is meaningless because faith without energy means a person is dead.

We wake up in the morning. We get out of bed, feed the cats, carry out tasks, open mail. Everything is something we do as living people. And during all of that, we ponder stuff, which arguably is also an action in which neurons leap the boundaries between synapses. Faith is, in fact, ongoing agency, a position that The Book of Mormo commits to doctrinally (see 2 Nephi 2:26).

However, once the Protestant Reformation was in full force, “works” no longer meant “the decisions I make everyday about my life” or, even, “charity” (which is the context for James). It meant what John McWhorter references when he talks about “performances” by so-called protesters. Since they aren’t protesting anybody who dares to disagree with them—and the so-called authorities applaud them (and sometimes feed them)—and their protests rarely, if ever, end with a sacrifice of privilege (few higher educators are giving up actual offices or jobs), much less the adoption of a differing lifestyle—they are, in essence, showing off.

That is, “works” as defined by Martin Luther et al. became actions that by themselves don’t appear to have a moral component but have been turned into a moral necessity: good people jump through these hoops; use these phrases; perform these routines; make these mea culpas.

The issue becomes complicated because not all rituals are meant to be works. Sometimes, they are meant to be reminders of faith or inductions into cultural belonging. A signal of commitment. 

And Protestants rapidly split into those who despised all rituals, including any custom that took place in any church or within any religious group, and those who said, “Uh, you folks are kind of throwing out everything at once.” (Forensic anthropologists are not very happy with Protestant zealots in England who threw out Anglo-Saxon saints’ bones that can now not be tested.)

See the posts Why Choosing the Supposedly Correct Side is Difficult.

To nineteenth-century American readers, “works”—on the one hand—smacked of Catholicism, the corrupt Old World, and stuff like worshiping saints. On the other hand, early Protestantism almost immediately created its own sets of “works.” Good religious people embrace the following lifestyle and use the following language and support the following celebrities/political causes…

And the truth is, every culture, by the nature of being composed of non-dead and human people, is going to have “performances,” stuff that people do because that’s part of being a member of a community. (We even create “performances” in our personal lives/routines.) If we decide that only “meaningful” actions should be carried out, we run the risk of ending up as humorless as, well, a bunch of Woke Puritans who burn Maypoles, close down theaters, get offended over single words and phrases, and lecture others on supposedly bad thoughts.

In opposition to “works” is the principle of grace. Saint Paul argues that we are saved by grace. Full stop. Not “after all we can do.” We are saved by grace. Propitiation is off the table. God doesn’t bargain. And humans aren’t meant to be grifters. Give it up.

Yet even Paul struggled with the reality of communal living and the irritation of people doing petty things like, say, suing each other. 

In sum, if one sets aside the "performance" side of works, the issue of grace v. works/action/energy still remains: Do humans earn God's attention? Or does God offer attention? Does God react based on merit? Or is merit human wishful thinking?

God is bigger than us and can do what He wishes, so we are saved. But sometimes people are jerks. And sometimes they walk away from God. And sometimes they think they have walked away but they haven’t. And sometimes they think they haven’t but they have. And how fair is it really for a jerk to be saved? (According to Jesus Christ and the parable of the workers, Entirely fair and so not your business.) And since we do get up every morning and do stuff, shouldn’t that stuff be moral? And if we claim to love God, shouldn’t there be a connection between that love and the moral stuff we do? 

Do we work our way towards the infinite by a checklist? Or by learning and growing? Or by being loved and accepted?

I consider Christianity one of the most fascinating religions on record simply because it hauls this problem to the surface and doesn’t fully answer it. The Book of Mormon and its translator, for instance, will return to the problem over and over again. Why not? The Book of Mormon’s initial readers were struggling with it as much as Paul’s audience and modern believers. 

To be continued... 

All the Ms: Marais to Marcom

Marais, Bianca: Hum If You Don’t Know the Words takes place in South Africa. The opening chapter engaged me. I don’t read much literature by South Africa authors so I’m dealing with a small sample size, but the books seem, by default, to deal with complex relationships and issues. Complexity comes with the territory, quite literally.   

Maranini, Dacia: The Silent Duchess starts out as a story about a deaf-mute girl. The description is most effective. It then turns into something from Law & Order: SUV, which means…it gets boring. 

March, Ava: “Bound to Him” is about two people (who already know each other) sleeping together: one fools the other a la Shakespeare’s All’s Well That Ends Well. I’m not sure I entirely believe it, no matter how much I like disguise tales. KJ Charles’s Seditious Affair is far more believable: a story where the men know each other but don’t know what each man does (one works for the government; the other is a radical pamphleteer) since they came together over sex and then literature, not politics. The reality is revealed early in the story. The “disguise” is less important than dealing WITH the disguise. 

Marcom, Micheline Aharonian: The Daydreaming Boy starts with a “we” passage. I’m not a fan. I’m aware that “we” is ubiquitous in academic literature. I think it is as bad as the non-attached “they,” a generalized pronoun that refers to everyone and no one. Who are these people? Who is that person? Stories are about individual people. I encounter a “we,” and I lose interest immediately. 

Characters Who Transform: The Disguise, Girls as Boys

One of the most classic characters archetypes is the girl disguised as a boy, and the one of the most classic examples is Violet in Twelfth Night. 

Before I continue: I am not tackling biological girls who wish to be biological boys. I am tackling a trope. 

The issue here is the disguise itself. I've argued in other places that there is something inherently satisfying about seeing a disguise ripped away, the true self or event disclosed. However, like the Beast's transformation to the prince, the disclosure brings with it other questions, such as, Was the disguise believable? Are we, the audience, happier with the "true" self or with the disguise? 

Unlike the transformation from beast to prince, the transformation of the boy back to a girl doesn't ask us to fall back in love with a completely different person in appearance. The second question isn't as much as stake as the first. 

To answer the questions, I watched two films based on Twelfth Night. Both are films where a girl pretends to be a boy, so she can get something she wants: play a sport--soccer--in one case; enter a journalism contest in the other. 

She's the Man

The movie works to a huge extent because of Amanda Bynes. She is hilarious.

It also helps that in the sport she wants to play, she ends up, initially, on the second string. She was the best on the women's team at her previous school. She has the hand-eye coordination and the kicking skills that Eve demonstrates in Last Man Standing. But she simply, in reality, doesn't have the stamina of a young Channing Tatum. 

She practices, acquires more skills, and moves up. It isn't entirely believable but somewhat more believable than her being, say, forward tackle.

The Malvolio character is one of the cleverest characters, being the overly rule-conscious dorm leader. He thinks he has figured out the switch--until Sebastian comes back from abroad and ends up a very confused player in place of his sister on the soccer field. 

Would Shakespeare have objected to the resulting nudity jokes?

Nope!

Just One of the Guys

Joyce Hyser as the Viola character makes a somewhat more realistic, if pretty, boy than Bynes--so much so that the scenes of Terry with Rick/Duke Orsino are somewhat more interesting than the scenes with Terry as upset girl. In fact, the end would have been far funnier, in the French farce sense, if Terry and Rick had let the prom attendees believe they were two guys making out. 

The plot less directly follows the play. It is also full to the brim with 1980s scatological teen and pop culture jokes, which--again--is totally appropriate to Shakespeare. The Malvolio character is a dull-witted bully who is vanquished at the end.

The movie plays more directly with gender roles but, as mentioned above, pulls back from being as funny as it could be.

Of the two, She's the Man is more satisfying as a full story: it showcases more Viola-having-to-change-in-a-flash opportunities plus everybody loving the wrong person shenanigans. And Viola does help win the soccer game at the end!

As for the question--is it believable?--in both cases, the premise becomes its own excuse. That is, in certain cases, I believe the audience simply accepts (or is expected to accept) that certain things work, like magic rules in fantasy being consistent and therefore believable. As long as the rules are kept, we, the audience accept the result. So...male and female twins entirely resemble each other and nobody will guess, until told, that a boy is actually a girl. 

I suggest that the suspension of belief (or disbelief) also works here because Shakespeare's play doesn't focus exclusively on the "mix-up" but on the people involved. 

A-Z Characters & Transformation: Jean Valjean

Jean Valjean is one of the best known transformed characters within literature. He became especially well-known within my generation...and not (necessarily) because we read the book. The main reason was the 10th Anniversary Concert.

The 10th Anniversary Concert fully deserves all the praise it gets--in fact, I prefer that type of "musical" to a full stage production. I also consider Colm Wilkinson one of the best Valjeans on record. 

In the book and in the concert, Jean Valjean, an escaped convict, steals from a bishop. The bishop not only forgives him but gives him the candlesticks that Valjean stole. After this event, Valjean is a changed man. He saves Fontine, saves Cosette, saves Marius. And his change is more than surface deep. He isn't doing good things on a checklist. He has become a certain type of man. 

This inner change is demonstrated, interestingly enough, when he refuses to abandon Marius in his confrontation with Javert. That is, he places his obligation to a fellow human above his obligation to Javert. In the book, he is somewhat more respectful but since he already let Javert go once, he has gained a kind of ascendancy with Javert that Javert, as the ending proves, does not understand.   

My question was: Could the man undergo such a change? 

I posed the same question with Scrooge. Valjean is infinitely more believable, in part because of the time frame. Valjean may not have changed all at once. He saves Cosette and spends a lifetime doing good--all leading up to the moment in the sewers with Javert. 

Still--he changes from one direction to another. 

In the musical, Valjean performs a soliloquy.  

What have I done? Sweet Jesus, what have I done?
Become a thief in the night, become a dog on the run
Have I fallen so far and is the hour so late
That nothing remains but the cry of my hate?
The cries in the dark that nobody hears
Here where I stand at the turning of the years

Great number! Nevertheless, I went to the book, at which point I became seriously impressed by the musical's writers. 

In the book, Valjean is stunned by the bishop's behavior. He wanders until he ends up in a lane where he encounters a young boy from whom he inadvertently takes a sous--he also scares the lad. When he realizes what he has done, he is swamped with remorse. He tries to find the boy but fails. He then goes and prayers at the bishop's door. 

The scene of inadvertently stealing the sous is remarkable because it is small event--nothing as large as Valjean's previous act of stealing a bishop's candlesticks. But it brings home to Valjean the type of person he has become and what he needs to do to change. 

In other words, his self-revelation echoes the lyrics. One can believe that this guy is fully aware of what it means to do better, not at a superficial level (I simply won't get caught the next time!) or a rule level (Let's see: how can I get God's blessings and how much can I get?) but at the human level (That boy didn't deserve to be scared.)

Shortly after the 10th anniversary special, every sermon at church seemed to make reference to Valjean, Valjean and the bishop, and so on. And honestly, the tribute is well-deserved and certainly preferable to people quoting from other people's sermons. Fiction can provide insight into the human condition.  

Problems of Utopias: An Inability to Understand Children

In Herland, Gilman criticizes "old games." At one point, the mentors ask Van if the old games in his culture "develop the faculties you wish to encourage."  Under the pressure of weighty expectations, despite his lack of actual experience and direct knowledge, Van tells the mentors--leaders of an elite group--what they want to hear: most children are bored by old games; one child always has to initiate play to get the duller children moving; in addition, "unoccupied children" commit "foolish, destructive, sometimes evil things."

No Calvin & Hobbes in Herland! 

But then, Gilman was far less observant about children than the Opies.

Sadly enough, Gilman's perspective shows up in other places. Writers of children's books will point out that children's literature--like sci-fi and fantasy--can be quite subversive: topics that adults despise or reject show up anyway, or they show up in ways that are acceptably "childish" and therefore squeak through. 

What these writers often either avoid or fail to acknowledge is how often children's literature is subversive across the board. It isn't only subversive of conservative values; it is subversive of progressive values as well. 

A non-political example illustrates this tendency. In The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell details how the show Blue's Clues was more likely to garner attention from kids (who rarely pay as much attention to TV as adults assume) than more sophisticated, message-laden, and funny (for adults) supposed kids' shows. What adults found boring (me included!) kids found watchable. 

Likewise, the Opies pointed out that what looks haphazard and unfocused, even boring, behavior to adults does not feel that way to kids at play. 

But Gilman wants something PRODUCTIVE! And she's not alone. Nearly all utopias want to "train" children to be PRODUCTIVE! Even if the utopia builders dismiss "for the good of the state," they still want the children to be heading somewhere for some reason that can, usually, be quantified. 

One of the weirdest games I ever saw was five year olds running from one side of the classroom to the other because they were fish or because it was daytime--I forget which. They thought it was hilarious.  

Kids and utopias really don't mix. 

Latest Publication: The Merman in Hiding

Merman in Hiding is now available on Amazon. 

Priest-detectives Rhys and Lider are currently on Earth. A family of Siphons or merpeople need them to locate a young man, Brae. The family believes Brae was kidnapped by another Siphon family to forcibly resolve a breach of promise suit.

As Rhys and Lider interrogate religious disciples, pharmaceutical representatives, and ex-lovers, they come to believe that Brae's disappearance encompasses something more  irrevocable than a broken heart. 

Rhys and Lider must discover Brae's whereabouts quickly since they are faced with an irrevocable choice of their own--and their future together.

Merman in Hiding is Book 3 in the Myths Endure on Mars Rhys & Lider Detective series. Anubis on Mars and Saint of Mars are available in one volume. The Wolf Boy Returns from Space is currently available as a single book.

The books follow a chronology. They do not have to be read in order.

I thank my brother Eugene here for his sci-fi suggestions. Any "good" science in these novellas (which are mostly story) is due to Eugene. Any dumb science is all on me. 

 

I also want to thank my brother Joe for discussing the philosophical and practical arguments that crop up in the final confrontation scenes at the end of the novella (think nutty psychologists in the early 20th century carrying out entirely unethical experiments). As with Eugene, any of the stronger arguments are due to Joe. Any "holes" in the arguments are mostly due to my characters (since certain characters would make certain kinds of arguments).     

A-Z Characters That Transform: The Unknowns

A few characters in literature remain unnamed: the narrator of Daphne Du Maurier's Rebecca; the narrator of The Turn of the Screw by Henry James. 

(There is also the marvelous narrator of Sarah Caudwell's books, Hilary Tamar--Hilary's gender is never provided. The excellent writing proves that gender can be disguised/avoided without confusing people unnecessarily and clumsily with plural pronouns.)   

Both these unknown narrators change/adapt/grow--which is not a given with first-person but is often likely. To a degree, first-person brings the reader into the narrator's mind, and if the mind doesn't change...

(Interestingly enough, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon, told entirely in first-person, is told by a character who changes incrementally but not substantially. He learns new things, so he undergoes external change. But his personality remains fairly static. When the book came out and was extremely popular, I read it, thought it was a decent read, and moved on. A friend of mine said, "By the time I finished, I wanted to be out of the boy's head." I admired the honesty, and I suspect that one reason first-person narration is USUALLY more about internal change is that readers expect it.) 

The narrator of Rebecca definitely undergoes a change--not in her personality but in her maturity. She is the stronger member of the couple, but she grows into her strength since she arrives on the manor young and inexperienced and diffident. The book is a believable tour de force. Although I thought Joan Fontaine was utterly wrong for Jane Eyre, I consider her perfect in Hitchcock's Rebecca.  

The narrator of the Turn of the Screw changes but the entire point of the book is that the change could be either external OR internal. Either she started out naive but sane and creepy events ganged up on her OR she started out slightly unbalanced and became fully nuts. 

In both cases, the writing delivers: both authors capture the show-not-tell force of the narrators' changes. That is, their writing skills communicates the change, not the first-person narrators saying, "Oh, yes, and then I changed."  

Detectives Need Jobs...But is P.I. Really the Best One?

I mention earlier on this blog that many amateur detectives double as priests, gardeners, writers...

The professional police detective, of course, shows up in dozens of police procedurals. 

As does the professional P.I. 

A great many shows in the 1980s used this approach--though the P.I. was often a kind of "fixer": Spenser for Hire; Remington Steele; Moonlighting; Simon & Simon; Riptide.  

By default, the P.I. would seem to make the most sense for a mystery show. Keep tripping over bodies? It's okay! The P.I. is supposed to be there!  

However, with the exception of Elementary and Monk--which are police procedurals with consulting detectives--the P.I. role seems somewhat more limited. A requirement of the genre is that an episode (or even book) end with an action-movie sequence. People crash into sheds and blow up buildings and deal with fires and fly helicopters to islands and race cars or, with some of the P.I. shows from the 1970s, have a fist fight. 

Oh, yawn. 

I have the same bored reaction to spy shows--in general. Sure, I find Scarecrow and Mrs. King amusing! But Scarecrow and Mrs. King, like Spy x Family, is part-spoof. 

Actually, a surprising number of the above listed P.I. shows are comedies. (The image is from Castle's splendid pastiche!) I wonder if the "now, it is time to throw punches and look angsty" stuff palls on writers. Sure, Humphrey Bogart is amazing--

But even The Maltese Falcon had its amusing moments.   

The Attraction of the Small: Thumbelina, Lilliputians, Gnomes and Borrowers

Thumbelina raises the question, What's the reason for the character's popularity? 

Thumbelina doesn't transform. There's no narrative arc. Just--lots of stuff happens to her...and she ends up okay. 

But I think human beings are enthralled by the small, going back to Gulliver's Lilliputians and before. The attraction lies in envisioning the small next to the large. 

Even more than fairies and the small, impish, and charming variation of elves (who are far less interesting than the tall, ticked-off, Tolkien variation), little people within human environments allow us to watch ordinary objects--spoons, soda bottle lids, rubber bands--being used for everyday use. 

It's the dollhouse under examination--and more enthralling, in many ways, than giants stomping all over stuff. The Lilliputians are the story within Gulliver's Travels that get remembered before the Brobdingnag. Gulliver amongst giants is basically a prisoner. Gulliver amongst the small transports us back into the world of adaptation. Look at how they make stuff work! 

Gnomes by Wil Hyugen is the same. The gnomes aren't prisoners. They are happy thriving members of a world that they use to their own ends. 

Competence! It's very attractive. 

My favorite examples are the Littles and the Borrowers. Competence and adaptation in both these series come to the fore.

A-Z Characters Who DON'T Transform: Thumbelina

My current A-Z lost tackles characters who transform, internally or externally. I have also tackled what doesn't constitute transformation. Although Alice in Wonderland undergoes a transformation in location and even to her person, the changes don't constitute a transformation in the sense that her life moves forward from a new perspective, through a new choice, or by a new set of expectations. 

Thumbelina falls into the same category. For one, it is an Hans Christian Andersen tale and has a tone/theme typical of Andersen, which means it barely escapes evoking a skin-crawling sensation: poor victimized Thumbelina who barely escapes being married to an ugly mole. Luckily, a beautiful soulful bird and then a prince come along.

The other similarity is that Thumbelina doesn't transform, not even like another of Andersen's characters, the Ugly Duckling. How Thumbelina is perceived changes. Her circumstances change. But everything is mostly chance or luck. 

Transformation, even external, is more organic. You here. Now you are here doesn't constitute transformation.

Problems with Utopias: The Best of Times

In a previous post, I comment on the chronocentric belief that only OUR time has bad stuff in it. A "Golden Age" existed right at some point just beyond society's ability at accurate recall (about 30 years earlier). 

The other side to this type of chronocentrism is the belief that nothing until none could have been any good. All life has led up to now and what WE know.  

Progress does exist. Medicine. Education. "Givens" regarding rights. The early years of the Common Era produced fresh ideas about the individual and God, ideas which filtered across cultures and greatly improved conditions for individuals. As Rodney Stark points out, the Dark Ages are only dark because of how little we know. In general, life got better when the Common Era hit.

The problem with "nothing has ever been as good as now" is that the "good" is so defined not as better medicine or cheaper provision but as "good ways of thinking." 

Utopias often come to rest on the good ways of thinking of...no surprise, the people who are advertising the utopia.  

In Mr. B Sues to Get His Wife Back, my satire of academic theorizing, the CLF (Committee for Literary Fairness) keep insisting that Pamela cannot disagree with their insistence that her marriage is a bad one. The CLF is armed with theories and labels and "correct" ways of dealing with the universe. Any disagreement must be the result of mental damage, not personality and choice. If she disagrees with us, it is because she was "got at."  

This smugness, weirdly enough, can be accompanied by tolerance of the past--but that tolerance falls short when it might be made real (so I had a student "allow" that Shakespeare was a product of his time--but not J.K. Rowling). 

Overall, the smug contempt sounds something like this: 

"Those primitive ancestors of ours didn't know any better when it comes to science and religion and the social order. We do. We are moving forward, beyond their silly thoughts and clearly shallow thinking based on our advanced theories and our talent for maintaining those advanced theories! We don't even have to refute those idiots of the past. We just have to roll our eyes over them like high schoolers at the prom. Har har har. Let us contemplate our magnificence!" 

Herland rests on the above thinking--to an extent. Gilman's perspective is rooted in nineteenth-century Progressivism/Victorianism. The mindset--we have progressed beyond our backwards ancestors--shows up in Victorianism before Darwin. (Evolution as progression wasn't his precise argument, but what people thought he was saying fit well with the ethos of the time.) It continued until two World Wars turned it into a nonsense. It is now back in a slightly different guise. 

This we're-so-much-more-thoughtful-and-cultured-and-insightful insistence shows up in every area of life (not just politically-focused social media, though it flourishes there). A few years ago, I encountered an article by a woman proclaiming how far she has risen above the backwards theological assumptions of her church: In this day and age, sin and guilt are such déclassé concepts! So tacky! I'm beyond all that!

Okay, was my thought. What do you have to offer?

What she had to offer were ponderings from her naval; big thoughts about the nature of the universe based on..."MYSELF." (I'm not kidding.)

Not exactly Thomas Aquinas.

Gilman goes down the road of the aforementioned me-myself-and-I writer. In fairness, Gilman argues that just as the current generation of Herland's citizens is building on the ancestresses' achievements, shall the next generation build on the current leaders' achievements. She acknowledges that their ideas (Gilman's ideas) might prove to be lacking--which is good, cause they were.

And she argues against infant damnation, which is a positive.

Unfortunately, she doesn't argue against infant damnation using logic, faith, or, simply, a better idea--as plenty of people did, including Joseph Smith. She argues against it by having Ellador break down in tears (again, I'm not kidding). 

In sum, Herland's religion has nothing to offer in the place of Presbyterianism, not even anything as witty as Twain's quote. It offers a kind of generalized "we're better" self-label, a kind of "in" group culture filled with rules, cultural appropriateness, and "good thoughts." It's entirely substanceless, in part because it rests on the premise that it doesn't have to justify itself. The quality of being advanced is supposedly enough.

The end result of such smug self-satisfaction (I'm upset about the right things! I curse the right things! I hate the right people! I cry at the right times! I embrace appropriately worthy people and ideas! I use the acceptable verbiage to do all this!) is a remarkable lack of critical thought. That is, the pretense or performance or presentation--Look at our wonderfulness!--is more important than thinking about...anything, really. 

My personal theory is that Utopians are actually hunting for safety. I'm not sure they are aware that under all of the boasts of advanced thinking and edgy ideas, they are in fact--

Intensely reactionary, the kind of reactionary that belongs in countries run by dictators and religious oligarchs. It is less about holding the course (conservatism) or respecting the individual (classical liberalism) and more about retreating to something almost entirely imaginary based on an almost entirely constructed imaginary past which an entirely contrived group of current people truly understands.

Take the current so-called "revolution" on gender. The end result is not a broadening of gender or understanding of human self-perception and sexuality but, rather, "girls must like pink stuff and dolls" while "boys must like trucks and sports." In the meantime, schools that push pronouns on little kids create psychological havoc. Kids are fully capable of liking multiple things at once. Being forced to parse dinosaurs, sports, and unicorns is, to them, weird. 

They are right. It is weird.

My generation asked questions like, "Is it okay for men to cry?" and "Hey, what about women astronauts?!" Simplistic maybe, but we were headed in the right direction. Expand, not retract. The current narrowing is more reminiscent of Victorianism than anything in the last fifty years. 

Gilman does the same. To be honest, I've never fully understood her take here, since she suffered post-partum depression after the birth of her daughter and wasn't really an Earth Mother type. Yet Herland is entirely devoted to a gender imperative. The purpose of women is Motherhood, and yes, the "m" is capitalized in the book. 

Perhaps Gilman felt guilty about her own lack of motherliness. She may have embraced the idea of Utah polygamy whereby a woman could go to college while other women watched her kids. Or perhaps Gilman wanted to make her utopia palatable to her audience. Or perhaps she truly embraced the idea of improving future generations: bringing up children should be done right. (Her daughter and she had a strained relationship, which isn't made more understandable by recent scholars wanting the daughter to have had a different attitude towards her "great" parent than she actually did or cared to have or thought about.)

To Gilman's credit, she pairs Motherhood with Fatherhood. 

But the labels (capitalized in the book) are where many utopias reveal their hands. However, revolutionary the catechism, utopias really like the idea that people have been properly pigeonholed.  

In reality, revolutions are often far less forward-thinking than they like to pretend: the "new/evolved" best ways of thinking are often...not terribly new at all. 

A-Z Characters & Transformation: Sam, Of Course

Sam from Tolkien's Lord of the Rings is another character who may not, on the surface, appear to transform. He remains steadfastly loyal and despite his momentary banishment in the movie, he never truly leaves Frodo's side. His personality remains steadfast, practical, virtuous, realistic--wonderful qualities that culminate in his decision to carry Frodo up part of Mount Doom. Some readers consider him the more heroic of the two since he never caves.

I don't agree since I think the burden Frodo carries is by necessity doomed to corrupt him. His heroism lies in choices made BEFORE the trek to Mount Doom, and in his remarkable endurance to keep stepping forward. He is the Fisher King. 

I also think that although the book culminates with Sam's decision at Mount Doom, his history--as written down by Tolkien--makes clear that Sam at the end is not the same Sam at the beginning. The journey did change him or, perhaps, crystallized those qualities that make him a capable and fair leader. He is voted as Mayor in the Shire up until he departs, in his elder years, for the Grey Havens. 

Sam is touched by grace in the same way as Frodo. Unlike with some of the other members of the Fellowship, he doesn't change direction or waffle over a decision or obviously gain experience--yet he comes out a hobbit who could not be anything but changed.  

Tolkien knew how to write heroism in everyday life.  

A-Z Characters Who Transform: Miller's Holmes

I'm reposting the below in connection with my A-Z Characters Who Transform list. 

* * * 

Generally, Sherlocks don't change. They arrive on the scene, practically sui generis, cocky, full of opinions, unrelenting, forces of nature. The genius who must, to a degree, be allowed-for. 

I don't mind (generally). But I will confess: I like Jonny Lee Miller's Holmes the best since he does, in fact, subtly transform--not to the extent that he changes personality. But to the extent necessary to adapt. 

It isn't really a contest. Although I still consider Jeremy Brett's Holmes to be definitive, I get a kick out of Benedict Cumberbatch's interpretation (though I mostly watch Sherlock for Martin Freeman).

But I actually like Jonny Lee Miller's Holmes.

In many ways, Miller's interpretation is closer to Brett's than Cumberbatch's. His Holmes is less austere than Brett's (although the drug issue is just as strongly referenced, more so than in Sherlock). More importantly, he exudes Brett's kindliness.

Visually, he isn't as tall as either Brett or Cumberbatch, being more compact (a build that I find enormously attractive). On paper, Sherlock Holmes is supposed to be tall and lanky, yet I rarely notice Miller's height either way, possibly because of how he carries himself--and also possibly because he is paired with the petite Lucy Liu.

Mostly, what I like about Miller's Holmes is his desire for functionality. Unlike the other Holmes and, for that matter, Simon Baker's Jane, Miller's Holmes seems salvageable. He appears to WANT to understand people, get along with people, function alongside people. He has all House's honesty without the need to batter people into submission. When he occasionally provides Watson with personal information, he lets the information stand; he doesn't rush immediately to protect himself (or attack others). 

It makes him a far more relatable Holmes--yet, I don't find the interpretation too sweet or cozy. Miller's Holmes is a real (brilliant) guy who might actually be more than just Mr. Supersmart Detective someday.

All this is helped by the fact that Miller's Holmes and Liu's Watson have just about the best sexual chemistry I've ever seen on a show (and I am including Bones and Booth). So much so--I can't help but wonder: How exactly are the writers going to keep them from falling into bed together, like, tomorrow? [Despite my doubts, I am impressed that they didn't have them fall in bed together.]

It's possible that the writers will employ the Scully-Mulder solution: ignore the possibility of romance until it becomes absolutely necessary. 

And I must say: Miller-Liu are the closest thing I've seen to Duchovny-Anderson in a very long time. The episodes focus on the functional aspect of their close relationship. Consequently, the episodes emphasize Holmes's need to be functional in order to accomplish his short-term ends (the case) and his long-term ends (to protect Watson and eventually her child). 

In order to be that functional, he needs to adapt--and he does!  

A-Z Characters & Transformation: Scrooge

Scrooge is one of the best-known transformative heroes! 

In truth, Scrooge is not entirely believable. Dickens does a fine job preparing readers for the final transformation. He establishes that Scrooge was a lonely boy who became a sensible if workaholic young man who had the chance to marry the love of his life. He was, once upon a time, a friendly, sweet-natured guy, who turned into a "scrooge" due to his own choices and the bitterness of life.

Okay. But the end does leave one pondering whether the bitterness of life can be wiped out in a single night. Where exactly does personality come from if not one's choices and the exigencies of life? Can a person utterly undo what has made him or her a certain way in one fell swoop?

The best approach is to indicate that the Scrooge is changing perspective, not personality. In Joanna Chambers "Humbug," the thirty-something Scrooge, Quin, is inherently obsessive. That is, his personality is such that no matter what he does, he has to go at it to the nth degree. He gets into the consulting game by accident but once he is there, of course, he's going to be the best consultant ever whose team is also the "best". He's on the fast-track to becoming a manager.

Problem: the gig isn't totally in line with his personality, so he becomes--as characters in the story repeatedly tell him--a "dick." He later tells Rob, the Bob Crachit character, "I think [this job] brings out the worst in me."  Instead of becoming the kind of leader whose team is the best because they admire him and feel appreciated, he becomes (is becoming) the kind of leader who wrings work out of people through unreasonable demands and sheer sarky irritation. He is acting in accordance with what he believes to be the "role" of manager--and he does it well, but it makes him absolutely unpleasant to be around. 

After his epiphany, he returns to his first plan to be a math teacher. And here is where Joanna Chambers really knocks the characterization out of the park: because of course, Quin has to be the BEST teacher. Only this time, what he wants and what he brings to the table are in line. He'll get in his students' faces ("They'll love you," Rob says, "because you're sarky"). He'll get in their parents' faces. He'll tick off the school board but still win. The aggressive energy that makes him unlikable in one field (that he doesn't feel at home in) will make him an excellent advocate in another.

Quin is a Scrooge whose tweaks to his life believably result in a much, much happier life in the long-run. 

Another good "Scrooge" who undergoes believable changes is Phil from Groundhog Day. 

Phil is unique because his changes are linked to a romantic attachment. Although the original Scrooge lost a great love--the scene earns a song in The Muppet Movie--few movie/television versions of the book reunite him with that great love. Likewise, The Grinch doesn't start dating at the end--not in the picture book or animated feature anyway. And although Russ from The Kid has a girlfriend/wife waiting in his future, his change is due to a visit from a "ghost of Christmas past," not the potential significant other.

Yet, the repentant hero in Groundhog Day does have a romantic attachment.

The difference lies in the character arc. Original Scrooge undergo an internal realignment. The internal change is shown through external images and events. With Groundhog Day, on the other hand, the change is about the main character learning to get along with other people. 

Original Scrooge alters internally and shows that internal alteration through his treatment of others. 

Phil learns how to change internally by how he treats others--including a life insurance salesman!--better day by (same) day.  

I think that both types of change/epiphany are possible. But Phil is possibly a little more believable. Rather than an about-face (which could undo itself at any moment), he progresses over time. 

Latest Publication: Hermes and the Hunt for Enkidu

Hermes and the Hunt for Enkidu is now available on Amazon. 

In an attached world controlled by gods, the head gods compete with the gods of agriculture over who should control the rules of death. Hermes works for both sets of gods. When Zeus and Hera order him to find members of a Wild Hunt, he must deliver a solution that satisfies all parties.

An opportunist with no particular moral code--he thinks--Hermes discovers a possible solution in Enkidu, wild man of Sumer. Enkidu would solve all Hermes's problems--except Enkidu is under the guardianship of a ruthless ex-god. Worse, Enkidu would upset Hermes's careful plans, including Hermes's beliefs about himself.  

Hermes and the Hunt for Enkidu is Book 3 of Myths Endure in Maine, a contemporary fantasy series set in a god-controlled world connected to Portland, Maine. The books follow a chronology. They do not have to be read in order.

The first two books--Kouros Underground and Cupid in Captivity--were republished along with Hermes and the Hunt for Enkidu. 

The Desire for Noble Criminals

In an episode of Decoy, Beverly Garland's character Patricia Casey has to bring a crime home to a small-time gangster. 

She convinces his subordinate to rag on him. Afterwards, she admits to the piano player that she didn't think her tactic would work; she didn't think the one man would give up the other. 

"Don't you know these guys are all out for themselves?" he says. 

The scene reminds me of Detective Sanchez in The Closer--his deep resentment of Italian mobsters being romanticized. Sanchez despises all gangs and that's what the mafia is: a gang. 

Detective Sanchez's assessments reminds me of research that suggests that offenders who work for gangsters don't make much more than minimum wage and that gangsters don't kill each other over complicated drug deals gone bad but, rather, over being "dissed." 

And yet American literature and film really loves the romantic image. I think the reason is not just the desire for a decent narrative. I think, referring back to the first example, humans prefer to believe that something noble or good or, at least, humane is going on: gangsters are loyal! 

Rather than gangsters being short-sighted, petty, shallow, and immature. 

What we want criminals to be says more about our moral compass than theirs.