Folklore: Thanksgiving II, Founding Fathers

Several weeks ago, I promised that I would return to American Founding myths around Thanksgiving time.

I chose four founding tales to tackle; two are based on real events, one is a song, and one is completely fabricated (and scholars know, more or less, who the fabricator is). I maintain that all four tales are folklore, however, because they have become "common knowledge," the stuff people more or less think they know about American history.

Before I continue, I should state that I am not APPALLED by the historical inaccuracies of these tales. I've never really understand why elementary and high school teachers should be blamed because (1) they don't teach the intricate minutiae of historical events to their students; (2) the students don't remember intricate minutiae about historical events. The fact is, most people remember history as a group of stories, and it makes a lot of sense to teach it that way. Second fact is, if you can get students to realize that the Civil War happened before WWI and that the Revolutionary War didn't involve Texas, you are doing a pretty good job.

Case in point: how many people know that the pyramids would have looked ancient to Moses? Not many. Egyptians history has been lumped into pyramids, King Tut, Cleopatra, Moses, Ramses, and Queen Hapshetsut even though most of those elements are completely unrelated in time and location. Still, anyone who is at least passingly familiar with all those elements is doing a pretty good job.

Story 1: The Boston Massacre

It depends on your definition of massacre. Out of a crowd harassing a group of British soldiers, five were shot and killed; six others were wounded. That doesn't seem like much but population-wise, it was probably a fairly high percentage. The part of the tale that is often skipped is that the British soldiers were defended by later American patriots, John Adams and Josiah Quincy. The leader of the Brits and six soldiers were acquitted; two soldiers were found guilty of manslaughter. (I believe it was at this trial that Adams or Quincy gave the famous "people are guided by self-interest and why shouldn't they be?" speech).

In any case, the perception that the Boston Massacre was YET ANOTHER EXAMPLE OF BRITISH ATROCITIES was evidently not shared by all the colonists. I've always found it interesting that the long-term relationship between America and Britain survived in a far more stable fashion that that between, say, America and France.

Story 2: Paul Revere's Ride

A few years back, it became popular to get all snotty about Paul Revere, specifically, Longfellow's poem about Paul Revere, and to point out that he didn't make the ride in 1775 alone; he didn't even make it to Concord!

The problem with this type of snotty cynicism is that it masks the fact that Paul Revere actually was involved in the ride that bears his name. Folklore should never be entirely ignored! Revere and William Dawes started out to warn Concord that the British were going to seize the military supplies there. They met up with Dr. Prescott. Revere was captured by the British (that makes him a bona fide hero in my book!), and Dr. Prescott made it to Concord. A map of the ride can be found here.

Story 3: Yankee Doodle Dandy

Reportedly, the British troops used the song to mock colonists. A "doodle" refers to a dumb person; a "Yankee"--at the time--referred to a bumpkin or redneck (no jokes about the New York Yankees, please) while "macaroni" referred to a "dandy." The idea is that Yankee Doodle is such a stupid oaf, he thinks a feather makes him fashionable.

The colonists reportedly took the song and made it their own. This is actually a classic strategic move in political game-planning. In one of his books, P.J. O'Rourke refers to one of Ted Kennedy's convention speeches: "Where was George?" (in reference, I think, to the Iran/Contra Affair; "George" was Bush Senior). The opposition's response was "At home in bed with his wife, Ted."

The folklore part of "Yankee Doodle Dandy" is that the song has survived despite uncertainty about its origins and despite multiple variations (older versions have many more verses than the classic tune that is hummed around school yards).

Story 4: George Washington and the Cherry Tree

For those of you who have forgotten this story, George Washington as a child reportedly chopped down a cherry tree (because boys will do these sorts of things). When questioned by his father, he admitted that he was the culprit.

It never happened. It was completely made up, probably by Mason Locke Weems in the 19th century. In 19th century terms, the story makes sense.

First, it is typical for people to create "prequels" about national and religious heroes after those heroes have entered the sacred zone of communal memory (after they've been dead/gone for 30 to 50 years). Some of the gnostic texts--the ones intelligently thrown out by early Christian scholars--tell stories of Jesus's childhood where he heals birds and invites strangers to breakfast, etc. In England, at least when I was there at age fourteen, the tour guide at Glastonbury Abbey claimed that Joseph of Arimathea brought Jesus to England during his teen years. (I guess Walt Disney World was closed.) My mother, who is something of a Bible scholar, sat there with her lips tightly pressed together. She later told me that it was unlikely. But it makes a great story!

Second, during the 19th century many, many, many books were written about good little children who learned their lessons and proved their moral superiority (the brats!). They often pined away and died (think Little Nell). Dickens writes a very funny parody of this in Huckleberry Finn: Read the part about Emmeline and her poetry.

As I mentioned earlier, I consider founding tales to be fairly innocuous. It is customary for people who have too many degrees and very little sense to be SHOCKED! SHOCKED! that people would actually invent and/or perpetuate stories in order to create/support an image of a nation or home or cause; it is also customary for said SHOCKED individuals to want the said perpetuation stopped RIGHT NOW (except, of course, for those stories that ought to be perpetuated for the good of our nation).

Welcome to human nature.

Not that I'm not a fan of "real" history (and yes, I think there is such a thing; it's like pornography: I know it when I see it). But I think getting after people for perpetuating exciting stories--like the Halloween scares--or identity stories--like alien abductions--is kind of like getting after companies for trying to make their products look good so people will buy them (horrible capitalists!): a total waste of time.

Whatever my personal feelings, I would ask my students these questions: What is the function of founding tales? What do they tell us about being American? Is it wrong for kids to be taught these stories? Is there a place for folklore in history?

Yes, I know, I know, it's kind of like asking them, "Is there a place for Walmart in history?" Maybe not, but it's kind of there, so live with it. But they are young, and I can't do their thinking for them.

Literary/Popular Culture Occurrences: Longfellow's "The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere" naturally (although this may be an occurrence of literature creating folklore rather than the other way around); a character makes a reference to the "real" story of the Boston Massacre in Daughter of Time by Josephine Tey. I actually watched Johnny Tremain to see if it got me anywhere; it didn't much except for the rather cute and orderly colonists-dressed-as-Indians. Booth does make a very funny reference to the Boston Tea Party in Season 3 of Bones: "I love this country. You know, I'll tell you something, if I was working law enforcement back in the day when they threw all that tea in the harbor - I'm good, I'm good. I would have rounded everybody up and we'd still be English."

Folklore: Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving, as it is known in America, is a relatively new holiday . . . despite the supposed link to Pilgrims and Indians!

Not that the Pilgrims and Indians didn't lunch together--only, at the time, the involved parties weren't thinking, "Hey, this is Thanksgiving!" although they may have been thinking of "thanksgiving." People are generally glad not to be dead from starvation.

Not to overwhelm anyone with semantics, but holidays usually become holidays once the thing they become a holiday for is long past. This is true of most commemorations: the Vietnam War Memorial was completed in 1982; the Korean War Veterans Memorial in 1995; and the World War II Memorial--for the war we won!--in 2004.

Commemoration always seems to occur when people fear that the thing being commemorated has already been forgotten (and it probably has).

Thanksgiving follows a similar pattern. During the Civil War, Sarah Josepha Hale, a kind of early Martha Stewart, became obsessed (sorry, there's no other word for it) with the idea of a National Thanksgiving Holiday. In many ways, she was the soul-sister of Martha Stewart since the creation of the holiday led to literally thousands of books on "how to cook the perfect turkey" and "holiday crafts that children will be forced to make and then scatter about your house!" (not that I minded the crafts as a child; I only became anti-crafts as an adult). Hale wrote for several women's magazines.

Hale was not particularly interested in Pilgrims and Native Americans. She was more interested in a holiday that would unite the United States (remember, this is pre-Civil War), specifically, a holiday that had New England origins. Harvest festivals and days of thanksgiving were part of early colonial life, and thanksgiving dinners were already being practiced in New England in the 19th century.

In October 1863, Lincoln caved, issuing a Proclamation of Thanksgiving for the last Thursday of November for Federal employees and DC residents. However, Hale died long before Congress passed Thanksgiving as a legal holiday in 1941.

Here's the commemoration bit: although Hale started campaigning for a Thanksgiving holiday in the mid-1800s, that holiday was not linked to Indians feeding poor starving Pilgrims until the late 1800s; by then, the Mayflower had become a founding story, and Native Americans were no longer a perceived threat in the United States.

In other words, the reality of the historical event had been--true to the exigencies of communal memory--forgotten; the real threat felt by both Pilgrims and Native Americans regarding each other no longer existed. (As several people point out in the Buffy episode "Pangs," you can't just apologize for wiping out a civilization plus it is against human instinct to simply roll over and play dead just because you feel very, very, very bad; the politically-correct Willow still fights the ghost Indians to save her friends.)

All this sounds much more cynical than I mean it to. I'm all in favor of Thanksgiving personally and although I sympathize with those who commemorate it as a National Day of Mourning (if commemoration is going around, why not commemorate the way one wants to commemorate?), I think the symbolic gesture kind of misses the point. Thanksgiving Day started out as Martha Stewart personified and ended up as football, turkey, days off from school, and Christmas shopping (all of which is not too far afield from the original gesture; I guess Hale had a point); the later linkages occurred long after any actual conquest took place.

Not to mention that communal memories that don't have a shelf-life of thirty years tend to create miserable places to live: hence, the Middle East.

On the other hand, I was raised on the Thanksgiving=Pilgrims & Indians story, so the link is there, however erroneous. I wasn't raised on it in a nasty way, and I never took it very seriously (it may help the cynics amongst my readers if I clarify that I have rarely in my life believed anything a teacher told me, but that doesn't mean I feel betrayed or anything [gasp! I was lied to in high school! gasp! gasp!]; I figure that in a democracy, obtaining and discerning correct information is my responsibility).

Misguided or not, I wasn't taught Thanksgiving folklore in a "We came, we saw, we conquered" sense but in multicultural sense. As Dave Barry writes in his A Sort of History of the United States, "Also we should keep in mind that women and minority groups were continuing to make some gigantic contributions"--which is completely patronizing (kind of Barry's point) but hasn't stopped many university programs from practicing this approach at the expense of more accurate/less "fair" history.

Literary/Popular Cultural Occurrences: I haven't been able to find any! I'm fairly certain that Harriet Beecher Stowe--the other Martha Stewart of the 19th century--referred to Thanksgiving Day in her writing. Otherwise, not including Buffy, I haven't been able to track down many literary/pop culture Thanksgivings that refer to the Pilgrim/Indian folktale. Either this is a folktale with relatively low flexibility or it is dying out. Football, turkey, and days off have taken its place: a triumph for secularism!

O is for Okay (Oke)

What I read: The Bluebird and the Sparrow by Janette Oke

Janette Oke writes religious romances. They are similar to Grace Livingston Hill's romances: the religious context is clearly Christian evangelical but in a rather ecumenical way. Christian Light. People don't swear or behave badly, but there isn't a whole lot of theological discussion going on.

This lack of theological discussion doesn't make these romances nonreligious, however. The books' problems usually center on the heroine's need to change her behavior or attitude in some way. She does this through religious instruction, and there is nothing unrealistic about the instruction or the change. The Bluebird and the Sparrow, for instance, revolves around sibling jealousy and the need for one sister to accept herself before she can accept others. It is a perfectly legitimate religious problem and makes a perfectly worthy plot.

It just comes across as rather, well, flat.

Not boring. The book was an easy read. It made good points. In many ways, it was like sitting down to a long chat with a smart, down-to-earth aunt. But I was left thinking, "Why is it that religious fiction often can't capture the transcendental nature of religion?"

It isn't the subject matter, per se, and even if it were, religion shouldn't be any more off-limits to fiction than, say, romance. And it isn't that the transcendental isn't felt by the writers; it is just so darn hard to express.

The counter-approach--writing that is filled with analogies and metaphors and Yoda-type phrases--isn't much better. Hesse may be a better writer than Oke, but I don't consider him more readable.

There are books that capture the transcendental, but they remind me of a line from Murder Must Advertise by Dorothy Sayers where Wimsey remarks that for some reason, good advertising copy is always written with the tongue firmly in the cheek. Sincerity leaves the copy sounding flat. Likewise, to capture the awe of a religious conversion/experience, the event has to be approached sideways.

Fiction books that capture that transcendental awe:

Passage by Connie Willis
The Monk Downstairs by Tim Farrington
The Path of Dreams by Eugene Woodbury
C.S. Lewis's fiction
Ellis Peters' mysteries
The Great & Terrible Quest by Margaret Lovett

Stargate: Seasons 1 and 2 Reviews

I see very few television series through to completion. Like with books, somewhere around Number 3 (novel, season), I get tired of the whole thing.

There are exceptions, such as shows that only have three seasons. I have also seen all of Star Trek: Next Generation and all of Star Trek: Voyager.

Recently, I decided to watch all of Stargate and all of X-Files. In both cases, I made it to about Season 4. But I figured, Stargate and X-Files are my two favorite cult-classics, so why not finish them?

I've been rewatching Stargate Seasons 1-4, preparatory to watching all of Season 5, all of Season 6, all of Season 7 (rather than just a few episodes here and there) and the remaining seasons (10 altogether). And I figured: why not take notes?

So, here is my review of Stargate SG-1, starting with Season 1. I don't give summaries, just reviews:

Episode #1: Children of the Gods—Pretty good! I've seen it several times. It is "R" rated based on some National Geographic nudity. The nudity isn't offensive, but it is completely disconcerting because Stargate is about as PG a show as I've ever encountered. In any case, Episode #1 is a good "movie" (Stargate movies are, in general, pretty good).

Episode #2: The Enemy Within—Pretty good episode which introduces why the Goa'uld can't just be removed from human hosts (this ups the ante for the rest of the show). Disappointing death of Kawalsky (played by Jay Acovone, one of my favorite "bit part" actors).

Episode #3: Emancipation—Okay episode with a feminist theme and a Star Trek feel. (In general, Stargate episodes are surprisingly non-Star Trek). I suppose some episodes just have to be done, sci-fi-speaking.

Episode #4: The Broca Divide—I really like this episode, mostly for the line where Daniel Jackson says, deadpan, "Oh, you poor man," when Jack confesses that Carter tried to seduce him (in cave woman mode).

Episode #5: The First Commandment—Well-written episode but not one of my favorites. God-complexes just don't interest me that much.

Episode #6: Brief Candle—If you ignore the completely non-professional behavior (Jack should never have eaten the food in the first place), this episode is a good showcase of Richard Dean Anderson's talent. It makes me want to keep track of Richard Dean Anderson and see if he behaves the same way, as he acted, when he is 80.

Episode #7: Cold Lazarus—Okay episode that gives more background to Jack's family history (with his son). This is one of Stargate's very touching episodes (they actually have several); it edges on saccharine but doesn't go too far.

Episode #8: Thor's Hammer—Good episode up until the end. I have very mixed feelings about the end. On the one hand, I agree with Jack that you do what is best right here/right now. On the other hand, dismantling another planet's defense system for the sake of your friend . . . eh . . . that's not so good. (This particular problem is identified and addressed in a later season.)

Episode #9: The Torment of Tantalus—I quite like this episode with its WWII sequences. Young Ernest Littlefield is played by the same actor who plays Dr. Beckett (McGillion) in Stargate: Atlantis. This is disconcerting because the personas are totally different. (For fans, McGillion does have a Scottish background.)

Episode #10: Bloodlines—I rarely rewatch the Chulak episodes, but of course, I had to this time. It's an okay episode. The little boy who plays Ry'ac is seriously adorable.

Episode #11: Fire and Water—One of my absolutely favorite episodes! In fact, this episode is the reason I bought Season 1. I think Michael Shanks does a fabulous job in this episode. Shanks tends to either be ultra-laconic or ultra-hyper. Here he is ultra-hyper, and I love it.

Episode #12: The Nox—Not one of my favorite episodes, but it's nice to watch Armin Shimerman play a sweetie-pie rather than a loathsome principal or Ferengi.

Episode #13: Hathor—Eh. The degree of control exercised by the Goa'uld varies considerably . . . depending on the needs of the writers.

Episode #14: Cor-ai—I quite like this episode; it deals with forgiveness and whether Teal'c should be punished for what he was in the past or forgiven for what he has become. This is also the beginning of many, many episodes where Teal'c is looked after (anointed, perfumed, painted, washed) by women. I'm thinking Christopher Judge wasn't complaining.

Episode #15: Singularity—Another favorite which borders on saccharine. Also, one of the few episodes that goes out of its way to remind us that, for all her military background, Carter still has motherly instincts. (Stargate does this less with its women than a lot of shows; in general, Carter is one of the most truly emancipated—not just token emancipated—women on television).

Episode #16: Enigma—The introduction of Garwin Sanford as Narim. (Garim Sanford is also in Stargate: Atlantis as Dr. Weir's boyfriend who gets dumped when she goes to Atlantis. I was sure he'd been on Voyager too; I was wrong, but he is a sci-fi acting junkie.)

"Enigma" is a pretty good episode, but it does introduce another race with "superior technology" that runs around calling Earthlings "children." This is very annoying. The race's "adult" superiority isn't based on a higher moral standard or better government, just better technology. That is, if they didn't have the technology, they would be just as vulnerable to the Goa'uld and just as unhappy about it. Therefore, their sneers at Earthings' war-like reactions are pretty obnoxious. The so-called superior race isn't unwarlike because it has grown beyond war; rather, it is unwarlike because it can afford to be. I prefer the Asgard, who would help if they could but can't due to treaties and problems at home.

Episode #17: Tin Man—Very fun episode. I was completely surprised by the ending because I thought the episode was going in a Star Trek direction and it didn't! (I've never really understood the putting-people's-brains-back-into-their-heads resolution.) This episode is very nicely paid off in a later season.

Episode #18: Solitudes—Introduction of the second Stargate which is never really used by the show in a way that leads to anything. Eventually, it is destroyed; apparently, too many Stargates=problematic show. I kind of agree.

Episode #19: There But For the Grace of God—One of my favorites. I really like alternate reality type shows where you see the same cast and location, only from a new perspective. What stays the same? What changes? Very cool.

Episode #20: Politics—Episode with rerun flashbacks. The narrative that holds the flashbacks together is really good; the political arguments against the Stargate program are well-written and delivered. The flashbacks are boring; flashbacks always are (but these types of episodes give everyone in the studio a break).

Episode #21: Within the Serpent's Grasp—First of a two-parter. Both parts are well-conceived. It does get funny after awhile watching the team run down corridors and knowing it is the same corridor over and over and over again. I tried not to think about it too hard.

Season 2

Episode #1: The Serpent's Lair—Nice pay-off to Season 1's cliffhanger.

Episode #2: In the Line of Duty—Quite good episode! It introduces Jolinar and the idea of the Tok'ra. I hadn't realized until watching the episodes in order, how early the Tokr'a were introduced (one thing I like about Stargate is the writers' willingness to explore cracks and exceptions in supposedly monolithic cultures. As Daniel constantly reiterates, our main characters really know very little about the Goa'uld).

Episode #3: Prisoners—Good episode introducing Linea. Linea is a great character and is paid off well later on. The only snag is the whole genius-who-can-master-an-entire-alien-computer-system-in-fifteen-minutes syndrome. I just don't buy it. Sci-fi uses this motif A LOT.

Episode #4: The Gamekeeper—Good episode with, of all people, Dwight Schultz. Now, there's another sci-fi acting junkie!

Episode #5: Need—A rather odd episode. It explains why humans don't use the sarcophagus, but the plotting is kind of random. Diplomacy just isn't that hard; Daniel should have been able to get his friends released days before he turned into evil-sarcophagus guy.

Episode #6: Thor's Chariot—Pay-off episode to "Thor's Hammer," which also introduces the Asgard in the most in-your-face deux ex machina resolutions I've ever seen. (It really is totally unbelievable.)

Episode #7: Message in a Bottle—One of those the-supposedly-evil-alien-that-has-taken-over-our-base-is-only-trying-to-communicate episodes. There are days I actually prefer the Independence Day version of aliens.

Episode #8: Family—Pay-off for earlier Chulak episode. Eh.

Episode #9: Secrets—The introduction of the Harsisis (kid born to two Goa'ulds). Switching Daniel's focus from his wife to the baby is an example of something I think Stargate does very, very well. They don't try to keep one single problem going for ten, or even three, seasons. In fact, by Season 3, they have disposed of both Skaara and Daniel's wife; this is smart. Giving a character the same problem for ten years may be "real life" but isn't good television.

Side-note: The actor who plays Mulder's half-brother in X-Files shows up as the reporter who suspects the Stargate secret and gets killed for his suspicions. The Stargate folks are serious sci-fi nuts (they know Classic Trek!). I wondered if this was a tribute to X-Files.

Season #10: Bane—Eh. I don't mind episodes with children, but I don't really get into The Feisty Helpful Street Kid motif.

Season #11 and Season #12: The Tok'ra—Pretty cool introduction of a not-completely-trustworthy ally and the wonderful Carmen Argenziano as Carter's dad and Tok'ra-to-be.

One thing I love about Stargate is the casting. I think it is inspired. The writers avoid existentialism (they never make the claim that all alien races look and/or act alike), but they use casting to remind the reader what group you are dealing with. The majority of the male Tok'ra are dark-haired, muscular but wiry young guys who all have the same dark-haired, muscular but wiry look. It is visually smart casting.

Season #13: Spirits—I didn't care for this episode the first time I saw it. I kept hearing "Message! Message! Message!" Rewatching it, though, I very much enjoyed the guest star: Rodney Grant as Tonane.

Season #14: Touchstone—Episode with the second Stargate. Other than guest-starring the awesome Tom McBeath as Maybourne, it's kind of a throw-a-way.

Season #15: A Matter of Time—An interesting reflection on time moving at different speeds, but that's about all.

Season #16: The Fifth Race—I love this episode for the ending. First, I like the Asgard. Second, I like Jack being the focal point of Asgard-human relations. Third, I love the Asgard music.

Season #17: Serpent's Song—Fascinating episode with Apophis played by the stellar Peter Williams. I don't watch it often because it's so sad: as the Goa'uld starts to die, the host reemerges; the host has been controlled by Apophis for over 2000 years and is completely confused. The part where Daniel says the Egyptian prayer-for-the-dead for the host is non-saccharine touching.

Apophis almost enters the realm of ambiguous bad guys, and I like ambiguous bad guys as long as the good guys don't forget "this is a bad guy." On a side-note, one of my favorite Stargate: Atlantis episodes involves "Steve," one of the Sheppard-named Wraiths. Steve is used in an experiment and then dies. Sheppard's reaction isn't to beat his chest and say, "Oh, the Wraith aren't our enemy after all/we're just as bad!" but he does evince concern for Steve. It's a great episode.

Season #18: Holiday—One of my absolute favorites with Michael Shanks playing both Daniel and Ma'chello. One of the things I really love about Michael Shanks playing multiple characters is that he will subtly insert verbal differences, like pronunciation. So, Shanks as Ma'chello (in Daniel) pronounces "Goa'uld" differently than Shanks as Daniel (in Ma'chello). Shanks is completely consistent.

Season #19: One False Step—Odd but not totally awful episode. We get to see Daniel and Jack yell at each other and then make up (guy fashion) which is always inexpressibly amusing.

Season #20: Show and Tell—Not a bad episode except for the glaringly stupid decision to go to a planet of invisible terrorists who can sneak undetected through the Stargate. But then, if they didn't, the episode wouldn't have worked.

Season #21: 1969—I really like this episode. I'm a fan of time travel episodes in general, and I get a huge kick out of, well, everything, including Jack's interview with the 1969 Cheyenne Mountain CO where he refers to himself as "Captain Kirk" and then as "Luke Skywalker." I also love the part where the team is locked up in Cheyenne Mountain; a suspicious guard comes in and says, in Russian, "Are you Soviet spies?" Daniel, who speaks seven languages, shrugs and says, "Nyet." Jack glares at him. As he is being escorted out, you hear Jack say, exasperated, "Nyet?!"

The best part, however, is the actor who plays the young General Hammond. He is so pitch-perfect in terms of behavior, voice, and appearance, I looked him up to see if he is related to Don S. Davis. He, Aaron Pearl, isn't, but boy, is he fantastic! (By the way, I just learned that Davis died in 2008, so I'm feeling very, very sad.)

Season #22: Out of Mind—Season ender with rerun flashbacks (have I mentioned how boring flashbacks are? I'll rewatch entire episodes six, seven, eight, nine times, but episodes with flashbacks bore me silly). The premise is completely ridiculous (why on earth would villains, who torture without compunction and have mind-reading devices, bother to concoct elaborate subterfuges like building replicas of the hero's hometown, etc.?). However, one of the refreshing things about Stargate is that story is more important than message and even more important than good sense! There's never the self-consciousness that I sense when watching Star Trek or Whedon's stuff. It's like the director and writers go to work every day and go, "This is so much fun! What a great way to earn a living! Let's do it again!!"

Another Lawsuit for Star Trek

Case 3: "Suddenly Human" (ST:NG, Season 4) in which a young human man, Jeremy Rosso, is discovered on an alien (Talarian) ship. In a Light in the Forest twist, the crew learns that Jeremy, or Jono, was "adopted" by his captors between 5-7 years old and has fully assimilated to his adoptive culture. Despite the existence of Jeremy's human grandmother, Admiral Rosso, Picard ultimately decides to return the young man to his adoptive parent.

Plaintiff: Admiral Rosso
Defendants: Captain Picard, Starfleet

Argument: Admiral Rosso is appalled that her grandson, and only living relative, would be returned to the people who attacked a Starfleet outpost, resulting in the deaths of her son and his wife. She believes the Enterprise should have returned Jeremy to human space as soon as he was discovered. She allows that the political situation was tense but argues that the Enterprise could have easily outmaneuvered and outrun the Talarian ship.

Decision by Judge Kate: No damages against Starfleet. Captain Picard's actions, however, will be submitted to a review by Starfleet. Although the decision to return Jeremy to his Talarian father was likely the correct one, Captain Picard did not allow for an adequate examination of Jeremy Rosso's mental state or his Talarian home life. Captain Picard is, after all, a diplomat and has gotten himself out of stickier situations!

Pending Starfleet's decision, Admiral Rosso will not be awarded damages. This will not, of course, prevent Admiral Rosso from making Captain Picard's career a very uncomfortable one (like maybe the Enterprise finds itself sent to the most distant outposts for the next year).

New Show, New Season, New Movie

New Show: Castle

The new show I started is Castle, starring Nathan Fillion and Stana Katic. I'm a sucker for crime shows, and I am big sucker for crime shows that deal with one story per episode (instead of a continuing soap opera). So Castle is right up my New York alley.

I'm also a fan of Nathan Fillion although it has taken me awhile to adjust to him in the role of multi-millionaire, high-living writer. I think it took Nathan Fillion a bit to adjust as well--the first disc of Season 1, he's rather hyperactive--as if he is trying out the role of "debutante" New Yorker. By disc two, he has calmed down considerably. It helps that he is supported by the expert Susan Sullivan, the respectable Molly Quinn, and the flawless Stana Katic. Personally, I think Stana Katic is a better match for him than Morena Baccarin (from Firefly)--leather rather than lace.

The only oddly bothersome thing is the clothes Castle wears. Nathan Fillion is a really, really big guy. As a comparison, he is taller than Boreanaz and much heftier. As Castle, he wears multi-millionaire, hip writer clothes. Don't get me wrong--the clothes are nice and look good, but every time I watch an episode, I go, "Oh, come on, he looked much more comfortable as Mal."

One last note: ABC must recruit its actors from the East Coast. (Wasn't ABC based on the East Coast at one time? Is it still there? Does Castle actually film on location?) Canadian actors, like the folks from Nero Wolfe, keep showing up as extras. I love it!

New Season: Season 4 of Bones

Yup, that's Season 4, not Season 5. I'm a season or more behind everyone else.

And it's good--naturally. I was actually quite impressed by the massive rewriting of Zach's history in the first episode. It truly made no sense that Zach had ever murdered anyone, and I guess the writers wanted to redeem themselves.

I was also surprised by my reaction to Zach not being in the lab. I quite like the character, but I didn't think his absence would make that much difference to the show. The constantly changing research assistants are funny, but I feel there's a hole in the lab-dialog where Zach used to be. It's almost as if the writers need a more-Brennan-than-Brennan persona to bounce dialog off of. Without it, they seem to flounder.

However, the Bones/Booth dialog is, as always, right on the money. I must say that being able to do what those writers have done--create a couple who act like they are married without constantly holding out the possibility that they will be--is rather remarkable. It may come down to chemistry. One of my favorite scenes with Bones and Booth is when they are investigating the Beauty Pageant murder. When they enter the dance studio, they are muttering to each other like usual. They sit down side by side, a woman turns to them and says, "So which one is yours?"

Of course, Bones and Booth react in a flustered way, but the truth is, for those brief seconds, they look extremely natural together: not lovey-dovey, just husband-and-wifey. Unlike so many couples on television, I have no difficulty believing that Bones and Booth could actually make a marriage work. They may be different, but their chemistry doesn't come from warring opposites (however much they might believe that); it comes from two people who share an underlying world view, respect each other, and have little to no difficulty communicating.

New Movie: Twilight

After watching what has to be the longest movie in the history of movies . . . okay, that's not fair but it is a very, very slow movie that takes exactly one hour and twenty-two minutes to actually present a plot problem.

The very, very slow set-up does involve some good stuff: the misty setting is quite nice; the new-kid-in-town uneasiness is well conveyed; two television regulars--Michael Welch and Jose Zuniga--show up; Anna Kendrick as Jessica has good enough comedic timing to have her own show; and Robert Pattison does a respectable job as a tortured vampire. There's even a hint of Dexter: well, Dexter without an adult job, interesting internal commentary, phenomenal acting skills, and a well-balanced, if oblivious, girlfriend. I like my sociopaths to know they are sociopaths. (Dexter is surrounded by people who, if they knew who he was, would be horrified; he knows this and also knows that he doesn't really want to be around people who wouldn't be horrified.) However, in many ways, the movie is Edward's. (And Pattison's ability to convey self-amusement is a huge bonus here.) This is good because Kristen Stewart's acting skills are, shall we say, eh hem, very untried. Since I consider Bella the most boring character in literature, there may be some cosmic justice here. Stalky or not, both Jacob and Edward are more interesting. In fact, Jacob's interactions with Bella are quite teen-plausible; I spent half the movie, going, "Wow, it's so sad that this girl couldn't have a relatively normal life with one I-have-a-dark-past-but-I'm-still-a-normal-guy boyfriend!"

The other half of the movie, I spent going, "Why would anybody in their right mind go back to high school?" At one point, Edward says, "We like to start in a new place as young as possible." Have you thought of . . . being freshmen in college, maybe? (Newsflash, silly family, but people between 25 and 45 are much harder to place than people between 1-24.)

The suspension of disbelief was just too great. I don't know if I could have ignored it in the book; I couldn't ignore it in the movie. No matter how good high school was, anyone who voluntarily goes back to age seventeen has major psychological growth issues. It's creepy. Way high creep factor. Creepier than stalking. Made me appreciate Angel all over again.

N is for Not Forgotten (Niffenegger)

What I Read: The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger.

This is actually one of the few books I've read in my life that I couldn't read out of order.

I read the ends and middles of books all the time. It doesn't hurt my reading experience. A good ending will only convince me to read the rest of the book. A bad ending tells me I'm wasting my time. (For example, I read the ending of Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell before I read the book. There was no way I was going to invest in that many pages and be disappointed in the end; that's a lot of my life there that I could use rereading Agatha Christie, thank you very much. I'm happy to say that I ended up reading the whole book, and it is very much worth it.)

With The Time Traveler's Wife, out of order reading doesn't work. This is not because the chapters are chronologically out of order; a few are, but the book more or less follows a chronology. The reason is that the main character, Henry, is not terribly appealing in the early chapters, but you are supposed to believe that he is. You don't know why if you read the book out of order.

Basically, The Time Traveler's Wife does something fairly remarkable: gives you a fated, true-love relationship that doesn't bypass the difficulty of the actual relationship.

One of the problems with many TRUE LOVE stories is that TRUE LOVE is equated with EASY RELATIONSHIP. That is, TRUE LOVE is taken to mean "I don't have to explain myself, and the other person is never hurt, and everything is perfect." The seduction of books like Twilight is the idea that once all the horrible external bad people/events go away, the relationship itself will be a no-brainer.

This is not true. I've never believed it, not even with Romeo & Juliet. (My rose-colored glasses phase of teenagerhood had a relatively short life.)

One of my favorite parts of The Time Traveler's Wife is when Clare finally meets up with her "future" husband at his actual age. This is a man she has known since she was six, and she has always known him as mature and stable and, if occasionally depressed, comfortable with the complexity of the world. When she meets his 27-year-old self, she's thrilled, but somewhat taken aback by how . . . how, well, young he is.

In other words, sure, she's getting the man she'd been in love with all her life and sure, she knows that he will be head-over-heels in love with her, but they still have to do that whole getting-to-know-you-and-live-with-you-and-adjust-to-your-presence thing. And they have to keep doing it. Even after he becomes the man she first fell in love with, she still has to live with him and vice versa.

Having said all this, I would not have read this book if I wasn't doing this exercise, yet I'm glad I did. The actual reading isn't difficult. I read the book in less than a week (for why it has taken me so long to post for "N," see below), but I nearly put it down at the 1/3rd mark with a note to self: That's enough for a review.

However, by then, I was caught up in the relationship, so I stuck it out, and it was worth it. But if you are like me, and you dislike "saga" tales, be warned; you may feel that you are being inundated with saga at one point. That's because, unlike real life, many things are being learned and thrown at you at once. Take a breather and keep going. Remember: time eases pain, explains paradoxes, and puts context to past behavior.

Explanation for why it's been so long since "M"--When The Time Traveler's Wife came out several years ago, I got it out of the library; I never got around to reading it, but I thought about it a lot. I even bought a cheap copy from Goodwill, which I never got around to reading. So finally, I gave the copy back to Goodwill.

Then the movie came out, which I saw (it's okay; the director and script writer obviously value the book, but like with all books, it's hard to do justice to). And I'd already started this project. I got to "N," and I tried "Larry Niven," and I couldn't even get through a single page, Larry Niven was so boring, so I thought "Why not read Niffenegger?"

And every single copy at both the libraries I have cards for was on hold. Multiple holds--22 holds per copy. Seriously.

This is after the movie came out.

I can't complain. I had my chance beforehand. Still--sheesh, talk about establishing a connection between movies and sales. Although, the book may have been on hold because everybody was like me: we wanted to read it, not buy it.

So I finally got a copy last week, and I finished it last week.

I have already picked out "O" and "P."

Election Day, Smelection Day: Now is Always Better Than Then

It is customary to believe that people are less happy, less free, less everything now-a-days than they were in some glorious past. My theory is that the glorious past is always at least about 30 years old. That's because communal recollection only goes back 30 years. So when I was growing up (in the 80's), the 50's were perfect . . .

I'm not a fan of the glorious past because (1) I don't believe it ever existed; (2) NOW is so much better than THEN.

Here is my life NOW compared to what it would have been THEN--in this case, 150+ years ago:

I can read and write (this has not been true for most people--men and women--throughout history, discounting the Puritans' obsessive reading stats).
I am educated, and it was considered normal for me, a woman, to attend both high school and college.
I can own property, and I can sue people and/or have them arrested if they try to take it away from me.
I am allowed to teach, and although a few of my immigrant students find this unusual (a woman teacher!), nobody considers it abnormal.
My job choices are not limited to farm work, factory work, being a nurse, teaching little children, or service (maid, etc.).
I (still) retain the majority of my paycheck for my own use and can dispose of it at my own discretion.
I have never been threatened with jail because I was in debt/missed a loan payment.

I can vote and when I go (outside) to the voting booth, I do not have to wear clothes that cover my whole body and my face. (Actually, I can wear just about anything I want.)
I am not held at gunpoint while I vote.
I am not harassed for my views (if I discount pollsters, toads, and annoying phone calls).
I have never gained or lost a job based on my voting record.

I can live by myself, not with parents and/or siblings.
I am not married or have kids and although my hairdresser finds this odd, my lack of spouse and/or child has never disqualified me from getting a loan or a job. I have also never been sent to a mental hospital (yes, women without children have been perceived as unbalanced in the past). Some social pressure is still exerted--I sometimes think it would be easier to tell my hairdresser I'm gay than to try to explain that I am single, straight, and have no children (although it isn't the "single" thing that confuses people, it's the "no child" thing. This is actually one of the nice things about my conservative church: I don't have to explain why I don't have kids; I get more pressure from non-church sources. In general, we live in a society that still expects a womanly woman to have--and want--children).

Speaking of children, I'm not dead from being married at age 16, having had six kids in six years and finally getting infected in the aftermath of the last childbirth.

I'm not dead from scurvy.
I'm not dead from plague.
I'm not dead from smallpox.
I'm not dead from blood poisoning.
I'm not dead from tuberculosis
I'm not dead from consumption.
I'm not dead from malaria.
I'm not dead from diphtheria.
I'm not dead from diarrhea (no, I'm not kidding; dehydration caused by diarrhea can kill, especially infants).
I'm not dead from typhoid.
I'm not crippled from polio.

I have ready access to meat, and it costs a relatively small portion of my paycheck.
I have ready access to fruits and vegetables which cost me a relatively small portion of my paycheck.
I do not have to have a ration card.
I am not restricted in my diet by legal means (other than hard drugs, which I'm okay with).
I do have access to some drugs, such as aspirin and Neosporin.
I also have access to modern doctors and dentists. (This does NOT mean I have insurance; I don't. I just mean I have access to them, which is historically unusual. If I had to go to the emergency room, I could. For that matter, I save up and see an optometrist once a year.)

My religious beliefs have never prevented me from voting, getting a job, or renting an apartment.
I have never been harassed due to being Mormon (although I have gotten puzzled looks).
In the last 100 years in the U.S., Mormon meetings have never been invaded by federal troops.
In the last 100 years in the U.S., Mormon leaders have never been held at gunpoint—oh, wait, President Hunter was, but the gunman was crazy, and the gun was fake.

I lived in a state that has not endured war on its soil in the last 300 years. I realize this is not true of many places in the United States (and on earth), but it is still remarkable.
I have access to a plethora of information; I can fortunately access information about religions, jobs, politics, education, and books and, unfortunately, pornography, racist and Holocaust denial material. The unfortunate guarantees the fortunate. (Speaking of which, although I have been criticized on my blog, I have never been contacted by legal representatives for my rather innocuous blog's content.)
I have never been legally prevented from moving within and/or between states.
I have never been visited at home by a legal representative. (I was going to write "a legal representative has never come to my home in the middle of the night and questioned me" but actually "never been visited" is accurate. Legal representatives have stopped my car.)
I have never had to pay protection money or hire bodyguards just to survive my day.
I have never lived in a town or city where a fire was left to burn instead of being attended to by the fire department.
I have never lived in a town or city where police non-intervention in a crime was considered acceptable or normal behavior.
I have never had to bribe my mail carrier to deliver my mail.
I have no need to buy a gun, although I could if I wanted to.
I have never been prevented from entering a state or federal building.
I have never been prevented from watching a trial (but then, I don't try very often).
I live in a country of mixed races which just voted a black man as president (I'm not saying he was or wasn't the best option; I just think it's really, really cool!), and where people of many races (and both sexes) occupy military and political positions. (Forget, the last 150+ years; this is unprecedented in the last 50!)

I have never been prevented legally from buying anything I wanted (lack of funds, yes; legal intervention, no). This includes cars, books, medications, educational and religious materials.
I own a car (being able to own--and afford--transportation is unusual for (1) women throughout history; (2) most people in ancient civilizations, and (3) most Americans up to 1950).

I live (and am allowed to live) in reasonably hygienic conditions: I don't have to pour my urine and feces in the street; I don't have to bathe in other people's bath water. I CAN bathe on a daily/every-other-day basis; I do not sleep on the same bedding as my pets; I can wash my clothes on a more than yearly or bi-yearly basis.
And, believe it or not, I breathe relatively clean air (and I live in the city). I do not live in conditions where I am constantly breathing in coal dust nor do I live in conditions where, as my mother can attest, soot has to be cleaned off my walls every spring.
I have access to and can afford (at relatively low expense) to heat myself and cook for myself. (Not to sound all cavewomanly but "Fire--new!" and no, I'm not kidding. The most consistent factor of 19th century literature is how freaking cold everybody is all the time. In 1891 in Paris, Marie Curie lived in a single room with a "small stove that often lacked coal . . . I was obliged to pile all my clothes on the bed covers. In the same room I prepared my meals with the aid of an alcohol lamp and a few kitchen utensils" [from The Crimes of Paris by Dorothy and Thomas Hoobler]. And Curie would have been considered middle-class.)

Now, in many ways, I have had a good life and have lived in good places within the United States. But my experience is not that different from many Americans and members of industrialized countries—which is my point. Throughout history, most of the negatives listed above (things I haven't had done to me, haven’t had to tolerate) have existed as givens for most people. The fact that I live in an era and place where they are less likely to be true—or at least, there's an even chance that they are not true as opposed to true—is to me, remarkable! I'm so glad I wasn't born 150 years ago!!

Folklore: Halloween

Happy Halloween!!
(In three days.)

In terms of folklore, American Halloween--despite claims that it is tied to ancient Celtic and medieval European festivals--is a very recent invention.

Around Victorian times, Halloween in the United States began to involve private parties which would include fortune telling and apple bobbing. Themed costumes entered the picture in the 1900s, but costumes--and for that matter, begging--were associated more with Thanksgiving than with Halloween.

The link of Halloween to costumes and, specifically, to trick-or-treating by children didn't take place until the WWII era. The idea was to reduce adult pranking and general out-of-handness by concentrating on the child aspects of the holiday.

I grew up at the tail-end of this children's-oriented paradise. I remember going trick or treating, carrying pillow cases (none of those cutsy jack o'lantern shaped "bags"--those things aren't even close to big enough!), and I have a vivid recollection of my brothers discussing whether or not to go home and get my little red wagon, so (1) I wouldn't get tired; (2) there would be more room for the candy. When we did get home, we would count, categorize, and trade our candy. (Then, as now, I preferred chocolate to hard candy and just about anything to Baby Ruths.)

And nobody checked it. In fact, not only did nobody check our candy, people gave away seriously uncheckable stuff: soda, homemade caramel popcorn balls. I grew up in pure suburbia, and there were tons of kids on the street and tons of houses ready and waiting to hand out treats.

And then the scares started. Interestingly enough, the big scare--the Candy Man--happened earlier than I had remembered. The Candy Man, the murderer who used doctored Halloween candy to hide killing his own kid, committed his crime in 1974. As a testimony to the power of folklore, by the time I hit my late prepubescence (the early 80's), this isolated incident had taken over people's perception of the holiday. By the time I was twelve, Halloween had become what it is now (more or less): a day for parties, aimed at both children and adults.

Sure, there're still some trick-or-treaters out there, but the holiday does seem to have lost its non-commercial joie de vivre (maybe, I'm just getting old). Many movie buffs credit the 1947 film Meet Me In St. Louis as crystallizing the ideal mid-America old-fashioned Halloween. In the movie, the costumed children meet around a bonfire (in the street!); one of them runs off and pulls a prank (throwing flour at a neighbor man).

My childhood Halloweens didn't involve bonfires or pranks, but I realized, watching the movie, that the costumed children are completely unchaperoned; that freedom was part of my childhood (my childhood was basically Sandlot). Whenever I get trick-or-treaters now, they are almost always accompanied by adults. To be honest, I probably would accompany my kid too if I were a parent. But when I was young, Halloween really was a kids' night--our parents simply expected us to be home before . . . midnight, I guess. My parents weren't careless; they were products of the Depression-era. Since my siblings and I are all still alive, I guess that sense of security (or was it a sense of "if it isn't poverty or a bomb, it won't kill you"?) was justified.

And the truth is, there have been relatively few incidents of children being harmed on Halloween. The Proquest Newspaper search I used to locate the "Candy Man" turned up almost no other incidents of poisoning. I think I read somewhere that more kids are hurt from carelessly crossing the street while trick-or-treating than from "stranger-danger," but that could be propaganda by those companies that sell glow-sticks.

Factually incorrect or not, the surge of poison/razor blade scares had great impact. However, human beings are in general great adapters. Halloween didn't go away; it morphed. After the scares of the 1970's and 80's, at-home types of entertainment became more and more popular: for example, decorating one's house or yard for Halloween. To be technical, these "haunted" or "spook" houses are folk performances rather than folk lore, but with holidays, the two tend to merge: folk performances inform the way the holidays are written and talked about.

Literary/Modern Examples: Children's literature contains some of the best writing about Halloween, namely The Witch Family by Eleanor Estes and Jennifer, Hecate, Macbeth, William McKinley, and Me, Elizabeth by E.L. Konisburg (Konisburg references the folk performance of the costume parade at school). There is also a reference to Halloween pranking in Ghosts Have I Been by Richard Peck.

For media examples, there are the Monk and Psych episodes that deal with poison candy (the Psych episode just makes a reference, but the Monk episode uses the idea of poison candy as its central mystery).

Also, Home Improvement has several Halloween episodes in which Tim creates a "spook" house. This is part of Tim's repairman-persona; there are also several Christmas episodes where he competes with a neighbor man--not Wilson--on how many lights and elves and electronic reindeer he can put up. Although this seems to be entirely commercial, these types of displays are in fact largely folk-promoted. I could digress here into a discussion of the things people put in their yards, but it would get way off-topic. I mean . . . gnomes?

Folklore: Alien Abductions

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

Psychoanalytical explanations 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. Sleep paralysis occurs when the brain wakes up but the body doesn't. Basically, while you sleep, the body numbs itself. This 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 had 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 I had! (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.)

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. Rather, 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. There is missing time.

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, 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); later on, I will discuss the literary motif of the "captivity narrative" which I believe is related to alien and fairy tale abductions.

Folklore: Monsters

There are, of course, lots and lots of folktales throughout history about monsters.

What are the three most common monsters that you have heard of?

I would suggest that for many people, the three big monsters are Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster, and the Abominable Snowman. There are many others, though, from the Feejee Mermaid (a Barnum hoax) to Champ, the creature of Lake Champlain, to the Jersey Devil.

With the exception of the FeeJee Mermaid, what makes these folkloric creatures is the perpetuation of stories (by supposed witnesses) unconnected to proof. Occasionally, as with Bigfoot (or Sasquatch), the information becomes supposedly "authentic," but the stories seem to be based more on desire than scientific reality.

The truth is, it is unfortunately difficult to go on believing that there are creatures "out there," what with infrared thingies and satellite tracking. I think there is a tie here to the 20th/21st century rise in conspiracy theories. As the world "shrinks" and we learn that there are no Shangri-las, conspiracy theories--the insistence that something secretive is being kept from us--blossom. Perhaps, humans need Dover Demons and Memphres and Mothmans. Otherwise, the world is just too darn pragmatic!

Literary/Modern Examples: Monsters, Inc.. gives us the (very funny) Abominable Snowman, complete with John Ratzenberger's voice. And for a very modern monster, there is Stephen King's Cujo. Monster folklore seems to be partly about fear and partly about wonder. Cujo falls into the fear part of the equation. He is completely vicious and random, which may be part of the "monster's" attraction: come to think of it, the random, indifferent, but wholly destructive Moby Dick is another example.

And then there is "The Jersey Devil," an X-Files eponymous episode (Season 1) based on the folkloric monster. The background story for the Jersey Devil is that during the Revolutionary War, a colonist fell in love with a British solider; she eventually gave birth to a winged devil-baby; the story is fairly old but sightings didn't occur until 1909. I'm not sure why such a late date or why "sightings" in 1909 would choose the Jersey Devil for its monster; I suspect that the same people, forty years later, would have seen aliens. However, once the sightings were made, they continued, all the way up to 1993.

X-Files, naturally, gives the creature a completely different background but keeps the location and name (total digression, not class related: X-Files postulates that the creature is a new type of human, a step up the predatory scale: it is intelligent but preys on humans. The problem with this explanation is that humans are a step up the evolutionary scale from, say, tigers, not because they don't prey on humans. They are a step up because they have superior firepower. It doesn't matter how "advanced" a species is: if it lives in the woods wearing a loincloth and less-advanced humans can blow it up, it ain't going to survive long, not matter how super-duper intelligent it is. This just goes to prove that even X-Files had duds although the episode itself is okay entertainment).

Many folklorists, including Diane Purkiss of The Witch Throughout History, suggest that our belief in monsters, specifically our belief in aliens, is part of the same desire? inclination? that led humans to believe in fairies. As stated previously, when our inability to believe that "the people" are here faded, we sent them "out there."

I will post about aliens and alien abductions in a few days.

Folklore: Vampires

My folklore class, should it ever run, follows this schedule:

• What is Folklore
• Folklore & Literature
• Regionalism and Folklore
• Native American Myths and Legends
• Colonial Religious Folklore
• Magic-based Folklore in Colonial New England
• Bogies: Witches
• Bogies: Ghosts 1
  
• Founding Fathers & the American Revolution

In keeping with the season, I decided to skip ahead to more Bogies—Vampires, Monsters, and Alien Abductions, not to mention folklore surrounding Halloween itself!

I'll come back to the American Revolution at Thanksgiving. The connection is actually more appropriate than it seems since Thanksgiving is, to all intents and purposes, a deliberately created piece of Americana!

Folklore: Vampires

New England vampires are not the same as European vampires. Dracula, Buffy and Twilight, although very different in atmosphere and approach, are descendants of the post-Stoker, European idea: vampires as dangerous predators who walk about, sometimes dressed in tuxedos, enthralling their intended prey. They are the "undead." Buffy, naturally, has an American high school twist as in the pilot episode where Buffy spots a vampire because his clothing is "carbon-dated" (i.e., it's 80's rather than 90's cool). ("Yes," Giles replies, "but you have to hone your senses. You didn't hone.")

New England vampires didn't walk. Their corpses (still buried) fed off living relatives, such as siblings. This belief/image thrived around consumption deaths in the 19th century. The only way to cure a dying child/parent was to dig up the grave of the dead sibling/child/spouse ("vampire")—if blood was found in the corpse's heart (not unusual for consumption victims), the heart was burned. This would hopefully spare the person who was dying.

This belief/ritual possibly existed before the 19th century, but that time period marks the advent of scientific responses to consumption. New England vampires appeared in written records as examples of "rural superstitions" (science versus ignorance, etc).

I found most of my information about New England vampires from Food for the Dead: on the Trail of New England's Vampires by Michael Bell. Bell does a good job explaining how a 19th century "peasant" could have doubted the superstition but still practiced the ritual. His psychoanalysis reminded me of a James Herriot story in which Herriot is trying to save dying cattle on a friend's farm; a neighbor man insists on carrying out "superstitious" rituals at the same time--such as burying a goat under the barn. Sure, the dead goat was useless, preventively speaking, but frankly, at that time, veterinarians were dependent on sulfur drugs and couldn't do much of anything anyway. If your livelihood depended on cattle that were dropping dead at your feet, you'd do anything: the vet, the superstitious neighbor man, the witch down the street . . . (then WWII and antibiotics came along, and it was a whole new ballgame).

Bell also relates an interesting example of folklore to the second power: in his search for a particular "vampire's" grave, he came across a story about a teacher who told his or her students about the grave; the teacher's students went looking for the grave and found the wrong one. Residents blamed desecrations of the (wrong) grave on the teacher. Bell wanted to speak to the teacher. Eventually, he realized that the story of the teacher was folklore. Maybe it happened; maybe it didn't. In any case, although the story of the teacher was repeated to Bell by several people, there was no "source," and the teacher was untraceable.

Bell also makes it clear that New Englanders never used the term "vampire." So are they even "vampires"? Yes, actually. In fact, New England vampires are probably closer to the pre-Stoker image of vampires in Europe than our current, but still folkloric, post-Stoker image.

Literary Forms--And there are purely American versions of the New England vampire. You find them in Edgar Allen Poe's tales, specifically in "Ligeia" where a dead woman feeds off her living romantic rival. Poe was possibly influenced by European Gothic horror, but there's a definite consumption creepy feel to this and to "The Fall of the House of Usher."

Kate's Six Principles of History

Election Day is nearing. And I've become aware--all over again--of how much I dislike political rhetoric. Seriously, if you want to persuade me to do something, just send over your opposition to hammer me with rhetoric.

I'm not completely susceptible to reverse psychology, and I'm not completely immune to well-reasoned arguments, but the argument, "But this must happen or society will fall to pieces" has never, ever succeeded in convincing me to do anything (no matter which way the pieces are supposed to crumble).

My reaction is, to a degree, based on my study of history. Here's what I believe about history. Some of these things may seem contradictory, and, well, they are (superficially), but they all happen to be true (I think), so contradiction smontradiction, I still believe in them all:

1. Individuals do make a difference. An Abraham Lincoln or a Marie Curie can change the course of future events.

2. Society survives because ordinary people get up and go to work . . .

. . . or whatever they are supposed to do. Politicians do not enable societies to survive. England went through the War of the Roses, the Tudors (Henry VII, Henry VIII, those kids who lasted two seconds, Catholic Mary, Protestant Elizabeth, not to mention the Spanish Armada, and whatdoyaknow, England (part of Britain now) is still there. And it's still there because people got up and tilled fields or baked bread or sharpened swords or mined or traded or had babies or whatever. If they hadn't, there wouldn't have been much of anything for the politicians to "save".

3. The world has been slated to end many, many times. It hasn't yet.

In case no one noticed.

When I was growing up, the world was supposed to end when the Soviet Union nuked us. There was even that movie on television--The Day After--and everything.

It didn't happen.

4. If the world ends, it will be in a way no one imagined.

Call it the Black Swan effect--but it's true. When the Holocaust was going on, survivors and witnesses coming out of Europe told the British and U.S. authorities about the camps. They weren't believed. This has been put down to antisemitism, and that was a factor, but I don't think it was the only factor. The Holocaust was simply not imaginable. It was nothing that anyone had anticipated; therefore, it was nothing that anyone could imagine being true. Call it a failsafe device to the human capacity to suffer mentally. We can think up atrocities, but we can't anticipate them.

Not to mention, we can't even anticipate less horrific things--like the weather or the stock market.

5. Paranoia never did anyone any good.

Which means that expecting the world to end in THIS PARTICULAR WAY THAT FREAKS ME OUT isn't very helpful. Historically speaking, it's hard to get anything done when people think that THIS ONE PROGRAM/PIECE OF LEGISLATURE/DESIRED OUTCOME must or mustn't happen, otherwise, the human race should toss in the proverbial towel. Such thinking tends to make said people somewhat irrational and a tad on the non-constructive side when they don't get what they want.

6. On the other hand, sometimes things are over.

This is actually a problem that fascinates me since there's no one right answer. There are times when it is right for a country to have a revolutionary war, and there are times when it is dead wrong. There are times when it is acceptable for a couple to divorce and times when it is callous and cruel. There are times when it is right for someone to leave a job and times when it is a really bad idea. There are times when it is right to say, "Continuing in this direction must stop now," and times when such a statement is simply hubris.

My general rule of thumb--which is why, probably, I am a more conservative than liberal Libertarian--is that it is usually hubris, and if it's not, the people involved should be very, very, very careful. So careful, in fact, that time might actually solve the problem!

American Revolution = good idea
French Revolution = not so much

All this is to say that if someone approaches me and says, "You MUST do this right now or everything will unravel!!" I tend to go, "Ye-ah, right there, what you said, that's a good reason for me not to believe you."

When I get it from both sides, I either sit the issue out or vote my gut, I-just-can't-vote-any-other-way reaction. (Example: Maine had an anti-bear hunting ordinance up a few years ago. I'm not a big hunting fan, and I think trapping bears is kind of mean and not very sportsmanlike; I have this Medieval idea that hunting should involve horses and dogs and javelins, not rifles with infrared devices. On the other hand, a lot of Mainers are pro-hunting, and a lot of Mainers, especially upstate, make their living off of hunters, including bear hunters. The ordinance would have hurt them badly, particularly since the anti-bear-hunters are mostly the same people against bringing industrial jobs to Maine. So I couldn't decide. I got in the booth, and every piece of 19th century literature about high and mighty lords sending poachers to prison to preserve their lovely estates popped into my head, and I voted for the poachers--I mean, hunters.)

Folklore: Ghosts

To review: I was supposed to teach a folklore course for a local community college this fall, but it got canceled. Hopefully, I will get a chance to teach it this coming spring! In the meantime, I have been posting occasionally about all the stuff I researched. These posts are basically my lecture notes (not the way I would present the material in the classroom).

Ghost folklore is actually split between two classes, but for the purposes of this post, I will combine the material.

First, the Puritans did believe in ghosts. I had a hard time tracking down this information. I got the impression that there was no official belief in ghosts but neither was there any official disapproval. Increase Mather (see below) collected a lot of ghost stories. Many of them used the following motifs:

The ghost with a message
The poltergeist (yup, the Puritans had poltergeists!)
The portent (somethings about to happen)
Headless ghost
Roadside ghost
Ghost protecting treasure

Ghosts have never really disappeared from American folklore but in the 19th century, they receive a huge burst of energy with the growth of spiritualism. Spiritualism, specifically mediums, was taken very seriously. Scientific American did investigations! It seems hard for us media savvy (and media-inundated) 20th century products to believe but people did honestly accept photographs such as the following:

The woman is spouting ectoplasm. Ectoplasm was supposedly a manifestation of spirits. It looks like a bunch of cloth to modern eyes, and it was, but keep in mind these were the same people who accepted Arthur Conan Doyle's fairies as more than just cardboard cutouts:

The same motifs listed above appear in 19th century ghost folklore. And they show up in contemporary ghost stories! With the help of the awesome Alvin Schwartz--who publishes scary folktales for kids and, even better, includes notes of where the tales came from--and Marcus LiBrizzi (Dark Woods, Chill Water: Ghost Tales from Down East Maine), I was able to locate modern tales about haunted houses and haunted dorm rooms. And I won't forget all the ghost tales that many of us grew up hearing around campfires and at slumber parties.

Literature examples: Possible the most famous "Americana" example of ghost literature is "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" which uses the motif of the headless/roadside ghost. Ghosts also show up (or do they? wink wink) in Henry James Turn of the Screw, Sarah Orne Jewett's work, and they practically drip out of Poe's work. A great example of a classic poltergeist appears in the child's classic: The Headless Cupid by Zilpha Keatley Snyder.

Popular culture: To prepare for this course, I watched Spielberg's Poltergeist for the first time this summer. I was pleasantly surprised to see Craig T. Nelson, one of my no-hands-down favorite actors.

The movie works as entertainment, not so much as an example of any particular ghost motif. My reaction was that Spielberg collected every single religious/popular culture/folklore motif regarding ghosts in our culture and threw it all at the screen. Being the master storyteller he is, he doesn't lose the viewer because he concentrates on the parents' trials. If I use the movie, I will show the clip of the mom in the kitchen when she realizes that the chairs keep shifting--classic poltergeist behavior! (However, the explanation for the behavior is so confusing, I've forgotten what it was.)

Dr. Horrible: Yes, It Took Me This Long to See It

So, I finally saw Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. My reaction:

(1) Neil Patrick Harris is a fantastic singer! I really had no idea he was so good. After watching the movie, I went on to imdb to make sure he has been on Broadway. (Don't want that talent to go to waste!) He has.

Nathan Fillion can sing? The things one learns by having a library card!

(2) It's a pity we don't live in an age of musicals. Sure, we are coming out of the age of Webber, and huge productions like The Lion King and Wicked are NYC tourist traps, but I'm thinking of the age of Rodgers and Hammerstein when musicals were common not only to the stage but to film. I think Yentl was the last musical I actually saw on film. I'm not counting Disney (and Menken and Ashman ended with Ashman's death). Joss has a real gift; it's a pity there isn't a wider arena for him to practice it in.

(3) The movie has a weak script.

Ouch, stop throwing things!!!

I know, I know, Joss is The King, etc. etc. etc. But that doesn't change the fact that the movie has a weak script. It's funny. It's engaging and moves rapidly. It's well-filmed. It's good. But it could have been better, and it isn't.

I don't say this because (SPOILER ALERT) Joss kills off a main character; as Nathan Fillion says, "You're surprised? This guy LOVES killing people off." It's that he kills off a main character in such a non-pay-off kind of way. You can do that sort of thing once or twice because you want to point out the randomness of life or whatever; after awhile, it's just lazy writing.

And I wonder if this onset of weak writing (Dollhouse is apparently no great shakes) is a casualty of fame. When Whedon was still struggling to sell Buffy and even Firefly, he had to write, well, the kind of stuff that sells. Like it or not, being forced to satisfy an audience is not a bad way to discipline a writer. That's one reason I feel no guilt at making my students learn and practice certain forms. Writing well isn't about expressing yourself; writing well is about communicating. If you want to express yourself, start a blog! If you want to communicate, be disciplined and try to get published.

But Joss is an icon now, and, honestly, how does a person cope with that? Do you pretend you aren't an icon and make like everything you do is still authentic like Michael Moore? Do you create a musical and put it on the Internet for free to prove you are authentic? (Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I borrowed the DVD from my local library.) Do you start trying to shock your followers?

How does an icon keep going creatively rather than trying to live down or up to an image? How does that icon reinvent him/herself, so he/she is still producing strong art while maintaining his/her personality or touch?

Even Madonna, who did a fantastic job at reinvention through the 80's and 90's, has kind of given up. Michael Jackson reinvented himself completely, poor man, and look what happened to him. Shakespeare managed, but then Shakespeare was a businessman until the day he died; he never stopped trying to bring in the moola, mostly because he never stopped worrying about being poor (same with Dickens). Picasso reveled in being an icon, but he was also completely egotistical (maybe that's the solution!). Beatrix Potter reinvented herself out of being a writer and didn't much care (her fans did). There just doesn't seem to be a perfect solution.

In any case, Dr. Horrible is worth seeing, but I recommend seeing it for the fun of the thing and because it's a little bit of Joss, not in the expectation of being introduced to a long-term classic (although I do think the music will last).

Buffy & Riley, Buffy & Spike

For those of you who check this site on any kind of regular basis: Yup, you've seen this before. I'm moving it up because I recently got some more comments!! Out of all my posts, this post gets the most comments, no contest. I don't want to start a range war, but I'll say it anyway: Twilight is not going to be the lasting phenomenon; Buffy is.

I'm currently watching Buffy: Season 5 (just finished disc 5). Based on the travesties of Seasons 6 & 7, I'd forgotten that Season 5 is actually, well, pretty good.

It doesn't have as many classic episodes as the other seasons. Despite its weaknesses, Season 4 has at least three classics: "Pangs," "Something Blue," and "Hush" (oh, and "Superstar"). Season 5 really only has one: "The Body." I like "Intervention" personally, but I don't think it has that quality, the quality that makes one remember an episode for itself, rather than the story arc it belonged to.

Having said that, I do think Season 5 is well-written. It has a consistency about it that Season 4 lacks (and I'm not even going to get into Seasons 6 & 7!). If I remember correctly, there was a strong chance Buffy would be cancelled after Season 5, and the writers made a real effort to create a big, Buffy-worthy send-off.

Which brings us to the handling of Buffy & Riley. I was very impressed by the break-up writing for Buffy & Riley. Compared to the break-up writing for Anya and Xander--okay, I said I wouldn't get into the last two seasons. In any case, Buffy & Riley are handled extremely well. I found their break-up entirely believable and, even, inevitable.

To be clear, I am not one who loathed Riley. I am also not one who takes sides on the Buffy & Angel v. Buffy & Spike debate (except to say, I think Buffy & Spike were handled very badly in . . . OKAY, I WON'T mention the last two seasons). I actually quite like Riley. But he and Buffy would never have worked and even though Buffy went running after him, I think it's just as well Riley missed her.

Riley needs to be needed. Now, to an extent, we all need to be needed re: Xander's "comfortadore." But Riley doesn't just need to be needed in a Maslow's heirarchy kind of way, Riley needs to be needed in a "define me" way.

That is, Riley needs someone to tell him how to be needed; for another type of gal, that would work fine, but Buffy, for all her self-reliance, is not into managing her relationships. And her relationship with Spike points the distinction.

Spike is the ultimate romantic; even when he was William, his relationships with all women (including, we later learn, his mother) are founded on emotional highs. This isn't the same thing as chivalry by the way--that's Angel's gig. But Spike defines moments around him in terms of desire, lustful, affectionate, and fanciful. This makes Spike easier to control than Angelus (bad Angel) since Spike is willing to sacrific dreams of revenge for good onion rings. This also makes Spike (and I quote him), "Love's bitch," but, and herein lies the lesson, this is Spike's nature.

Spike isn't waiting for someone to define him. He's already defined. When he decides to love Buffy or rather when he decides that loving Buffy is inevitable, he goes at loving her (or stalking her) with all of himself. He doesn't wait around for Buffy's signals. He doesn't even wait around to see if she approves, and her lack of approval doesn't alter Spike's fundamental personality in the slightest.

Riley, however, needs the signals. He needs to be given definitions after which he is fine. This is one reason Riley becomes much more interesting once he re-enters the military. The military gives him definition. Now, there's an "every authoritarian institution is bad" theme going on in the last three seasons of Buffy which, other than being rather adolescent, also crippled a number of possible plot lines; I don't think the military MADE Riley want definitions; I think Riley is attracted to institutions that give him definition. There's nothing bad about that, and I respect Riley for recognizing it and going off to a life that will ultimately give him more comfort than Buffy can.

This brings us to why I think the Buffy-Spike relationship had much greater potential than, ultimately, it was given. In the last two seasons, the writers gave rather facile excuses for not promoting the Buffy-Spike relationship such as, "But Spike is evil." Yeah, sure, but the show had a regrettable tendency (repeated at the end of Angel) to pick and choose when exactly to remember characters' evil sides. I maintain that Spike's quest for morality gives rise to much more difficult questions of free-will, goodness and evil than, perhaps, even Buffy writers could handle.

In any case, I don't rest my defense of Buffy-Spike on the quality of Spike's evil. I rest it on the level of comfort Buffy feels around Spike. I think this is the key to the relationship; I think, to an extent, it is the key to every workable relationship (on television and off it). From the beginning, Buffy has no problem talking to Spike, and Spike has little difficulty comprehending Buffy. They speak the same language. To an extent, they even think the same. Until Spike starts stalking Buffy, she keeps her home open to him. She yells at him and then asks him to watch her family. She stops by his crypt at every opportunity.

I'm not saying that Buffy is secretly in love with Spike. She isn't in Season 5; I'm not sure she ever is. But she feels comfortable around Spike. Spike is sure enough of his own personality to take Buffy as she is. In Season 1, Buffy says to Giles (concerning one-episode-boyfriend-Owen), "Five minutes in my world, and he would get himself killed." Buffy finds no comfort in people who need her for what she can give them, whether the "what" is excitement or definition. Instead, Buffy finds comfort in people who love her but don't need her and go on being themselves (Giles, Willow, Angel, Xander, and Spike: interestingly enough, this means that Buffy finds comfort in people who may, ultimately, leave. If she had told Riley she needed him, he would have stayed; she told Angel she needed him, and he still left--thus the risks of loving people who have their own definitions and agendas).

I believe this desire for comfort outweighs all other types of love. Lust comes and goes. Affection is a long-term investment. Comfort is what people truly seek: to feel comfortable, feel like one can relax. In some Maslow's heirarchy way, this is the kind of love everyone is seeking: this person gets me, this person talks my language, understands what I'm trying to say. And really, what Buffy needs isn't someone who needs her to need him but someone who gets her and doesn't fall to pieces as a result.

TELEVISION

You Go, Hugh Jackman!

I'm usually a fan of the laid-back response--don't sweat the small stuff (I'm not saying I do this, by the way; just that I'm a fan of it). However, I completely and totally applaud Jackman's reaction:

Hugh Jackman Chides Cellphone Offender

One of the things that amazes me as a college instructor is the number of students who have no idea how to behave in a professional or even semi-professional environment. I really push my students to take care of business (bathroom, throwing out trash, checking messages) before class begins. However, I accept that sometimes there are emergencies (bathroom-wise, that is; as far as I'm concerned, there are precious few messages that can't wait fifty minutes to be checked).

What amazes me is how many students I have had to pull aside to say, "You really need to wait until I finish talking to get up to throw away your trash." The other day, I had just begun class; I was explaining a rhetorical mode and was about to introduce a video clip. A student in the front row got up and got ready to walk directly in front of me.

I stopped (first time I've done this; I usually wait and talk to the student privately) and said in a non-angry voice, "Hey, can you wait till I finish?"

The class laughed. The student stopped, startled, and said, "Okay" and went back to his seat.

I was pleased, but I was amazed that it happened at all. The rules I enforce are fairly basic--nothing extreme or ultra business-professional. And yet, there are a substantial number of students who don't seem to know that it's rude to walk in front of an instructor or classmate while that person is speaking, it's rude (and stupid) to leave the room while the instructor is explaining an assignment (wait until an opportune moment, people!), and it's rude to interrupt the teacher (wait until she's done talking!). It isn't even that the students are trying to push my buttons (that does happen). They honestly don't seem to know!

They are also, I'm sorry to say, on elementary school/high school potty time. I've never known so many people who couldn't hold it for two or ten or twenty or fifty minutes. I'VE GOT TO GO NOW is their mantra. Sometimes, this is because they are checking their cellphones in the bathroom, but a number of male students seem to have this "I'm bored, I think I'll go pee" bodily reaction to just about any occasion. If I wasn't such a stickler, I swear I'd have ten boys going pee about seven times each in a single fifty minute class.

So, kudos to Jackman!

(In defense of the current youthful generation, I need to state that "substantial" is about three to four students per class--of twenty-odd--so the majority of them know how to behave; however, the twenty percent still throw me.)

Translation Problems

In my continuing effort to learn at least one other language, I've begun watching Lois & Clark with the French subtitles on. I can read French at a third grade level (I never really hope to speak it), and my vocabulary needs some serious expansion.

While watching Lois & Clark with French subtitles, I encountered an interesting translation problem. At the end of an episode in Season 1, Lois and Clark have an argument. Basically, Clark is trying to persuade Lois that they can work well together as a reporting team. Lois is holding out. Exasperated, she says, "It will never happen. How long can you hold your breath?"

The French translators translated this as "How long can you be patient?" Okay. The phrase "how long can you hold your breath" is a colloquialism that means, well, how long can you be patient (or, how long can you endure).

The problem is, the translation misses the joke because Clark (aka Superman) mutters, as Lois stomps off, "A very, very long time."

This is funny and touching (Clark's unending goodwill and unflappability is one of the best parts of the show), and the French translation completely misses it. (Actually, to be precise, in French, Lois says, "I hope you are a patient man," and Clark mutters, "Very, very patient," so the romantic implication remains, but the Superman joke never makes it.)

And I wondered, is there any French colloquialism that would mean the same thing--both from Lois's and from Clark's perspective? Or are translators doomed to simply miss some jokes when they move from one language to the next? Or must they always compromise--pick one part of the meaning (the romance) but give up the other (the joke).

It also makes you wonder, What exactly are you reading when you read a translation?

Things That Annoy Me As I Get Older (and Things That Don't)

In the song/speech/diatribe "I Can't Get Behind That" on the William Shatner album Has Been, two old guys basically yell at each other about stuff that annoys them. I know I'm getting older because I'm beginning to compile my own list:

1. People who pencil-correct grammar errors in library books.

2. People who incorrectly pencil-correct grammar errors in library books.

3. People who "nicely" wave you ahead of them into dangerous oncoming traffic. No, you are NOT doing me a favor.

4. Reviewers on Amazon.com who write things like, "This is my favorite character of all time, so everything I write about this book/movie is right and true, and everybody else has to be wrong" or "I hated this book/album/movie; everybody who wrote positive reviews was obviously paid off, plus the Amazon.com star system is obviously dysfunctional because it gave 4.5 stars to this book/album/movie based on all the 4 and 5 star reviews!" (Ohhkaay, explain to me mathematically why that shouldn't happen.)

5. Students text-messaging in class. (OHMYGOSH, YOU CAN SURVIVE WITHOUT MESSAGING YOUR BOYFRIEND EVERY TWO MINUTES!!)

6. Internet Explorer. I updated; it destroyed a bunch of stuff and then start self-destructing. I've moved over to Mozilla Firefox fairly permanently.

7. How, when you pull a piece of clothing from your closet, every single piece of cat hair in the entire apartment zooms through the air to rest on that piece of clothing (but I do love my cats).

8. Television episodes where the music editors have dubbed in music that (unintentionally) covers up the dialog. I don't mean montages of people doing stuff where the music is playing merrily away as a homage or whatever. I mean, atmospheric music that has been thrown in to emphasize a scene, and the music is way too overwhelming, and there's no way you can adjust it on your TV/DVD player directly (wouldn't that be great?)--makes you wonder how the director feels.

9. Trash collectors not picking up my trash. I put it out on time every week, and I haven't been on a vacation in over two years. It's always there! I never change my mind!

10. Market research people who call you up and put you through a spiel about whatever, and then find out you don't fit the correct demographic and hang up. I try to be nice to people on the phone--I know they're just trying to make a living. But listen up, telephone marketing people, (cue gospel music) consider the state of your soul!!!

On the up-side, I don't especially mind some things (I haven't reached the beat-them-with-a-cane stage yet):

1. I don't mind email spam all that much. I would probably mind if it flooded my mailbox (thank you, Yahoo filters), but in general, I don't mind deleting emails here and there. I'm rarely fooled, and I don't have to worry about missing an email because I filtered it by accident.

And I don't mind Google-advertised sites popping up first during a search--someone's got to pay for the perfection of Google.

On the other hand, I do loathe pop-ups that actually get in the way of reading text and can't be "X'd" out.

2. How kids dress today. I really don't notice all that much. (This piece of indifference is single-handedly keeping me from old-people-dom.)

3. Student drivers--at least, they have those big signs that say STUDENT DRIVER on their cars. I don't have (much) good to say about Massachusetts drivers though. I've lived in New York, Washington (State), Utah, and Maine. Washington drivers are terrible in the rain (ironic, huh?); New York drivers are scary but good; Maine drivers are excellent but completely random (they follow their own rules); Utah drivers are . . . don't remember. All I remember is that Provo, Utah streets never seem to be fixed. Whenever I visit, yup, 900 East is under construction again.

Massachusetts drivers, with one exception, are fairly horrible. They don't do random things, like Maine drivers; they do random, stupid things, like suddenly backing up on a busy, one-way boulevard in order to grab a parking space. (I start shouting, "I'm going to die!" as I slam on the brakes.)

However, I could be reacting more to "tourist drivers" (since most Massachusetts drivers here are "tourists"): that is, I may be reacting to general, stupid behavior by tourists rather than specific, stupid behavior by state. Probably, Mainers who are reckless enough to drive in Boston are totally annoying to Bostonites.

Sorry, back on the negative.

4. I don't mind commercials. I love them, even though I don't watch TV directly anymore. (In fact, I kind of miss them; running to the kitchen to get a drink during a commercial is FUN! Pausing the DVD to do it is boring.)

5. The price of gas. Seriously: it really doesn't bother me. Taking inflation into account, I'm spending the same proportion of my paycheck on gas now as I was fifteen years ago.

6. The news. I don't watch it; it doesn't bother me. Ditto, pundits. Can't get upset about stuff you don't listen to. (I do know basic stuff--like when Michael Jackson died.)

7. Cats biting me. I mention this because my cats are not especially friendly (although they don't bite or scratch me in the regular course of the day), and I try to keep them away from people when people come to visit. I understand someone getting upset if my cats bite him or her. What I don't get is vets getting all squeamish about it. It's their job! I've cleaned my cats' ears, held them down for a "dry bath," clipped their nails, and kept them from escaping when they got freaked about someone. So I get scratched. So what? That's how vets should feel.

However, I do have some sympathy for people who have been bitten by dogs. I never have, but everybody I know who has been is fairly traumatized and never feels the same about dogs again.

8. I wish I could say "smoking" doesn't bother me. Smokers don't bother me in an abstract sense. Smokers who huddle right outside the door to a building, blowing smoke in my face when I exit, yeeaah, that does.

9. Unmowed yards? Not sure--never lived anywhere where it applied.

10. People not opening doors for me. I try to remember to do it for others because I know some people mind, but I don't care usually.

I'm not sure the positives outweigh the negatives; I'll have to work more on the positives, so I don't get too "weird cat lady who screams at the neighbor kids" (yet).

Folklore: Puritans, Magic, and Witches

Puritans brought over from the Old World a belief in magic. The difference between magic and religion is that magic is about controlling the supernatural (for gain), and religion is about supplicating the supernatural. Naturally, Puritan theologians preached against magic and so did some believers, but just as many believers switched between and combined the two ideologies--kind of like a fundamentalist Christian who also adopts New Age health practices.

Of course, New Age health practices don't get you hung for being a witch, but then, neither did a belief in magic all that much. Many more people practiced magic, including counter-magic (against witches) than were ever considered threats to their communities.

Basically, there were two types of magic: "like produces/cures like" (a leaf shaped like a kidney will fix that organ) and "part of the whole effects the whole" (think of the Buffy episode "The Witch" where Willow tests a piece of Amy's hair to find out if Amy is, in fact, a witch). Like in Buffy, counter-magic involved identifying the witch and then practicing one of the two types of magic against the witch.

However, the theological stance was that magic was the result of a contract with the devil and should be avoided. (In fact, some preachers opposed the practice of counter-magic, stating that all negative effects should be endured, even effects brought on, supposedly, by an evil agent; since the devil, not the witch, was the real culprit, it was God's will that the sufferer be afflicted, and the sufferer should just grin-and-bear-it.) The contract is what jeopardized the witch's soul, not necessarily what the witch did.

This motif (devil and human sign a contract which then must be honored or somehow voided, sometimes through a contest) has produced some real literary/music classics: "The Devil and Daniel Webster" by Stephen Vincent Benet, "Young Goodman Brown" by Nathaniel Hawthorne, and don't forget "The Devil Went Down to Georgia."

But what about those witches?

A lot of scorn has been poured on, well, everyone in Puritan times from the victimized witches (who are always portrayed as feminists) to the evil paranoid ministers. The scorn ignores some important points:

1. The Puritans, including many accused witches, truly believed in magic. Think about it: how would you feel if your neighbor could actually control the weather, crops, and livestock? Oh, wait, the environmentalists do believe that! (Sorry, I would never bring up environmentalists in the classroom: I would say something like, "Why would the belief that others could control nature be both frightening and comforting?")

2. Although most accused witches were female, witchcraft was also practiced by men, and some male witches were accused, and some were hung (but yes, women were the bulk of the accused and executed).

3. Witches (male and female) tended to be accused in batches (this was true in Europe as well). Arthur Miller was right: you really did have to have a zealous McCarthy type on hand to get witch trials started at all. Kramer, author of the big witch book that supposedly paints the entire Middle Ages as prejudiced and anti-fun-loving-witches--Malleus Maleficarum--was a real zealot, who just about everybody in power thought was nuts (I agree with scholars who claim Sprenger's name was added by Kramer to add gravitas to the work.) Of course, it doesn't say much for the Middle Ages that this crazyman ended up giving public lectures, but he was one guy, not everybody in Europe at the time.

Absent a zealot McCarthy-type, witch accusations tended to occur in small communities against a particular individual (gives you a whole new respect for civil lawsuits!).

4. Throughout the Middle Ages, it was more likely for a woman to die in childbirth than to be accused of being a witch. (Check out Magic, Mystery, and Science: The Occult in Western Civilization by Dan Burton and David Grandy.)

5. Witches were NOT, collectively, sweet, wise, herb-collecting midwifes. In her excellent book The Witch Throughout History, Diane Purkiss tackles the New Age image of the sweet, wise, herb-collecting midwife witch. Purkiss, by the way, represents the commendable side of Women's Studies: women scholars who refuse to accept comfortable, self-gratifying images at the expense of true history or at the expense of the real women who struggled and believed and endured those times.

Many witches in Europe and Puritan New England believed they were witches. Many midwifes were not only not witches but helped to identify witches. And whatever anyone likes to tell you, the environmental/Wiccan stuff is a late development.

6. The push to stop witchcraft trials came from Puritan ministers (who were bothered by the lack of tangible evidence), not from "enlightened" outsiders. Prolific blatherers like Increase Mather expended great energy trying to focus attention on the theological principle rather than on the accused: "It is then evidence that the devil himself did that mischief [not the self-accusing woman]. It must, moreover, be sadly confessed, that many innocent persons have been put to death under the notion of witchcraft, whereby much innocent blood hath been shed." Of course, Mather then goes on to paint Catholics as more likely to burn witches than Protestants. This is incorrect. Inquisition or not, Protestant countries hung/burned as many if not more witches than Catholic countries. So, he's a two steps forward, three steps back politically correct kind of guy.

Now, none of my points make up for what we moderns consider innocent people being tried and convicted on what we consider false testimony. Just: any trial/accusation should be judged by the times in which it occurred.

In terms of folklore, despite my list of "true" facts, the popular image of the witch--female, crone, pointy hat, broom (think Wicked Witch of the West)--appeared very early on. And, whether I like it or not, the image of the witch as a sweet, peaceloving, herbal collector has gained sway in popular culture. The Wiccans are right about one thing: beliefs in witches and magic lasted long after the Puritans morphed into gentler (but just as noisy) religions. Stories about magic and witches were collected from the Schoharie Hills (New York) as late as the 1930s:

Mrs. Elisha Case used to be witched. She would sit in a chair with one knee uplifted, the foot off the floor, hours at a time. When her folks asked her why she sat like that, because of course it was "an awful hard position to keep," she said she couldn't help it. Her family sent a lock of hair, her name, and her age to Dr. Jake Brink, and he cured her.

There are literary and film references to the older folkloric image of the witch--The Wizard of Oz being an excellent example. However, contemporary thought is more in sympathy with the witch than with her accusers. One common literary motif (not necessarily a folktale) that I've encountered is "teenage girl accused of being a witch and then saved by providential (scientific) intervention": The Witch of Blackbird Pond by Elizabeth George Speare; Elizabeth in which Willo Davis Roberts basically stole Speare's entire book and rewrote it as a Sunfire romance; Gallow's Hill by Lois Duncan (nice twist at the end); Buffy episode "Gingerbread" (Season 3).

Folklore: Native Americans and Puritans

The folklore course that I hope to teach in the spring is split into two parts. In the first part, after I define folklore (which could be an entire course by itself!), I focus on types of folklore and their appearance in literature. The second part of the course looks at how folklore is interpreted and reinterpreted.

When it comes to organizing material, I'm a big fan of the historical approach. This is difficult with folklore since tales exist in one time, disappear, then crop up in another time. Nevertheless, when teaching American-anything, it is always a good idea to start with Native Americans and Puritans.

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Regarding Native American myth and legends, I stuck to New England tribes: the Penobscot, Algonquian, and Pequod, for example.

A great deal of Native American folklore was not taken down until the 1800s or later--consequently, using Native American folklore for "historical" purposes is fraught with problems. Nevertheless, I discovered several folktales that I plan to also use in my Working Women course.

"Corn Mother," for example, stresses the importance of corn to many Native American tribes and the connection between corn and women's work. In "Corn Mother," the human-goddess First Mother sacrifices herself, so corn can grow, thereby saving her family and their descendants.

Other tales, like "Big Eater's Wife" (which is also very funny), stress the importance of a woman's grinding tools: her mortar and pestle. This connection of women to food preparation tools is a general motif in older folktales and myths. In Good Wives, Laurel Ulrich points out the importance of basic kitchen tools to Puritan women: a family's wealth was determined by their kitchen pot. When survival becomes a community's main concern, access to food becomes a source of power (just watch Survivor or Big Brother).

Like most folklore, Native American folklore also includes trickster tales. In many such tales, Coyote appears as a dangerous trickster; in others, the trickster is "Glooscap" who seems to be less dangerous than Coyote but still respected. From my reading, "Glooscap"'s character seems to be a combination of Hermes, Loki, and Br'er Rabbit.

For a decent collection of Native American myths and legends (with source notes!), I recommend American Indian Myths and Legends, selected and edited by Richard Erdoes and Alfonso Ortiz.

Native American myth and lore in literature: Contemporary Native American poets include Suzanne Rancourt and Cheryl Savageau. Both writers use mythical imagery in their poems. Also, Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote about The Old Man in the Mountain, a supposed Indian legend about an Abenaki chief waiting for his Mohawk wife to return, but there's no evidence that the tale originated amongst Indian tribes; more likely, Hawthorne made the whole thing up!

Speaking of Nathaniel Hawthorne . . .

The Puritans also had folklore. Oddly enough, they did not bring over beliefs in elves and fairies from England, but they did bring over beliefs in magic. Basically, Puritan folklore falls into three categories:

Religious
Magic (Witches)
Ghosts

I'm going to deal with religious folklore in this post.

What is "religious folklore"?

In (most) religions, there is a core theology. That theology is official--preached on Sunday, printed and discussed in manuals, textbooks, dissertations, etc. Religious folklore is what members tell each other about the theology/day-to-day practice of religion. The Puritans had tons of it.

We know about Puritan folklore mostly due to Increase Mather. The Mathers were the radio-talk-show hosts of their day, and Increase Mather really should be commended for collecting verbal accounts of folklore in true radio-talk-show host fashion. He may have had an agenda (what Mather didn't?) but in his collections (which he does not refer to as folklore), he bothered to distinguish between word-by-word accounts versus summarized accounts versus "I heard that someone said that" accounts. Pretty amazing!

The tales that come under "religious folklore" have to do with tales of providence and tales of judgment--basically, tales of good people who are rescued fortuitously from natural disasters, boat wrecks, and having their brains busted out of their skulls versus bad people who are struck by lightening, lose their sight, and have other hideous things happen to them.

These tales are staples in religious and pseudo-religious cultures (I had to throw "pseudo" in there for all the environmentalists who started saying that Katrina was a judgment for America's bad environmental practices--talk about starting a myth!) although while I was reading Increase Mather's tales, I kept thinking of those shows which focus on animals who providentially save their owners--there isn't a direct religious connection, but it's the same idea.

To be fair (to me), there isn't always an religious connection in Mather's tales either; he really gets excited about the kid with the brain problem: "[The surgeon] gently drove the soft matter of the bunch into the wound and pressed so much out as well he could; there come forth about a spoonful; the matter which come forth was brains and blood (some curdles of brain were white and not stained with blood): so did he apply a plaister . . . This child lived to be the mother of two children; and (which is marvellous) she was not by this wound made defective in her memory or understanding."

I can't close this section without referring also to religious folkways. Religious folkways, like religious folklore, grow up around the day-to-day (month-to-month) practice of a religion. A good example of a religious folkway occurred recently in my congregation (recently, as in June).

The young children usually sing a song for the entire congregation on Mother's Day and Father's Day. When I say "usually," I mean "usually for those of us who grew up in the church." However, the head of our children's organization did not grow up in the church--she's been a member approximately seven years. She was completely taken-aback by the whole singing thing. Witnessing her reaction was a real eye-opener to me; I suppose if anyone had asked me, I would have said, "Yeah, it's a folkway" (it certainly isn't proscribed), but I had never really thought about it. Talk about a custom being perpetuated simply on the basis of expectation! I supported her not going through with it (can't throw things, even customs, at people's heads at the last minute), but she ended up agreeing (to be honest, nobody really cares about the singing; they just want the kids to stand up and look cute).

Puritan folklore in literature: Anne Bradstreet's poetry ("Deliverance from a Fit of Fainting" and "Deliverance from Another Sore Fit") and, of course, Hawthorne. In The Scarlet Letter, Hawthorne particularly relies on the lore of "omens" as indications of providence or judgment.

M is for Muddly (Morrison)

What I read: The graphic novel Final Crisis by Grant Morrison, illustrated by J.G. Jones and Doug Mahnke.

I should say first that I liked the artwork, and that goes a long way for me. There's a line between overly artistic and overly comic, and Jones and Mahnke find the balance. The bound book is very appealing appearance-wise (I was tempted to buy it).

The overall plot is not difficult to figure out: really, really bad guys are beating the good guys. Some gods die. Parallel universes are falling to pieces. End of the world on its way. Yeah, I saw it all on Star Trek.

Unfortunately, all the stuff that probably makes the plot more fascinating (the nuances and internal references) are way over my head. I don't really hold this sort of thing against superhero/graphic novel writers. After all, they aren't writing for me (a person who watches Batman, Spiderman, and Superman movies, collects Frank Miller, and did, once, collect The Next Nexus, and who reads the occasional graphic novel, but has no more investment than that).

On the other hand, I was able to read and enjoy the graphic novel Identity Crisis (Meltzer, Morales, and Bair) despite my lack of inside knowledge. In fact, I picked up on a lot of storylines and was able to put some scenes from Frank Miller's graphic novels into context. In other words, Identity Crisis furthered my interest in the DC characters. Final Crisis, however, just left me feeling, "That must be the character who died twice and . . . oh, who cares."

Having said that, the story itself (if you ignore the participants) is engaging. It is rather like reading the Book of Revelations: you don't understand it, but boy, there's lots of great images and interesting ideas floating around.

Here's the downside: I'm not one of those people who has reread the Book of Revelations, not because I'm avoiding the depressing end-of-the-world colloquy; I just already know the end game: blood and guts and glory. Fun while it lasts, but not something to get excited about twice.

The fascinating thing about Identity Crisis, and the reason I've reread it 3-4 times, is that although I knew, sort of, where it would end up (not the WHO, just the WHAT), the story itself engaged me: it was touching and problematic, all about personal relationships and getting on with life. Final Crisis is, well, just that: final crisis.

This must be the same reason I can't get excited about comet-hitting-the-earth movies. I mean, the end of the world, WOW!

So . . . what's for dinner?

Final thoughts: Final Crisis is interesting, but I'm glad I didn't buy it (libraries are wonderful places!).

What Is Folklore?

Sadly, my folklore course canceled: not enough students signed up. The course hasn't been offered in a long time and is an elective; this is how I comfort myself over the lack of interest. (I spoke to a professor Monday morning who told me that often a course needs to be "on the books" for awhile before students take advantage of it.)

My wonderful boss has agreed to let me try again next semester. However, since I was looking forward so much to teaching the course this semester, I decided to post about folklore occasionally over the next four months using my lecture notes.

This is actually a good way for me to go through the material--the fact is, one learns how to teach by teaching, and one learns whether something will work in a particular course by trying it out. For example, concerning the material below, I was initially going to have the students read the Wilson article between class one and class two; now, I'm thinking that would be too confusing (though I might still include the article in the reading packet): all the "what-is-folklore-folklore-versus-history" stuff needs to be presented upfront. That way, I can focus on the relationship between folklore and literature as early as possible.

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What is Folklore?

The folklore course examines the connection between folklore and literature, specifically the mobility of ideas, images, and stories. For example, an urban legend can develop in the school yard; that legend can then be used in a commercial; that commercial can then be taken up by viewers, and eventually translated/transmuted back into a folktale.

Likewise, an image or idea that occurs in a novel--literary or popular--can worm its way into everyday culture, showing up as an example of "folk" to later anthropologists.

To summarize: Ideas do not stay put in one place.

But what is folklore?

Nobody really knows! Just about every book I found on folklore had a slightly different definition (see below for a chart I created to try to order the various definitions).

Here are my definitions:

Folklore refers to pervasive (common) songs and tales that are transmitted person to person rather than by an official institution or author. Strict folklorists believe folklore can only be transmitted orally; however, I believe that folklore--such as urban legends, jokes, songs, and stories--are also spread through the Internet. These legends, jokes, songs, and stories become "folk" when they are transmitted person to person (through email, for instance).

Folkways, like folklore, are transmitted person to person, often within a specific group (a family or an occupational group). Folkways refer to customs, traditions, and practices: schoolyard games, food and dress customs, crafts, holiday/birthday/funeral rituals.

Myth is a very broad term; I use it to refer specifically to stories about the relationship of supernatural beings (gods, angels) to humans. While folklore may contain supernatural beings (vampires, fairies), folklore is not centered on the supernatural-human relationship; rather, it is grounded in everyday life. Myth, on the other hand, does concentrate on the supernatural-human relationship. So, for example, Gawain may leave King Arthur's court to meet the Green Knight, but the meeting takes place in an earthly environment. Psyche, on the other hand, leaves the mortal world to deal with a god, Eros, in his environment. The first is a British legend or folktale; the second is a myth. Likewise, stories about ghosts visiting family members are folklore; stories about humans visiting the great beyond (near-death-experiences) I would classify as myth. (It's a fine line.)

Clarification

The most important aspect of folklore is that it is transmitted person to person within a community. It occurs at the "grassroots" level rather than in the official/institutional "face" of that community. So, for instance, a published collection of folklore on the Internet has stopped being folklore and become "official." But a story picked up from someone's blog and transmitted through email to friends and family (without credit to the original author) would be folklore. (Are "folklore" festivals--paid for through official state and university funds--really folk? Who knows! I would never be this legalistic with my students. I just don't want them relying on folklore websites rather than collecting stories from their friends. However, I do find it interesting that most general books about folklore were published in the 1970s; once folk studies become a government-funded issue--after the 1970s--general books about folklore practically disappeared. Well, and Richard Dorson died.)

Media Example: In the Psych episode, "Scary Sherry: Bianca's Toast," Shawn and Gus single-handedly create an urban legend or folktale when they tell all their elementary school friends that a woman committed suicide at the local mental hospital on Halloween night. The legend becomes anonymous; it enters the culture and is passed person to person until even Shawn and Gus have forgotten, fifteen plus years later, that they were the originators. In this case, the event never actually happened; Shawn and Gus just thought it did. The legend, however, has had an impact on the (television) town's culture.

Media Example: In the X-Files episode "How the Ghosts Stole Christmas," Mulder opens the episode by telling Scully a story that "everyone" knows about a haunted house. The story is prevalent and, in this case, supernatural.

On the other hand, the imaginative stories that Sara invents in The Little Princess are just that: imaginative invented stories. They are transmitted orally, but they are not pervasive or anonymous. Therefore, they are not folklore.

The relationship between history and folklore

Although both history and folklore deal with narratives (making connections between events to explain what happened), folklore is collected and transmitted differently than historical documents. History is about learning, or trying to learn, what actually happened. Folklore is what people say about what happened. The two disciplines often merge since learning what people say about an event can help historians grasp the overall aura or "feel" of an event. But historians and folklorists do not approach cultural/historical material in the same way.

The relationship between history and folklore is wonderfully elucidated by William A. Wilson in his article "Something There Is That Doesn't Love a Wall" (from his collection of essays, The Marrow of Human Experience). In this article, Wilson argues the following:

1. Folklore has existed throughout time.
2. All people (cultures) have folklore.
3. Folklore is both universal and culture-specific.

Wilson is arguing against the idea that folklore is only produced by uneducated, country peasants and also against the idea that cultures outgrow folklore. Folklore is created in specific circumstances to explain events or to justify actions; it is also used to connect people. Therefore, specific types of folktales will arise from specific cultures, but the habits of folklore appear to transcend human behavior, technology, and "progress." Consequently, particular tales will appear over and over again in many different cultures and times. Cinderella is one example.

If folklore indicates particular reactions to particular events as well as reflecting the general human condition, how (and why) is it different from history?

Wilson explains the difference this way: "[Historians] . . . attempt to come as close as possible to that [full] story, and . . . do so through the use of verifiable, documentary evidence" (57, my emphasis). Wilson continues: "Folklorists would also be interested in what really occurred . . . but their principal interest would be in oral narratives . . . because people govern their lives not on the basis of what actually happened in the past but rather on what they believe happened--that is, on folk history." Wilson attempts to distinguished between the roles of the folklorist and the historian, but he also shows how the two "hands" can reflect and help each other.

I highly recommend Wilson's article. Not only does Wilson have intelligent things to say about folklore, he says all those intelligent things in a calm, friendly, enlightening way.

Diagram of the relationship to folklore to history and what folklore is.

Would I Care If House was about Grammar?

I was recently able to purchase House, Season 2 from Target for $18! This is a GREAT buy--even House pre-viewed seasons go for over $25, and I have promised myself that I won't purchase any seasons unless they are under $20--otherwise, I would have way too many DVDs and no money.

I watched the episode about the model and then went to Polite Dissent's review of the episode. My brother Joe introduced me to this site, and I get a kick out of the reviews and the medical insights.

What surprises me, though, is how many of Polite Dissent's commenters (not all) have this "I can't stand it when they get the medicine wrong! I had to stop watching the show!" reaction. I appreciate the fact that Scott (creator of Polite Dissent) grades both the medicine and what he calls "the soap opera"; I also appreciate that he seems to think they can balance each other out.

I appreciate it because--I confess!--I have the same reaction to the medicine on House that I do to the forensics on CSI and, frankly, to the technobabble on Star Trek. I'm sorry, I'm sorry to group those three shows together! But, honestly, the moment the characters in all three shows start doing the technical-exposition thing, I . . . well, I don't stop listening. In fact, with House, I'm particularly attentive because of the metaphors (I use a clip from the episode "Autopsy" to explain metaphors to my students: in about three minutes, a tumor is compared to an octopus, a girl's body is compared to a "lemon" (car), and House makes an extended metaphor about cancer cells and terrorists: good stuff!)

Yet even though I listen to the dialog, I don't really listen for the technobabble unless it is thematically relevant as in "Skin Deep," where House says, "The perfect woman is a man!" after his rant about estrogen.

For me, it's mostly about HOW the language (script) is put together rather than WHAT is being said.

Here's what I mean: I love the Red Dwarf episode where Lister is trying to explain time travel to the Cat with words like "interstellar dimensional space-time continuum." Finally, Lister says, "It's a magic door." "Oooooh," the Cat says, "why didn't you say so?!"

That's what technobabble is to me--fancy words for "a magic door."

I have wondered, though, if this is because I don't specialize in medicine or forensics (or interstellar travel). I don't believe everything I hear on House or CSI (one reason I like Scott's site), but I don't much care when the technobabble is wrong either. (And I kind of take for granted that all the technobabble on Star Trek is wrong.)

But I suppose if I were watching a show about English teachers, and the teacher characters kept misdefining subjects and verbs and stuff, I'd get really ticked. That kind of stuff matters to me even when I know it doesn't matter to my students. (Thanks, Eugene, for clarifying grammar rules for me!) So I suppose I would get upset if the writers got it wrong.

However . . . most television writers are English geeks like me who get their forensic and medicine technobabble second-hand (no matter how many experts they have on staff), so they probably care more about dangling modifiers and metaphors in any case!

L is for Lighthearted (Letts)

What I read: Where the Heart Is by Billie Letts

Where the Heart Is is an Oprah's Bookclub book. Oprah specializes in saga tales--or at least, it always seems as if the books I see with Oprah's stamp on them are saga tales--and I usually avoid saga tales. By "saga tales," I mean books that take you through all the tragedy, heart-aches, trials, and tribulations of a person's life.

Most of Oprah's books (if not all) are about surviving the tragedy, heart-ache, trials, tribulations. Still, there's all that tragertribution to get through, and it makes me tired. There's something to be said for "escapism" as the purpose of literature.

However, Where the Heart Is--although it has its share of tragertribution--is so lovely, the tragertribution takes a back seat. The book is, really, singingly optimistic. What a nice change from so many other Americana tales!

Part of this singing optimism is due to the tone/style. In some ways, Letts' style reminds me of McCall Smith's style in the Ladies Detective Agency books. There's this sense of wide-open space filled with the gentle current of humanity. People are just so everyday nice: not nice in a sycophantic, sticky-sweet way but rather nice, and quirky, in the way people really can be. I mean, there are people like this in the world! Even Forneys!

Part of this singing optimism is Novalee who grows from a clueless, but still resilient, seventeen-year-old to a strong, compassionate, wise twenty-five-year old in the course of the book. We don't ever see her faults, but that's not the point of the book. We are so much on her side, her faults hardly matter, and her growth from naive teenager-with-baby to Renaissance woman-with-seven-year-old is completely believable.

The only part of the book where the singing optimism falters is when Lexie (Novalee's best friend) gets beat up by her pedophile boyfriend. It isn't the tragedy that kills the mood; the book can afford a few tragedies. It is, unfortunately, the platitudes that Novalee dumps on Lexie. Lexie blames herself, and . . . Lexie should. She has continually dated guys who get her pregnant and dump her. After number five, yeah, Lexie should have learned to be more savvy or, at least, get the guy vetted, or, at the risk of sounding Puritanical, just stopped dating. At some point, the thought, "I'm not doing my kids any good" should have crossed this woman's mind, and it annoyed me that Novalee swept it all away with a "bad things happen, but we look for the good in life and move on" speech. As far as I'm concerned, Novalee's reaction should have been, "Yes, and I was a lousy friend for not telling you to be more careful about the jerks you date." At the very least, I would have liked some recognition by Novalee that her friend may be a wonderful human being (and should be helped, whatever her accountability) but doesn't have enough commonsense to fill a teacup and should never be allowed to take care of Novalee's own daughter.

Especially since Novalee herself does make tough commonsense choices for the sake of her daughter. Like Lexie, she messes up after Americus is born, but the event acts as a traffic signal in her life: slow down! think! The reader sees the woman Novalee is going to become, a person who has her feet firmly planted on the ground.

However, this shift from singing optimism to Pollyanna-erk is fairly brief and pretty far into the book. I'm not even sure why Letts put it in other than to add 1000 more words. Otherwise, the book's overall positive viewpoint is not saccharine or wishy-washy or uneven. It's gentle, plausible, and pleasant and makes the book one of my recommendations, saga tale or not.

For Stephen King Fans: A Question about Misery!

Although this blog is titled "Votaries of Horror," I am not actually a big fan of horror (and I can't write it--I've tried!). I am also not a huge Stephen King fan although I recommend his book On Writing as the best book on writing I've read.

And I do admire his work, AND I have seen the man in person plus his house (thanks, Mike!). So, when I needed to come up with contemporary examples of captivity narratives, I thought of Misery.

I didn't really want to read the book (see above), but I got out several books on King, including detailed synopses of Misery, analyses of Misery, and yes, I did actually skim through Misery itself, closely reading the last pages.

I knew the overall plot, of course (mostly from spoofs), but I hadn't realized until I read the detailed synopses and the end of the book what exactly King had done with the idea, and I was impressed. (And yes, Misery is a good example of the captivity narrative.)

Then I read some of the analyses. One essay I read is actually more about King's films than about his books, but in the analyses, the author (preparatory to making a refutation) brings up a feminist critique of King in which, well, I have to quote it since there's no way I will do it justice otherwise: "In Misery, creativity is solely a masculine prerogative, for the artist is male, and both the reader and the character/antagonist--made one in Paul Sheldon's vicious and dangerous fan Annie Wilkes--are female . . ."

I was completely flummoxed. I thought, "Did the feminist who wrote this even READ the book?"

Well, I didn't read the book, so I have to ask Stephen King fans:

Isn't Annie Wilkes a kind of muse for Sheldon? Far from being a stereotypical non-creative female reader/character/antagonist, isn't she, to a degree, the source of his creativity? (I'm talking about what King actually does with her, not what Annie or Sheldon say--remember, literature students, the narrator does not always tell the truth.) She demands excellence from him (she wants him to keep writing about her favorite character but won't let him do it in a token, off-the-cuff kind of way). Doesn't that make her some kind of sociopathic/psychopathic Calliope (muse of epic poetry)? Doesn't Sheldon thank her ghost at the end for making him a better writer? Doesn't that make her the source of his creativity? Isn't King writing about the writing process, as hard and demanding, in a way that involves both Sheldon and Wilkes? Doesn't that kind of undermine the feminist critique I quoted above?

After reading that critique, I could see why King might have a problem with higher academic intellectualism.

Now, to be fair, feminism is a very broad ideology, if it's even fair to call it that ("broad umbrella"?). There're many different forms. And I actually think of myself as a feminist these days (once I realized there were many different forms, not just 80s-NOW-political feminism). But there's a particular form that usually appears in academe that is so dumb it makes your head ache. It's so dumb, female scholars in women's studies programs will often feel called upon to write about how dumb it is at the risk of being labeled "traitors" to their programs.

It's the "I've decided life is unfair, patriarchal, and misogynistic--so that's all I will see. No matter what!!"

I took a class in which the professor, who was otherwise a well-read, intelligent sort of person, went on about the Statue of Liberty being ironic because it is a "silent" woman which is symbolic of women not having rights in the America's history.

Uhhh, okay. That makes sense . . . if one's brain stops working, and one knows nothing about women's history. Suppose the statue had been built with her mouth open: wouldn't that make the statue a symbol of the "gossip," a stereotyped image of women who chatter incessantly about nothing? And suppose it was a man instead of a woman? That symbolism isn't too hard to figure, so I won't bother. Suppose it was a man in drag--wait, it kind of looks like a man in drag. And that means . . .

Not an argument one can possibly win--one way or the other. (We have a statue of a Woman of Victory here in Portland. It was built to represent the North winning the Civil War. The woman holds a sword but is wearing some off-the-shoulder Greek-type outfit. Maybe . . . she's a dominatrix? The statue is symbolic of . . . porn? Personally, I think it's kind of cool she's not a guy, whatever she symbolizes. In London, you can't walk through the meridian of a round-about without stumbling over a statue of a guy on a horse. And all the statues seem to be from the Crimean War era.)

In any case, if I'm right about Misery, I'd be happy to hear! You can let me know if I'm wrong too though I warn you, I have a hard time taking "there must be symbols in here about women being marginalized because the writer is male!" explanations seriously.

Career Actors: Kurtwood Smith

I'm a big fan of what I call "career" actors and actresses.

Sure, I like "big" actors and actresses, such as Tom Hanks. But I have enormous respect for actors and actresses who work consistently on television (sometimes in the movies), giving consistently good performances. They may not win lots of awards or acclaim, but they are darn good at their jobs; in many ways, I like them because it is just a job.

To elucidate the difference: Nimoy and Shatner both wanted to be "big." They became big, just not in the way they had hoped. Nimoy, in his typical gentlemanly fashion, came to terms with this. I'm not sure Shatner ever has completely (I guess, time has forced him to come to terms with it).

DeForest Kelley, on the other hand, was an old Hollywood career actor by the time he showed up on Star Trek. It was just another job, and he did it as well as he did any of his jobs. He ended up "big," of course, like everyone in the Star Trek universe, but I don't think he ever regretted not being bigger or being a more diversified star. I think he figured, "Hey, that turned into a pretty decent gig." I've always admired him for showing up on the first episode of Star Trek: NG. This was when fans and stars were still comparing the new show to the old show, and there was some tension about the new show NOT being the old show, blah, blah, blah, but there's Kelley, making his guest appearance, doing his job.

I love that.

Kurtwood Smith is a career actor that I adore. I have seen him on House ("Half-Wit"), X-Files ("Grotesque"), Star Trek: Voyager ("Year of Hell, Parts I and II"), and, of course, That '70s Show as "Red." He's a fairly versatile actor. If I hadn't seen him on House, I would have said he just did 'grumpy guy' really, really well. (In X-Files and Star Trek, he plays high-maintenance grumpy guys but still grumpy guys.) One of my favorite lines in That '70s Show is when Eric's grandmother gets ill and goes to the hospital and, naturally, Eric and his entire entourage go too, at which point Red snaps, "Why is it, everywhere we go, all these people come with us?" Maybe it's a growing-up-in-the-70's thing, but that line always makes me laugh.

And Smith is good at being grumpy. House, however, showed me that he could do more than grumpy. When "Half-Wit" aired, the big hoopla was Dave Matthews plus Hugh Laurie playing piano with Dave Matthews, but I don't think that episode would have been half as good if the father hadn't been Kurtwood Smith. The scenes with him and Laurie are powerful. It's an interesting episode with a typical House conundrum--is losing a special power or gift worth being ordinary, accepted, and happy? House forces the father to make the decision, knowing the boy's ability to function is more important than his ability to play. However, House won't make the decision, as he so often does, because he doesn't know what he himself would choose. The father, who must make this difficult choice, has to be an actor who can evoke sympathy from House and the audience, and Kurtwood Smith does this without being maudlin.

Kudos!

Religious People Can Be Imperfect: It's Okay

I was at the library this afternoon, picking up Robert Frost and Edgar Allen Poe for my folklore class--thanks to everyone who has sent me suggestions for my folklore class!

I came across a book about a man losing his faith. I flipped it open and immediately come across this argument (which I've encountered before):

I know so many religious people who don't practice what they preach; their religions (organized religions, usually) must therefore be pointless or useless or false.

I wanted to go on record as saying, I have never understood this argument.

I was raised Mormon, and I'm still active. I was raised Mormon by incredibly decent people, and I grew up around some of the nicest people in the world (sure, my family is opinionated, and I'm hardly suggesting we're perfect, but my siblings and parents are seriously nice), and I still don't understand this argument.

In other words, I have every reason in the world to think that religious people (or people raised in religions) do practice their beliefs, thereby justifying my upbringing and belief system . . .

And I still have never understood this argument.

The argument rests on one or more fallacies, and the fallacies are, well, fallacious:

Fallacy #1: People practice their beliefs.

Got people? The gap between practice and belief is a fundamental truth of human nature from parents who smoke but tell their kids not to all the way to environmentalists who inform you about the earth's dewindling resources with one of their 2 million pamphlets (recycle, schmycled; it's still paper). And these are, perhaps, obvious hypocrisies. There are still the gaps between private and public acts/beliefs and private and public faces. Yes, ideally (see 2), people should be the same everywhere they go although I'm not even sure about that. I'm politically libertarian and religiously conservative. That is, I support certain actions politically that I don't practice personally. However, I don't pretend about it to anyone, so maybe that's the point.

Fallacy #2: People should practice their beliefs, and if they don't, there is something wrong with their beliefs.

The problem with this argument--which is obviously problematic but lots of people buy into it--is its corollary: If people do practice their beliefs, those beliefs must be true. Most people will reject this latter statement as erroneous but accept the prior statement as true.

If I'm right, and people are flawed (and I am, by the way: flawed and right), then #2 is a non-starter. I can act like my town doesn't have traffic laws, but it won't stop the police from pulling me over. However, "truth" in this case is big UNIVERSAL TRUTH, not little-law-bending truth. Still, I don't see why my actions or feelings should automatically substantiate or negate a universal truth to anyone other than myself. "Only your parents and your friends have reason to believe you," I tell my students. I can teach them about European witchcraft trials and mention that over a span of 300 years, the chances of a woman being accused of witchcraft were astronomically less than her dying in childbirth or, speaking in terms of modern statistics, being murdered, but that doesn't mean my students will believe me or care. (My next job, as an academician, would be to give them proof.)

In other words, a thing can be true, or not true, without any emotional involvement or particular personal investment by the people facing that thing. To segue into House, House needs assistants who can afford to be wrong--because there is a right answer, but they might not always get it. They have to be prepared to be wrong about the right answer since the answer isn't relative, and how nice or good or wonderful or well-meaning they are won't necessarily get them that answer. Something can be true, even if nobody acts as if it is true.

Fallacy #3: People should practice their beliefs, but if they only practice part of them, that's as good as them not practicing any of them.

This isn't too different from that bumper sticker I hate: "No one is free if others are oppressed." And it is so fundamentally inaccurate, it's hard to know how reasonable/perceptive people can believe it. A man may be nice to his wife and kids but not so nice to his neighbors. It doesn't follow that his inability to be nice to everyone means that he is an entire failure at his religion.

That doesn't mean he shouldn't be nice to his neighbors; it just isn't an either/or proposition. Flaws do not indicate complete failure. I suppose there is a point where the equation tips, and the flaws outweigh the average person's ability to be perceived as good and kind. But from my perspective, that equation had better be pretty generous. I think many an academic argument has failed to understand an event or individual because the equation was not generous enough. I'm reading The Magician's Book by Laura Miller right now in which Ms Miller attempts to balance what she perceives as C.S. Lewis's flaws with his talents in order to reach a balanced appreciation of books (the Narnia Chronicles) she loved as a child. I don't completely agree with her analysis or her arguments (or even her form of criticism since I put more weight on performance than I do on reading-between-the-lines), but I can read her book because of her generous perspective.

Deciding that someone's failure to live up to an ideal is the sum total of that someone's personality is not an accurate, or charitable, assessment.

Fallacy #4: All groups are nasty to outsiders, thus all groups are bad; if someone is dissatisfied with a group (i.e. organized religion), it must mean that group has treated that person badly and behaved intolerantly (no other reason).

Actually, there's some truth to the first part of this argument. Here's an example:

Back when I lived in Washington State, I listen to a lot of talk radio. One day, I was listening to a discussion of "whether gays can be Republican." I don't really understand these types of arguments. I figure people can do whatever they want. But the guest speaker, a gay writer about economics (no, the three things have no automatic relationship, but that's how he was presented) was talking, and I started listening, and okay, I'll admit it, it wasn't really what he was saying because frankly, economics bore me, it was his voice: Bing Crosby meets James Earl Jones. Golden honey.

So he gets done talking, and people start calling in, and a lot of the callers say things like, "Hi, I'm a fundamentalist conservative, and I think what you have to say is great!"

Any guesses on the angriest callers? Yep, those who thought the man had "betrayed" the Democratic Party by being a fiscal conservative.

I think my disillusionment about so-called liberal/left "tolerance" started about then. Well, I was never really "disillusioned" because I've never really believed liberals were automatically more tolerant than anyone else, but my belief that similar types of human reactions can be found within any group received serious support on that day.

And that reaction--"Traitor!"--isn't atypical. Humans are social animals and tend to act accordingly. We shouldn't (says the libertarian in me), but we do, and it isn't all bad; it just isn't all good (I'm not an anarchist, just a libertarian).

What bothers me about the claim, "All groups are nasty to outsiders, thus all groups are bad, so (to paraphrase) all dissatisfaction by the individual must rest with the group" is how seldom that claim allows for nuance and complication: that is, a group behaves a certain way, and everyone assumes that the group is behaving according to the cliché without examining the underlying, individual causes or variations.

Example #1: Burning witches is nasty; however, the cliché states that sweet, angelic, herb-planting midwives were scampering about their beautiful gardens worshipping earth-goddesses when the mean patriarchy (organized group) came along and burned them. For no reason at all!

Writers, such as Diane Purkiss, have pointed out that the witches weren't always angelic or midwives (in fact, often midwives testified against witches) or even automatically pagan. Writers, such as Dan Burton and David Grandy, have pointed out that most witch accusations were made in small communities that contained long-standing grudges (not exactly systematic) and that in the few cases where accusations were systematic, men and boys were often executed as well.

The cliché tells a generalized truth: generally, women were accused and executed more than men, and generally, they tended to be marginalized members of their communities. Plus burning witches isn't nice. But it misses all the real-life realities: all the interesting stuff about actual trials and cases and individuals.

Example #2: When I first moved to Maine, I worked as a secretary in a law school. It was one of the most ideologically diverse places I've ever worked. We were all white but religiously and politically speaking, we had a representative for just about every position: mainstream, fundamentalist, atheist, agnostic, Democratic, liberal, Republican, conservative, Marxist . . .

Everyone got along okay, but ideologically-speaking, I was just about the only person there who didn't think someone was out to get me: big business, liberals, crazy religious people, diehard right-wingers, etc. etc. etc.

I figured they couldn't all be right--at least, not all right in the same place at the same time: Southern Maine wasn't going to become, in the next ten years, a left-leaning, fascist nightmare filled with godless, God-fearing fundamentalist Donald Trumps. I mean, sure, Maine taxes people to death, but I'm not sure one could blame that on a left-leaning-fascist-godless-God-fearing-fundamentalist-Donald-Trump. One could try, I suppose. But it would be kind of hard. I don't think even I could do it, and I believe that people are complicated and don't come all-of-a-piece.

This is the problem with saying (to condense the fallacy), "Oh, the group is to blame; the group is making me unhappy." It could be true. The people where I worked believed it was true, but that didn't automatically make it true or even probable. In fact, they'd each created an image of an anti-group and then become frightened by the image. (Who are all these conspiring people? Where are they?) I was more impressed by the fact that everyone got along okay, no matter how paranoid.

In other words, groups can behave badly, but they also usually behave complexly, so blaming the group (rather than the individual) may be correct, but it also may not, especially since the group--or the image of the group--may not even exist. In any case, "the group as bad guy" is not a given.

My conclusion: Give me the particulars first. I want to know the people before I judge the situation. Whatever the situation.

Disclaimer: Yes, I know, I don't always do this as thoroughly as I should--see #3 above.

K is for Kit and Kaboodle (Knox, Kostick, Kaaberbol, Kerr, Koller)

What I read: Dreamhunter by Elizabeth Knox, Saga by Conor Kostick, The Shamer's Daughter by Lene Kaaberbol, Children of the Lamp: The Akhenaten Adventure by P.B. Kerr, and The Keepers: A Wizard Named Nell by Jackie French Koller.

I believe that children and YA fiction is, on average, better written than adult fiction. That doesn't mean there isn't good adult fiction out there, just that the amount of badly written adult fiction greatly outnumbers the amount of badly written children and YA literature.

As I say to my students, "You can persuade an adult that something is good when it isn't. You can't do that with kids."

Consequently, I have plundered the children and YA sections of bookstores and libraries all my life. The one major difference between my younger years and my older years is that I now read much more adult non-fiction (it's relaxing!) than in my teens and early twenties.

The one similarity is that I'm still not enamoured of series. Which is not to say that I'm series-free. I have read Eddings' Belgariad series, some of the Earthsea books, most of the Chrestomanci books, Pratchett's Bromeliad series, the Chronicles of Narnia, the Lord of the Rings, and McKillip's Riddlemaster series. However, with the exception of the Chronicles of Narnia (well, they are short) and Eddings' Belgariad series (which is rather like reading a Cliffnotes of Fantasy Motifs), most of the series I have read and enjoyed have been three books long--no more. I seem to be psychologically prone to closure or pay-off.

This doesn't explain, though, why I would be reluctant to start series in the first place. I've begun to think my brain chemistry actually alters when I pick up the first book of a series. I call it a "brain void"--a pit of disinterest (not dislike) expands like a black hole through my synapses, and I put the book down again. It seems to have little to do with the writing style or the subject matter--just "uuuuuhhhh," and I move on.

I decided to analyze this "brain void," so for "K," I selected the first book of five series by YA/children's authors: Dreamhunter by Elizabeth Knox, Saga by Conor Kostick, The Shamer's Daughter by Lene Kaaberbol, Children of the Lamp: The Akhenaten Adventure by P.B. Kerr, and The Keepers: A Wizard Named Nell by Jackie French Koller.

I gave up on the first two--Dreamhunter and Saga--after one chapter. I gave up on The Keepers within five pages. I will probably give up on Children of the Lamp but should mention it as an exception to the first three. The writing is fun in its own right, including passages such as the following:

"A Near Death Experience," John said matter-of factly. "You know. When you're having surgery and you almost die and you travel through a dark tunnel into the light and get mugged by an angel at the other end."

The last, The Shamer's Daughter, is the only one where I went ahead and got out book 2. Before I get to why The Shamer's Daughter stood out, I'll cover my physiological reaction to the others. Did I have a "brain void"?

Well, yeah, in all three cases. I felt more or less the way I do when I'm waiting for my car to be fixed--less bored but sort of treading waterish. Or the way you feel when you do to the DMV and FIRST you have to fill out the little card and THEN you have to get the little ticket and THEN you have to sit in the little chair and THEN you have to watch three million people go to the window before you, and the numbers are never in order because they have that weird A versus B system, so people get different tickets for different issues, and FINALLY, your name is called and then you have to pay money for something.

That's how I feel with most series, even P.B. Kerr's. Eventually, I give up and skip to the end of the book, and guess what! The children have discovered they have powers or the sisters have conquered something or other or the hero or heroine has been awarded kudos or made peace with his or her family, and my reaction is, "Couldn't you have told me that in the first chapter?" (Couldn't you just deal with my ticket problem, now?) I mean, I had to wait and wait and wait and wait and wait and meet more and more and more and more people and have more and more and more information thrown at me and . . .

And I realized that I write the way I read. One of my biggest flaws as a writer is that I tend to start mid-story. For example, in "Her Society," I start the story AFTER the guy has already committed his crimes and been sent to live with Safrina and actually, most of the 30-day socialization has already passed because, well, frankly, I just don't care about any of that set-up stuff. Treading water.

But it does place me in the awkward position of either having to use flashbacks OR have editors write me annoyed notes saying, "This is well-written, but I had no idea what was going on!"

Unfortunately, it also means that I have a hard time getting into series. I just don't care about all the stuff that leads up to people having confrontations. The question that interests me most as a writer and reader is "What if?" not "How did we get here?"

Still--I can understand the fascination with "How did we get here?" or beginnings. I usually develop a fascination with beginnings after I've read a whole bunch of ends. I know the characters, and then I develop a desire to read the prequel about where the characters came from and why they do what they do, etc.

But I can appreciate that many people like the information to unfold chronologically/sequentially. I'm going to call it the "soap opera" effect, but I don't mean that negatively. I could also call it the "gossip" effect, and I wouldn't mean that negatively either. It's the human fascination with knowing people--what happened to little Johnny Smith? who did he marry? how many children does he have? etc. etc. etc. My lack of interest in the soap opera effect may be the reason I never remember where people work (I often remember what they read!), and the reason I was never good at the clique/gossip stuff in high school. So-and-so is dating so-and-so? They started dating three months ago? Huh.

Regarding The Shamer's Daughter: each book appears to have an individual focus with the problem being presented immediately. I also happen to like the narrator's voice. I've decided that selecting the narrator's voice is a writer's most important job. I've had story ideas that I just couldn't get going until I knew who was telling the story. Likewise, when reading--especially a series--I have to enjoy the narrator. I've given up on series because the narrator was humorless or morose or simply dry.

End result: I feel a little closer to understanding my "brain void" when it comes to series!

The Real Darcy

'A Man of Few Words' Being an Addendum to Pride and Prejudice as told by Fitzwilliam Darcy and Transcribed by Jane Austen and Katherine Woodbury is now available as a full PDF document.

This document is also available as an e-book at Smashwords.com.

Many thanks to Eugene for creating the PDF, storing the document on his website, and publishing the document on Smashwords. He should also receive authorial credit for the opening letter! I made a few additions but most of the opening letter is his own. (I should probably also now thank all the male introverts in my family for making this document so comparatively easy to channel.)

Lastest Publication

My latest story just came out in Leading Edge Magazine: "Her Society."

Here's the description:

"Her Society" (Leading Edge, June 2009): A futuristic legal system places the burden of judgment on the victim of an assault; she, Safrina, must first live with her assailant for thirty days in the hopes that she will learn to "understand" him. She is burdened not only with her own survival but with the possible future of her assailant.

Subtext and Harry Potter

I don't care for critical explanations of art that focus on subtext. I think subtext creates an imaginary, sometimes interesting text at the expense of the actual text. It does this by stringing together elements of the actual text. I will illustrate what I mean below. The actual text is the Harry Potter series (which I have never finished and don't have many personal opinions about).

Here are the elements:

Azkaban
Harry Potter's innate magical powers
The house elves

EXPLANATION 1: Harry Potter is a Marxist tract that envisions a common man who stands against the dark forces of capitalism as displayed by the prison, Azkaban. Yes, it is extreme, but all good satire is extreme. Azkaban represents in miniature the horrific conditions that inmates suffer in most Western prisons up to the moment of execution (in the United States). Harry Potter's innate powers indicate that he, like all men and women, is born with inalienable rights. He is supported by the underclass—the house elves—who in their willingness to defend Harry Potter's cause echo the revolutionary spirit of Marxist insurgents; in subrogating their individuality for the common good, they demonstrate what is needed to bring about a new tomorrow.

SUBTEXT: Rowlings is a liberal with a liberal agenda. She is using the Harry Potter books to destroy capitalism by promoting a Marxist agenda.

EXPLANATION 2: Harry Potter is an Ayn Rand-inspired text. Harry Potter is the ultimate individual who, despite the debased no-thinking/self-imposed slavery of his peers--the house elves--and society--Azkaban, manages to retain his sense of innate individuality. Like all good Ayn-Rand heroes, he ultimately becomes a self-created and self-important being: sui generis.

SUBTEXT: Rowlings is a gung-ho individualist who believes that independent spirits will save the future.

EXPLANATION 3: Harry Potter is a religious text. Azkaban represents the evil that resides in all men (and women). Note that the Azkaban warders appear when Harry Potter begins to despair. His innate magical powers refer to grace which will save him if he will accept it. The house elves represent good spirits/saints/intentions who remind Harry Potter of the need for humility through their examples.

SUBTEXT: Rowlings is a fundamentalist Christian who is using the Harry Potter books to persuade readers to give up their sins and repent.

EXPLANATION 4: Harry Potter is a Horatio Alger text. Harry Potter is the ultimate barrow boy who, with innate drive and determination, rises above environmental determinism symbolized by the warders of Azkaban, who destroy a person's will to survive and ability to progress. The house elves represent what Harry Potter could become if he does not rely on that innate drive and determinism: self-entitled drains on the economic stability of a nation.

SUBTEXT: Rowlings is, despite being British, trying to feed people the erroneous concept of the all-American dream. Everybody knows that immigrants were worse off when they got here! Everybody knows that the streets weren't paved with gold! And now she's trying to sell the idea all over again.

EXPLANATION 5: Harry Potter is a feminist tract. Azkaban represents the patriarchal forces of a mostly male-run world. By aligning himself with Hermione, Harry Potter allows his feminine side to show through. Harry himself is not the driving force of the novels; actually, he represents the innate "male" or "power" side of Hermione. The house elves represent the slavery (a la "The Yellow Wallpaper") that all women suffer. Hermione's attempts to "free" the house elves are her attempts to free her own understanding and act for herself.

SUBTEXT: Rowlings is using the Harry Potter novels to preach a feminist message. She made a male the hero because her message, like all good feminist messages, is subversive.

EXPLANATION 6: Harry Potter is a deconstructionist text: everything eventually means nothing. By pervading the books with Azkaban imagery, Rowlings prepares the reader for randomness and anarchy. She deliberately creates non-explained phenomenon. She also creates characters who insist on linear progression—the house elves—despite the obvious non-structural aspect of the books; consequently, the house elves remain slaves to Western artistic expectations. Harry Potter, like the characters in Waiting for Godot, exists in a world that he cannot actually act upon; he has innate abilities but no ability to choose. He is the post-modern hero because he accepts that nothing can be learned or really understood.

SUBTEXT: Rowlings is trying to expose us to the true relativity of life. She does this by subverting ordinary/linear Western archetypes to reveal their basic shallowness.

EXPLANATION 7: Harry Potter is a cry for good parenting. Harry has no strong parental figures in his life. This exposes him to the evils of the world (Azkaban, the boarding school). He has to rely on his own sense of right and wrong because he has never received proper training. This is made clear by his reliance on his "innate" abilities rather than on parental teachings. Furthermore, the text is replete with examples of parents who fail to live up to their parental responsibilities, creating a corrupt second generation (Malfoy and his father) that cannot think for itself (the house elves) and must struggle on its own (Hermione and her parents).

SUBTEXT: Rowlings is challenging parents of today to live up to their obligations. By giving Harry Potter a happy marriage at the end of the novels she hopes to break the cycle that Harry Potter was born into.

EXPLANATION 8: Okay, I'll spare you.

All explanations and subtexts are my own. The jargon isn't.

Thoughts On How People Respond to the Media

I just finished watching My Kid Could Paint That, a documentary about Marla Olmstead that came out in 2007. This post is not going to focus on Marla Olmstead's work (except to say that I really like Bottomfeeder, see right). What it will focus on is people's responses to the media.

After watching the documentary, I Googled "Marla Olmstead" and came up with her official website plus a number of blogs, posts, and articles from when the documentary came out. I read through some of the comments and was reminded, all over again, why I don't usually read comments anywhere except on my blog (where the commenters are generally very pleasant and insightful whether they agree or disagree with me--thank you, wonderful commenters!). I am bemused by individuals who seem to exult in passing negative judgment on people they have never met. Passing judgment on movies: I get that. Passing judgment on books: I get that too. Passing judgment on politicians: well, that's kind of a given. Passing judgment on a family viewed for 83 minutes and out of context: naaah, I don't get that.

Yet many writers, posters, commenters have accepted the documentary as THE TRUTH--with one major exception: Doug Harvey from the LA Times.

This, I find bizarre.

Here was my internal (and external--I watched it with only my cats present) response to the film: As it started, I said, "Nah, the kid didn't paint those" even though, at that point in the film, the documentarian did accept the "authorship" of the paintings. At another point, I said, "Wow, she's really smart" about the hometown reporter, Elizabeth Cohen (frankly, I think she's the best reporter featured in the documentary). I twice made positive comments about the parents. I really liked the mom, who made thoughtful observations about her role as a parent. (More about the dad later.)

Half-way through the documentary, the child's "authorship" is "debunked" by 60 Minutes. I cringed; I've never been a huge fan of CBS news. I agreed that the painting the child created for the "hidden" (notice the quotes: children are like animals; they know instinctively when an environment has changed) camera was different than the others although I thought, and still think, it resembled Bottomfeeder. (Later, the parents did their own documentation of the child painting.) I accepted the child psychologist's statements on 60 Minutes but decided later that one child psychologist isn't enough to convict anyone (child psychologists are capable of saying really dumb things). I noted that the 60 Minutes piece wasn't balanced. I was completely unphased by the father "losing" his temper: he didn't. Besides, what is this obsession with children having pure, untainted childhoods where the parents are so good, they are inhuman? (Has anyone ever met parents like that?)

I was highly amused by one buyer finding "meaning" in Bottomfeeder (the kid's an artist, not a philosopher), but he framed and hung the painting beautifully. I had mixed feelings about the art dealer. He seemed to be distancing himself at one point, giving off a kind of "Hey, this has nothing to do with me" attitude which annoyed me since it seemed like a betrayal, and I think betraying people who have made you money is tacky. I also thought his comment about abstract art being a con because it doesn't take a lot of time to produce to be silly in the extreme. Taking a long time on a piece of art does not, ipso facto, make it good. It's like those Idol try-out singers who think they should get accepted because of how long they practiced, not because they can actually sing.

But I reminded myself that interviews in documentaries are often out of context (we don't always hear the questions asked by the interviewer). In any case, the art dealer is very good at his job as when he persuaded buyers to purchase the "proven" (documented) art piece rather than an art piece (by the same child) that they liked better. I think the purchasers did it because they were on camera (this was after the controversy) which struck me as rather expensively touching: a $20,000 or so effort to demonstrate their belief in the artist!

I thought the documentarian breaking the wall between him and the audience was interesting, but I thought he failed to ask the right questions, namely, what does his obsession that he must "catch" the child producing great art say not just about how news is made but about fandom? (Elizabeth Cohen, local reporter, made some insightful comments here.) I also thought he was remiss in bringing up the question of "fraud" without interviewing (1) other child psychologists; (2) a variety of art critics. In other words, he seemed to be caught between an objective look at the child's work and a subjective examination of the child and her family. He started both threads; he didn't finish both.

To continue: I had no trouble at all believing that the child painted differently when the camera crews were around from when they weren't. I had no trouble believing (I thought it was self-evident) that the father's anxiety to show what his daughter could do sans camera led him to push the whole painting thing on camera (at which point, like a normal 4-18 year old, the kid balked and went, "Do it yourself, Dad!" or just refused to cooperate). I thought one of the saddest parts of the documentary was when the child invited her father to paint with her, and he self-consciously declined: I didn't see it as proof that he had helped her in the past but as evidence of how much the accusation that he was helping her had boxed him into a particular role: spectator rather than participant.

I read absolutely nothing into any of the daughter's comments one way or the other. I have nieces and nephews. Kids are the kings and queens of non sequiturs. I personally am opposed to the use of child "witnesses" in legal situations--children can be coached to say anything and will change behavior based on outside expectations. (At seven, I would read slowly or quickly depending on what I thought my teachers wanted from me: proof that I was a good student or proof that I had trouble reading. My reactions weren't thought-out; again, it was instinctual; I picked up on body language or something.) P.S. Cynics, don't read too much into this (see comments below).

I was impressed by the parents as parents. I was also intrigued by their decision to document their child painting (clips are shown on the documentary and on the website). It intrigued me because it underlined the parents' basic "naivety" (as the father put it); if we just SHOW the world what we see everyday . . . It also intrigued me because it backfired (to a degree). As an insightful commenter to one of Harvey's articles pointed out, the believers were actually disappointed by evidence that the painting process is mundane, not magical. (The child didn't go into a trance and sing "Kumbaya.")

I, however, found it better than magical. The clips, though brief, showed that the child did behave differently when just her family was present. They also showed that she looked over the painting as she worked: where to place a yellow blob, where to add another batch of color. Forget prodigy, people! Doesn't anyone appreciate how amazing a talent/eye that is? The only abstract art I ever painted (in high school) was a drab mess--and at the time, I could produce fairly good representational drawings.

More on this issue of the child's eye: in one scene where outside cameras were present, the child squeezed out several tubes of color and mushed the paint together. "She doesn't do that when no one is here," the father said, exasperated, and he was right, she didn't. Later, when she was more used to the documentarian, she painted a rather ordinary picture in his presence. As she painted, she carefully selected which tubes she would use, varied her colors, and filled her canvas. Also, back to the scene where she mushed all the paints together, she kept saying to her dad, "This is green, right?" And yet all the documentarian saw was "She didn't produce a work of genius in front of me!" A four-year-old who sees color, actively chooses which colors to use plus fills her canvas, and all this guy sees is that he wasn't witness to some cataclysmic event? Talk about only seeing what one expects.

Okay, the big question: Do I think the dad helped? Yes, but I'm not sure exactly what I mean by that. I think he may have told her when to stop. I think he may have presented her with a choice of colors. I think he may have urged her to continue with a certain look or style. He may even have touched up the paintings. I don't believe he actually painted them. His own art looks completely different. There's an interesting issue here about production versus eye--a person who can't necessarily create but can make a created thing better; there's also an interesting issue of art and community--few artists throughout history have created in isolation or without input.

Unfortunately, both 60 Minutes and the documentarian made it impossible to explore these issue. The moment they turned their subject into FRAUD/BAD DAD/MY SAD DISILLUSIONMENT, they closed the door on a whole host of way more interesting questions. I thought the father reached the point where he was terrified of saying that he did anything to help his daughter: buy the paints, prime the canvas, anything.

If he were an editor (and she was an adult), nobody would care. We accept that editors do (and should) edit their writers' works, but a painting . . . even when the overall concept and composition is completely unique to a particular individual . . . that shouldn't be touched at all! Especially, the pure unfettered freethinking of a child!!

Am I open to the possibility that she did it all herself (except prime the canvases)? Actually, yes, more than I was before I watched the documentary.

Do I like the paintings? Absolutely. I was a tad surprised since I'm not a big fan of child prodigy singers and such, but hey, art is art is art.

Would the paintings have received as much attention and money if they weren't marketed as painted by a child? I have no idea. I mostly ignored all the stuff on the documentary about abstract art except for Michael Kimmelman's very interesting remarks; I happen to like (some) abstract art, and I don't believe that representational art is intrinsically worth more simply because it is representational.

Should art pieces, in general, be sold for as much as they are? Why not? If the market will bear it . . . (Take stamps. Or Hummel dolls. Those make a lot less sense to me than abstract art.)

Which brings us to the whole issue of capitalism and the free market. And the point of this post.

I went into my viewing experience with opinions; I came out of my viewing experience with opinions. And I did some research after the fact. Which is all to say, I find it irritating how many commentators and commenters seemed to have accepted whatever was placed in front of them: the beginning of the film says she is a true artist: How sweet! The middle of film is all about the 60 Minutes documentary: Evil parents, bad dad! The end of the film expresses the documentarian's doubts: Frauds! Put them in jail!

A specific example: a lot of commentators (and the father!) accept 60 Minutes description of the dad's urging (in the "hidden" camera part) as "harsh" even though 60 Minutes played the dad's statement, and it didn't sound harsh at all. It sounded exasperated. It was the equivalent of a dad saying, "Stop putting Fruit Loops in your brother's ears!" Actually, it was the equivalent of a dad saying, "You sing for me and mom all the time. Why won't you sing for grandma?!" And yet 60 Minutes said it was harsh, ergo, it was harsh. 60 Minutes created an image of "stage" parents: ooh, I hate those kinds of parents, let's make nasty comments about them on someone's blog.

Another example: her paintings now are less sophisticated. Why? Because 60 Minutes and the documentarian say/imply so. And maybe they are less sophisticated, but lots of people accepted the Vermeer fakes because they were told they were Vermeers. Gullibility works both ways: people tend to see what they want to see, and a thoughtful person looks at his or her own sight, not just other people's. I ran across several comments that went something like, "I'm an artist, and all you people who say you are artists and say she is good—or did this herself—must be bad artists!"

Huh?

"I'm an artist" may be a valid statement. "Those paintings aren't good" is a debatable but still valid statement. "All you people who disagree with me must be bad artists" is about as huge a leap in logic as anything I've come across lately. The assumption is: my eye is automatically better than your eye because I say so. I may believe my eye is better than everyone else's—there are some Marla paintings I wouldn't buy—but the claim by itself doesn't make a valid argument. Again, the dearth of any actual critique (as opposed to people slinging statements around) is a huge void in the documentary.

It's like everyone gets locked into one little box, NOT because the documentarian or CBS or the family locked them there but because they won't unlocked themselves. One of the "you are all bad artists" commenters was responding to L.A. Harvey's statement that he paints all the time and sometimes he produces good paintings and sometimes he produces bad ones. I think that's an interesting statement about artistic output. But instead of responding to the interesting statement, the commenter got right back on the "she's a fraud/no she isn't" bandwagon.

One little box. Even the commenters who have defended the family have used the claim on the documentary that a documentary is as much a creation of "truth" as art itself. Semi-interesting idea. But why would you defend your position using a statement by the guy who created the evidence that you wish to debate?

The worst are the commenters who think they have "seen through" the parents: "The father couldn't answer a question in the last interview. So, the parents were lying! They fooled you but not me!!"

To me, this is just as pointless as anyone accepting the situation or documentary at face value. It shows a complete inability to understand the complexity of human communication or to understand the issue at any other level than "Me smart. You stupid."

It reminds me of some of my more frustrating moments in my master's program. Many students had an attitude of disillusionment: "All I learned in high school was wrong; I can't believe my high school teacher didn't teach me X, Y, or Z."

Some of the disillusioned students accepted whatever our professors said (they simply exchanged one set of teachings for another). Some of the disillusioned students maintained an attitude of cynicism: "Nobody thinks for themselves; we're all controlled by the entertainment-military-industrial complex." (In other words, it's Disney's fault.) And some students adopted massive chips-on-the-shoulder: "It's clear that nobody outside of this program is as perceptive and insightful as us!"

*Sigh.*

I didn't believe or disbelieve my high school teachers. I didn't believe or disbelieve my professors. I don't believe or disbelieve the documentarian of My Kid Could Paint That. This doesn't mean I think truth is relative. I just don't abrogate my understanding of an issue to someone else's opinion or media presentation, I don't waste my time "outsmarting" all those horrible liars out there (talk about narrowing one's life to a single, rather boring purpose), and I don't trust CBS news on principle.

Which doesn't mean CBS is always wrong.

Here's my libertarian side: In a democracy, it's a person's job to be skeptical but not cynical. And there's no point blaming one's lack of skepticism OR need for skepticism on the government or big business or whatever it is this week. Citizens of democracy, you don't know how free you are! Think for yourselves instead of blaming other people for what you think or don't think.

And think means think--as in, don't judge people on 83 minutes of their lives. That's not thinking; that's just rude.

Why Going After Twilight for Its "Bad" Relationships Totally Misses the Point (and I'm Not a Fan)

Like many people, I've seen the Buffy-Twilight Remix. I think it is hilarious and adds an interesting perspective to discussions about Twilight. However, it has gotten me thinking about Twilight again and whether I'm willing to go as far in my criticisms of the series as recent critics.

I previously discussed Twilight with my friend Carole on this blog--Carole has read the first three books. I have read approximately 1/4 of the first book. Carole does an excellent job critiquing the books in terms of their writing and character development. If you read my response to Carole's critique, you will find that, like Carole, I consider the books flawed due to the lack of real choice on Bella's part. Furthermore, for any of you who are reading my Darcy's POV posts (the last one is coming!), you know that I consider the "classic" guy-stalking-girl-cause-he's-totally-obsessed-and-powerful motif to be, aesthetically speaking, rather dull.

Having said that, I have found the quasi-feminist backlash (feminism is a rather complex movement with many, many, many facets) against Twilight to be somewhat odd. I also think it ignores the more interesting question posed by Twilight. Before I get to that question, here are my thoughts in order:

1. Twilight is boring. I didn't finish the first book because I didn't care about Bella; I had no investment in her survival. Frankly, I found her boring. It is easy to put Bella's boringness down to her passivity, but on reflection, I've realized that passivity is a common denominator in YA novels--this makes sense since passivity is, for many teens, a common denominator in their lives: they are stuck between wanting freedom, being frightened by freedom, and not being allowed all that much freedom anyhow. (However, unlike Twilight, most YA novels do hinge on an active choice as opposed to "I just can't help myself" behavior.)

I decided, therefore, that my non-investment in Bella had more to do with her lack of humor than her passivity. I base Bella's lack of humor on the first chapters that I read and also on the fact that no one who talks to me about the Twilight books (pro or con) mentions her humor. They talk about Edward or they mention what is happening to Bella or how Bella feels. They don't talk about her wit.

In the excellent (non-fantasy) book Celine by Brock Cole, a young teenage girl (Celine) is stuck in a mostly passive role for most of the book. However, her voice is so delightful that the supposed passivity of her life becomes inconsequential. In any case, within the narrow confines of her life, she makes choices and achieves serenity, and she's very wry and touching while she's doing it. (I also maintain that her humor is part of what makes Buffy so watchable.)

So, I found Bella boring, and there wasn't much, writing-wise, to make up for this.

2. However, I consider the current attack on Twilight (series and movie) as a "patriarchal" work, blah, blah, blah to be rather annoying. Sure, the critics have a point, but not that much of a point.

Twilight hinges on a fantasy--it's not a particularly delectable fantasy re: real life, but it is a fantasy within our culture which is shared by both men and women: the fantasy of the romantic other who totally understands us and totally wants us and never wants to leave us and is always there for us and knows what is best for us.

Okay, yes, I figured out at fairly young age that this type of relationship would get very tedious very fast, but then, I'm the kind of person who gets snappish if I'm asked to be social without warning: the idea of a constant, adoring presence makes me tired (how could you ever live up to it?).

But I still understand the fantasy.

And I think it is unfair to get after women who voice it.

Romance writers have pointed out that the male version of this fantasy is accepted in our society. I'm not sure that's entirely true anymore (where are James Bond's ladies?), but there is something to be said for the male version of this fantasy being a staple of Western literature.

But when women produce the same fantasy, there's this big "Stop Talking!" response.

Give me a break.

Now, I am the first one to say that this fantasy can get trite and boring. Read several romances in a row, and you start rolling your eyes. Still . . .

3. Pretending the fantasy isn't there or shouldn't be there won't make it go away.

I've read responses to Twilight that basically go something like, "My teenage daughter loves this series. I must persuade her otherwise! I've spoken to her about it. We fight! What can I do?"

I want to bang my head against the wall. Fighting over gross impertinence: worth it. Fighting over clothes: sort of worth it. Fighting over literature: really stupid.

People like what they like. They grow out of what they like. Or they don't. My mother didn't want me to see the first Batman (1989) because it was nihilistic. She was right. I saw it about twenty times and then formed the opinion that the movie was nihilistic.

And I was a really obedient kid.

I can't think of anything dumber than telling a teenage girl that she should stop adoring Edward. There's nothing wrong with saying, "I don't agree." Shoot, if you grew up in my family, you'd get eight opinions on the subject plus an argument at the dinner table to boot. But trying to argue a teenage girl out of her aesthetic response--I just don't see how that could be productive.

I think the fear is that the susceptible teenage girl will go off and get into a relationship with a (glittering) stalky guy. Well, maybe, but I would be willing to bet that girls and women who get into relationships with stalky guys have other larger issues in their lives than reading B-literature. At the risk of making a possibly injudicious statement, I even wonder how many of these girls and women read fantasy or, since Twilight has crossed genre lines, are series readers at all.

In any case, all this worry still doesn't make the fantasy go away. I could even argue that trying to shut teenage girls off from the fantasy could make them more susceptible in the long run. Maybe not--arguments like this enter the realm of indefinite probabilities. I just don't get readers who want to get after Meyers for not having Bella have sex AND for introducing the fantasy of Edward. Pick up some Camille Paglia, people, and face the hormones: whether we like it or not, whether we approve of it or not, whether we acknowledge it or not, this fantasy--the wholly seductive yet completely responsive and considerate lover--is part of the human psyche. It isn't going to go away just cause it upsets us!

For that matter, the juxtaposition of viriginity and sexual seduction are huge motifs in legend and myth; sure, sure, Bradley et al. "feminized" the Arthurian legends; my point is--you can feminize things all you want, it doesn't make the big, bad, masculine wolf in Sondheim's wood go away.

4. The more interesting question posed by Twilight is: Why do we find this fantasy so alluring?

What's the thrill? Why do stories about sirens and vampires and succubi and incubi flood our myths? Why do romance novels about the domineering/there-no-matter-what hero flood the market? And what is it with James Bond's ladies? Or the spunky gal in the Western who will do anything for her man?

Here's one theory (at the mythic level):

Mormons and other religious people believe that the battle between God and Satan was over agency--God was for it (choose who/what you will become); Satan was against it (I'll make it all turn out right), and Satan enlisted a whole bunch of support. The idea of no-agency/no-choice is seductive.

Now, to survive in this world, we have to compromise (at the risk of getting all philosophical, I maintain that humans contain agency as a whole or given; how we exercise it is limited, but agency itself doesn't increase or decrease). We are not entirely free in the sense that all options are available to us at all given points in time (and we have no direct control over the consequences of those options). I'd love to rush off to Wales right now but physically, financially, and obligatorily speaking, that's not going to happen. I can't fly; I haven't got the money; and I've already agreed to do other things this week. I'm also limited by my ethical standards: I won't be robbing a bank this afternoon. Besides, I don't like the possible consequence: jail. And I am limited in terms of my credentials and my natural abilities: the University of Wales isn't going to be calling with a teaching offer (too bad!) for me to teach calculus (it's been explained to me three times; I still don't get it).

So agency exists along a line rather than as two extremes--agent versus slave--and humans are constantly testing positions along that line politically, personally, theologically, and romantically. The concept of a desire/love/interest that conquers all our reservations is one of those positions. And it's not going to vanish from our culture, no matter how often people say, "Stop Talking!"

5. All that granted, I still won't be finishing the books (though I might see the movie).

Folklore: Kate Requests Some Help!

This coming fall, I am teaching a folklore class. It is a somewhat overwhelming prospect since, although the course was previously taught, I have nothing to work with (including no textbook) except a course description.

Consequently, I am preparing the course from scratch which is a tad overwhelming! (It doesn't help that I am one of those people who doesn't feel comfortable teaching something unless I thoroughly and comprehensibly understand it--as in, I could write a book about it and go on lecture tours. Unfortunately, most of my own folklore studies have been with European folklore rather than American folklore. Some overlap but not as much as you might think.)

According to the course description, the course involves comparisons between folklore and literature. This is slightly different than my original understanding (in which I thought I was going to be teaching the history, typology, collection methods, interpretation, and analysis of folklore in a 100-level course). It is not an unwelcome realization, but I'm now in the position of gathering not just folklore examples but examples of past and contemporary literature which utilize folklore!

Both the folklore, and the literature, should be (mostly) New England based (that is, written in New England or about New England--for the purposes of this project, I am including upstate New York as "New England"; this allows me to use "Rip Van Winkle").

Sooooo, if you have any suggestions, please send them along! I'd be interested in media examples as well (yes, I am using Buffy when I discuss vampires). And material outside of New England is okay too since I can always compare and contrast New England writers/material to other writers/material (for instance, I will be comparing Buffy to Dracula to the New England perception of vampires: all surprisingly different!).

Muchas gracias!

For those who are interested, I will be posting the last chapter of Darcy's P.O.V. in the next few days.

J is for Janeites plus Some Fan Fiction by Kate! (Jeffers)

What I read: Darcy's Passions by Regina Jeffers.

Darcy's Passions is the story of Pride & Prejudice from Darcy's point of view (mostly). There are dozens of these books on the market. And I've never been able to get through one of them.

I'm sorry to report that I couldn't get through Darcy's Passions either. Part of the problem with all these books is the writing; part of the problem is the characterization of Darcy--which brings us back to the writing.

First, the writing: many of these authors try to sound Austenian but end up sounding either ultra-modern or stilted. The 18th/19th century voice is terrifically difficult to pull off. The only contemporary writer who comes close is Susanna Clarke (Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell), and she is magnificient.

The real problem, though, is that these authors don't just write in a normal voice. I'm not saying Austen wrote in a "normal" voice—I personally think Austen's authorial voice was cultivated. But it was normal for her. Jeffers' attempt at Austen is better than many, but the switch in viewpoint doesn't sound omniscient and humorous (as it does with Austen); it just sounds confused.

Jeffers' Darcy, unfortunately, also seems a mix of confusing and unrelated elements. Like in so many of these types of books, her Darcy is a collection of added thoughts to already existant text. The added thoughts are all, I am sorry to say, standard romantic fare. He is overwhelmed by Elizabeth. He is more overwhelmed by Elizabeth. He is impressed by her wit and anxious to exchange witticisms with her. He despises Miss Bingley. He is confused when the text absolutely requires him to be confused. He is masterly and insightful all the rest of the time.

In other words, it's typical Alpha male romance stuff and completely inconsistent with Austen's text. (To her credit, Jeffers is one of the few "other" writers whose "add-ons" include Darcy's knowledge of land management.) The result is a gloss of Austen, not any real insight into Darcy's character.

I personally go along with Phyllis Ferguson Bottomer's argument in So Odd a Mixture that Darcy is borderline autistic. Her delineation of Darcy's character is one of the most accurate and delightful on record. She recognizes what few interpretations do: namely, Darcy is accused of pride in Hertfordshire for reasons that have nothing to do with familial or class pride.

Most "other" versions of Pride & Prejudice focus on Darcy's supposedly prideful thoughts rather than realizing, as my mother did long before Bottomer, that all of Darcy's problems in Hertfordshire stem from his behavior, not from his beliefs about himself (which beliefs he never communicates to anyone but Elizabeth anyway). He is perceived as proud because he won't dance or talk, not because he boasts about his position or even because he gives anyone the "cut direct." He doesn't even cut poor Mr. Collins.

In other words, Darcy is accused of pride for the wrong reasons—and the accusations rest NOT on Darcy's sense of superior class (which he does, in fact, feel) but on Darcy's anti-social behavior. In other words, what Darcy thinks of as "pride" and what Hertfordshire and Elizabeth, to a degree, think of as "pride" is not the same thing. This results in the fascinating argument about their faults between Elizabeth and Darcy at Netherfield; they clash partly because they are talking about two different things. Elizabeth is quicker than Darcy at picking up on the communication gap, but, as Bottomer points out, Elizabeth continues to assume reasons for Darcy's behavior that are actually inaccurate; it never occurs to Elizabeth, and it never seems to occur to "other" writers, that Darcy is shy or uncomfortable. It did, however, occur to Austen, to Colin Firth, to my mom, and to Bottomer.

This brings us back to the writing I've encountered in most of these books. In an effort to write like Austen—and in an effort to present a prideful but romantic Darcy—the writers focus on TELLING (not SHOWING). I'm told how overwhelmed and passionate Darcy feels, how prideful he is, how Mrs. Bennett disgusts him, but I never actually hear Darcy's thoughts.

Soooo, I have attempted to create my own version of Darcy's point of view. I have chosen two excerpts from Pride & Prejudice. I follow the original text, but I use very little of Austen's dialog; I don't see the point, to be honest. I've read Pride & Prejudice--I don't want to reread it; I want something new!

The assembly room was too hot and too crowded. People maneuvered close to the Bingley party. They were introduced to Bingley, to his sisters, to Mr. Hurst, to Darcy, to Bingley, to his sisters, to Mr. Hurst, to Darcy. Darcy wondered why they bothered; he would never remember their names. He was unlikely to spend much time at Netherfield anyway. Bingley would get bored soon and move on somewhere else. Darcy thought sometimes that Bingley only bought an estate because Darcy owned an estate. Bingley knew nothing about estates. Darcy gave the Netherfield experiment six months.

More faces—more introductions. People shrieked at him. An over-scented woman cried, "Doesn't the quartet sound lovely?"

There was nothing to say to that. It wasn't as if Darcy would hear the music with all the chattering and thumping and unending introductions. "What beautiful gowns," another woman shrieked. Darcy managed to detach himself. The women whispered as he edged away. Darcy shook his head. You'd think lace and ribbons were state secrets the way women carried on.

He circled the room, nodding to Mr. Hurst. "What an odd company," Miss Bingley mentioned as he passed her, "don't you think?" but he didn't pause. He'd already danced with her and didn't need to oblige again—she had plenty of partners. Most worthy women always could obtain partners. He started another circuit, looking for Bingley. They'd been here nearly two hours—long enough. Bingley could make his excuses, they could go back to Netherfield, Darcy could read and go to bed.

Bingley was ending a dance with a tall, serenely smiling woman, and Darcy waited near the edge of the woman's party. Bingley bounded over to him like a Pemberly pup. Wasn't this ball splendid? Weren't all the girls pretty? He was having a wonderful time--

Darcy felt the beginnings of a headache. They weren't going to leave early. Which didn't mean Darcy was going to dance—not with anyone he didn't know in an overheated room amongst a crowd of people exchanging pointless remarks.

Bingley was puzzled. Wasn't Darcy having fun? He'd have fun if he danced. Bingley would get him a partner-another Bennett sister, there, behind Darcy. Darcy turned his head, caught the eye of a sitting young woman and snapped a negative. Bingley laughed, slapped his back and strode back to the serenely smiling woman: Miss Bennett, Darcy supposed. His headache was getting worse.

You may have noticed that I do NOT have Darcy perceive Elizabeth's positive attributes (or any of her attributes) right away. I think this is more realistic that having her fell him on the spot (though I kind of like that scene in the latest movie). I also don't have him notice that Miss Bingley is being catty or that the ladies are probably whispering about him or even that Elizabeth might be able to overhear his remarks to Bingley. The problem with so many "Darcy's point of view" authors is that they give us this Alpha romantic male who always knows what everyone is thinking, especially women, and who always picks up on innuendos and subtexts. It never seems to occur to these writers that Darcy is clueless because, let's face it, so many people are.

To give Jeffers credit, her Darcy is kind of clueless: he thinks Elizabeth likes him because she is playful in her rejections: she flirts, ergo, she loves me! Still, Jeffers has Darcy deliberately provoking Elizabeth, so he can exchange witty repartee with her. In other words, Jeffers makes Darcy the typical fictional Alpha male who is always on top of, expert at, social situations. I don't think this interpretation is in keeping with the original text at all. Darcy doesn't do repartee. His remarks are almost always literal and straightforward. Elizabeth's triumph is not that Darcy loves bantering with her, but that she so often provokes him into saying what he thinks; what he thinks isn't witty or covered with savoir faire. Actually, most of the time, what he thinks is kind of rude.

Here is the scene where I believe Darcy DOES truly notice Elizabeth for the first time; my choice is supported by the text. And yes, Darcy is critical of Elizabeth in the original text:

Elizabeth Bennett had lovely dark eyes. She was a trifle short, her smile was crooked, and she was far from elegant. She wasn't shrill though, being easy to listen to. At the Lucas's, Darcy placed himself in a group near her. He also listened to her sing. She wasn't as polished or as adept as his sister Georgiana, but the songs were well-rendered: pleasing. She was a pleasing, intelligent young woman.

The Lucas's entertainment went downhill after that, and some couples started to dance which didn't bode well for the rest of the evening: why did people want to hop around rather than converse on interesting subjects? Darcy glanced around for Mr. Long, hoping they could continue their conversation about tax laws.

He found he was next to Sir William who was prattling: "There is nothing like dancing after all. I consider it as one of the first refinements of polished society."

"Every savage can dance," Darcy pointed out, but Sir William was making pleasantries, not actual conversation, and Darcy subsided. Sir William began to ask Darcy pointless questions about his dance habits, and Darcy glowered—if he stopped answering, maybe Sir William would go away.

The questions finally ceased, and Darcy was ready to move off when he realized Sir William was presenting Miss Elizabeth Bennett to him as a potential dancing partner. Darcy held out a hand, but Miss Elizabeth refused. Correctly, Darcy allowed: this wasn't an appropriate venue for a dance. Still, he bowed and repeated Sir William's proposal. She was after all, preferable—much preferable—to another five minutes of questions about where and when Darcy liked to dance.

She raised her brows, and her eyes—dark brown with flecks of gold—met Darcy's momentarily. She was, he was disconcerted to see, amused—by Sir William, he guessed. It occurred to Darcy that amusement was probably a better tactic with someone like Sir William than monosyllabic responses, and he wondered if he should smile back, but Miss Elizabeth had moved away. He gazed after her, marking the straight line of her back and her dark curls. She turned to pass a remark to Miss Lucas, and he noted again the liveliness of her eyes when Miss Lucas made her laugh.

Miss Bingley had approached. She was talking in her rapid, caustic way. Darcy caught the last sentence: "What would I give to hear your strictures on them!"

On Miss Lucas and Miss Elizabeth, Darcy assumed. He had no strictures. He said so: "I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow."

"Which lady has the credit of inspiring such reflections?"

"Miss Elizabeth Bennett."

She began to tease him about wanting to marry Miss Elizabeth—typical for a woman. Darcy shrugged and occupied himself with watching Miss Elizabeth until the evening finally ended.

Don't Lynch Me But Unions for Adjuncts is a Terrible Idea!

The adjuncts in our local community college system are pushing for a union. I just got a letter in the mail asking me to agree to representation, and I want to go on record as saying, As an adjunct, I am completely and totally and utterly opposed to being represented by a union.

I am willing to allow that businesses and entrenched bureaucracies at places like colleges can be insular, vaguely corrupt, and more than a little officious. But unions don't change this or make it better! Instead of having one step between me and the insular, vaguely corrupt, and officious bureaucracy, I would have two steps between me and the insular, vaguely corrupt, and officious bureaucracy, and that first step would be filled by-guess what?-an insular, vaguely corrupt, and officious bureaucracy!

Sorry—but I, eh hem, very much dislike unions. I was represented by one once (as a secretary at a college). I found the attitude of the union and the union members to be unbelievably self-righteous, self-aggrandizing, and offensive. All the union thought about was getting what it wanted; the college was ALWAYS the bad guy ("Why do you want to work here then?" was my thought.) The union didn't care about the state of the economy, the expenses involved in running a college, the need for the college to pay faculty members more than secretaries (you can run a college without secretaries but you can't much without faculty members, and, yes, I thought that before I became an instructor). The union didn't care about the larger picture at all.

Granted, most institutions can be wasteful, but giving adjunct faculty at a community college health benefits would bankrupt that institution. Benefits, full or partial, are cripplingly expensive. I've heard lots of stories about how wasteful colleges are and how they could save money by turning off lights and buying less paperclips. True. But benefits are not the difference between turning off lights and buying less paperclips. Benefits are the difference between a business staying afloat and that business ceasing to exist.

The reason community colleges have so many adjuncts is because they can only afford adjuncts! They honestly don't love having to put up with us adjuncts: they can't control us all that well. If they could go with only full-time faculty, they would, believe me! They use adjuncts because full-time faculty members (who are represented by a union) are expensive. If an adjunct union got its way and start forcing our local colleges to shell out benefits, what do you think would happen?

I'll tell you what I think would happen: the college would cut classes plus its enrollment, hire two or three full-time faculty members, and everyone else would lose their jobs because that is what the college could afford.

Now, I could be one of those new hirees. I am good enough that I'd be in the running, so maybe, I shouldn't care. Maybe, I should say to the union people, Go ahead; your behavior will get me a full-time job. But frankly, the completely subjective mentality of people who have no appreciation for the real costs of hiring upsets me too much for me to get all Machiavellian. They honestly seem to believe in the big lie (should I call it a myth?) in our culture: There's lots and lots of money out there somewhere; the big bad company doesn't want to save on costs; they are keeping the money from us; IF ONLY, the big bad company would run things our way, all kinds of money would come pouring out of the heavens. Oh, yeah, just what we need: TWO self-righteous bureaucracies who think they know where more money can come from!

I apologize to all those sensitive nice people who love unions and think they are a good idea. I also apologize for my tone :) I'm not usually so angry-girl, but I had to go on record here: unions for adjuncts is a terrible idea!

However, I will agree that colleges should back off their in-your-face expectations for adjuncts and admit that we cheap adjuncts save them lots and lots and lots of money. So, stop asking me to play nursemaid to students, boss.

Suing Star Trek

I am a huge Star Trek fan. I am also a big fan of Phil Farrand's Nitpicker's Guides (sadly, he doesn't write them any more). With the Nitpicker's Guides in mind, I have started this series of posts: Suing Star Trek.

Every now and again, whilst watching a Star Trek episode, I think, "You know, if Star Trek didn't belong to such a happy go lucky future, the families of Star Trek personnel would be suing the Federation blind."

For example, take "Genesis" (ST:NG, Season 7) in which the intrepid crew "de-evolves" into various primitive life forms: a spider, a caveman, a Klingon beasty thing, a fish, etc. It is actually quite a fun episode! Data saves the day, of course (since he can't de-evolve into anything but a pile of circuits). Phil Farrand and his nitpickers cover the basic scientific improbabilities (as in the basic scientific ridiculousness) in Farrand's second NG guide: suffice it to say, that the "de-evolutions" are caused by a virus that is caused by the activation of a dormant T-cell which is caused by Crusher giving Barclay a shot.

Malpractice anyone? That's a pretty straightforward line of causation! Not difficult for a lawyer to prove at all, especially since Crusher admits it.

Who would bring the lawsuit? The parents of the poor crewman who is ripped to shreds by some beasty thing (Picard and Data find him dead on the bridge).

I would award the parents considerable damages: the medical procedures on the Enterprise are appallingly lax. I'm not a doctor, so I would let the Federation medical council decide whether Crusher should lose her license for producing a massively dangerous virus, no matter how inadvertedly. (One of the annoying but also rather sweet aspects of Star Trek is how readily and quickly all is forgiven!)

Case 2: "Phantasms" (ST:NG, Season 7) in which Data, whilst dreaming, stabs--but does not kill--Troi. Data's dreaming program was activated a season earlier when Dr. Julian Bashir turned on a device in Engineering. Data has continued to dream regularly. In "Phantasms," Data experiences waking dreams brought on by inter-phasic bugs; the bugs were brought on board with the new warp core. He stabs Troi while in a waking dream.

Plaintiff: Troi's Mom
Defendants: Data*, Julian Bashir, the Enterprise, and the Federation

*In accordance with the legal decision made in ST:NG, Season 2, "The Measure of a Man," Data is considered fully sentient; he can be sued.

Argument: Dr. Bashir's activation of the device was unauthorized; he was aboard the Enterprise, fiddling with the device, without clearance. After the dream program was activated, Data continued to use it with the full knowledge of the captain and crew despite inherent risks: nobody really knows what Data does when he dreams. Also, Data's current "waking dream" state is caused by an infestation of bugs which should have been irradicated before the installation of the warp core. Troi's mother wants damages awarded to Troi for pain and suffering; she wants damages awarded to herself for emotional (vicarious) pain and suffering.

Decision by Judge Kate: No damages against Dr. Bashir, Data, or the Enterprise: Data has experienced dreams for over a year without harmful results. He is no more or less likely to experience "waking dreams" than a flesh and blood humanoid. Hallucinating crewmembers is a risk attendant upon service in Starfleet, especially for the ship's counselor (Troi).

Minor damages against the Federation: check the friggin' warp core for bugs, people! I mean, really!! Since inter-phasic technology was used to create the new warp core, the possibility of infestation was foreseeable and therefore, preventable.

No damages awarded to Troi's mother but a reprimand in the file that Troi's mother not interrupt or otherwise disrespect counsel. Her daughter is an adult and has chosen a risky lifestyle which includes being stabbed by sleep-walking androids, turning into a fish, and being surgically altered to appear as a Romulan. Get over it.

I is for Isolated (Ishiguro)

What I read: Remains of the Day Kazuo Ishiguro.

Actually, "I" is also for melancholy and poignancy, only I couldn't find any "I" synonyms for those words.

There aren't many "I" authors! I chose Kazuo Ishiguro's Remains of the Day, an excellent choice, and not a novel, I might add, that I ever would have picked up if not for this little exercise (and the dearth of other "I"s).

*Some spoilers included.*

I wouldn't have picked up Remains of the Day because I'm not a big fan of broken-heartedness, and I knew enough about the book to know it nose-dives into broken-hearted territory. However, the structure of the book is so enchanting that the broken-heartedness or poignancy creeps up on you (rather than clobbering you on the head). It is inexpressibly touching and inexpressibly sad and well-worth reading.

It is also surprisingly funny. The whole section about "bird and bees" and young Cardinal is hilarious. There are also a number of sad funny parts, like the section where Mr. Stevens allows the Taylors and their friends to think he is a gentleman (in the titled sense of the word) and then finds himself getting deeper and deeper into a conversation he doesn't know how to stop.

Basically, Remains of the Day is the story of a man with a remarkable gift for self-deception. What he doesn't want to see runs the book. Part of this blindness is choice; part of it seems to be built-in. He adopts his father's lessons about dignity but fails to understand the real lesson of his father's example--for instance, how his father refused to drive around the gentlemen who were criticizing his employer. Stevens sees only the Spock-like "show no emotion/don't react" part of these examples, not the moral rightness behind them.

I knew a law professor who used Remains of the Day (the movie) to explore the idea of attorney ethics: at what point does an attorney have the ethical obligation to object to a client's behavior--not simply do what the client asks? It's an interesting question, especially since the book (and movie) make clear that Lord Darlington (Stevens' employer) is uncomfortable with many of his decisions and that Stevens could, in fact, have influenced him.

On the other hand, however, I think the book illustrates that Stevens' self-imposed isolation is partly psychological: Stevens is a fundamentally decent person as shown by his treatment of his father. Yet, he seems unable to connect with people. At several points in the book, Lord Darlington and young Cardinal give Stevens the chance to open up. These are people who care about him and who could directly improve his life. He backs away from these opportunities. I'm also reminded of Manor House in which the architect-become-temporary-butler reflects that the class structure makes communication--real, thoughtful communication--between master and butler tremendously difficult.

Except . . . Stevens' need to be butler for a man of great moral worth rests directly on the dilemma that his employer, a decent man, is behaving badly. In the one place where Stevens could directly object to that behavior--the dismissal of the two Jewish maids--he does not. The book, consequently, becomes a kind of monologue of justification. He WAS right to serve his master unquestioningly. He WASN'T responsible for the outcome.

The outcome is that his master is stripped of moral worth publicly (after the war) for being a German collaborator and pushing appeasement with Hitler. Stevens' road trip becomes not just Stevens' attempt to reunite with Miss Kenton but also his attempt to become the gentleman (from Darlington Hall) that his master failed to be. In that way, his life will not have been a failure.

I watched the movie immediately after finishing the book. It was something of a disappointment. If I had seen the movie first, I would not have read the book since the movie is one of those depressing-atmosphere-included Ivory Merchant films. However, Anthony Hopkins and Emma Thompson are right on as Mr. Stevens and Miss Kenton. I was especially impressed by Emma Thompson--from the ads (way back in 1993), I got the impression that Miss Kenton was a kind of virago: the stubborn outspoken housekeeper who softens the butler's heart. Well, that's kind of right. But she is much more complex than that, being kind, shrewish, passive-aggressive, emotive, wounded, somewhat immature, and inexpressibly lonely. In fact, what stands out in the movie is the loneliness of these two people.

The movie, by the way, shortens the time period between Miss Kenton arriving and WWII. This makes sense. On the other hand, I like the book's two decade stretch. It helps illustrate how well-meaning elite thinking can, in its well-meaning elite way, cause such havoc in the long-run. Lord Darlington is not, necessarily, incorrect about the nastiness of the Treaty of Versailles. And he is very idealistic. And very honourable. And completely and totally wrong.

This is a good lesson to remember. Many elite intellectuals in England initially supported Hitler as well as Stalin. Whenever people try to tell me that what America needs is a "really smart" president, I always remember this. Mob-rule has its problems. A well-meaning elite, whether aristocratic or academic, is nothing to get all excited about. The politics of environmentalism, for instance, appear idealistic and honourable and right. They are supported by many (long-winded) intellectual and political elites. But I wonder how long it will take political correctness to swing around to condemning supporters of things like the Kyoto Global Warming Treaty as elite racists whose measures held back developing countries in typical "great white man" arrogance.

When it happens, I will be able to say, "They didn't mean it. That wasn't what they saw themselves doing at all." But I can't say I'll be sprinting to their defense.

BOOKS

Star Trek: Yes, the Most Recent Movie

So . . . I saw it. Not at the local IMAX unfortunately, and it is a movie worth seeing on a very large screen. The visual effects are AWESOME. There's no other word for it--AWESOME. Finally, the Enterprise has the kind of maneuverability you see with Battlestar Galactica planes. It took long enough. Pretty stellar stuff.

Before I continue with what I liked and didn't like, I have to state I don't think Classic Trek complainers have a leg to stand on. The movie makes clear from the first scene (part of which I missed because I was late to the theater) that this is an alternate timeline--I mean, if I picked up on this standing in the aisle, waiting for my eyes to adjust whilst holding popcorn, I should think most audience members would be able to as well.

Now for what I liked (and the reason I will rent the movie multiple times when it comes out on DVD): the interactions of our favorite Classic Trek characters. Reality-wise, it is unlikely that all these people would be assigned to the same ship first go out of Star Fleet Academy. However, it's a good excuse to watch the characters together. I spent most of the movie chuckling to myself--not just over things like, "I'm a doctor, not a physicist" but over little things like Kirk leering at women even while half-drugged and Scotty going on and on and on about food.

And the casting is excellent! Visually, I think Chris Pine is the closest to his original (Kirk). I know, I know, everyone thinks Zachary Quinto (Spock) is the closest and behavior-wise, he is, but Chris Pine has the young William Shatner look. There are a couple of instances when he looks exactly like the young Shatner--when waiting to be transported off the ice planet and when on the bad guy's ship: it's a little uncanny.

Zachary Quinto is excellent, of course. The thing I appreciated the most about Quinto and the others is how faithful the actors are to the body language of their originals. I really felt like they--or JJ Abrams, the director--had watched, and cared about, Classic Trek.

Karl Urban as Bones, for instance, uses exactly the same intonation and cadence as DeForest Kelly (as does Simon Pegg standing in for James Doohan). This is important. Accent alone doesn't do it--the speech patterns of the original have to be matched as well. (For instance, in the Stargate episode "Fragile Balance," Michael Welch does a respectable job portraying the young Jack O'Neill. The only thing he gets wrong is at the beginning of the episode where he is supposed to say, "Dan-i-el" in that annoyed way Jack has of saying Daniel's name. Welch doesn't peg it. The body language is on. The intonation isn't.)

Back to Trek, I must mention again how much I like Karl Urban (isn't he fantastic?! The guy can do anything; I mean, how different is this role from tense, taciturn, Russian mobster guy in Bourne Supremacy?!) and how nice it was to see Leonard Nimoy. What a gentleman!

The one casting choice I thought failed miserably was Sarek: the actor looks and acts nothing like Mark Lenard--not even remotely. He doesn't have the fundamental warmth or the compact dark intensity of Lenard. He doesn't have the right body language or speech patterns. He is totally off. I realize Lenard is dead, but really, people, Ben Cross would not have been my choice.

However, I did quite like Bruce Greenwood as Pike. The age is wrong (original Pike is much younger when captain), but I like Greenwood, so what the hey. Greenwood is a good example of accurate body language/good acting making up for an inexact visual match. (Again, Cross as Sarek bugs me. But then Lenard is one of my favorite Classics, and I miss him.)

Now that I've explored effects and characterization, here's what I think about the rest of the movie:

The plot is pretty stupid.

Sorry. But it is. Time travel has been SOOO overdone on Star Trek. I am also really, really, really tired of the type of villains used in the last three or so Star Trek movies. They look like they've all just arrived from a Queen's concert or something. They're young! They're bald and have tattoos!! They're very, very angry!!! Has Kiss contracted to service Star Trek needs for the next billion years or something? It is so entirely tiresome that I spent the first five minutes in the movie theater (waiting for my eyes to adjust), glaring at Nero, going, "Maybe it's a preview. Please let it be a preview."

Give me the Borg. Or Ricardo Montalban. Or some Klingons. Just no more revengeful young dudes who look like they should be strumming electric guitars, straddling motorcycles, and waggling tongues at adoring fans.

All that being said, if the movie is slated for television-dom, I'm on board. I don't mind the alternate history--Vulcan as a struggling, planetless race sounds pretty interesting as do Uhuru and Spock as a couple (by the way, the exchange on the transporter pad about her first name is CLASSIC Kirk-Spock: intonation, body language, everything). And if they could get Urban, I might actually have to hook up my digital convertor and go back to watching television full-time instead of just watching DVDs.

MOVIES

H is for Hmmmmm (Hesse)

What I read: Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse.

H was very difficult. Considering where I ended up, I thought it would be appropriate to write about my journey through "H."

I first chose Joseph Heller's Catch-22. In fact, I got it out twice, fully intending to tackle it both times. For the purposes of this reading exercise, I don't actually make myself finish the books I choose. However, I couldn't even get Catch-22 started.

It could be that I'd just read Graham Greene--I wasn't in the mood for "life is purposeless; life is random; hoo-ah." I felt the same way when a book club I attended read Confederacy of Dunces. It was promoted as a totally hilarious book. I didn't see it. I felt no connection to any of the characters. A ship of fools is just not my idea of a good time: why would I want to spend more than one page laughing at how stupid other people are? Perhaps Catch-22 isn't like that, but psychologically, I was at an impasse.

My sister suggested, as a lite alternative, Kristin Hannah. I got out several of her books. The premise or conflict of each of her books is very interesting--for instance, in the one that I started, the main female character is a therapist who is blamed by families when one of her patients goes out and shoots up a school: she should have known and stopped it from happening! That's a pretty interesting conundrum.

Unfortunately, Hannah's books belong to what I call "world romance" rather than "character-driven romance" (see my post "Where Romances Go Wrong" and its sister-post "Why Romances Are Good"); the focus of "world romance" is on the heroine's life and all the stuff she goes through and all the people she meets (including little children towards whom she always behaves maternally) while "character-driven romance" focuses on the day-to-day conflict between the heroine and hero. I happen to be more interested in the day-to-day conflict stuff than in the all-my-life-before-I-fall-in-love stuff. (One reason I prefer You've Got Mail to Sleepless in Seattle.)

And I admit to another, completely petty, problem with Hannah's writing. I've read a number of romances lately, and consequently, I've developed a deep-seated, knee jerk, erk reaction to the use of one-line paragraphs (which romance writers seem to use a lot).

The purpose of a paragraph, as I tell my students, is to begin a new subject--to change focus. There is absolutely no good reason a new paragraph should exist simply to convey a line of information. For example, in a recent romance book (not by Hannah), the writer wrote more or less the following:

Lucinda's carriage pulled up in front of an exquisite Georgian mansion. She stared up at the impressive facade and wondered at the man who lived within its walls.

She descended from the carriage.

An imposing butler . . .

Huh? There is no structural or narrative reason why the line "She descended from the carriage" should be its own paragraph. A paragraph break creates emphasis, but that line doesn't need emphasis.

And no, I'm not making this up.

I've actually reached the point where I won't read romances with this type of structure. I also won't read romances with a billion fragments:

Lucinda stared up at the imposing mansion. That was filled with lighted windows. Through which she could see people dancing. Elegant men and women.

Seriously, I'm not making any of this up. I actually start growling when I read passages like this. Growling as in, Are you kidding me? Again, fragments are used to create emphasis. There is no reason for these particular lines to be emphasized. None.

Hannah doesn't overuse fragments, thank goodness, but she does have a proclivity for the unnecessary one-line paragraph, so I gave up on Hannah as well.

I was in a bit of a funk until I spotted Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha at the library. At the last moment, I nabbed it. It's short for one thing, and it falls into the category of "books that many people have read, so I might as well in order to be culturally literate." To be honest, I had always avoided it because I thought it was pretentious, mostly due to the contexts in which I heard Siddhartha mentioned.

I'm not sure it's pretentious so much as a whole lot of nothing about a little bit of something. I did finish it. It isn't too shabbily written although the writing style starts to grate after awhile. It uses the sort of stilted writing that people always associate with Eastern religions--inaccurately probably; I don't think the Dalai Lamai writes like this. And Siddhartha is one pontificating dude (he's kind of like Socrates: I know nothing, but let me go on and on and on about how much I don't know). I mean, what can you do with lines like this:

No, a true seeker could not accept his teachings, not if he sincerely wished to find something. But he who had found, could give his approval to every path, every goal; nothing separated him from all the other thousands who lived in eternity, who breathed the Divine.

It reminds me of a Stargate episode where ascended-Daniel comes to help (or try to help) Jack ascend. Frustrated, Jack barks, "Daniel, so help me, if you start talking like Oma . . ." Daniel replies defensively, "I'm not talking like Oma. Oma would say something like, ah, ah, 'If the candlelight is fire, then the meal was cooked a long time ago' or something like that."

On the other hand, by themselves, these passages are quite readable (that is, when they don't run together in one big insightful mass: Hesse doesn't use one-line paragraphs):

There shone in his face the serenity of knowledge, of one who is no longer confronted with conflict of desires, who has found salvation, who is in harmony with the stream of events, with the stream of life, full of sympathy and compassion, surrendering himself to the stream, belonging to the unity of all things.

Basically, Siddhartha is the story of a long mid-life crisis. It's about a man who searches for spiritual enlightenment all his life and finally, discovers that searching for the thing doesn't produce enlightenment--living and showing love and kindness to people does. This is not too different from C.S. Lewis commenting in his autobiography Surprised by Joy that the way to find joy is not to seek it--that joy occurs while one is doing other things. In fact, there are many similarities between Siddhartha and Lewis's The Pilgrim's Regress (The Pilgrim's Regress is more grounded in analogy and much more mind-oriented rather than feeling-oriented).

At this point, I am going to get really, really sexist (I apologize in advance): is this a guy thing? Any woman can tell you this stuff about living life and being good to others by the time she is 18. You gotta take an entire life-time to figure out something anybody with a period already knows? Is this why women don't have mid-life crisis (in the same way) as men?

Don't get me wrong: I'm a huge fan of C.S. Lewis, and Hermann Hesse has a point; it just seems like so much furrowed-browness over a fairly basic idea: Get on with life, go to work, take care of your kid, leave off being a condescending jerk, stop running into the woods to find yourself. I mean, geez, this is Socialization 101.

Are women fundamentally more realistic or grounded than men? When I read books like Siddhartha--which really isn't bad, and worth the few hours it takes to inhale (the last chapters about the son are the best)--I start to think so.

On the other hand, maybe this is why more religions are started by men (but staffed by women). It's kind of hard to flesh out a theology if your reaction is, "Oh, yeah, sure, I knew that, whatever." (And life would be very, very sad without fleshed-out theologies.)

BOOKS

Good Bad Guys

I recently re-watched Bourne Identity. Bourne Supremacy is still my favorite of the three Bournes, but Bourne Identity has one huge factor in its favor: Chris Cooper.

I've been a fan of Chris Cooper since Matewan. His role in Bourne Identity as Conklin is much smaller than the roles of the CIA members in Supremacy. However, he stands alone as a strong behind-the-scenes protagonist to Bourne.

The scene I like best, though, is when Bourne confronts Conklin in Paris. I like it because Conklin isn't afraid of Bourne. Here is this agent who can kill him a thousand different ways with just his hands, and Conklin faces him down. He ends up dead, but he faces Bourne down. He is fearless.

This is the first quality of a good bad guy: fearlessness. A bad guy who begs for mercy may be pitiable or realistic or, even, funny, but it doesn't make for watchable entertainment. Besides, fearlessness in and of itself is frightening since it isn't completely normal or understandable.

This is why the Joker makes a good bad guy. I happen to dislike the Joker intensely (as a character), and I tend to avoid movies, cartoon episodes, and comics which use the Joker. I prefer my bad guys to have invested interests (see below). The point of the Joker is that he doesn't; he is random, amoral, anarchical.

But he makes a good bad guy--even if I can't watch him. Heath Ledger was correctly (posthumously) awarded an Oscar for that role in Dark Knight (even if I will probably never watch the movie again).

The second quality of a good bad guy is wittiness--and for what are probably sub-sub-subconscious reasons buried in the American psyche, it helps if the bad guy has a British accent. (In fact, whenever I see books or articles about how unfairly Hollywood has treated a particular race/nationality, I always think, "Yeah, and what about all those poor British men?")

One of my favorite examples is Shere Khan in the Disney animated version of Jungle Book: here's this tiger strolling through the jungle, uttering lines in this bored, drawling BBC accent. And let's not forget the unforgettable (and very sexy) Alan Rickman in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves.

Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves brings us to the next quality: quirkiness.

I mentioned that I dislike watching the Joker: insane villains don't interest me. Quirkiness isn't insane, just unexpected. For example, for reasons best understood by folklorists, the Sheriff of Nottingham is often displayed as just a tad off-kilter. Here are some examples:

Alan Rickman in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves
Q in "Qpid" (Star Trek: TNG)
Keith Allen in the recent Robin Hood television series
Roger Rees (very amusingly) in Robin Hood: Men in Tights

Quirkiness is one reason I like over-the-top villains: Lex Luthor (John Shea) in Lois and Clark and (again) Lex Luthor (Michael Rosenbaum) in Smallville are good examples. And, naturally, Bruce Campbell in, oh, just about anything where he plays a villain. And I mustn't leave out the mayor (Buffy: Season 3)!

The Lex Luthors also, usually, have very narrow motives; the fourth quality of a good bad guy is an invested interest in something real. Yes, there's a place on the villain's pantheon for the Joker, but usually (99.9% of the time), the villain needs to care about something definite.

This is one reason Stargate is so successful a television series: both the Goa'uld and the Wraith are intense villains with narrow, understandable (if deplorable) interests: survival of the species in terms of procreation and food. King Miraz (Sergio Castellitto) in Prince Caspian (the movie) makes a good villain because he has a narrow definable (and from the viewpoint of European history) defendable position (he makes a good villain in the book too).

This is also why the villain of Bones: Season 3 (Gormogon) was a dead loss. There was no "there" there--no real purpose behind his actions or, for that matter, Zach's. 99.9% of conspiracies are a dead-loss in terms of long-term interest. House, for example, almost always produces GREAT villains, mostly because the villains (or antagonists) are so darn human and specific in their desires.

On the other hand, I do prefer the no-nonsense villain to the villain who suddenly, pesto chango, becomes a terrific human being--give me early Vadar versus later Vadar any day. Still, it helps if the no-nonsense villain has a focus (Princess Leia or, for bad Angel, Buffy), and it also helps if the no-nonsense villain has a less villainous, more quirky sidekick like Spike.

Last but not least, the good bad guy needs to have charisma. Now, this quality is problematic because the bad guy's charisma needs to balance the good guy's charisma: the good guy needs a worthwhile antagonist but shouldn't be overshadowed by said antagonist (the snake should not get all the lines). This is terrifically hard to do.

I think charisma is balanced in these instances:

• Ari (against Gibbs and the team) in NCIS: charismatic but completely untrustworthy; besides, he kills the wonderful Kate.
• Q in Star Trek: TNG. Patrick Stewart can hold his own against John de Lancie--barely. (Q ends up being more ambiguous than bad in any case.)
• The bad prince (against our intrepid heroes) in Princess Bride: he's just so icky smarmy: icky smarmy helps to undercut expansive charisma.
• Liam Neeson as the bad mentor guy in Batman Begins (although I think his character misses on all other points except for witty with a British accent: one of my favorite villain lines comes from him: "You took my advice about theatricality a bit literally.").
• Hugo Weaving (all by himself really) in the Matrix.

Of course, few villains meet all the aforementioned criteria. But then, few heroes can match all the aforementioned criteria in terms of fearlessness, wit (with a British accent), quirkiness, invested interest, and charisma.

And the winner villain (today) is . . .

Nicole Wallace (Olivia D'Abo) from Law & Order: Criminal Intent.

I happen to think Law & Order: Criminal Intent falls to pieces after Season 2. Nicole Wallace is a terrific villain though. AND she meets all the criteria.

1. She is fearless. Goren cannot overwhelm or outmaneuver Nicole as he does so many of the other villains on Law & Order: CI.

2. She has that British accent!

3. She is quirky. She's just as messed up as Goren which makes her a good mirror for him.

4. She has an invested interest: namely, Nicole Wallace. Her interests are very narrow and very self-serving--even when she's bent on revenge.

5. She is charismatic. She's also a Star Trek alumni!

MOVIES

G is for Gloomy and Similar Depressing Literature Taught in High School (Greene)

What I read: Doctor Fischer of Geneva or the Bomb Party by Graham Greene.

Graham Greene is one of those writers whose names I knew but about whom I knew absolutely nothing. In some recess of my brain, I think I thought he was a Southern writer, like Faulkner or Flannery O'Connor.

He's not. He's English. But the comparison to O'Connor may not be totally off. The story by O'Connor that always sticks with me (it's probably the only story by O'Connor that I've read) is "A Good Man Is Hard to Find," a super depressing short story about human fallibility and random acts of violence. "A Good Man is Hard to Find" is often located in anthologies alongside another depressing story, "The Story of an Hour" by Kate Chopin. "The Story of an Hour" is the sort of the story that gives feminism a bad name: so much poignancy resting on the poor woman's fragile nerves--yes, I know the ending is ironic, but I still stand by the fragile nerves description. (On the other hand, Charlotte Perkins Gilman's fragile nerves--"The Yellow Wallpaper"-- don't bother me, mostly because Gilman's fragile nerves are so darn interesting and Gilman herself so potentially constructive rather than self-pitying. Chopin just strikes me as self-pitying. "Oh, get over it; life is hard for women in any age; at least you weren't married at 12 and aren't dying from plague" is my usual response.)

Chopin is also Southern.

Not that that means anything necessarily. O'Connor is an excellent writer, and I quite like Faulkner (I love "The Bear"--it's one of the few novellas I own).

But this type of depressing short story is the type of short story that made me detest High School English--and made me promise, "I'll never write a sad ending!" (I haven't kept that promise, by the way.) In any case, Greene reminds me of all those classic writers I disliked reading in High School.

Just to clarify--I don't mind tragedy: MacBeth, Hamlet, Lord Jim--or weird funness: "A Rose for Emily," "Roman Fever" (Edith Wharton). It's depressing angst I dislike. I clarify the difference in this way: tragedy or weird funness is about sad events; depressing angst is about how pointless and stupid life is.

The former I can handle. The latter seems . . . kind of pointless.

By its very nature, writing is an act of construction. I suppose every generation has to have one writer who postulates that creation achieves nothing and has no purpose but since the position is obviously contradictory (since millions of English students everywhere are immediately put to the constructive task of providing the writer's work with meaning), I think it is rather self-indulgent.

And boring. And surprised angst (I can't believe how fallible human nature is!) is even more boring--well, exasperating and boring.

This is a very long-winded way of saying that this was my reaction to Graham Greene.

I read Doctor Fischer of Geneva or the Bomb Party. It's very well-written. I read the entire book (it isn't long) in about two hours. I didn't lose interest, and I found the character delineations interesting. But not exceptionally so. I did not discover that Greene has a "gift for exploring the deeper recesses of human nature" as the flap claims. I've learned more about human nature from watching Star Trek. Writing a depressing book about greedy people doesn't make it automatically profound, even if the book is pretty good. To be fair, the actual reading of Doctor Fischer isn't boring, but Greene's insights aren't exactly fodder for a thousand dissertations (besides, I think he is wrong: human pride/self-image is a far stronger variable than money although the two can be related).

Sometimes, I think the study of literature suffers, not because it isn't respected (which I think it should be) but because people who write about it are so darn gullible. They always insist they've located the Holy Grail when they've really just found a very nice mug.

Books I Read in High School That I Deem Depressing Angst

Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton
The Pearl by Steinbeck
Tess by Hardy
Nectar in a Sieve by Kamala Markandaya
A Separate Peace by John Knowles

Books I Read in High School That I Deem Sad but Not Depressing Angst:

Lord Jim by Conrad (voluntarily)
Cancer Ward by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn (voluntarily)
Shakespeare's Tragedies
The Crucible by Arthur Miller (which I LOVED although I don't much care for it now)
The Scarlet Letter by Hawthorne (which I've since reread--interesting book: Is Dimmesdale a jerk or a to-be-pitied guy?)
Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes (I'm iffy on this one: I'm not sure if it is angsty or not, especially since I don't care for it. It's short though!)
Lord of the Flies by Golding (voluntarily, in the summer--amazing book; too violent to be depressing)
Tale of Two Cities by Dickens (I adored Sidney Carlton--ooh, la la. I don't read any Dickens now. Way too much exposition.)

BOOKS

F is for Fairy Tale (with a rather silly conspiracy theory subplot) (Feist)

What I read: Faerie Tale by Raymond Feist.

Faerie Tale is a modern fairy tale. Its fairies are the Daoine Sidhe--those are cool elves (the type Tolkien uses) not cutesy elves. Feist also relies on the almost amoral elves of myth rather than the highly moral (but still aloof) elves of Tolkien's world. And he utilizes several medieval/Renaissance ideas about elves, including Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream. His fairy world is real, dangerous, evocative, and engaging!

This fairy world comes in contact with a prosaic family in modern upstate New York over the course of a summer and fall (from June to All Soul's Day). The overall effect is Ray Bradbury meets Susan Cooper's Dark is Rising series meets a little bit of Stephen King meets conspiracy theory á la The Da Vinci Code (although Faerie Tale was published much earlier in 1988).

The first three influences make the book very good. It's a bit slow-moving but never boring, and the final chapters are (mostly) quite gripping.

The conspiracy theory stuff weakens the book considerably--instead of being a 100% jolly good read, it becomes a 85% jolly good read. Like The Da Vinci Code, Feist uses a pompous version of Indiana Jones (more long-pontificating-screeds-of-exposition investigator than fighting-snakes investigator) to tell us all about the big bad conspiracy--a group of men who have infiltrated all levels of government/society throughout history in order to maintain a treaty between the Sidhe and human kind. Our pontificating investigator tells us repeatedly how POWERFUL this group is, how INFLUENTIAL and DANGEROUS and . . . well, you know the drill.

Here's the problem--with all conspiracy theory subplots, I might add:

For an all-powerful, influential group, these conspiracists are the most incompetent bunch of power mongers ever to grace planet earth.

*Spoilers*

First, they allow the house of a fellow dead conspiracist, containing important records and detailed maps, to go on the market. They don't buy it. They allow it to be sold to an unsuspecting family. They allow the unsuspecting family to live in the house for five months even though the end of the book makes clear they could have bought the house much earlier. They send NO ONE to watch the family. They send NO ONE to watch the area. They make NO efforts to keep the family from moving the treasure. They do not contact the Sidhe to warn them the treaty is in jeopardy. They spend all their time in Europe, locking up our pontificating investigator, and they send the one guy from their group they don't trust to America. They finally show up at the end wearing dark shirts and looking important.

Geez, if I were the Sidhe, I'd demand new ambassadors--like a bunch of all-powerful conspiracists who could at least live up to the name. (Perhaps the problem is the one quoted by Q in Star Trek: "It's hard to work in a group when you're omnipotent.")

The addition of the conspiracy theory not only weakens the book, it is entirely unnecessary. It is mostly exposition and creates a very weak and unnecessary pay-off for a very weak and unnecessary set-up. The pontificating investigator is kept from returning to help the family by the conspiracists. This is pointless confusion. The pontificating investigator is researching wacky stuff; the wacky stuff is enough to keep him from returning IN TIME. In any case, he isn't the real hero of the book. The real heroes are the twin boys.

I actually recommend the book--with this proviso: Ignore the conspiracy theory stuff. Concentrate on the family and the boys. You don't have to rewrite anything in your head. The real pay-off for the book is more than adequately set-up. My personal theory: Feist set out to write one book and did! But another book started to intrude. One of the hardest things for a writer to do is to delete unnecessary (but beloved, even interesting) material. Feist didn't do it. So, Faerie Tale is a 85% jolly good read.

Still, 85% is pretty jolly.

BOOKS

E is for Ewwww (Elkin)

What I read: Skeleton Dance by Aaron Elkin.

Ewwww.

Not really. The detective is a forensic anthropologist á la Bones. And looking at skeletons is somewhat less gruesome than looking at corpses--on paper, at least.

I quite enjoyed Skeleton Dance and recently picked up another Elkins' mystery. Skeleton Dance is a bit slow, but I like the detective, Gideon Oliver, and his wife, and the writing has a humorous edge to it. I also enjoyed the plot of Skeleton Dance which revolves around a modern Piltdown Man scandal--an anthropological fraud and who might have the most to gain from it. I was even somewhat surprised by the identity of the murderer and by the motive. I never try to guess the murderer when I read mysteries, so if I do guess, it means the mystery is really obvious. Skeleton Dance kept me guessing!

Updates: I finally saw Carrie (based on Theodore Dreiser's Sister Carrie). The Carrie of the movie is much sweeter and innocent than the Carrie of the book. However, Laurence Olivier was spot-on accurate as Hurstwood (by the way, in my small, small world, Nicole Wallace references Dreiser's character "Hurstwood" in order to communicate information about herself to Goren in Law & Order: Criminal Minds). I knew Olivier was a great actor; I never appreciated how much until I saw this movie.

On to letter "F"!

BOOKS

Free at Last! I Leave On-Line Teaching

This week I ended a two-year stint with an online university. I'm not going to name the university; after all, I did teach courses for this educational institution (and taught them very well, I might add), and I did accept money from the Powers-That-Be. And I did gain some useful experience. Criticizing the institution directly seems rather tacky.

However, I would like to say a few words about teaching for exclusively on-line institutions (as opposed to teaching for institutions that are mostly campus-based with some on-line courses).

To start positively, although the course material was not written to my standards, I was impressed with the design for moving students in and around and out of the individual courses. I liked the automatic grading (you put in the numbers, and it calculates the percentage!) and consequently developed my own "self-grading" Excel documents for my campus courses. I learned some useful techniques for teaching composition, and I learned a lot about communicating with students. But, as with any job, there comes a time when you realize you are no longer tolerating bad days or bad students or even bad material; you are enduring, with gritted teeth, a bad experience and need to get out.

So what changed? Why did I go from saying, "Well, that unit or semester could have gone better; I'll work on that" to going, "Only 2 more weeks. Only 1 more week. Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Tomorrow!"

There were three factors:

(1) I was being asked to do things I wasn't comfortable with.

All colleges face retention issues--students dropping out, students not doing the work and failing and dropping out. All colleges worry about retention issues. Only desperate and morally bankrupt colleges believe that retention can be solved by softening the grading process.

My superiors at this institution would say they didn't ask me to inflate grades. Yeah, well, pigs fly, and my cats clean up after themselves. What do you call it when you are asked to accept late projects without penalization? What do you call it when you are encouraged to brainstorm ways to eliminate/soften course requirements in order to make the process of education easier, friendlier, and less overwhelming?

I do believe that instructors can make the learning process positive and comprehensible in the sense that instructors can invite questions and explain things clearly. I'm also an advocate of a grading system that does not destroy a student's grade based on one missed week of class or one late project. My late policies are never so detrimental that students CAN'T make up work if they really want to.

But I do not advocate in any way, shape, form, suggestion, or thought, lowering standards, making things "jolly" (sitting back/shooting the breeze instead of doing formal work/projects), and/or softening the hardships of education in order to keep students in a program/college/university.

Newsflash, people: Education is hard! Education is VERY hard. (Real) learning is HARD.

Personally, I think students usually leave the college environment because they aren't prepared to do the work. (And they often return when they are.) Telling them their educational experience will or ought to be a painless process only sets them up for disillusionment.

(2) I was asked to do things non-commiserate with my pay.

Adjuncts aren't paid that much. It's a fact of life. I taught six courses for four institutions this Spring. I will be teaching seven for three in the Fall. I accept the conditions of being an adjunct because I know that the jobs exist in part because these institutions can only afford cheap labor. (I am completely opposed, for instance, to adjuncts forming unions: more about this in a later post.)

But that doesn't mean I should be treated like a slave. And I have never been asked to do so much for so little with so little appreciation by a single employer as I was this Spring by my on-line employer. Not only was I expected to monitor and contribute to the course "classrooms" every day, grade students, give extensive feedback on projects, prepare and teach a live class--all of which I was willing to do--I was expected to be the students' advisor, counselor, troubleshooter, nanny, babysitter, pep rally coordinator, entertainment committee all while attending meetings and educational courses (It's Fun! It's Engaging! It's Not a Complete Waste of Your Time!). All this for a sum of money that REQUIRES that I work elsewhere to pay my rent and eat.

Of course, there are instructors who do all those things--who love doing all those things, bless their sycophantic/camp counselor hearts. But I'm one of those instructors who wants to teach--just teach--the material (yes, I actually do find English Composition fascinating) to students who want to learn it. I am continually amazed at how often my employers want me to do everything but teach.

(3) Difficult students.

Difficult students are par for the course when you are an instructor. You get mean students and high maintenance students and in-your-face students and students who annoy other students and poorly disciplined students and all the rest. It's part of the challenge. It's one of the things I had to work at accepting when I entered the (college) teaching environment. I honestly thought, "I won't have to discipline anyone at the college level!" (Yes, I know, I was naive.)

I've had to learn to be more assertive--more "this is the syllabus/these are the rules"--and to even walk away from certain situations. Occasionally, I've had to learn to give a student another chance. It's a balancing act!

Now--don't get me wrong. Most of my students, campus and online, are wonderful: hardworking, dedicated, courteous, good listeners. Unfortunately, like with so many social situations, it only takes a few self-entitled, unmotivated, rude, disruptive people to make things difficult and, sometimes, even horrible for everyone else.

I find this aspect of teaching the most emotionally draining. (I'm not alone in this; many women educators will leave tenure track positions because they are expected, unlike their male cohorts, to "mother" their students and everybody else's! These women educators get burnt out.) You would think on-line teaching would be the answer to my prayers!

Not so. From my perspective, there's little difference between a student who badgers you after every class, and a student who sends you emails every single day. In fact, the classroom confrontation is usually more productive: it's easier to explain things, to point (physically) to the syllabus, and, with friendly steeliness, emphasize the course requirements. Students also communicate better face to face.

On the other hand, long, scattered, emotionally charged, unintelligible emails can really ruin your day.

There are other differences between difficult campus students and difficult online students. Most difficult students are difficult because, quite frankly, they want something for nothing. Their difficulty stems from a feeling of outrage: HOW DARE YOU NOT GIVE ME STRAIGHT A's WHEN I ACTUALLY THOUGHT ABOUT DOING MY HOMEWORK TODAY!

The difficult campus student, however, has to show up on-campus to be difficult. And even a really difficult campus student knows it's kind of stupid to argue I DESERVE TO PASS when he or she has never or rarely appeared in class (I've had one student make this argument).

Also, if the difficult campus student does show up, he or she is immediately exposed to the wonderful world of peer example: the student sees other students taking notes, handing in stuff (on-time), getting stuff back, signing up for meetings. If the student isn't completely self-absorbed (and some are), the student will register, "Oooh, this is how students who actually want to pass behave."

Neither of these factors--showing up in a physical classroom; seeing other students physically hand things in--works on-line. The difficult online student can go on believing in his or her self-entitlement for an entire semester without experiencing any "get a grip on reality" epiphanies.

Consequently, difficult online students tend to be difficult all semester long (rather than in spurts like when a project is due or at the very end of the semester).

As you can imagine this gets very wearing.

Now, I will grant that part of my problem is that I get invested. You tell me your great uncle is dying, I'm going to feel bad. Really bad. I won't pass you. But I'll feel really, really bad; in fact, it will ruin my day. Consequently, I'd rather you didn't tell me.

It would be better for me (and for my students) if I could disengage: not take every complaint, emotional upheaval, whine to heart. That much investment isn't healthy. And it really doesn't help the learning process.

But disengagement is not encouraged by the employers of adjuncts, particularly online adjuncts. Disengagement does not correspond to the image of the instructor as advisor, counselor, sister, buddy, etc. etc. etc. It is hard to disengage when you know it will make you and your (accurate) grades vulnerable. It is hard to disengage from a student who sends you five emails a week arguing that he shouldn't have to take English Composition, and he shouldn't have to use good grammar, and he shouldn't have to do research (and who won't stop complaining even after you explain the necessity of English Composition and encourage him to complete the required work) when, at the same time, your department chair is being pressured by the administration to tell instructors to be more nurturing with their students.

True incident, by the way.

It is very hard to disengage when the majority of instructors in your online department (at least, the most vocal ones) agree with the department heads that low retention numbers are due to instructors being too hard in their grading and/or not laid-back/indifferent enough to unprofessional behavior and poor work.

Side note: Blaming retention numbers on instructors is quite frankly, bull. Instructors are not to blame for administrators placing students in their courses, which courses the students cannot pass because they do not have the necessary skill sets. Blaming the instructors is a clever (and nasty way) for online institutions to pressure instructors to inflate their grades and then deny direct culpability. (By the way, approximately 70% of my students passed my online course--30% with A's--and my integrity is still intact, so I'm feeling pretty proud of myself.)

Conclusion

The issues that caused me to leave my on-line employer exist in all colleges to an extent. But I believe exclusively on-line institutions run the risk of pushing these issues to the point where . . . they might as well be selling diplomas.

It hasn't reached that point yet--at least not for my ex. But I decided to get out before it does.

LEARNING

Totally About Bones

I don't have cable--and don't really want it--which means I'm a season behind everyone else on shows such as House and Bones. I watch past seasons either through Netflix or through the library (check out your public libraries, people--great resources!).

I recently watched Bones, Season 3. I knew what would happen regarding Zach (I always know what happens; I know what happened recently on House, for example; I'm not one for waiting a whole year to find things out). More about Zach later. Here are my thoughts on all of Season 3.

*There are spoilers.* (For those of you who do like to wait a whole year+ to find things out.)

Totally Cute

It is, without a doubt, a totally cute season. In fact, it's almost too cute, but it was nice to watch an entire season of a show containing almost zero angst. I kept thinking, "Boy, the writers should go on strike more often if this is the result!"

Amongst my favorite cute moments: Bones and Booth and the baby (and yes, I think the "yuppie parents with their kid" imagery was deliberate); the Christmas episode from kiss to singing Santas to the tree (cute and funny episode); Bones and the snakes in the Halloween episode; Bones as Wonder Woman in the Halloween episode; Booth as a geek in the Halloween episode ("See how I just corrected you."); Dr. Sweets, particularly in the episode where he breaks up with his girlfriend, and Booth decides to take him bowling--I also love Dr. Sweets' slang and popular culture references ("Like, dude, [Star Wars reference]."); Bones and Booth in the karaoke club before Booth gets shot.

Booth getting shot brings us to . . .

Totally Random

The influence of the writers' strike does show towards the end of the season. I got the impression that Booth pretending to be dead was originally supposed to be several episodes. It feels like a longer arc than they gave it. I mean, Booth died! Booth DIED! And two seconds later, it's the funeral, and Bones is barging into his bathroom--very cute scene but just a tad abrupt.

My theory is, they (writers/producers) came up with the idea of Booth's death and couldn't let it go to another season because they loved it so much. I think this was a mistake, personally. That particular arc needed more time than it was given.

Speaking of arcs that needed more time (and clues!), Zach as Gormogon's assistant wasn't set up at all. I knew it was coming, so I looked for hints in the prior episodes. Nadda. They didn't even use Zach's stint in Iraq (he could have met one of Gormogon's victims there . . .) It was the most unlikely way I've seen to write a character out of a show since Tasha Yar was killed by the sludge monster (and Yar got to come back and die all over again).

I think turning Zach into Gormogon's assistant could have been done effectively--Zach's issue is that he's always felt like an outsider. They could have pushed that issue more. Hodgins is with Angela; Bones is becoming more and more consumed with Booth and vice versa; Camille (who, by the way, I really like now: you go, independent woman who likes her space and has a quirky sense of humor!) is an independent woman who likes her space. Zach, who isn't good at reading people, could have begun to think he'd been abandoned--I'm an outcast; nobody loves me; I don't fit in anywhere except with my new crazy, psycho friend--only to realize (too late) that his friends really do love him; they just have busy lives.

The way it was done: not believable at all (although I did like that Zach let himself get hurt to protect Hodgins).

Back to Bones and Booth!

Totally Sweet(s)

Yeah, that is a pun. I loved Sweets' role as the observor on the show's most excellent romantic relationship. For instance, one of my favorite scenes is when Sweets takes Bones and Booth to pottery class, and Bones and Booth relate to each other better than Sweets and his girlfriend! That episode made clear that Sweets' interest in Bones and Booth is in the relationship itself, not just with the individuals. He wants to have what they have.

Part of what they have is maturity. I like the fact that Sweets is at least 7 years younger than Bones and 12 years younger than Booth (Booth is 35 in Season 3; Bones is "five years younger."). I'm hoping--remember I haven't seen any of Season 4--that Sweets-Bones-Booth never form a romantic triangle. I like Sweets as the geeky younger brother who kind of hero worships Bones and Booth and is completely engrossed in figuring out their relationship. I don't want to see him as competition to Booth (or to Bones, for that matter).

If that does happen, it will be a mistake. One thing the pottery scene reveals is that Bones and Booth might have their problems, but they are beyond the problems that obsess twenty-years-olds. They behave, well, like adults. In the pottery scene, Bones is impressed by Booth's ability; they kid; they talk. They are very natural together. There isn't a lot of preening or guesswork going on, which is one thing I've always liked about this particular relationship.

Totally Touching

Speaking of Bones and Booth, Season 3 does get almost-maudlin a few times. Of course, Bones is Bones, and the dialog between Bones and Booth is always fantastic, so Bones' almost-maudlin is still pretty sardonic stuff. (It's not like Perlman's Beauty and the Beast, which is tiresomely maudlin.)

In any case, the season did push the appearance of the relationship (if not the actual relationship) much furthur than in past seasons. Bones and Booth look like a couple (that baby!). My only real problem with this is the inevitable-break-up-factor. I would like to see Bones and Booth date and even get married. I'd be really impressed if the writers pulled it off. I do NOT want to see (and will stop watching) Bones and Booth date and then break-up for some totally stupid reason. (One of them sleeps with his or her ex!!) I HATE that sort of thing. (It usually indicates bad/lazy writing.)

In terms of completely touching (but not almost-maudlin), my favorite heart-breaking line is from the episode where Bones implicates herself in order to get her father off. It's the line where Booth addresses Bones directly from the stand: "That's a lot of heart, Bones."

And I love it because even though Booth wants to help Bones and has encouraged her to help her father, he will not agree to her pretend scenario. He has to answer honestly in court, but he refuses to accept Bones' scenario as a realistic option. Bones is his first priority, not her father.

Good stuff.

TELEVISION

D is for Detached Irony

What I read: Sister Carrie by Theodore Dreiser.

I chose Sister Carrie because I had the vague idea that I'd seen a William Wyler movie based on one of his novels. Wyler did in fact make a movie of Sister Carrie (Carrie--no not the one with the high school burning down), but I haven't seen it. I did see Dodsworth directed by Wyler (novel by Sinclair Lewis), so I was sort of right!

On the other hand, I was completely wrong about Sister Carrie's content, which I assumed was about a nun. Yes, I know, for an English major, I have alarming gaps in my knowledge of literature! Actually, Sister Carrie is rather like an Americanized Tess of the D'Urbervilles except that instead of being an angelic innocent who falls into trouble after trouble after trouble, Carrie is an amoral innocent who takes whatever comes along, trouble or not.

Sister Carrie is WAAAY more interesting than Tess.

Beyond having an innocent heroine, the novels also share a sense of inevitability or fate. However, while in Hardy, this sense of fate is tied to God or the universe or something "out there", in Dreiser, the fate of Carrie and her lovers is tied to their personal inability to act. They are quintessentially amoral--the natural man, as Mormons call it--who simply react to whatever's in front of them. Carrie doesn't choose to become one man's mistress and another man's bigamist wife and then dump them. She simply takes whatever presents itself. It isn't that the road to hell is paved with good intentions; rather, the road to hell is paved with no intentions at all. This looks good. Okay. Whatever. (This is my personal explanation for things like Enron. There are truly corrupt financial people, and then there are lots of salespeople and such who simply can't formulate a personal/moral reason not to keep doing what they are doing or being asked to do.)

Like I said, WAAAY more interesting than Tess.

The tone of the novel actually reminds me more of restoration comedies than Hardy. The novel is very much a character study, and Dreiser goes out of his way to give us Carrie's mentality without much moralizing; however, there's a consistent acerbic tone underlying the prose. I used "detached irony" for the post title because I couldn't come up with a "D" word that meant "sardonic and cynical without being totally pessimistic; also rather droll but not really funny and just a tad moralistic." If anyone can supply a word, I'll take it!

It's very readable although due to its length, I've been tackling it in small doses. I'm in the last fourth of the book, and I've ordered the 1952 movie with Laurence Olivier and Jennifer Jones through Netflix. I'll be curious to see if the movie romanticizes the ending or keeps it as is. It is frankly--and I don't feel bad warning people because I hate reading long books thinking they will end happily when they don't--depressing, but it's more Of Mice and Men depressing than The Pearl or Ethan Frome depressing. I really can't stand books that end not only with a death but with the message that life is worthless. Kill people off by all means, but hey, I'm still standing. Dreiser appears to belong to the "and life just keeps rolling on" mentality of tragic endings.

BOOKS

The Wonderful Ironic Relationship of Bones and Booth

I currently watched the entirety of Bones, Season 2 and decided I would give Season 3 a chance. Whatever the occasional flaws in the writing/character development, those Bones writers who are in charge of Brennan and Booth are very, very, very good at their job.

The wonderful irony of Brennan and Booth is that out of all the characters on the show, Brennan is the one who eschews marriage the most and, out of all the characters on the show, Brennan is the one who needs--and thrives on--a long-term, committed, stable romantic relationship the most.

Hence, Booth.

The second wonderful irony of Brennan and Booth is that like so many women throughout history, Brennan's long-term, committed, stable, romantic (even if she doesn't know it yet) relationship is with a man who is the mirror of her father.

And this isn't even me. This is the writers.

The writers go out of their way to pinpoint similarities between Booth and Max Keenan. Booth understands Max Keenan's philosophy ("Law of the Jungle") and defends it to Brennan. Booth encourages Brennan to support her father, especially after Booth arrests him. Max himself selects Booth as his back-up ("You take care of her"), and I have personally always been convinced that Max kills the Deputy Director as much for Booth's sake as for Brennan's. Speaking of that particular episode--"Judas on a Pole"--the writers/directors make a deliberate visual connection between Max and Booth when they morph from Max watching the body burn to Booth watching the burnt body: same pose, same stance.

Booth is Max's anti- or mirror. He isn't a clone. He is the good guy (who occasionally, unknown to Brennan, protects her by jungle means); he is law to Max's disorder. I love the scene in Season 3 when Booth says, "I'm good. You know back in the day when people were dumping tea in the harbor, I would have rounded them all up. We'd still be British."

And Brennan laughs. Brennan needs a man with a consistent worldview. She also needs a man who won't end up getting her killed because of his "outlaw" tendencies. She needs, however much she intellectually dismisses the need, the "knight in shining FBI standard-issue body armor," as Angela puts it. And she's got it: she's got the guy who, unlike her father, won't abandon her but, like her father, will protect her.

And she protects him. I'm not a big advocate of needy people hooking up on the hope that they will solve each other's needs. I am a big advocate of people complementing (and complimenting) each other. Two people with similar neediness: BAD. Two people with complementing neediness: GOOD.

Brennan needs stability. Booth needs someone to protect. He is pure Alpha male, tempered by self-doubt. Booth was a sniper--and a good one. He doesn't have a philosophical or legal or moral problem with being a sniper or with shooting bad guys. But he doesn't want to do it anymore. It isn't about Booth saying, "Oh, I was a horrible person." It's about Booth saying, "I no longer want to take on that particular function." He wants a constructive role rather than a destructive role. This is, bluntly, Alpha male patriarchy at its best. (Yes, it does exist.)

Booth doesn't want someone to domineer and wouldn't tolerate that kind of relationship for two seconds (good Alpha males rarely do). Rather, he wants to play a constructive role in someone's life--someone who needs him.

Hence, Brennan.

Clark Kent and Wonder Woman: hey, it could work!

Television

C is for Continuous Catastrophe (Cussler)

What I read: Raise the Titanic! by Clive Cussler.

"C" was hard. I've read and skimmed lots of lots of "Cs"--Cabot, Card, Caudwell, Cherryh, Christie, Clancy, Clarke (Arthur C.), Conrad.

I decided to read Raise the Titanic! by Cussler. I got through two chapters and gave up.

To be fair, I wasn't just put off by the bad writing. Clive Cussler writes a type of story that I just can't wrap my mind around entertainment-wise. This could, admittedly, be a gal thing.

Cussler writes the type of adventure story in which an Alpha male runs around saving people and bedding women. The adventures are usually international/political/military in scope. They are almost exclusively plot-oriented rather than character or narrative-oriented. Instead of the story being the result of the characters' internal or external choices OR the result of a narrative arc, such as a mystery or romance (dead body, detective work, confrontation, everybody goes home; romantic meeting, separation, union, everybody gets married), the plot is a series of events: this happens, then this happens, then this happens, then this happens.

I never have been able to read The Da Vinci Code, not because it offends me (although I think silly history is, well, silly history) but because it is this type of novel. This reaction is normal for me. In general, the opening action sequence for this type of novel never hooks me. I don't care about the characters; I don't care if the world is ending; I don't care if there's a conspiracy going on somewhere. (I can usually watch this type of movie, by the way; I just can't read the books.)

I'm also not a big fan of the James Bond type of Alpha male. I'm not opposed to action Alpha males in general. I quite like Bruce Willis in Die Hard and in Shymalan's movies. I'm a huge fan of Jason Bourne. I like Batman, that introverted Alpha male, and Superman, that extroverted Alpha male. But then--it's got to be a gal thing--all the Alpha males I've listed are one-woman guys . . . except for Batman who is a kind of collective misanthrope.

But the "love 'em and leave 'em" stuff leaves me cold. To be fair, I don't especially like women action figures who are all about "my tough lonely life where I pick up people and drop them but still manage to remain attractive even though I'm a complete jerk."

So Cussler was possibly not the best choice for me (although I do like all things Titanic!). However, for those of you who ARE into Cussler's type of action writing, I recommend Clancy or Cornwell or even Fleming himself. Cussler--at least in Raise the Titanic!--is a pretty horrible writer. He actually has a main character give one of those monologues that are usually held up as "never do this" examples to beginning writers:

Nancy, I know you are depressed due to losing your baby last year after three years in the mental institution where you went after I put your brother behind bars for a drug deal in which you were partially implicated . . . (Not from Cussler's book, but you get the idea.)

On the other hand, editors keep telling me (about my stories), "Well-written, but I'm not sure what's going on," so maybe Cussler has the right idea.

BOOKS

What Is Swift Really Saying?

This semester, I am teaching an on-line literature course. We just finished Gulliver's Travels, which we are now discussing. I read Gulliver's Travels in college. Rereading it was pretty much the same experience: an interesting (and surprisingly fast) read in the first two parts (surprising because the WHOLE thing is exposition); a rather tedious and long-winded read in the last two parts (which is why almost every movie about Gulliver concentrates on the first two parts).

What surprised me was my reaction to the last part, the Houyhnhnms. The Houyhnhnms are the horses who live in a, supposedly, ideal society. At the end of Gulliver's Travels when Gulliver is forced to return to human (Yahoo) society, he is broken-hearted. He is disgusted by other humans (Yahoos) and keeps comparing humans unfavorably to the Houyhnhnms.

I knew Gulliver considered Houyhnhnms the ideal society. I'm not a big fan of ideal societies, so my attitude, when I started reading, was "Ho hum, I hope this ends soon." (I disliked this part the first time too.)

And then it occured to me--Swift is fairly negative about all the places Gulliver visits but not unreasonable. That is, up until the Houyhnhnms, Gulliver is a nice guy with a passive yet objective mindset. He doesn't squash the Lilliputians. He keeps trying to impress the Brob . . . the Giants. He gets more caustic as he goes on, but he tries to see both sides of the society he is stuck in. The Houyhnhnms are the first society he doesn't objectively evaluate (although he is consistently snide and sarcastic about human society wherever he goes).

So what if Swift's point wasn't (just) that human society stinks what with its imperialism and bribery, etc. etc.? What if Swift's point was (rather) that idealistic societies don't really prepare people for the real world? Or, to be more precise, idealistic expectations kind of ruin a person for the real world?

I don't know; my knowledge of Swift is admittedly limited to stuff like "A Modest Proposal." However, I wouldn't put it past him to be that sneaky. Gulliver doesn't come back from the Houyhnhnms a nicer, more compassionate, more understanding person. He comes back, as one of my students claimed, "Rude and cruel."

So, perhaps, idealism is, in its own way, flawed.

I think this is a valid point. One quality that I often associate with T.O.A.Ds, although it isn't a toad-like quality necessarily, is the insistence that the world should or ought to work in a certain, ideal way. They honestly believe that stuff like communism will work because they honestly believe that idealism is imposed rather than chosen and all you have to do is have the right system or tell off enough people or throw enough temper tantrums about how rotten leaders and institutions are (which is kind of what Gulliver does at the end of the novel), and everyone will say, "Oh, absolutely, you are SOOO right. We shouldn't act this way" and will stop behaving corruptly and self-interestedly (after all, the T.O.A.Ds certainly aren't behaving corruptly or self-interestedly). Sure, and children shouldn't hit each other with toys, but they often do despite parental supervision. (And even though it hurts.)

It's the sort of thing that makes you appreciate religions that insist that sin is a real constant. Okay, okay, I'm not into the "human nature is completely evil and this world stinks" form of sin, but I appreciate the insistence that human beings are not capable of unrelenting idealism, no matter what the system, and that any institution, family, group, organization will have its problems. (It isn't anything to get all surprised over.)

In the section on Houyhnhnms, Swift goes out of his way to identify the Yahoos with all seven of the deadly sins: Greed, Lust, Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Sloth, Wrath. And I always assumed his point was, Humans stink! But what if his point was, This is part of human reality. Don't ignore it when you try to fix stuff.

Makes you wonder if he was friends with Adam Smith.

After a tiny bit of Wikipedia research: Probably not--There's an overlap but not much of one. But he could have influenced Adam Smith.

BOOKS

B is for Bizarrely Sweet (Balzac)

What I read: Novellas by Balzac.

For no reason whatsoever, I'd always assumed Balzac was a long-winded "profound" writer—a French James Joyce. I'd also assumed he was really, really depressing; I guess I saw too many depressing French films in college.

He isn't—depressing, that is. And the first novella I read, "The Secrets of the Princess De Cadignan," had an unbelievably sweet ending. I thought it was headed towards Yes, Prime Minister type cynicism, and then, whammy, an ending which completely surprised and touched me.

I moved on to "Gobseck" which was interesting mainly because it proved to me that Balzac is a good writer—I'm always impressed by a writer who can effortlessly present a story told by a narrator who includes, in his narration, a story told by another character: all without losing me.

Then I tried "The Vicar of Tours" and that was cynical, so I stopped. One thing Balzac does supremely well is characterization. I cared far too much about the poor, vacuous Abbé Birotteau to endure what I knew was coming (and no, "The Vicar of Tours" does not have a surprise sweet ending)—although Abbé Troubert is a great "bad" guy; I put "bad" in quotation marks because I'm not sure Balzac created any completely bad guys, but then my exposure, as you can see, has been limited.

Still, Balzac reinforces what I essentially believe, even if no one else does any more: truly great writers generally deserve their great reputations. I don't understand all the history stuff in Balzac but the prose is pretty impressive. (He is yet another author who illustrates that throwing readers into the deep end doesn't mean abandoning them there--see "'A' is for Awkward".)

BOOKS

A is for Awkward (Anderson)

Everybody's doing it! Everybody's reading stuff—the Encyclopedia Britannica, the Bible, the Guinness Book of World Records, 100 books in one year—and then reporting on their experiences, so I'm going to do it too!

I'm going to try to read a book from each letter of the alphabet by an author that I have never read before.

The first book I tried to read was The Day of Their Return (1974) by Poul Anderson.

My Science-Fiction Encyclopedia (ed. John Clute) includes Poul Anderson under its 1950s time period. It states "no other SF author . . . has produced as much high-quality work, with such variety, and with such continued verve, for anything approaching the half century of constant endeavor that Anderson can boast" and "Anderson has written one of two bad books in his time, but then, he can afford to."

I guess I tried to read one of the bad ones.

Now, when it comes to fantasy and science-fiction, there is a debate between how much exposition one should give the reader upfront. Should one just dump the reader into the story or should one provide the reader with massive upfront exposition?

In The Day of Their Return, Poul Anderson opts for the "here's the deep end, have fun!" approach. And I respect that. But I didn't get so much as a life preserver for four chapters, and I really can't tread water for that long. In terms of pure incomprehensibility (who ARE these people?), The Day of Their Return makes War & Peace look like a "Dick and Jane" book.

I will grant that I'm not much for world fantasy or science-fiction, which The Day of Their Return is, but just compare Anderson to C.J. Cherryh (who does do world fantasy and science-fiction as well as everything else). As far as I'm concerned, there's no contest. In her Foreigner series, Cherryh also throws you into the deep end, but she then tows you, subtly, with enormous expertise, through fascinating circumstances towards a fascinating denouement: clear and lucid--if only The Day of Their Return could say as much.

BOOKS

The Problems of Romance Heroes

In genre romances, the hero usually has two problems:

1. He hasn't been able to commit to one woman. In Regency parlance, he is a rake. He has slept around; he is an expert in love-making; he has seen it all, done it all. He just hasn't found the right woman. When the right woman comes along, he will change his rake-making ways and become monogamous.

2. An external or internal distress. Modern romance writers have expanded this distress to the psychological. The hero's problem isn't just boredom or a war wound or a displeased father. His problem is depression, mood swings, etc.

Both problems have to be solved and/or confronted in the course of the novel. Usually, the heroine's appearance is the catalyst that solves both problems.

I consider the first problem somewhat more solvable than the second. Granted, it is hard to credit that a promiscuous man will automatically stop being promiscuous just because a wonderful woman shows up in his life. On the other hand, I think a large number of men find the dating/courting/flirting game rather tedious. Some men do enjoy the chase; Scott Petersen obviously enjoyed wooing women more than actually settling down and having children with them. However, I would argue that many (if not most) men would far prefer an available, committed, and agreeable woman on tap than scores of hypothetical women that have to be pursued and sometimes persuaded.

The only snag here, romance-novel-wise, is that so many of the heroes are described as insatiable sex-machines who enjoy displaying their great sexual prowess (they are almost always Alpha males). A good insatiable man might be monogamous; he also might come up with a few excellent reasons he should be allowed to marry several wives (and yes, I am writing that as the product of polygamous ancestors).

However, committing the hero to monogamy still seems a more solvable problem--especially since romance heroines, no matter how virginal, become instant experts in this department--than fixing the hero's distress, particularly if the distress is psychological. I particularly balk at the typical romance-novel solution of the "good woman." Anyone who has been in a psychologically traumatic relationship or has read about Charles & Diana knows that trying to solve other people's psychological problems is a really, really bad idea and trying to solve other people's psychological problems by being "good" for them is a lesson in masochism.

I'm not talking about showing love and support and putting up with the other person's bad side. I'm talking about trying to fix things that now-a-days get a person medicated. Specifically, I'm talking about trying to make another person happy; this, I maintain, is a complete impossibility. A positive relationship can be a source of strength and happiness, but it is the relationship that supplies the strength, not one person taking on the emotional baggage of the other person (i.e., fixing the other person).

That being said, I understand the fantasy: in the romance novel, the heroine who "makes" her hero happy (cures his distress) becomes indispensable. He needs her. It's the sort of thing that makes (some) feminists, me included, nervous: here is this woman subordinating herself all over the place in order to make a man happy. But our nervousness kind of misses the point--basic biology is at work here. An indispensable woman will keep her man and therefore, her security.

And I can understand the impulse to chase after such security even if I don't believe it is possible. It is, frankly, terrifying to enter a relationship knowing that the other person is not under one's control--and yes, I know that sounds vaguely psychopathic. But this lack of control is the risk of relationships: love is not a guarantee, only a hope. In a way, guaranteed love is what makes genre romances not only satisfying to read but also rather fascinating--can the writers solve the hero's problems in such a way that the heroine will still remain indispensable? Contrawise, can the problems be solved without leaving the reader with the impression, "Boy, that marriage is doomed!"?

In one novel (Devil in Winter by Lisa Kleypas), the hero agrees to marry the heroine for money. He then, of course, discovers that she is beautiful and charming and witty and great in bed (not necessarily in that order) although his distress--cash shortage and unhappiness/boredom--is still a factor. However, part of his new wife's dowry is her father's club, which has fallen on hard times. Our hero becomes fascinated by the club. To protect his assets, he becomes directly involved in running the club and subsequently discovers he has a knack for business. 150+ years later, the guy would get an MBA and buy up a bunch of resorts: same principle.

I found it rather satisfyingly believable on a psychological level. Running a club is a bit low-class, but the guy has nothing to lose and everything to gain by taking charge. His motivation is also believable: his lovely wife doesn't inspire him to take an interest; he takes an interest because he (initially) wants to sell the club at a good price. The impulse comes from him, not her endearing example. (In other words, he works to find a purpose for himself in life; he doesn't wait around for his wife to nudge him into finding a purpose--I suppose the latter works for some couples, but generally, I think being someone's personal standby pep rally sounds enormously tiring.)

I will state now that I found another of Kleypas' books much less satisfying: there are only so many romance plots out there, and some of them are pretty darn silly (and what's up with the obsession with Scotland? For some reason, a stunning number of romance novels take place in Scotland and the Wild, Wild West. The first choice makes me feel cold; the second choice makes me feel itchy--not terribly romantic).

One reason Devil in Winter works is because the problems are reasonably solvable--this, however, immediately moves the spousal relationship back onto voluntary grounds. The woman is no longer indispensable (especially since the relationship is, relatively speaking, about two seconds old). In order to keep a heroine of a romance indispensable, the hero's problems must be solvable only in the short term except romance writers want us to believe that the problems are entirely solvable in the short and long term. Yet the woman must remain indispensable. How is that done?

She has a kid.

A number of feminists figured out a long time ago that romances are about the most conservative fiction on the market, and I have to agree. Setting aside the explicit sex (and the odd lack of social--forget religious--guilt), the plots are entirely aimed at creating or obtaining a marriage in which men get jobs, protect their wives, and take care of their children.

Interestingly enough, the female characters express a sense of freedom within this arrangement that is entirely authentic to their writers' voices. So Phyllis Schaefly wins! But why she wins is something all feminists should pay attention to. Frankly, anyone who thinks a well-functioning patriarchy doesn't benefit women to some extent is a fool. However, what those benefits are exactly and what should/can take their place if/when patriarchy falls should be closely examined before babies get thrown out with bathwater.

But I'm not going to do that today.

BOOKS

Thoughts on Formula and Character

I've lately become a huge fan of Law & Order: Criminal Intent. I like the twists and surprises and I find D'Onforio incessantly amusing.

However, I've reached Season 3, and I've begun to notice a problem: the formula is too constricting.

Now, I'm a big fan of formula. I think formula is great. Was it Aristole who said something about an expected narrative outcome giving us cathartic release? Or was that someone else? Anyway, I think the classic narrative structure + genre formula is possibly one of the most enchanting literary creations known to writers . . . and whatever literary types like to say, it will never go away or be supplanted or be replaced.

What I mean by formula, as opposed to the narrative arc, is when set-up, climax, and resolution follow a typical pattern. Mysteries are formulaic. Romances are formulaic. Action movies are formulaic. The same types of things happen at the same point in the narrative arc. Some people will argue that House is formulaic (they are probably right).

Take the original Law & Order (before Moriarty left, and I stopped watching): opening scenes present some kind of crime; detectives investigate for 20-30 minutes; D.A.'s office takes over for 20-30 minutes. Same thing every week and, after awhile, very similar crimes since there are only so many mystery cases under the sun.

Humans are capable of infinite variety, however (which is why writers plunder the newspapers so often), and this is where formula is saved from tediousness. So long as the particulars vary, the formula is a useful tool rather than a constricting jacket (yes, I just mixed my metaphors). In the original Law & Order, the court cases, however similar in terms of argument (how many times can we explain "fruit of the poison tree"?), were differentiated by their individual nature: this week we are dealing with the Mafia; next week, it will be two lovers; next week, a family freud. And not just any lovers or any family freud--a particular set of lovers; a particular family freud. (I confess, I can't distinguish between Mafia episodes: not my favorite subject.)

Thus, the end of the episode (usually in the court room or D.A.'s office) can end in a variety of ways: guilt, innocence, plea bargaining, retribution, our heroes mulling over themes as variable as parental influence or sanity versus insanity.

There is variation within the formula.

Likewise, although a House episode almost always ends with House's epiphany, the particulars that led up to the epiphany vary, and what House gleans from the epiphany also varies. House himself also changes.

This brings us to Criminal Intent, Season 3. The formula for Criminal Intent is a crime is committed, Goren and Eames investigate, three or four twists ensue, Goren confronts the bad guy and delivers a monologue.

The last is the problem. Because Goren is the focus of the show, the emphasis is on the monologue, not the uniqueness of the case; the monologue from one week could be easily transferred to the next or to the one after. Nothing new is added to Goren's understanding or the audience's understanding of Goren.

I think this does a disservice to D'Onforio, but for the purposes of this post, what interests me is the problem of variation within formula: change within structure. Too much change and the show runs the risk of turning into a soap opera and/or self-imploding (Buffy, for instance). Too little change or variation and the formula strangles the elements within the show that keep people watching.

Frankly, I don't know where the tip-over point comes or how writers an avoid it. I think one solution is to write organically which I'm sure has been said before! Organic writing means that plot outcomes rise naturally from the plot particulars. One reason I enjoy House so much is because the writers are just so darn good; it's a pleasure to watch such effortless writing at work. What makes it good (and effortless, supposedly) is this business of organic writing. Whatever occurs, the characters respond not as the writers need them to respond but as the characters would "naturally" respond. Yet the writers never lose control over the unwinding plot.

I say "naturally" respond because in real life, people do things out of character all the time. Linear time being what it is, new challenges and problems and just old age continually demand from us new reactions. I don't think people ever react completely out of character, in the sense that they turn themselves into something they are not. But there isn't always an internal consistency (last week, she got mad at a student; she has to get mad at her students every week!).

However, good writing does need internal consistency. I became aware of this lately while reading a romance novel (romance novels vary tremendously in terms of writing skill). In this particular novel, the main character--heroine--behaved however the writer needed her to in any given situation. If the writer needed the heroine to be suddenly bold and demanding, by golly, she was bold and demanding. If the writer needed the heroine to be shy and uncertain, yup, there's that shy and uncertain woman. In real life, that does happen: a bold person can be shy in certain circumstances. In a novel format, it's just confusing. After awhile, I started to think the hero should start packing his bags (hint: she's a psycho, man).

Most of this is just bad writing: I got the impression, that the book was written while the author was attending a writing class. Members of the class read a certain passage and said to the aspiring author, "You know, I think you should make the villain a little more human--people aren't all bad, you know. Give him some depth here." So, the author gave him one line of depth, which promptly disappeared for the next 150 pages.

This is simply an inability to pay-off one's set-up. Or to recognize that sometimes, a villain should just be a villain, and your writing buddies are idiots.

Still, even with good writers, I think the problem of organic growth versus necessary formula poses a problem. And if I knew how to solve it, well, maybe I'd make a million bucks. Or maybe I'd just be one more writer with good unpublished stuff!

WRITING

Prince Caspian: Review

This review contains spoilers.

I confess to preferring the recent film version of Prince Caspian to its companion piece The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. I love it because, frankly, watching male testosterone self-implode on-screen is hugely entertaining not to mention charismatic.

The movie makes some large, but still consistent, changes from the book, mostly to get the Pevensies in contact with Prince Caspian sooner (in the book, they don't show up until the very, very end). Another of the changes is that the story centers around Peter rather than Lucy or Caspian. Unlike the level-headed Peter of the book, movie Peter is hot-headed and tired of being treated like a kid: he's just bursting with testosterone!

And when he shows up in Narnia, his reluctance to listen to Lucy is much less the careful deliberations of a grown man and much more the knee jerk reactions of an adolescent/adult man who thinks he is losing control of a situation: yup, Peter is THAT guy who won't stop and ask for directions. (By the way, to kill a stereotype, I never do either.)

And when he meets Caspian, he immediately takes over. The first time I saw the movie, I wasn't entirely convinced that Caspian (played by Ben Barnes with a delectable accent) would give way so easily. I mean, the guy is over 18! But I think the movie does a good job showing that Caspian has been sat on so much by his uncle—who has also sent away any of Caspian's real supporters—Caspian doesn't really know how to take charge. And I'm very grateful, by the way, that movie Caspian is over 18; I don't mind child actors, but I found the baby-faced Caspian of the BBC version to be fairly annoying.

The emotional problem of the movie is pride, specifically testosterone-laden male pride. Now, I'm no establishment feminist. I adore testosterone-laden male pride: makes for some darn fine movies. And I like Caspian because the problem of male pride is not solved by "feminizing" the hormone-rampaging males. It is solved, rather, through multiple options (as opposed to tunnel "I do know how to get there" insistence), Edmund's discernment and prompt action, and the combat between Miraz and Peter where Peter's aggression is channeled into a useful and probable resolution. Politics, as Caspian knows, is a far more effective weapon against Miraz than battle: the Narnians simply don't have the manpower.

Which brings us to Miraz's court: I love it! It is so . . . Godfatherish. And I don't especially like the Godfather movies. But I love how sneaky and conspiratorial the Telmarine court is. I love the power plays. I love the badness of Miraz, not, again, because I typically like Mafia-type movies but because his badness, in typical Lewis fashion, is so human; the actions of his subordinates are so clever and so evil in such a mundane, human way. And yes, all the stuff that's in the movie about Miraz is in the book.

My brother comments in one of his posts, "And, to be honest, I do find women to be infinitely more interesting creatures than men" in part because fiction about women focuses on "how real people--specifically women--actually relate to each other in the real world" and "revolve mainly around the evolution and devolution of friendships." I suppose I find testosterone-laden male tribulations fascinating for a similar reason: because of the birds' eye view not of evolution and devolution, necessarily, but of adaptation. If Camille Paglia is right and women are fundamentally more earthy and cyclical while men are fundamentally more idealistic and goal-completion-oriented, watching idealistic, goal-oriented men adjust to our very non-idealistic, repetitive world is, well, rather like watching wild animals in a zoo: bizarrely fascinating. If that metaphor seems offensive, try--like watching matadors buying pizza in Brooklyn.

When the adjustment is more or less successful, at least. When it isn't, it's just kind of sad, but then watching women de-evolve themselves out of relationships bores me silly. No matter the gender, I prefer construction to destruction, but that's another post!

For another take on Caspian, my brother's review can be read on his blog.

MOVIES

Bleak House, Part 1

I just finished Disc 1 (five episodes) of the 15-episode Bleak House series. This is the first time I've understood why Dickens was so popular. I am completely hooked. Who are Esther's parents? Will anyone inherit? (No, I say.) Who is going to get killed? Someone's going to get killed; I hope it's not the street sweeper. Will Richard and Ada get married? (Not a good idea, I'd tell her.) Who will end up marrying Esther? Is Guppy a bad guy or a good guy? Who on earth is Lady Deadlock's sister? Is there a sister? And who's going to get those letters????

And on and on.

I'm so obsessed, I dream about it! This is why I don't watch soap operas although, to be fair, Bleak House is way more interesting than your average soap opera. Something actually happens in every episode!

Gillian Anderson is great, by the way. For a single scene in the second episode, she suddenly adopts a strong British accent. Now, Anderson was born in England and lives there now, but after that single aberration (maybe that was the first scene filmed?), she has spoken "Scully" the majority of the time--crisp tones that are almost accent-less. I love it! It's so in-your-face refined. Which isn't to say I associate her character with Scully although I admit to a wish that David Duchovny would make a cameo appearance. Everybody else has! And can I say that Nathaniel Parker has truly impressed me as the bumbling guest; now, is he a good guy or a bad guy? I thought I knew, but I'm not sure now. Don't tell me! I actually want to figure it out all by myself.

What with all the uncertain, ambiguous, and villainous lawyers (and isn't Charles Dance magnificent?!), I feel like I'm watching The Screwtape Letters: Tulkinghorn is Screwtape. Luckily, he is one of the few obviously unpleasant people in the piece. I'm not certain about anybody else, even John Jarndyce, which makes me nervous. Speaking of John Jarndyce, there's some major manipulation going in his relationships with his wards.

Some of that manipulation involves Ricky, but to be honest, I find Ricky so annoying, I don't much care if he is being manipulated or not. Perhaps my job gives me a suffeit of 20-years-old boys who don't know what to do with their lives, but I keep going, "Oh, kick him out on his ear" whenever Ricky makes another lame excuse about his future.

Back to the lawyers: this Christmas I read a book about A Christmas Carol. The author made the argument that Dickens may have lambasted lawyers and debt collectors, but he identified with Scrooge more than with Tiny Tim et al. Dickens was constantly aware of money: when it was coming in, who owed it, who wasn't repaying it, who was forcing him to lend it. Part of him wished he wasn't so aware and like all good writers, he tried to exorcise his impulses through his writing. He failed, but, as Wimsey says in Gaudy Night, "What does it matter if it hurts if it makes a good book?"

So my appreciation for Dickens has increased. And so has my appreciation for the BBC which makes it possible for me to appreciate Dickens without actually having to read him!

TV

Would the Real Mrs. Columbo Please Stand Up?

In 1979, Kate Mulgrew (Captain Janeway for you Voyager fans) created the role of Mrs. Columbo on a show of the same name. The show lasted for two seasons.

Now, I admired Kate Mulgrew, and I think she makes a fine Captain Janeway, but as Mrs. Columbo . . . she just wasn't right.

Granted, Mrs. Columbo is something of a enigma. Columbo constantly makes references to his wife, but it is hard to know how many of his references are based on actual fact and how many are simply used to put his suspects at ease. Nevertheless, there are a few "real" encounters that give us an idea of Mrs. Columbo.

First, whenever Columbo calls, she is never home. Usually another member of the family answers the phone. Where is Mrs. Columbo? Out looking for flea market bargains or at a movie with one of her numerous family members. All this gives the impression that Mrs. Columbo is a bit of a go-getter, an energetic ball of fire.

This impression is furthured when Mrs. Columbo and Columbo go on a cruise. She's always off to see a show or to see sites on the mainland. The cruise episode also gives us some insight into the marriage. When Columbo gets lost on the ship (lending support to the idea that Columbo is sometimes as scattered as he appears), he calls the room. "I don't know where the hell I am," he says bemusedly. His tone is neither that of the hen-pecked husband nor the blustering husband. It is the tone of one companion to another--hey, you know what my weird life is like, help me out.

This easy-going tone gives credence to Columbo's claim that he discusses his cases with his wife, and she gives him good guidance So Mrs. Columbo is not only a go-getter but a pretty sharp cookie.

Kate Mulgrew's Mrs. Columbo is a go-getter, but she's a Captain Janeway type of go-getter: very WASPy and goal-oriented. Columbo, on the other hand, creates a picture of his wife as less goal-oriented and more a thousand-irons-in-the-fire kind of a chick. Less corporate, more bohemian. Less concentrated ambition, more holy-rolling "are we having fun yet" extrovert. She cooks, and she shops, and she makes pottery, and she likes movie stars and traveling and . . .

I personally picture her as a small (shorter than Columbo) Italian woman--kind of like Rhea Perlman.

I think Mrs. Columbo (1979) was a worthwhile concept, but it needed, well, Rhea Perlman to really pay off. If it were to be done now, I would tweak the concept a bit. Kate Mulgrew had Mrs. Columbo be a part-time working mother: a reporter with one daughter (I think the existence of other children is implied). Frankly, there have been enough shows about reporter-detectives and forensic-detectives and just plain old detectives. It's time for the revival of Miss Marple--Italian mama style!

I would portray Mrs. Columbo as a tightly wound, very funny, little Italian woman who doesn't work (which doesn't mean she's home any more than if she did). She's always hauling her kids off places or running out to shop with her numerous siblings and every time she does, she encounters a crime! Mrs. King, only less spies and more murder.

It's time for the return of the domestic female detective!

TV

C.S. Lewis & Theoretical Determinism

In Through the Wardrobe, a book of essays about the Chronicles of Narnia, Lisa Papademetriou worries about C.S. Lewis's possible racist tendencies. This is in reference, specifically, to Lewis' treatment of Calormen society. Although I disagree with the charge, I can understand people who get uncomfortable or worried about seeming stereotypes of Arab culture. I always dislike when people stereotype others, including well-known fantasy and science-fiction authors.

To be fair, Papademetriou's essay "In the Kingdom of Calormen" is well-balanced. Papademetriou makes the excellent point that Lewis wanted story, especially the atmosphere of a story, to stand out in the reader's mind. He did this by relying on allusions. Allusions are not the same as stereotypes--stereotypes, I would argue, are the assumptions a writer presses onto a person or culture while allusions leave the door open for the reader's own knowledge/beliefs of a person or culture. (The difference can reside on a fine line.)

Papademetriou points out that Lewis "wanted readers to respond to his writing with their guts, not their minds. He often chose characters and settings that felt familiar in order to let the readers fill in the blanks with their own associations [such as One Thousand and One Nights]." However, she later makes a rather odd turnabout when she claims that since Lewis obviously thinks Calormen culture is completely corrupt, how could he create Emeth, who is honorable and not at all corrupt? By her own argument, however, the image of Calormen nobles as cultured and honorable would be part of the associations that Lewis relied on.

Papademetriou seems to have been caught not by environmental determinism but by theoretical determinism which is a tangled web indeed. Theoretical determinism is the way higher academic types (not Papademetriou) can feel superior about their education without acknowledging that feeling superior is one of those things that gets Western civilization into trouble in the first place (and without considering that Western civilization might actually have something to feel superior about). Theoretical determinism states that an Edwardian, Oxford (Christian) don writing in the 1950's MUST be sexist and racist (no matter what he says) and, therefore, his sexist/racist ideas MUST have been incorporated into his writing (no matter what the critics say) and his readers MUST be infected by those ideas (not matter what they say). It's an easy way to win an argument and almost impossible to refute, as Papademetriou seems to have discovered. (Theoretical determinists of this ilk never seem to wonder if they, at some future date, will be considered just as backward and unhealthy as the writers and thinkers they criticize.)

There is something to be said for Lewis being a product of his time. There is a great deal to be said for Lewis producing such a tough, responsible, intelligent female Calormen character. And, too, there is something to be said for Lewis being trained to see the Arab world from a very, very medieval point of view.

There is also a great deal to be said for modern-day theoretical determinists seeing stuff that simply isn't there.

When I read the Chronicles as a child, I did not make any connection between Calormen and Arabs. I grew up in the 1980's--my view of Arab culture, if anyone had bothered to ask, would have been fairly bland. If hard-pressed, I probably could have come up with "Islam," possibly "oil" and, once I reached college, "Kuwait." But I did not automatically associate Arab culture with terrorists (although I knew some terrorists were Arabs). Soviets were supposed to be the big scare of the 80's; since I grew up with no worries at all on that score (despite James Bond), I can't say I was ever all that susceptible to, or interested in, making theoretical connections between fictional characters and real life groups or people (I'm still not).

Neither did I assume from The Horse and His Boy that the entire Calormen culture was corrupt. Blame it on the libertarianism of my parents and siblings, but I treated the individual encounter between Aravis and Shasta as an individual encounter, rather than a theoretical cultural encounter. I never assumed (or thought that Lewis meant me to assume) that because Shasta's owner was a horrible human being, all Calormen fishermen were horrible human beings. Or that because the leaders of Calormen were obsequious and self-serving, all Calormens were obsequious and self-serving.

What I did pick up on was Lewis' loathing for a particularly type of relationship, one built on flattery, self-degredation, and entitlement (rather than merit). Oh, yes, I picked up on that! And yes, he attaches those qualities to the uppity-ups in Calormen society. He also attaches those qualities to Miraz and Miraz' cohorts. He also occasionally attaches those qualities to our heroes and heroines. (The worst, and most redeemed, character in these terms is Edmund. The second worst is Eustace.)

Lewis also discusses these qualities in his autobiography. In what place, out of all possible places, did Lewis find these hateful qualities in truly mind-numbing quantity?

English boys' schools.

Although his brother did well in all-male public boarding schools, Lewis-- well, "loathed" isn't quite strong enough to describe Lewis' feelings towards his public school experience. He describes his feelings in-depth in his autobiography. He also, in typical Lewis fashion, attempts to be objective, but the pen sure is struggling.

And yet, I've never heard of anyone, other than Warnie (Lewis' brother), arguing that C.S. Lewis made unfair comments about or had racist/sexist/classist attitudes towards English public boarding schools. There may be some anti-Lewis die-hards somewhere making those arguments, but in general, his intense dislike of public schools has not alerted any theoretical determinists.

Granted, English public boarding schools are usually on the end of the "stick to beat them with" of thereotical determinism. But if I can see Lewis struggling to be objective with a situation he loathed and yet perceive no insidious ideas in a book which he loved, I can't help but wonder how much racism and sexism theoretical determinists are bringing to C.S. Lewis. Why do they need racism/sexism to be there so badly? And what exactly are they discovering when they find it?

BOOKS

The Brooders

In her essay about Edmund, "King Edmund the Cute: Anatomy of a Girlhood Crush," Diane Peterfreund explains why Edmund is her favorite of the Narnian heroes. He's mine too (like Diane, the fan fiction I wrote about Narnia involved Edmund), and I agree with Peterfreund's perspective. She points out that Edmund qualifies as a bad boy, but what makes him appealing is that he is a reformed bad boy: a bad boy who made good and has used his bad boy past to gain insight into himself and others. (In response to my brother Eugene's post about Anne of Green Gables and Twilight, I should mention that Peterfreund does dismiss Peter as date-worthy since "while Edmund is logical, clever, understanding, damaged, grave, and quiet, Peter is just perfect. Perfect is boring." He isn't so perfect in the movies--gotta have that internal conflict!--but yes, he is in the books; I think Lewis created Peter as the King Arthur figure of Narnia.)

Despite his bad boy past, Peterfreund points out, "Edmund . . . seemed [to me] to have pulled it together. He may have been somewhat graver than Peter, but he was still a cheerful guy, overall." In other words, he isn't a brooder.

Totally!

But that got me thinking. I agree with Peterfreund in principle--brooders are a total cliche and sooo boring! But do I agree with her in fact? I decided to go through shows (and books) that I like and list the brooders:

Brooder #1: Angel

I have to admit, Angel is a brooder, and I like Angel, but I think much of Angel's broodiness is undercut by Whedon's humor, not to mention Boreanaz's interpretation. Personally, Angel always struck me less as brooding guy and more as intensely introverted guy (which, considering Boreanaz's current alter-ego, the totally extroverted Booth, is fairly impressive). Angel doesn't say much, sure, but I mostly put that down to grumpy guy who lived through the Depression syndrome ("I'm not cheap," Angel says on Angel, "I'm old.") There's a scene in "Earshot" where Buffy, who can now hear people's thoughts, comes to Angel's house to see if she can "hear" him. After following Angel around his house for several minutes, he finally says, kindly but bemusedly, "You can't hear my thoughts. Why don't you just ask me?" Not exactly brooder behavior.

Still, he does brood more than Spike, who seems to brood mostly in spurts.

Brooder #2: House

Granted, House is a class-1 brooder. Again, however, the brooding is undercut by the writing. "You don't have Asperger's," Wilson tells him. "You'd like to, but you don't." And House is always exposing his psyche to people who will not take his brooding seriously or, at least, will point out its absurdity. This makes House's brooding tolerable.

Brooder #3: Hamlet

Personally, I've always preferred the Mel Gibson action-hero version to Launcelot Olivier's blond, swooning prince. I can't speak to Branagh's version. The movie is interesting, but I've never been exactly sure what Branagh was trying to do with Hamlet.

Brooders #4: The English Detectives

I quite like Wimsey who, like House, seems to deliberately act against his own broodiness, but--sorry, PBS mystery fans!--I can't stand Morse, and Lynley gives me a headache. So much angst!! So much melancholy!! Just pull out the violins already: *sigh.*

Brooder #5: Sidney Carlton

When I was in high school, us arty types swooned over Sidney Carlton, the sarcastic, brooding anti-hero of Tale of Two Cities. I think I would find him rather tiresome now; I certainly found the hero of A Separate Peace tiresome (maybe it was just the book). However, I did quite like Lord Jim. But not Ethan Frome. So apparently, I'm an all-American girl: sure, my heroes can brood, but they have got to DO STUFF while they are brooding.

Brooders #6: Mulder & Edward Rochester

Who can forget Mulder?! Mulder is definitely a brooder, but he has the happy accident of being a nutsy brooder. Also, like many of the brooders I have already praised, he is both funny and active. He ACTS. Also, like Edward Rochester (Jane Eyre), he spends his time brooding on one particular problem, at least for the time period that we know him. The brooding has purpose and seems to be less "I'm such a jerk" oriented and more "other people have made my life miserable let's get them!" oriented. Watching a man brood about himself is far less interesting than watching a man brood about an issue.

Brooders #7: The Women

Yup, women can brood too! Buffy springs to mind although, overall, Buffy is thankfully upbeat (yes, I'm ignoring Season 6). Seven-of-Nine doesn't brood since she belongs to the "I don't like it, I kill it" mode of dealing with problems. B'Elanna, similar to Seven in make-up, broods but in moderation, and Tom is very good at handling her broods.

So I'm not completely opposed to brooders, but I do have a healthy love of the ordinary guy who doesn't brood at all, such as Xander (Buffy), Dave (News Radio), Charles Parker (Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries), almost the entire cast of both Stargates (especially O'Neill and Sheppard), Greg (Dharma & Greg) and Columbo.

And I like the non-brooding gals too: Cuddy (House) (maybe that's why I like Amber--she doesn't brood); Carter (Stargate); Monk's assistants (yes, I am excusing Monk as a brooder--he does brood, but there's just so much else going on in the guy's life, the brooding kind of gets lost); Dharma (D&G), and of course, Scully (who is allowed her occasional brood, considering her circumstances, such as--eh hem--her partner).

Conclusion:

So brooding isn't always a turn-off, so long as the brooder has humor, does something about the brooding, and gets over it (now and again). And the brooding is especially tolerable if the brooder is off-set by healthy, upbeat, kind, cool people.

TV

House's Muses

I am now in the middle of Season 4 of House. It is a wonderful season; the Wilson-Amber relationship is paying-off even better than I expected (yes, I do know what happens; yes, I do refer to the season ending in this post).

I have been impressed by how (relatively) distinct House's new team is from the old team. Relatively--they come off a bit flat in the middle of the season, but I put this down to the writers' strike. House seasons usually contain two arcs: the main arc at the beginning of the season followed by a bunch of loose episodes followed by a small arc at the end of the season. Season 4 skips straight from main arc to small arc. All the get-to-know-them-better episodes are missing which makes the distinctiveness of the new team doubly impressive.

Having said that, I think the new team members fulfill similar roles to the old team members: House needs certain types of people around him.

Taub/Foreman Role

First, House needs someone who will disagree with him. As Dobson (played by the marvelous Carmen Argenziano--Carter's dad for you Stargate fans) points out, House doesn't need someone to tell him what he thinks. Rather, House needs the stimulus of a hard logical mind that comes at problems from a different perspective than his own. This is one reason House gets so annoyed with Foreman's "que sera sera" attitude in Season 2. House wants conflict because conflict enhances his ability to process a problem.

Cameron/Thirteen Role

Setting aside the fact that both Cameron and Thirteen are beautiful women (and, as House discovers in the hilarious Ugly, he does prefer his female doctors to be pretty and smart), Cameron and Thirteen force House to consider psychological explanations as part of the diagnosis. Cameron is more of a people-person than Thirteen; Thirteen possesses a remoteness that Cameron would like to have but simply doesn't. Still, Thirteen, like Cameron, is apt to ponder "why" when it comes to a patient.

Basically, Thirteen and Cameron are Wilson, and House needs Wilson. House may loathe psychiatrists, he may mock Wilson's psychoanalyzing, but he wants the pressure to understand a patient's mindset, not just a patient's physical health. (One of the best indications of this is in Season 1, "Kids," when House realizes that Cameron would have learned about bathing-suit-girl's relationships long before Foreman, Chase, or House.)

Chase/Kutner Role

Chase has always been one of my favorites. I think he adds a nice, occasionally deadpan, contrast to Foreman's ambition and Cameron's preoccupation with House. I could never understand, though, what led House to hire Chase in the first place (he was the first person hired of the old team).

Kutner's selection made Chase's selection clear. Both Chase and Kutner are odd men out: they have interests that lie beyond medicine--interests, in fact, that make them immune to good doctoring (and sometimes prone to bad doctoring, as when Chase misses a diagnosis while in emotional shock--an event House takes responsibility for). In Season 1, when Chase betrays House, he does it to save his job, not his reputation. Unlike Foreman and Cameron, he isn't a natural diagnostician, but he becomes a very good doctor under House's aegis and would probably make a fantastic GP. But, ultimately, the job doesn't run Chase. Once he falls in love with Cameron, for instance, he is perfectly willing to go where Cameron goes, not to the best position. This lack of ambition, oddly enough, gives him the capacity to walk away from House's games in Season 4 more than Foreman and Cameron.

Likewise, Kutner likes danger, blowing things up, magic, and secret Santas--non-medical things. Like Chase, he has a wryness that makes him more attune to House's humor. (Kutner also has a gentle guilelessness about him that makes him extremely appealing.)

I think House needs a Chase/Kutner for the same reason House needs clinic duty (no matter how much he resists it). Foreman/Taub may think differently than House. Cameron/Thirteen may go down roads he would prefer to ignore (but knows he can't). Nevertheless, for Foreman/Taub/Cameron/Thirteen and for House, medicine--the case, the patient, the solution--is the controlling interest. For Chase/Kutner, it isn't. House needs this. He needs not just his mirror-self but his non-self.

The result, at least between House and Chase, is a subtle sweetness that House really only shares with Wilson. Chase is the first person House "sees" in Season 4. When Chase shows up in surgery, the potential team members ask, "Are you going to hire him?" Instead of making one of his snarky replies, House glances up at Chase in the observation booth. Chase shakes his head, an almost imperceptible but distinct motion; then, House makes his snarky comment. He allows Chase to make the decision, rather than forcing his decision on Chase--not something he commonly does with Foreman or Cameron.

Not that Chase and House could be friends. Chase isn't Wilson. But there's a purely human, non-doctorly element to their relationship that is missing from House's other relationships. Time will only tell if he establishes the same rapport with Kutner.

I think House's team member choices explain, to an extent, why he is so much fun to watch. I've been surprised by how much I like Amber, House's other-self--even before she started dating Wilson! There was something refreshing, even amusing, about her complete ruthlessness, her desire to pursue her interests at all costs. House has this quality plus another that Amber, cut down in the prime of life, lacks: he wants to be stimulated, he wants to think outside the box, he wants to be shown a different mindset; he even, sometimes, wants to be wrong. He may be arrogant, obnoxious, condescending, and a thorough jerk, but his willingness to test himself, constantly, against different selves excuses many of those flaws.

And makes him devilishly fun to watch.

TV

Buffy, Harris, and Lots of Thoughts about the Appearances of Good Guys and Bad Guys

In the book of essays Seven Seasons of Buffy (ed. by Glenn Yeffeth), Charlaine Harris writes, "The monsters [in Buffy] are all evil. The good guys are all pretty" ("A Reflection on Ugliness"). Whedon, she argues, "uses physical attractiveness to signal moral decay."

I disagree; I also consider Harris contradicts her arguments in her own books. I'll deal with the first point, then the second.

Yes, it is true that, as Harris writes, "when the completely transformed monster's true evil nature comes to the fore," the demons in Whedon's universe transform, gaining vamp faces or serpents' bodies, etc. However, Harris' reasoning that Whedon uses these transformations because he equates ugliness with evil (or wants to make evil obvious) is unreasonable.

Here's why:

1. Harris sees the Buffy demons as ugly; that doesn't mean everybody does. Granted, the vamp faces in early Buffy are a bit cheesy, but the make-up improves and, if anything, vampires in eat-mode achieve the same coolness level as the Wraith. Okay, I happen to think the Wraith are the coolest looking bad guys ever on television, so . . . maybe not. Still--Whedon's vampires have their own cache of wowness as do the other bad guys: I'm not too hip on bugs (Teacher's Pet), but I do think serpents are very awesome (Glory, Graduation Day: Part 2).

I also happen to be a big fan of Armin Shimmerman, who Harris cites as an example of an ugly bad guy. Really? He's about as adorable as a principal can get--and he has all the good lines. ("There are things I will not tolerate. Students loitering on campus after school. Horrible murders with hearts being removed. And also smoking.")

Harris attempts to use Count Dracula as a counter-argument--sure, he's cute, but he isn't THAT cute. Dracula, by the way, is Rudolf Martin who would look good if he were dying of plague--not much of a counter-argument.

I do agree with Harris that the worst of the bad guys is Warren who never transforms. Harris perceives this as a sign that "Whedon's view is growing more sophisticated" (Warren is the main bad guy for Season 6). She misses the fact that Warren isn't a demon. In Whedon's universe, the supernatural bad guys are demons who have robbed human souls. Sure, humans may regard them as ugly (though that's inconclusive), but that does not mean the demons do. To borrow an example from the first season (before Whedon became "sophisticated," Hollywood help him), the Master makes it clear that as far as he is concerned, humans are annoying and whining and just so darn pudding faced. He and his loyal Luke, of the lovely deep voice, never change.

I would agree that Oz's werewolf is disgusting, but I think that's more bad make-up and the inability to hire REAL wolves (which are probably more expensive than human actors) than any specific statement about ugliness and evil. In any case, nobody but Kane (Phases) considers Oz a bad guy in his monster state, and Willow doesn't seem to have much problem adjusting to his "other" self.

There are at least three other indications--one of which Harris brushes over, the others of which she misses--that the "good guys" on Buffy don't always find demons disgusting: when Buffy kisses Angel while in vamp face, and when Giles confronts Buffy's come-alive nightmare of being a vampire. Buffy is ashamed, NOT because she is ugly but because the vamp face reveals one of her deepest fears. With no revulsion whatsoever, Giles looks at her and says gently, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Additionally, when the swim team morphs in Go Fish, not one of our good guys judges the changed team members as intrinsically evil. Buffy is downright sanguine, putting their animalistic behavior down to their animalistic state. Harris appears to have made the leap from ugliness to evil when no such statement was intended by the writers, but Harris' faulty assumptions are hardly Whedon's fault.

I also must mention that I consider one of the truly good guys, Sid (The Puppet), to be thoroughly disturbing (not exactly a "pretty" good guy).

2. Harris argues that Whedon should have recognized that "evil is not so clearly denoted in the real world." She asks, "Wouldn't we learn a more graphic lesson if the monsters retained their more attractive aspects even as they showed their most monstrous behavior?" Yes, we would learn something, especially since that's exactly what Whedon did.

Now, I have my own problems with Whedon regarding Buffy (namely, Seasons 6 & 7), but I don't see the point in accusing him of something he hasn't done. The first epsiode of Buffy opens with sweet-faced, pretty Darla luring a teenage boy into the deserted high school. Eh hem, Harris, she certainly didn't do it in vamp mode. True, she changes to vamp mode when she is about to feed, but I'm afraid her victim doesn't have much time to react. The evil has been accomplished long before Darla changes.

Likewise, bad Angel stalks and seduces women with his "golly, gee, whillikers shucks" act multiple times and his friendliness on those occasions is terrifying precisely because the viewer knows that this is bad Angel but Angel's victims-to-be do not. Likewise, Ted's behavior (Ted) is far more terrifying before we--and Buffy--learn he is a robot (and, therefore, beatable). Granted, the wonderfully slimy mayor transforms at the end of Season 3, but there is such a thing as making a show exciting to watch. Besides, who can pass up a huge snake going, "Well, gosh" over a pile of dynamite?

Over and over again, the villains of Buffy use prettiness to obtain their ends; they also, I would argue, commit more vile acts in their pretty states than as demons (the mayor's seduction of Faith is far more vile than anything he does, briefly, as a snake). This is backed by the fact that Buffy can sense vampires long before they change (by their bad clothing in one case but intuitively in many other cases).The transformations, quite frankly, appear to be more for the sake of fun than for the sake of making moral declarations.

This brings me to the end of my problems with Harris' essay. I would still have disagreed with her essay if I hadn't known her name. As it is, I have read several of Harris' Sookie Stackhouse books. In fact, when I first opened Seven Seasons of Buffy, I wanted to read Harris' essay because I had read her novels.

I was somewhat surprised by her essay. It wasn't until I read the fifth book in the Sookie Stackhouse series that I realized Harris may have no idea how completely at variance her criticism of Buffy is with the messages of her own work.

To back up: I do understand where Harris is coming from psychologically. I happen to find discussions over appearance rather distasteful. I was one of those unfortunate weedy teens with bad acne, and it took me a long time to realize that although teens, and some adults, will make fun of bad acne, even teens will respond to the unfortunate's sense of personal authority. If you act coy and ashamed, people will pick up on it. If you don't, they tend to respond to your sense of confidence.

Still, I've never shaken my distaste for discussions about people's clothes or skin care or weight. I'm one of those lucky people with a good metabolism and great genes who has to practice exactly zero discipline to maintain a decent weight. I believe this makes me completely unqualified to pass judgment on any one who does have to practice discipline and self-restraint to meet their weight goals.

This is all to say that I understand where Harris is coming from in her essay. It is also to explain why I stopped reading her books: I found her obsession with appearance distasteful.

To return to Harris' Sookie Stackhouse series: Sookie is a nice, average looking (pretty but not glamorous), normally weighted young woman who encounters vampires in her neighborhood near New Orleans. She is telepathic but otherwise fulfills the respectable role of so many suspense/mystery heroines: the good girl next door who finds herself in extraordinary circumstances.

Extraordinary circumstances that involve her being ogled by a truly stunning number of men.

Before I continue, I should state that the books are great examples of modern fantasy writing; they combine an underground world of vampires and fairies, etc. with the everyday work-a-day world. One reason I stayed with the books as long as I did, other than the ebullient Eric, was the layered world created by Harris--something I find extremely difficult to do in my own writing and always admire in other people's work.

In book 5, however, Harris begins to head Sookie down a path that so many female suspense/mystery writers seemed compelled to take: the Road of Multiple Suitors. I can only surmise, based on the Twilight series' existence and success, that female writers and their readers enjoy fantasizing a princess-quest allotment of suitors for their heroines. Too many female-written mysteries contain if not several suitors, at least two who vie, unceasingly, for the heroine's attention. I have no very high opinion of the heroines and almost no opinion of the suitors (get a life already, people).

At least Buffy only had two obsessed suitors, they occurred at different times, and Whedon did not disguise his belief that both relationships were doomed. And during those relationships, Buffy had no problem assessing what she wanted and didn't want (however confused she was over Spike, and no matter how badly the writers handled the relationship, Buffy is very clear that she doesn't want to be in a permanent relationship with Spike).

However, Sookie belongs to that echelon of female heroines who don't believe in their own prettiness. When dealing with glamorous women, said heroines (1) befriend them, thus rendering the glamorous women clawless; (2) despise them because said glamorous women are also snotty; or (3) feel dowdy in comparison at which point a suitor's ogling will reassure our heroine that she is quite attractive.

My feminism rebels.

Give me an indifferent heroine or a heroine who knows her attractions and flaunts them over a heroine who isn't into her appearance but happens to be pretty anyway and whose writer never lets you forget the fact. Give me Samantha Carter or Seven of Nine or Teyla (all completely unapologetic gorgeous women). I'll take Captain Janeway, who is largely indifferent to her appearance (except her hair), or any of the doctors from House. Give me Scully, who is so wonderful to watch, being so fastidious in her dress and so consumed with her personal interests (and Mulder). Give me Buffy who worries about her appearance but doesn't try to tuck it away!

Spare me the heroine who will say she isn't pretty but has plenty of supporting cast characters to show her exactly how sexy they think she is.

In Book 5, Dead as a Doornail, Sookie goes to clean out a dead relative's apartment. While there, we, the readers, are presented with 2,000 reasons why Sookie MUST, against her own inclinations, wear skin-tight lycra pants (those pants people wear to gyms). I don't remember all the reasons--something about the cousin being a smaller size and not owning any sweats and Sookie not having a car or, I can only assume, the wherewithall to call a cab (perhaps she doesn't have any money either; I forget) let alone time to go to Walmart and buy some sweatpants. We are presented with a trillion excuses--that any reasonable adult would be able to circumvent with reasonable ease--that force Sookie into wearing the lycra pants, which, we are assured, isn't typical of her. She doesn't usually go around showing off her body like that, not because she is old-fashioned and modest, you understand, but because it isn't how she sees herself.

But *oh, a woman's burden* she puts them on anyway and then proceeds to go out into the apartment's main living area where two of her current oglers, sorry, suitors are stationed and, presumably forgetting they are there, bends over to put her hair into a twist or a ponytail or something. And when she straightens up, well, wouldn't you know, they are staring at her. Obviously, those horny men were checking out her . . . wink wink nudge nudge.

But Sookie isn't the kind of girl to flaunt her stuff, because, you know, she doesn't think she's, like, all that gorgeous or stuff, and Harris certainly isn't totally, like, obsessed with people's appearances. (Sorry, the whole thing is just so . . . teenagerish.)

I finished the book; I've never picked up another (that's not true; I pick them up at the library and read the ends to see if anything has changed in Sookie's universe--does she have another suitor yet?).

Talk about pure Victorianism; the idea of the devouring gaze is, I believe, a Victorian concept. Well, maybe, it's a medieval one. But the linking of coy physicality and ogling men is pure Victorianism. The medievals, at least, didn't make it so creepy.

I considered the modern, female mystery/suspense version of the devouring gaze creepy. Not the lycra pants, you understand. I would have applauded a Sookie who put them on because she didn't want to run to Walmart and didn't care what she wore OR a Sookie who thought, "I've got a darn fine body. I'm gonna go flaunt it!"

What I find creepy is the way the reader in this and similar type mystery series is constantly reminded that the heroine, who maintains an ingenue innocence (she never actually engages with the impact of her appearance--it's all happening to somebody else), is desired by many somebodies and usually, moreover, many handsome somebodies.

Case in point: I recently picked up a Kerry Greenwood novel. Kerry Greenwood is an Australian writer who produced the Phryne Fisher mysteries, an interesting series although the writing varies from horrible to quite good.

Greenwood has currently come out with a new series with a heroine, Corinna Chapman, who is an unrepentently size-large baker. She certainly isn't into all that model-type starving that her assistants practice. Nope, that's not her style. Take her as she is.

And I respect that. I like that attitude in people. Except Corinna has a handsome boyfriend with a washboard stomach about which the reader is reminded incessantly.

No reason why she shouldn't have a handsome boyfriend with a washboard stomach except it fits into my current beef with Harris and all female mystery writers who play this particular game. For instance, in the mysteries with two suitors, one suitor will sometimes be a bit homely (the best friend the heroine grew up with), but the other suitor will always be a hunk; neither suitor will be especially nerdy or especially plain or an especially bad kisser or especially plump.

So, the heroines of these series aren't obsessed with appearance, but can the writers truly claim they are not?

Doesn't look like it.

BOOKS

The Inside Joke: When It Works, When It Doesn't

One of my favorite scenes from Stargate: Atlantis occurs in the pilot. Our intrepid (but cautious, as Sheppard would say) interglactic explorers have arrived on Atlantis. They decide to send a reconnaissance team through the wormhole. Rodney McKay begins to dial the gate; he engages the first "chevron" ("number" for a gate address) and announces, "Chevron 1 encoded!"

And everybody looks at him, and he shrugs and quickly punches in the rest of the address.

Now, in order for the joke to make sense, the viewer would have to be familiar with the show SG-1 in which each part (chevron) of the gate address is announced separately as the gate turns. This makes sense since the gate in SG-1 engages relatively slowly and a failure to announce each chevron could lead to an accident. And it also sounds really cool: "Chevron 1 encoded! Chevron 2 encoded!"

But this announcement is completely unnecessary on Atlantis where dialing the gate is, really, all the difference between dial-up and DSL or Roadrunner.

So the joke is implicit. I happen to think it works, however, since McKay is exactly the kind of guy who would like to announce each part of the dial-up process in a dramatic way and, also, because it catches the viewer off-guard. Like McKay, the viewer--presumably a Stargate fan--is familiar with the "old way" of doing things. For the viewer, it is natural for McKay to announce the first chevron since, well, isn't that the way people always dial the gate?

To summarize, I think the joke works for three reasons: it plays on an assumed preconception by the viewer; it underscores character development; and it works naturally into the plot.

Likewise, the constant (and hilarious) banter on Psych comes across as completely natural although I only pick up about a quarter of the references the first time through an episode and only understand about half (some websites have taken to explaining the references for each episode: cliffnotes for cable!).

Despite the obscurity of some of the references, I think they work because they create such believable dialog. These types of allusions are common between two close friends. In fact, if you listen to the commentary, this is exactly the way Roday and the script writers tend to talk. Also, although the banter assumes knowledge on the part of the audience, knowledge is not required to understand the plot. Again, the banter underscores the characters' personalities.

On the other hand, I thought the inside jokes for Ocean's Twelve (not Eleven, which used pop culture references excellently, or Thirteen, which concentrated on other stuff) were pathetic. Julia Roberts getting excited about Julia Roberts did not make me laugh. It actually made me feel rather sad: all these Hollywood actors caught in their tiny bubble of reality. Yes, there are people who get hysterical about Julia Roberts, but the fact is, a large majority of Americans just don't care. And many of those same people do watch movies.

It reminds me of the Ocean's Eleven commentary where Brad Pitt informs the listener that sure, out in the lobby all the fans are screaming about George Clooney and Julia (and me, he didn't say) but behind the scenes, the actors with real weight are folks like Elliott Gould.

Well, yeah, that doesn't surprise me, but his awe made me a bit sad. But then, if you were a movie star, and you were on Oprah every two months, and your face was plastered on magazines at the newsstand every week, I suppose you would start to believe in your own omnipresence.

It doesn't make for a good inside joke though. It becomes important in and of itself rather than a natural component of the plot.

Good inside jokes? Bad inside jokes? If you have 'em, share 'em!

TV

Full List of Published Works

I decided to post a full list of my published works (since my Fiction page does not currently have one). Here it is!

Katherine Woodbury Published/Accepted Short Stories

"Top of the Mountains" (Tales of the Talisman, September 2008): a priest and his female cleric settle on a colony where the priest instigates a rebellion against the human planetary council that controls religious dealings with aliens.

"Devil's Pet" (Andromeda Spaceways #35): in this Dilbert-meets-Milton tale, a young woman descends into workplace Hell to rescue her dead boss.

"Scattered" (Irreantum, Spring 2007): Elijah and his enemy, Jezebel, meet up in modern Portland, Maine where they alternately clash and pursue each other over the issue of rising taxes and God's intentions.

"Verbal Knowledge" (to be published soon by Tales of the Unanticipated #29): in a futuristic society, Roger can shape people's actions based on verbal suggestions. He becomes embroiled in a corporate conspiracy and ends up shaping himself to feel love for one of his victims.

"Brutal Rituals" (Space & Time #100): ancient and modern cultures collide in this tale about a ritual rape. A new emperor, returning home after many years abroad, must perform the ritual--distasteful to his modernized sensibilities--or alienate his subjects.

"Untainted" (Talebones #33): a student at a spy school challenges her teacher. To protect himself, he convinces her to give up her corrupt memories and become "innocent."

"Escaping Rouen" (Gateway Science Fiction, Spring 2005): in this alternate universe, Joan of Arc meets Henry V after she has been captured by the English; King Henry must decide whether Joan should be executed. Gateway Science Fiction is defunct. "Escaping Rouen" can be read on my Fiction page.

"Impersonal" (Andromeda Spaceways #24): a secretary is forced to adopt multiple personalities when her company splits. She uses these personalities to undermine her bosses.

"Lodging" (Talebones #31): a princess marries a ruthless king to satisfy her brothers, but the ghost possessing her wants to take revenge on the king.

"Masquerade" (Leading Edge #47): princes competing in a quest agree to undergo a psychological ordeal. The ordeal is complicated by a saboteur and a princess disguised as a prince.

"Seriously" (Irreantum #5.4): a re-telling of "Gawain and the Green Knight"; in this version, the Green Knight's human foster daughter helps Gawain who is neither as pure nor as dishonorable as he is portrayed in the original poem.

"Nameless" (Far Sector.com, Spring/Summer 2004): a horror story about a creature that lives in a mail chute and haunts a receptionist over a letter she wishes she didn't write. Farsector.com is now defunct. "Nameless" can still be read at Fictionwise.

"Thin, Scarlet Line" (Irreantum #5.1): the story of Rahab and the spies from the Old Testament with the addition of a mystical Man of Chance. The Man of Chance helps Sala, a spy, find Rahab in Jericho after it is destroyed.

"Battle Tactics" (Cicada, January/February 2003): a "behind the scenes" look at the Trojan War. Odysseus, ever scheming, helps save Helen's new husband even as Troy falls by deceit. Characters from the Iliad and Aeneid appear.

"Thorns" (Dark Regions #16): Sleeping Beauty with a twist. The witch accompanies the prince to the castle where they find Sleeping Beauty murdered. Dark Regions is defunct. "Thorns" can be read under its original title---"Kicking Against the Pricks"--on my Fiction page.

"Janitor's Closet" (Marion Zimmer Bradley's Fantasy Magazine #47): a modern fairytale in a college setting. A godmother head secretary, a princess disguised as a vacuum cleaner, and a bad fairy imprisoned in a fax machine combine to create a "Happily Ever After." The magazine stopped publishing at MZB's death. I do not know if any back issues are still available.

"Golden Hands" (Space & Time #91): a dark version of the Rumpelstiltskin fairytale. A conqueror needs money to complete his campaign. When he finds a woman who can change straw to gold, he demands her help and is then confronted by her goblin abuser.

"The Birthright" (Space & Time #89): a modern fairytale set on a Maine island. An ancient curse by mermaids haunts a family. While the father dreads the curse and the mother denies it, the son wishes to covenant with the mermaids.

FICTION

Published Fiction

This has been one of my best years publishing-wise!

My story "Top of the Mountains" where a radical priest and his cleric fuel a rebellion on a planet occupied by humans and aliens was published this October by Tales of the Talisman (Volume 4, issue 2).

My story "Devil's Pet," a C.S. Lewis/Dante/Dilbert-esque satire, was published this summer by the Australian magazine Andromeda Spaceways (issue #35).

My story "Scattered" where Elijah, the prophet, and Jezebel, his nemesis, meet up in modern-day Portland, was published by the Mormon literary journal Irreantum (volume 9, number 1) this summer. A review of "Scattered" can be found at Motley Vision.

Coming out later this fall:

My story "Verbal Knowledge" which mixes corporate politics with a fantasy/science-fiction anti-hero who can mold people through speech is schedule to be published this fall by Tales of the Unanticipated (issue #29).

FICTION

Why Rimmer Is Such a Great Character

I've been rewatching Red Dwarf recently and have been reminded, once again, what a truly awesome show it is! It is a surprisingly low-budget sitcom with only three (later five) main characters. Of those characters, it is easy to like Lister and the Cat, but I have always had a soft spot for Rimmer, played by Chris Barrie. Here are my reasons:

1. Rimmer has great lines.

This is a very British approach to comedy. The British, more so than us earnest Americans, allow their "smegheads" to be more than just the dupes of the show. The "smeghead" in British sitcoms is often the holder of sarcasm, the rude character who speaks the truth. He is Becker, only, unlike Becker, he isn't the hero of the piece. (One U.S. example is Family Ties where Alex, who is always proved wrong by his so-called enlightened parents, nevertheless has most of the good lines.)

2. Rimmer is unhappy.

The writers make it clear that Rimmer has decided to be miserable. Non-misery creates extreme dissonance in Rimmer's brain. He has constructed a story to explain away all goodness in his life, and he accepts nothing that doesn't jive with this story.

He has also, the writers make clear, had a more stable upbringing than either Lister or the Cat. He has even had more opportunities than Arnold "Ace" Rimmer. Rimmer has literally and figuratively created his own hell.

Yet he remains a pathetic character. His upbringing, however stable, was nothing to write home about--ha ha. And he is truly unhappy. I think this is one of the smartest characterizations on the show. Rimmer's obnoxiousness is grounded in real unhappiness, rather than intrinsic horribleness. Two of the most continuously sweet (but unstated) aspects of the show are that Rimmer and Lister continue to sleep in their original assigned quarters (yes, I know this is largely due to the show's expense budget, but it makes psychological sense) and that Lister never does replace Rimmer with a different hologram. They accept each other as what they are, no matter how annoying. In "Justice," Lister admits that although Rimmer has no friends, Lister cares what happens to him, and Rimmer, who would never be so honest, depends on that emotional support.

3. Rimmer is a good counter to Lister.

Lister is the moral center of the show, but he is also lazy and slobbish. In "The Inquisitor," Lister judges himself the hardest since he has the most potential and knows that he doesn't live up to it.

Lister's live-and-let-live policy is very relaxing, but every so often, this makes him miss the obvious. In "Thanks for the Memory," Lister gives Rimmer the memory of being in love. He gives Rimmer the memory of one of Lister's relationships. Rimmer immediately recognizes the worth of the relationship, something that Lister has shrugged off (I was young, I was playing the field--"I thought that?" Rimmer responds. "I must have been mad. She was great, and she thought I was great.").

Lister does take the moral high ground as he argues that Rimmer (and Lister himself) should retain the memory since it is better to have lived and loved, etc. etc. However, and this is why Lister remains the character all the other characters rely on, he respects Rimmer's insistence that the memories be removed. Rimmer's insistence that the memories be removed takes us back to point 2. Sure, Rimmer is wrong, but which of us hasn't wished (a la Willow in "Something Blue") to simply remove our heart ache, like an appendix? How many of our true fears and attitudes does Rimmer vocalize?

Red Dwarf always astonishes me. The individual episodes are so fundamentally simply, and yet, the psychology could keep a person talking for years.

TELEVISION

Morality in America: Spike & Dexter

This post is actually related to the post below about religion--however the relationship is tangential rather than direct, so I decided to post separately rather than in the comments.

I am rereading P.J. O'Rourke's commentary on Adam Smith's The Wealth of Nations. O'Rourke refers to a prior work by Adam Smith, The Theory of Moral Sentiments, where Smith expounds on morality: what it is, how it works. O'Rourke argues it is difficult to understand The Wealth of Nations without understanding The Theory of Moral Sentiments; Smith's arguments in Wealth largely rest on accepting the truth that human beings are ultimately self-interested, even if they shouldn't be. Socialism doesn't fail (massively) because it is inherently evil; it fails because it doesn't take human nature into consideration (but, rather, wishes it away).

Rereading O'Rourke reading Wealth led me to musing on the nature of morality. Morality, to an extent, is something we can't see or label. It is either a mass of action (that is, it is quantifiable only over time) or a state of mind (there is a third option, which I will get to later). In other words, although morality results in observable behaviors, it is rooted in something that is beyond observation--Smith, for example, believed it is rooted in imagination, the ability of humans (unlike animals) to empathize, to imagine another state of being from their own.

To be extremely general, morality in our culture is rooted in law or in thought. In Dexter (specifically, the first season), morality is imposed on Dexter externally: the law of Harry (his foster father). Dexter does not feel, or claims not to feel, a sense of right and wrong (the character is complex enough to make this issue somewhat debatable), but he has enough self-preservation and respect to follow his foster father's external law. The accumulation of Dexter's actions make him a moral person (i.e., it is not the randomness of his actions but the totality of his actions that matter: observable behaviors over time form the abstract claim, This man is moral).

Spike, from Buffy Seasons 4-6 (that is, Spike post-chip/pre-soul), also has an external law that prevents him from killing humans (Spike is a vampire). I personally think more could have been done with this issue. However, Whedon and the Buffy writers chose instead to argue the second root of morality: no matter how good Spike behaves, he is never moral because he never feels moral. He is displaying positive moral behavior against his will.

This perception of morality has its roots, I think, in religious discourse, but it has spread through our culture to become a kind of emotional absolute. The religious claim states that a person who accepts certain laws or ethical obligations will be motivated to make moral choices. After all, external forces only work so far. A society where people did not feel any desire to do good would destroy itself fairly rapidly.

Unfortunately, that claim has morphed to mean, If I feel good, I must BE good, which, as Adam Smith could have pointed out, doesn't really work. After all, I could persuade myself to feel good about, oh, anything from smoking to socialism. For this reason, although I agree that God is Love, I also agree that God, as C.S. Lewis would say, isn't a tamed god. He doesn't exist simply to provide justification for any given emotional upheaval of the moment--hence the need to be grounded in a supernal but ultimately real and structured moral code.

Still, this concept of morality (morality as an internal process of thought), like the earlier concept (morality as an imposed, external law), is abstract--hence the tendency of law and college instructors to ask for evidence and essays, not just confessions. Which doesn't negate the need for, say, students to feel personally motivated to do well. Spike & Dexter can't be separated since both concepts of morality are necessary, and used, in our society. But since both cannot be applied in all contexts, knowing how they work could help us, socially speaking, determine how they should be applied.

This brings us to a third concept of morality, which, oddly enough, is more abstract and yet more grounded--morality is choice. A choice can sometimes occur over several days, weeks, or months. On the other hand, it can also be made in an instant. In both cases, it happens in time and is purely mental. We can't see it; we only know what results from it. Those results can be tracked, but they depend on internal, invisible decisions; the way is left open for both objectively realized evidence and unseen free will.

Morality as choice brings the two other concepts into harmony. It allows us to distinguish between unintended morality (which is still beneficial to society) and intended morality (which is necessary for our own moral growth). For instance, I would argue that post-chip/pre-soul Spike exhibits intended morality when he refuses to help Gloria and give up Dawn. He is motivated by his love for Buffy rather than by an internal code of ethics, but he makes a choice--he uses imagination or empathy to place himself in Buffy's shoes.

In the first season of Dexter, I would argue that Dexter's morality is proved at the very end of the first season, when he chooses his sister over his brother--he chooses to obey the law of Harry rather than thwart it.

But of course, that immediately begs the question, Was Dexter NOT behaving morally before when he kept the law of Harry? Well, yes, he was, so . . .

This is why I'm not a philosopher. I'll let O'Rourke, paraphrasing Smith, have the last word:

Adam Smith did not think we are innately good any more than he thought we are innately rich. But he thought we are endowed with the imaginative capacity to be both, if we're free to make the necessary efforts.

HISTORY & LORE