Folklore: Alien Abductions

Bad Aliens

Today, April 26th, is Alien Day! 

Let's start with a time line:

1947: UFO sightings
1961: Betty & Barney Hill (first widely known alien abduction story)
1970s: People are abducted from cars and the countryside.
1980s: People are abducted from bedrooms; aliens implant devices; sexual experimentation becomes part of the stories.
1990s to now: Two conflicting narratives--benevolent aliens versus aliens who interact with humans preparatory to taking over the world

Explanations

Psychoanalytical explanations of alien abduction stories link alien abduction stories to the growth of post-traumatic stress incidents in the 1980's plus the increase in hypnotherapists and victim support groups, not to mention the whole false memory controversy!

Physical explanations link the stories to sleep paralysis. I've personally experienced sleep paralysis twice in my life (so far). Sleep paralysis occurs when the brain wakes up but the body doesn't. Basically, while you sleep, the body numbs itself. This "numbing" keeps you from walking around and acting out your dreams. Sleep paralysis occurs when you wake but can't move. You may believe that other people are in the room (I did), and you may feel a heavy sensation on your chest. It is completely terrifying, but not, oddly enough (at least for me) as terrifying--once fully awake--as an actual nightmare. The sensation that others are present does feel extremely real, however, so I completely buy this particular explanation.

However, researchers have pointed out that people get very angry when you tell them that they experienced sleep paralysis rather than an alien abduction. I think sleep paralysis is kind of cool, and I can't imagine why on earth (or space) aliens would be interested in me, but I suppose I would get angry if I hinged my entire identify on one (or two) totally unusual experiences. (On a side-note, I think "identity" is one reason people clutch so eagerly at false memories of abuse; if the worst-possible-thing-in-the-world happened to me, EVERYTHING about my life will be explained. Unfortunately, as these people discover, it doesn't. Life still goes on being life, which means it is often completely inexplicable.)

Tropes & Folklore

All the above being said, in terms of folklore, there is little to no point in debating whether or not alien abduction stories are true. Instead, abduction stories should be studied for their motifs.

And they have them! Abduction stories--as Scully points out in X-Files "Jose Chung's 'From Outer Space'"--follow a typical pattern:

1. The abduction occurs from a bed or car.
2. The abductee--or experiencer--sees a light.
3. The abductee meets occupants of the UFO.
4. The abductee loses consciousness.
5. The abductee wakes to find time has gone missing.

Some of these motifs are very old; the idea of a visiting "other" occurs often in fairy tales. For example, incubi and succubi, demons in the shape of men and women (see above), would visit their victims at night, sit on their chests (or other parts of their anatomy) and scare them silly. Fairy tales are also filled with kidnappings by faerie folk. Sometimes the kidnappings were well-meant; sometimes, they were one step up from child predator types of incidents (makes you wonder if the Middle Ages did have serial killers, and faerie folk were the explanation--forget Dexter; it was that guy from beneath-the-hill!).

Literary/Modern Examples: X-Files, naturally (I highly recommend the very funny "Jose Chung's 'From Outer Space'" episode); Edogawa's The Space Alien, translated by Eugene Woodbury!

Fairy Tales: W is for Woodbury, Kate

My first experiments with storytelling were playing around with fairy tales when I was a kid. My favorite fairy tale as a child was Andersen's "The Wild Swans," in which a young girl saves her 11 enchanted brothers by sewing them jackets made from thorns. 

I likely thought I had 11 brothers (I have 4); I did spend most of my youth around them. But in truth, I was attracted to the tale because the princess lives in a tree. About the same time, my mother read me My Side of the Mountain by Jean Craighead George, plus our family visited the Redwood National Park on one of our cross-country trips. I was enthralled by the idea of living in a tree!

I went beyond the Wild Swans, of course. I not only retold and acted out fairy tales, I would change the characters: all the male characters to female; all the female characters to male; all the wicked characters as good...and so on. 

For a long time, I contemplated going into the theater since those one-woman "plays" that I enacted while wandering around the house were all about action and dialog. I took playwriting courses in high school and college--and participated in drama clubs in both places. 

But I didn't have the drive or the willing vulnerability. Just about everyone I knew in those courses and clubs who did want to go on to the big-time (and some did), were both incredibly fragile and incredibly competitive, which isn't the best combination for a happy life. 

So I went the English major route instead, which turned out to be the best choice for me.  

And I went the writing-stuff-down route, which was also a good choice. 

Many of my first short stories were deliberate retellings or, rather, deliberate "what ifs." My first published story, "The Birthright" is based on the old story of a mermaid who extracts a promise from a fisherman and then curses his descendants: a son will be taken in each generation by a mermaid. My "what if?" was "what if one of those descendants actually wanted to go?" I still remember planning the story in a room in my grandmother's house in Pasadena over Thanksgiving while I was in college.

The next published story was a take-off on Rumpelstiltskin. It annoyed me how many renderings of the tale painted the money-hungry king as purely greedy. What if he needed the money? What if his troops didn't have shoes? Or his peasants didn't have horses and plows or, for that matter, seeds? What if his tradesmen couldn't afford materials to make stuff? So I wrote a story where the king wants money and has to make an ethical choice in a situation where there are absolutely no winners. It's a horror story, which I always swore I wouldn't write, but eh--the "what if" led to a natural conclusion.

That tale shows up alongside a few others in Tales of the Quest, published through Peaks Island Press.

The third published story was a contemporary tale in which fairy tale characters roam a college. I was working at the Maine School of Law as a secretary by then, and the setting is where the school of law used to be but is no longer, one of those 1970s freaky buildings with bad heating and cooling.

I later published a story based on the Trojan War, which background I recently used for my retelling of Herland. I then turned to the Old Testament for a story about the fall of Jericho followed by a story about Ezekiel and Jezebel in modern Portland and a sci-fi story using Ruth. (One of the first "plays" I acted out AND wrote down was based on Joseph of Egypt; I then encountered Joseph and His Brothers by Thomas Mann and decided I was in over my head--but hey, for years, I could recite all of Andrew Lloyd Webber's Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat's lyrics.)

I haven't quite reached the point where, like C.S. Lewis and Tolkien, I am so-steeped in folklore, Bible stories, and mythology that I draw on the tropes and images unconsciously--or maybe I am to a degree and don't realize it! The inspiration of lore has become in some ways both more deliberate and more off-the-cuff. I mostly write novellas these days in two series. The Myths Endure in Maine series is far more upfront and deliberately satiric. My skateboard god of love, for instance, makes references to "the problem of Pygmalion, who decided to mourn his latest breakup by setting up statues of his girlfriend all over the city."

The Myths Endure on Mars series is usually more indirect but my upcoming book, The Serpentine History of the Saint, involved research into tales associated with various parts of the British Isles, including the home of my ancestors: the Isle of Man. 

I have written more about that extremely enjoyable research here:

• Laidly Wyrm and King Arthur
• Kopakonan and Other Mermaids
• Isle of Man Folklore 
• Urban Legends

April 22nd: In God We Trust Day: Commemorations as Memorials

In 1864, Congress determined to inscribe "In God We Trust" on coins. 

If 1864 strikes anyone as relatively late for a country that was supposedly God-centered from the beginning...that is a more than accurate reaction. 

Speaking as someone who believes in God (and for that matter is a Christian), I am nonetheless not someone who thinks that America's founding was invested in religious passion. Or, rather, I'm not one who thinks that America's founding was the result of a particular form of religious passion.

It would be most accurate to say that America was invested, pre and post 1776, in religious debate. Although modern folks largely take for granted the concept of the separation of church and state--while acknowledging that politicians and voters are influenced by their religious beliefs--the position of the founders was both more commonsensical and more radical.

On the one hand, religious influence was assumed. For many founders, being religious was not all that different from being a solid member of a charity: it was what one did. Moral training was necessary to a democracy after all.

On the other hand, the decision to not only end state sponsorship of specific churches but of any religion in particular was extreme enough that de Tocqueville commented on it:

“I found that they all agreed with each other except about details; all thought that the main reason for the quiet sway of religion over their country was the complete separation of church and state. I have no hesitation in stating that throughout my stay in America I met nobody, lay or cleric, who did not agree about that.”

 “European Christianity has allowed itself to be intimately united with the powers of this world. Now that these powers are falling, it is as if it were buried under their ruins.”

Deism--to which many founding members belonged--was not a pretty, dressed-up, nice form of Christianity. In some cases, it wasn't notably Christian at all--at least, not by modern standards. Or, rather, it was culturally Christian as opposed to doctrinally Christian. And in some cases, it was frankly borderline atheism (nobody was actually atheistic in early America; that was going too far, so they went with the closest possibility).  

The phrase "In God We Trust" appeared on the 2-cent coin, which lasted until 1872. The phrase didn't become common on bills until 1956. 

In both cases, the phrase says more about the current climate in the United States at those times (1864 = Civil War; 1956 = Ten Commandments) than anything about America's origins. Pressing such a decision backwards onto the past is exactly that--creating a story about something that appears to have changed or faded: Once upon a time, Americans all believed...

You can learn a lot about the present from memorials: Star Trek:TOS, for instance, provides remarkable insights into the 1960s. But memorials are not the same as actual history.  

Z is for "Zut alors!" or What Kate Has Learned From This Project

What I (tried) to read: The Marriage Bureau for Rich People by Farahad Zama

This book is an obvious attempt to build on the success of Alexander McCall Smith's No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency.

Okay, that might not be fair. Maybe, Zama came up with the idea before McCall Smith became popular, and McCall Smith's success simply enabled him to sell his idea. Or, maybe Zama was inspired by McCall Smith (and why not?!). Or, maybe Zama thought, "I could make a buck by doing the McCall Smith thing in India!"

Whatever the reasoning, I couldn't get into the book. McCall Smith rambles but does go somewhere. Although the first book focuses on Mma Ramotswe's biography, McCall Smith supplies little mystery arcs to keep the reader interested.

The Marriage Bureau provides lots of stuff-is-happening but no little stories. I kept thinking, "THIS chapter will give me a story about matchmaking," but no, just more information about the main character. So I gave up.

And now that I've ended, what did I learn?

1. There's a lot of books out there that I have no desire to read.

Many, many, many books have been published about characters' ANGST-RIDDEN/PROBLEM-RIDDEN LIVES, involving EMOTIONAL CHANGE and INSIGHTFUL, PROFOUND INSIGHTS AND PROFUNDITIES.

Oh, blech.

But people must read these kinds of books because other people keep publishing them. 

And in truth, I'm a big believer that there is a reader out there for just about anything. Some writers want to cater to the "masses"--but I think even that plan is kind of a crap-shoot. (Just because something fits a zeitgeist, doesn't mean it will take off.) I think most writers aim for writing to the best of their ability the books that they want to read. And the truth is, there is someone out there for all those books. People are as variable as what gets written. 

2. There're a lot of writers people have never heard of.

A lot of my students think that having a literary career means writing a novel that takes off and makes them famous. This is kind of understandable when you realize that most of my student's lives have been dominated by Harry Potter and Twilight.

Or it's just the age since I kind of thought the same thing at 20. AND I was trying to get published (unlike many of my students), so I should have known how hard it really was.

The truth is, publishing a novel is impressive but no guarantee of stardom. Unfortunately.

3. There are good writers you haven't heard of or read.

Out of the writers I read, the only one (at the time) I went on to read more of was Elkins. However, I enjoyed reading almost all of the writers and I discovered books I never had before that made a definite impression. 

4. You can learn from bad writing.

It's unfair to keep picking on Jeffers since I don't actually think she is a terrible writer; I just disagreed with her vision. But reading Jeffers is what led me to write A Man of Few Words.

Likewise, by trying Cussler again, I learned something about creating characterizations in a quick, non-obtrusive way. 

 5. There are a finite number of books.

Sure, there are many, many "S"s and billions of "C"s, but there are only so many "Z"s, no matter how many different libraries you go to.

The finite number of books is still an awful, awful lot. There's always more to read, which brings me to...

2023: I discovered a new mystery author when I picked up The Doctor of Thessaly. 

The writing is good. It is the kind of writing that depends almost entirely on show-no-tell, very little interior monologue. I generally prefer to hear a little more about what is going on in my main character's head. But I appreciate the type of writing Zouroudi employs here, especially when it is so crisp and easily evocative.

The detective, the "fat man," is a kind of Nero Wolfe, only more congenial with a slightly more impish sense of humor--though equally ruthless in some ways.  

I will likely read more of Zouroudi!

Great Chivalrous Moment: Nero Wolfe Again!

In A&E Nero Wolfe's "The Silent Speaker," Mrs. Boone, played by the talented Debra Monk, confesses to Wolfe that she kept information to herself at the request of her husband's secretary, Phoebe Gunther. She feels guilty for keeping her promise to Phoebe: if she had given the police the information, Phoebe would not have been killed. 

Nero Wolfe agrees--Phoebe wouldn't have been killed--but adds that since Phoebe elicited the promise, the consequences of that action belong to her, not to Mrs. Boone. 

He isn't blaming Phoebe, whom he admires for her intelligence and steadiness of purpose. He is according Phoebe and Mrs. Boone the same chivalrous intent one would accord men who honor their promises. In a world of many principles, the obligation to protect can overlap with the obligation to keep faith. Mrs. Boone chose to keep faith. She behaved chivalrously, and Nero Wolfe chivalrously defends her decision. Choice matters.

Great moment! 

Great Not Entirely Slimy Character: Gunnar Globle on Murder, She Wrote

In Murder, She Wrote, "The Corpse Flew First Class" (trope to be discussed in more detail later: the need for all mystery shows to have at least one episode in the air), a not entirely slimy character makes an appearance. 

Gunnar Globle (Pat Harrington), one of the first-class passengers, is a studio executive. He is presented as a kind of used-car salesman, the man "in the green plaid parka." Loud and obnoxious, he insistently drops the names of all the people he knows to anyone in his vicinity, boldly inserts himself into conversations, badgers Jessica into reading a screenplay, associates "good" with money ("You must be a good writer--you're flying first-class").

And he is totally lovable. In the airport lounge, he calls his secretary. "Who called? Joan? Rivers? Collins?"

Typical bombastic pomposity, one thinks. Except then he says, "Oh, Joan, my wife! Oh, I love her. Tell her I love her." He is entirely sincere. 

On the plane, while watching the obviously "B" action-film, he is totally captivated. 

And when Jessica later tells him that the script he forced her to read Aliens The Second Coming has "artistic potential," they both agree it won't work for the big screen.

Great character actor!  

Fairy Tales: W is for Wonderful and What is Folklore?

 A few of my favorite fairy tales come in the Ws:

 I am particularly fond of the works of Aubrey and Don Woods who wrote and illustrated Heckedy Peg, a creepy yet delightful story about a tough mom who has to outwit a witch, who turned her kids into food. 

The images are stunning, absolutely gorgeous. The text flows effortlessly. 

Aubrey Woods also wrote the delightful The Bunyans filled with humorous and memorable illustrations by David Shannon. 

Both books raise points about folklore.  

Heckedy Peg, claims the dust jacket, is "[i]nspired by a sixteenth-century game still played by children today." 

I couldn't, at first, find any online mention of a "sixteenth-century game" involving food and riddles. I began to ponder if the Woods, tongue in cheek, had made up the "history." 

But then I came across an older online forum that confirmed that yes, at least in Michigan in the 1930s, children were playing a game in which every participating child took the part of the Witch, the Mother, and the Child. Part of the game was to pair things, such as "bread" to "butter." A participant on the forum mentioned that the game was also played in Canada. 

Ultimately, I found a review of the Woods' picture book with a link to an article about the original game: The Game of the Child-Stealing Witch.

What interested me, though, was how many reviews, including a review in The New York Times, simply took the jacket blurb at face value: the Woods could have gotten away with simply declaring that the book was based on an old game, and they would have been mostly believed (except for all us folklore fetishists who went looking.)

The Bunyans raise a similar point about folklore. When I took a folklore course for my master's program, the professor made the point that folklore is not noble peasants "authentically" strumming guitars in a shack. As notable folklorists such as Brunvand have demonstrated, the urban legend is as much folklore as anything that happens in the countryside. 

The professor then completely contradicted himself by pouring scorn on the Bunyan stories. They were started as part of an advertising campaign and therefore, weren't "real" folklore.

"But," I objected, "if I didn't know that--if the stories entered the popular discourse and got detached from their commercial origins, then wouldn't they constitute folklore?"

I got a chiding, superior smile and tut-tut scold, which type of response I found (and find) irritating and rather a waste of my time. I pointed out that if we decided to determine folklore by its type of origins, we were right back where we started. A number of students supported me, and the professor turned back into a friendly, thoughtful guy.

Granted, it is a difficult call in some cases. Hollywood announcing that it has produced a "cultural phenomenon" doesn't make that declaration a reality. On the other hand, an actual cultural phenomenon--where a saying or trope or image enters everyday discourse without anyone knowing or caring where it came from--that does occur, and the origins might be as varied as a movie, commercial, campaign, script dialog, or review.  

As numerous writers, such as Marina Warner, have pointed out, the line between spoken and literary fairy tales can sometimes be immensely slight, so "translators" of The Arabian Nights get accused of falsification until it turns out that they were relying on word-of-mouth and then it turns out that they were also relying on text and then it turns out that they added in their own bits. 

I've said it before--I'll say it again: Nothing is pure, and the hunt for purity, especially with folklore, will not only disappoint but nearly always end in carping disillusionment rather than in wonder.

Urban Legends: Upcoming Publication

The canonization process in The Serpentine History of the Saint involves my investigators in urban legends. 

In a sense, all fairy tales and folktales are urban legends, not due to their setting but in their production. Rather than strumming gondoliers and courtly poets and even lecturing ministers, folktales originate in "have you heard about?! can you believe it?!" gossip.

Actually, they originate in both high and low cultures. But gossip is the fuel for these tales. 

And comeuppance is so often the pay-off. The urban legend my investigators encounter falls under Stolen Debris: a family puts a body or stool sample or dead pet or, at the most extreme, dead granny in a bag or suitcase or box. It gets left on a seat or strapped to the roof of a car. And it gets stolen. Ha ha! Joke is on the thieves! 

In fact, the tale often ends with the climax: "And it was gone." The comeuppance/joke is implied as listeners can imagine unwrapping...that. Oh, gross!

In fact, many urban legends rely on the "Tell-Tale Heart" final line--the confession (rather than the arrest). Take the urban legend popular when I was growing up: Man sleeps with a beautiful woman. Next day he wakes up and scrawled on the bathroom mirror in lipstick is, "Welcome to AIDS."

Tales like this are often attributed to the need to warn, the same purpose often attributed to Little Red Riding Hood. But the truth is, hardly anyone ever dwells on the lesson. They never did with the AIDs story when I was a teen. 

I suggest that the tales are closer to Stephen King's hypothesis about horror movies: the tale may come from the same place as the "warning" part of the psyche, but the telling is more about catharsis, releasing a worry, than alerting others to danger. 

Urban legends aren't about logic. They are hardly about social understanding. They are, I would argue, almost entirely atavistic and self-serving. 

As one of my investigators says about the Stolen Debris tale (the "debris" in this case is a bone):

Phillipe said, "Part ghost story, part I can tell you exactly what happened with my excessive detail baloney. A worn-out trope. People wrapping up dead pets and grandmothers and stool samples in pretty paper and what do you know, the item gets stolen by thieves.”

“Thieves would surely go for the unwrapped items in the car,” Victor agreed solemnly. 

“Carjacks. Air compressors. Leather seat covers,” Justin murmured. 

He and Victor grinned. Phillipe grimaced and bobbed his head. But he added, “The family is trying to excuse their jerk ancestor for not returning the bone.”

Another Tale about Dragons: Colfer & Lynch

Three Tasks for a Dragon by Eoin Colfer, illustrated by P.J. Lynch is a beautiful book.

It is rather like Margaret Hodges' Merlin and the Making of the King, illustrated by Trina Schart Hyman, a novel with illustrations that enhance the work (as opposed to a novel with set illustrations)--even more so since on several occasions, Lynch's illustrations cover a full page. 

It isn't a case where the illustrations take okay text to another level, however. Colfer's text is beautifully rendered. The classic tropes--3 tasks--may at first seem simplistic, and there is nothing wrong with that!--but in fact, a sense of fleeting joy, pathos without dread, suffuses the narrative. It did not go exactly where I expected yet was satisfying nonetheless.

A dragon, as mentioned earlier, is a meta figure. The dragon, Lasvarg, has a definite rough and someone sardonic personality (one could see him being played by Timothy Omundson). Within the story, he operates as a full character. Yet at the end, he gains a memory that puts him beyond the tale. The memory isn't delivered in a heavy-handed manner. Colfer is too good a storyteller. Still, the sense of dragon as judge (and storyteller) remains.

Highly recommended!

Y is for Yawny Yancy and Young at Heart Youngson

What I read: The Highly Effective Detective by Richard Yancey.

As stated in an earlier post, the books on this list are not (always) books I have finished. This is one I didn't finish even though I got it out of the library twice plus it is reasonably well-written with clever dialog, clearly established characters, and humorous situations. I would probably try to keep going if it wasn't due Monday [in 2010].

I'm just as happy to send it back; it bores me. After some thought, I've decided that this is because it is detective rather than mystery fiction.

I enjoy mysteries, and I enjoy cop/lawyer shows, but I have never cared for American P.I. fiction. One reason is that I am partial to the "cozy" (though I am a fan of Law & Order, specifically Seasons 1-4 when it still felt gritty and focused on the evidence).

In addition, despite my high opinion of both Humphrey Bogart and Patrick Stewart, I've never cared much for Bogart's Raymond Chandler-type movies or for Star Trek TNG's Dixon Hill episodes. P.I. plots are almost always gangster-oriented, and gang stories (with the exception of The Freshmen with Matthew Boderick and Marlon Brando) don't grab me. The moment I see the word "gang" or "Mafia" in a book or film summary, my brain goes to sleep. I've never seen The Godfather and can't imagine a circumstance where I would--voluntarily at least. (I even skip Law & Order gang-related episodes.)

As for why gangs fail to interest me, I think it is because the collective doesn't interest me. Gang stuff always seems to be about the P.I. or gang member versus THE GROUP or SOCIETY: environmental determinism to the max. Even with Star Trek, my interest in the Borg has always been in the ex-Borg, not the Borg itself [and the Borg, by its very existence, bring up the question of the individual]. Collective history doesn't interest me either. I need an individual to latch onto. Even if we are all products of collective DNA or collective social pressures...who cares? [In any case, as I get older, I buy into collectiveness as an explanation less and less. Every person is born into the world as an individual and dies as an individual, even conjoined twins. Collective narratives are just that: narratives.]

Which isn't to say that The Highly Effective Detective is about gangs. It doesn't appear to be. But there is that "P.I. investigating the world" aspect. I need an individual body and an individual setting--and if the latter is a manor house or library, all the better!

2023: I randomly selected Meet Me at the Museum by Anne Youngson. I will say--before I get into thoughts on epistolary literature--that it is very much the story of two individuals!  

Meet Me at the Museum is letters between an English farmwife and a Danish museum curator who begin corresponding about the Tollund Man and develop a close and sustaining relationship. I chose it mostly because I wasn't interested in any of the other books on the shelves (rather sadly, Yancy wasn't available for me to try again: there is a lesson here about the rise and fall of author popularity). 

I was hesitant because I generally don't read epistolary fiction, and I'm not entirely sure why. When I do, I am always engaged. I find the reading fairly effortless. And if it is well-done (which it is here), I come away with a satisfied feeling. 

I think, however, that I harbor the suspicion that letters as fiction is cheating. Not really story. Not complete. Taking the easy way out. Too off-the-cuff. I can't describe my reaction, only I'm wary of the form.

I recommend this epistolary book too!

Such literature can be poorly done: ordinary people who just happen to bring up profound ideas at the drop of a hat. Way too much explanation in cases when people would not explain. Letters that say things like, "I'll tell you the rest of the story in my next letter" (people never do this--not truly), just so the author can create a new chapter. Sudden fulsome descriptions of the protagonists, which again they would never do ("I guess I should describe myself to you"). 

But the truth is, good versions of this form don't do the above. Meet Me at the Museum is written by two fairly well-spoken people who enjoy the act of writing, yet the letters don't feel belabored. They sound like two people talking about whatever comes into their heads without delivering a plethora of names and details that wouldn't matter to anyone. (My mother used to write letters containing completely mysterious details in utterly undecipherable handwriting: Yesterday, I went to the store on Western Ave and bought two screws for the pictures I bought from Leslie for $3.99 each, and I stopped to talk to Mr. Hansen and then dropped by Mrs. Ferguson's. Who? Who, Mom? Who are these people? Why are you telling me about them?). 

It helps that the characters in Meet Me at the Museum are primarily interested in talking about things and ideas. When their families enter the picture, the details are entirely within context. The world behind the letters is a full one, so much so, I imagined some fan fiction in my head for one of the sons.

Most importantly, relying almost entirely on show-don't-tell, the  characterizations of the principle characters in Meet Me at the Museum are impressively clear even though the female writer, Tina, doesn't describe herself  until several letters in (in reference to her daughter and then to another woman). The tone is consistent. And the letters are surprisingly poignant and human. And they bring up history and archaeology, which I always appreciate. 

Despite my lack of warmth towards the form in general, I do recommend the book! 

Great Feminist Film: Woman's World

A Woman's World (1954) may seem sexist on the surface. After all, no women are competing for the general manager's position at the Gifford car company. The women are invited to New York City ostensibly to help their husbands compete: which wife is the most supportive? Additionally, as Lauren Bacall's character sharply points out to Mrs. Talbot, a woman's world in the script is defined by her family. She'll support her husband for the sake of the children because the husband is working for them, not her. 

However, in truth, the movie is intensely pro-women. 

For one, the three women are quite individual as are their husbands and their marriages. Katie Baxter and her husband, Bill, are from Kansas. They are wholesome, family-oriented people. (Katie spends money on a barbecue at one point rather than a dress.) He works hard and has definite ideas, being honest and not afraid to speak up. He also believes, to his core, that if a man can't give dues to both his work and his family--if he has to sacrifice one for the other--then "something is wrong somewhere." When Clifton Webb's character, Gifford, needles him by saying, "Or it is the wife's fault," he doesn't agree. 

He and his wife are true partners. They have similar goals and values and are grateful, in the end, that Bill doesn't get the job though one is left with the impression that Jerry Talbot, played by Van Heflin, trusts Bill and his opinions and may end up relying on the man in the future. 

Elizabeth Burns, played by Lauren Bacall, and Sidney Burns, played by Fred MacMurray, are the Horatio Alger couple. They married when they were quite young and poor and Sid had started out on the factory floor of the Gifford plant. He clawed his way up the ladder. He has hit the glass ceiling, and he honestly has nothing more to offer, though he doesn't appear to realize this fact. (All three men are strong leaders in their current positions.)

Unfortunately, the need to keep going, to never stop, is a kind of addiction for Sid. Horatio Alger with heart problems and an ulcer. His wife wants him to quit. If he gets the general manager job, it will kill him. 

Interestingly, Lauren Bacall as Liz is the only wife of the three who truly qualifies as the kind of company wife that Gifford is supposedly looking for. She is svelte and well-dressed without vamping people. She is tactful. She is honestly kind. She is very intelligent. She remembers people's names, including men who have worked with her husband. She can easily carry a conversation. She is confident. Later, Gifford and his sister Evelyn (Margolo Gillmore) acknowledge that Liz would be the best fit for the type of company wife that Evelyn herself was. (Bacall gives Liz sophistication with a NYC rough edge--like Fred, she has moved up the ladder; unlike Fred, she doesn't covet the rungs above her.)

Liz sticks with her husband when she realizes that he can't help himself. Like Charles Dickens working hard all his life to avoid his father's stint in jail for debt, Sid can't stop himself pushing for the next position. They are both relieved when he doesn't get the post. 

The third wife, Carol Talbot (Arlene Dahl), is the problem wife. On the surface, she appears to be what Gifford is looking for but actually she is quite the opposite. She is a woman who has convinced herself that every deal her husband got was because she slept with one of his superiors. The climax of the movie occurs when her husband, Jerry, informs her that a top position she thought she got for him was already signed, sealed, and delivered two weeks before the superior showed up in Texas to settle the final details. (The superior still took advantage of Carol's offer.)

In fact, it is clear that she is entirely deceiving herself. She didn't sleep her husband's way to the top. Executives had their eye on Jerry for awhile. The wife wasn't a help. She was a hindrance. And she was a hindrance because, in fact, the job has nothing to do with a woman sacrificing herself on an altar to gain her husband--or herself--special treatment. She is neither wise enough nor canny enough to play that game in any case. Just as Lauren Bacall's Liz could wipe the floor with her, she would be entirely outmaneuvered by the sharkish CEOs of the industry. 

Jerry gets the job of general manager when he dumps his wife. (I've always wondered about this ending, not because I disagree with Gifford's choice, but because a guy like Jerry only overlooks his wife's behavior for as long as he has because he is besotted, and she might try to worm her way back into his life. I think Gifford should wait to offer the position until she has swanned off to attach herself to someone else.)

Ultimately, the message is clear: these are women, individual women, not props to a husband's career or decorative pieces to be showcased. The one wife who treats herself like a prop is, in fact, the non-role-model. 

Fantastic film, helped, of course, by great dialog and great acting!  

History is Written by the Winners...No, It Isn't

I recently posted about Xenophon. The time period fascinates me in part because it is such a short period, 546 B.C.E. to 404 B.C.E. (Dr. Hale extends the time period beyond the end of the Peloponnesian War). This is the time in which Greek democracy developed and then fell apart. 

In fact, the democracy part lasted only about 50 years--but consider what came out of that time period! Greek "freedom" (free by the standards of the ancient world) faces off against Persian imperialism and kicks its butt;  Herodotus shows up (before everything falls apart) and sets the standard for researching history; a whole bunch of playwrights do their stuff and they are remembered (even when their texts vanish); a number of philosophers propound on the purpose and material of life before Socrates (Socrates is part of the failing system). 

 

During this time, names and ideas and hypotheses rose to prominence--names and ideas and hypotheses that made such an impression, people recorded their thoughts about those names and ideas and hypotheses, which records lasted (in part)...till now.

 

Here's the reality, though. The most amazing experiment of the ancient world failed. It wasn't the Persians who wiped it out but the Macedonians, specifically Alexander the Great. And then the Romans came along. 

 

Actually, one could argue that Athenian democracy failed due to its own overreaching. In any case, it didn't last.

 

And yet: Pericles. Xenophon. Herodotus. Euripides. Sophocles. Thucydides. Hydna. Aspasia. Socrates. 

 

Pieces of writing did survive, but NOT because the system their authors thrived in won. They survived because people saved the tomes and manuscripts and bits and pieces. 

 

The same is true of Paul's letters. At the time he wrote them, he wasn't a winner, and Christians were a barely acknowledged group. For that matter, Christianity was still twinned with Judaism, and the Romans were about to inflict a devastating blow on Judea. Circa 70 C.E., many Christians and Jews could be excused for believing that their world was at its end.

 

And yet, the letters survived. Jewish writings from the time survived. People saved those writings. 

 

I think the point here is the important one: what survives is what people save. I suspect that the missing letter of Paul's to the Corinthians didn't survive because it was just Paul being pissed off and lecturing people. But the letters where he suddenly went off-topic and talked about God and Christ and human purpose: 

 

THOSE letters people saved.  

 

The nobler efforts of Athenian democracy were also saved.

 

X is for Xenophon and What Makes History

What I read: The Expedition of Cyrus by Xenophon

I'm never going to be a classicist because I like more dialog in my exposition. Book 1 of The Expedition is straight exposition. It's kind of like reading Numbers in the Bible: lists of generals and numbers of troops. It's like watching a Risk game. Shoot, it's like playing Risk. (Most boring board game ever invented.)

However, about half-way through Book 1, Cyrus dies, and Xenophon (who was there, but refers to himself in the third person) goes into this long panegyric about what a great guy Cyrus was and how he would have been a WAY better king than his brother, thank you very much, and this is actually pretty interesting stuff as well as being great argument/persuasion. Here's a guy who knows how to argue his point (and is totally direct about it).

And there are some interesting nuggets. One is the description of the battle. You know those fantasy/ancient legend types of movies where the two sides line up in a really, really, really long line and rush each other? Turns out, the ancient Mediterranean people actually did that, and it sounds pretty exciting!

Another is Xenophon's historical persona. It isn't as if he footnotes his "data." But he doesn't jump to conclusions. At one point, Cyrus is "betrayed" by one of his Persian backers, Orontas. Orontas goes to trial and then "was taken into the tent of Artapatas, the most loyal of Cyrus' staff-bearers, and no one ever again saw Orontas alive or dead, nor could anyone say with certainty how he died, although people came up with various conjectures. No one ever saw his grave either." It isn't clear whether Xenophon is trying a little too hard to NOT make Cyrus seem like a butchering murderer or whether Xenophon is actually doubtful whether the whole thing wasn't just an elaborate show, and Cyrus really let the guy live. In any case, it's fun historical writing!

Another interesting tid-bit is how xenophobic (another "X"!) those Greeks were. Cyrus hired a bunch of Greeks to go fight with him against the Persian army controlled by his brother. The Greeks were mercenaries, yet Xenophon, a Greek, continually refers to the Persian army as "barbarians." He's completely unapologetic about it. That's what barbarians do. Yep, the barbarians are at it again.

The lowliest Greek is better than the Persian king: there's something awe-inspiring about this attitude. 

2023: I learned about Xenophon. I read the introduction to another of his books, Hellenica. I also watched Great Course's The Greek and Persian Wars with Professor John R. Hale. 

Xenophon is apparently not all that reliable. He was "there," at least part of the time, But even when he was there, he seems to have heavily edited events. G.L. Cawkwell in the introduction to Hellenica states, "[Xenophon] is principally what we have to rely on [for Cyrus's war against his brother and the end of the Greek Empire] and again and again puzzles present themselves. For the Hellenica is not history. It is essentially Memoirs." 

Another of Xenophon's problems is "[h]e wrote for men who knew, and felt no need to explain to those who did not know." 

 

Herodotus

He was no Herodotus, who by all accounts was a truly magnanimous man who felt the need to honestly depict and relate what he heard, even if he personally disbelieved it. In comparison, Xenophon edited by his silence stuff that he didn't want to remember or relate or think about.

 

Both Xenophon and Herodotus were interested in the moral lessons of history, however. I personally find this approach to history troubling since it can take on the same role as slathering academic theories. The moral lesson gets in the way. However, here again, a difference rears its head. Herodotus, like Adam Smith, observed, then deduced while Xenophon appears to wade into recent history with a story already in place. As Cawkwell states, "The hand of God is an explanation that dulls the quest for truth." 

 

Contemporary historians still love Xenophon (they love Herodotus more) because without both men, we would know even less about the ancient world than we do. And, too, Herodotus at least was promoting a somewhat new approach to the past. Ancient civilizations had "origin" stories as well as plenty of law documents as proof that a society had been around for awhile  (in fact, most conquerors in the Sumerian time period simply adopted everything that was left and kept it going).  But digging all that up (quite literally on occasion) became increasingly popular at the time of Herodotus and Xenophon. 

 

How did we get to here?

 

What was it like back then? was slightly less common but still part of the equation.

Historical Insights: Most People Weren't Elites

 From The Great Courses' History of the Ancient World: A Global Perspective:

 Professor Gregory S. Aldrete states...

 He goes on to describe that farming life: 

"You were born on a small family farm. There was a pretty good chance that you would die in childhood of a disease; [if you survived] you would spend a couple decades scratching out just enough food from the soil to maybe avoid starvation. Then, you die. You would never travel more than 20 miles from the village where you were born. You would never see a king, never take part in a battle, or read a book...in addition, you would never witness or participate in any famous event that makes it into the history books [and is the admitted focus of the course]. It was the universal experience of 80% who lived on the earth prior to the Industrial Revolution."

I think Aldrete's view--as even he admits--is a bit grim. Human beings have a remarkable ability to inject gossip, rituals, scandal, games, and tale-telling into their everyday life. Good grief, cave people created hand prints for no other reason, it appears, than fun! 

However, Aldrete's point is well-taken and yet another reason to be grateful for the Industrial Revolution.