Darcy's Point of View: First Impressions

Darcy's Point of View is complete! I have reordered the "Darcy's Point of View" posts, so they can be read in order. Later this week, I'll be creating a link to a Word document containing all the posts.

This first post includes the two excerpts I wrote as part of the post J is for Janites. That post goes into more detail on why I decided to begin (and continue) this series of posts. It has, in fact, been a good writing exercise and fun research project. During the past six months or so, I have edited several of my stories but have not created anything new (it's hard to write and teach six classes at the same time). Writing "Darcy's Point of View" has re-energized my writing skills. There's nothing like cribbing someone else's work to get the creativity flowing!

As for the research, I have found a plethora of Jane Austen websites. Here is one of my favorites, which includes a chronology as well as the Jane Austen Punishments List: Jane Austen Info Page.

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Darcy Rejects Elizabeth Without Realizing It

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.

Elizabeth Turns Down Darcy, and Darcy Doesn't Mind

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.

Darcy's Point of View: Elizabeth at Netherfield

Here is my second installment of Pride & Prejudice from Darcy's point of view. I started this project because I got so frustrated with many of the published books supposedly written from Darcy's point of view. This second installation covers Chapters VII-XII of the original text. As stated in the post below, I follow the original but summarize much of the original dialog. My version is about Darcy's head (or what's inside it), not about the plot:

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Elizabeth Comes to Stay at Netherfield, and Darcy Gets All Flustered

Darcy and Charles returned to Netherfield from an evening at Colonel Foster's. Miss Bingley greeted them with the news that Miss Bennet, who had come for dinner, was ill. Charles began to pepper his sister with questions. "I hope she feels better," Darcy said and went to bed.

The next morning, he found that the local apothecary, Mr. Jones, had been sent for. Charles insisted on giving Darcy a detailed account of what he said to Mr. Jones and what Mr. Jones said to Charles and what Miss Bingley said to Mr. Jones and what Mr. Jones said Miss Bennet said to him and so on and so on. Darcy ate his kippers and waited for Mr. Hurst to finish with the newspaper.

Towards the end of breakfast, the door opened, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet entered. Darcy started to his feet and looked beyond her, expecting Mr. or Mrs. Bennet as well, but Miss Elizabeth was alone.

He frowned. He hadn't heard a carriage. "No," Miss Elizabeth was saying to Miss Bingley, "I walked from Longbourn" which was quite a distance even if one cut across fields which she obviously had. She looked exceptionally well, Darcy acknowledged, her eyes bright and her cheeks glowing.

Charles was shaking her hand and telling her all about what Mr. Jones said. Miss Bingley took Miss Elizabeth upstairs to her sister, and Darcy went to the library to figure out exactly how many miles it was between Longbourn and Netherfield. It was over three miles like he'd thought.

He spent the rest of the day with the stable master. Charles came out towards mid-afternoon, agreed with every recommendation Darcy and the master made and returned to the house. Darcy sighed. Maybe the Netherfield experiment would only last five months. He realized Miss Bennet was a concern, but Miss Elizabeth was more than capable of coping with any contingency.
His belief was confirmed at dinner. Miss Elizabeth answered all Charles' questions thoroughly and equably, allaying most of his concerns. Now, maybe Darcy could convince Charles to focus on his new property's easements. After Miss Elizabeth returned upstairs, Darcy retrieved Netherfield's plans from the library. When he re-entered the dining room, Miss Bingley was holding forth on some subject or other. Darcy unfolded the plans, forcing Mr. Hurst to move his dessert plate.

"You observed it, Mr. Darcy," Miss Bingley said, and he raised his head. "I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition."

"Certainly not," Darcy said. Georgiana never made exhibitions of herself.

"To walk three miles, or four miles—"

"Three point four," Darcy muttered.

"—shows a conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum."

"It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing," said Charles.

Miss Bingley leaned towards Darcy over the table, disarranging Netherfield's plans.

"Likely, this adventure has affected your admiration of her fine eyes."

"Not at all. They were brightened by the exercise," he said and moved himself and the plans further down the table.

Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst fell to discussing the Bennet relations: one of the uncles was an attorney; one was in trade. Charles contended that this did not affect the Bennet sisters' agreeableness which comment-however true-rather missed the point: relations directly influenced a woman's ability to marry well. Miss Bingley, for example, would marry well because of Charles. Darcy pointed this out, more or less, but no one seemed to understand what he was saying, so he went back to the plans.

Charles, however, wasn't in the mood for a discussion of easements; he, his sisters, and Mr. Hurst were going to play loo; Darcy should join them. Darcy reluctantly agreed and replaced the plans in the library on his way to the drawing room.

They were playing when Miss Elizabeth came downstairs. This meant her sister was feeling better or asleep which was a good sign, and Darcy nodded to her. She didn't see him though, as she was selecting a book from the shelves. The others began discussing libraries, and Charles mentioned that he would love to buy Pemberley for the sake of its library. Darcy smiled to himself at the idea and looking up, found Miss Elizabeth near him. She looked quite nice in some blue-greeny gown. She had a book closed on one finger, and she was half-smiling at Charles' cards.

Miss Bingley said to Darcy, "Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring? Is she as tall as I am?"

Georgiana was five feet four. "She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet's height," Darcy said, "or rather taller."

Miss Bingley began to discuss Georgiana's accomplishments, then female accomplishments in general. Charles chimed in, listing typical female accomplishments such as painting and covering screens. Darcy considered the ability to make things out of paper to be rather useless. Being accomplished didn't mean producing crafts like a provincial at a village fete; it meant being graceful and talented and having the ability to converse on a range of subjects. Off the top of his head, he could think of six accomplished women: Georgiana, obviously. His own mother, now deceased. Mrs. Reynolds, his housekeeper. Mrs. Annesley, Georgiana's companion (he never would have engaged her if she weren't accomplished). His aunt by marriage, Lady Beatrice Fitzwilliam. And Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

He said so, more or less, but he must not have mentioned the part about Miss Elizabeth because she laughed:

"I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any."

She had a point, but Darcy had restricted his claim to six because he didn't know many more women than six-not well, at least.

As soon as Miss Elizabeth went upstairs to see her sister, Miss Bingley started discussing her. Darcy was getting rather tired of Miss Bingley discussing Miss Elizabeth when Miss Elizabeth wasn't in the room since Miss Bingley said the same things over and over. Now she was saying that Miss Elizabeth was the kind of woman who put down her own sex in order to make herself look better which completely missed the point of Miss Elizabeth's remark. Anyway, as far as Darcy could tell, Miss Bingley did that sort of thing more often than Miss Elizabeth. And he said so, which seemed to shut everybody up. Thank goodness.

The next morning, Mrs. Bennet came to check on her daughter's health. She was a shrill woman, and Darcy wished he could be like Mr. Hurst and wander out of the room. But one didn't. One was taught to stand and be courteous while this woman went on and on and on about her daughter's illness and her daughter's sweet temper and what Mr. Jones thought. They had heard more than enough about what Mr. Jones thought from Charles.

Mrs. Bennet hoped that Charles would occupy Netherfield for a long time. That was unlikely. In fact, Charles started bragging about his spontaneity when making plans. Darcy never could understand why people considered spontaneity a virtue. It always struck him as rather shallow and thoughtless. Miss Elizabeth had it right when she described Charles as an uncomplicated person. What you saw with Charles was what you got, which was rather refreshing except for Charles' penchant for spontaneity: Darcy couldn't cure that.

"Studying different characters must be amusing," Charles said to Miss Elizabeth after she called him uncomplicated, and she agreed that it was one of her favorite things to do.

She wouldn't get many chances in the country, and Darcy said so. She smiled at him and pointed out that people change over time: one could study a single person over many years rather than many people all at once. The idea interested Darcy, and he might have responded, but Mrs. Bennet interrupted with some declaration about the country being better than London. Darcy didn't know why people couldn't stay on topic.

The conversation moved on to a discussion of poetry which topic did interest Darcy. Miss Elizabeth claimed that her sister lost interest in a suitor who sent her poetry. Darcy smiled to himself but offered Shakespeare's opinion: poetry, like music, is the food of love.

"Of a fine, stout, healthy love," Elizabeth agreed. "Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away."

Darcy had to think about that, and the conversation moved on before he could respond.

He was still thinking about literature and the nourishment of sensibility when he wrote a letter to Georgiana that evening. Miss Bingley was talking to him, and he made replies, but he mostly concentrated on asking Georgiana what she thought about poetry and requesting an update on Mrs. Annesley. He trusted Mrs. Annesley, but he had trusted companions of Georgiana before and been disappointed.

He reread the letter and crossed out a few words. Charles was bragging about spontaneity again: his ability to write quickly without proofing. Darcy frowned. There was nothing commendable about acting or reacting quickly any more than there was anything commendable about suddenly changing one's plans--unless there was a good reason, of course. Darcy said so.

Bingley laughed. Bingley always thought it was funny when Darcy wanted people to say exactly what they meant or when he asked for specific information, but, Darcy wondered, how could you decide anything without the facts? What was the point in talking in generalities? Darcy would never change his plans unless someone was ill, like Georgiana, for instance, or unless his steward needed his attention at Pemberley. But he wouldn't know the reasons until they occurred. How could he say ahead of time—now—what he would do at some later date?

The discussion was becoming an argument, and Darcy hated arguing with people. He liked to exchange ideas, not wrangle over who was right or wrong. If they wanted to argue, they could wait till he left the room. He said so.

Miss Elizabeth's smile went crooked. She had amused him again. He wasn't sure why.

She said, "What you ask is no sacrifice on my side; Mr. Darcy had better finish his letter," so he did, but Miss Elizabeth's amusement still bothered him. Was she amused because he didn't want to argue? Was she amused because she agreed that the argument was pointless? Was she amused because Darcy didn't like people to change their plans? Was she amused because Darcy had been too curt? He watched her cross to the pianoforte. She was still smiling slightly as she looked through the music-books stacked on the lid. She glanced back at him now and again, and he noted that she looked quite lovely in the reddish-brown thing she was wearing.

She'd been wearing a reddish-brown thing at the Lucas's and for the first time, it occurred to Darcy that her amusement there might have been directed at him, not at Sir William. Perhaps she hadn't wanted to dance because of Darcy's attitude, not because of Sir William's behavior.

He got up, crossed the room, and asked her if she wanted to dance a reel. She didn't respond or look at him. He really didn't understand this woman. He repeated the request.

She turned to him then. No, she wouldn't dance with him. Darcy was testing her good taste; "I have therefore made up my mind that I do not want to dance a reel at all; and now despise me if you dare." And she grinned up at him.

Darcy's heart turned over.

He was not interested in her, he told himself in his room that night. She was intelligent and lovely and quick-witted. She was good company. That was all.

He felt confident of his feelings when he went downstairs the next morning-until Miss Bingley began teasing him about Miss Elizabeth again; Darcy started to worry. Did she think he was pursuing Miss Elizabeth? Did everybody think that? Did Miss Elizabeth? Why would she? He hardly spoke to her.

You asked her to dance, he reminded himself and winced. That was fairly forward behavior. Had anyone noticed? He didn't even like to dance.

He worried on the matter, missing the rest of Miss Bingley's conversation.

"Are you looking forward to cards this evening?" she said as they parted.

"No," he said and went to drag Charles out to meet Netherfield's land steward. Charles didn't yet have a full complement of servants, but a land steward was necessary. Darcy wanted to discuss the steward's recommendations with Charles after dinner, but Miss Bennet came downstairs, obviously feeling better, and Charles bounced over to her and started to chat. About Mr. Jones, most likely.

Darcy picked up A general view of agriculture, vol. 2. The others were chattering. He heard mention of the Netherfield ball and turned a page. He heard Miss Elizabeth's name and looked up.

Miss Bingley wanted Miss Elizabeth to take a turn about the room. Darcy smiled to himself. This was an old ploy. The ladies wanted to show off their figures. Or gossip together, although that seemed unlikely; Miss Elizabeth wasn't much of a gossip. In any case, Darcy could admire them very well from where he sat. He said so.

Miss Bingley said she was offended. She wasn't really-Darcy could tell that much. "How shall we punish him?" she said to Miss Elizabeth.

Darcy felt himself tense. Miss Elizabeth had a sharp tongue and a knowing eye, and Darcy amused her for some reason. If she wanted to, she could make him look foolish.

"Tease him—laugh at him," Miss Elizabeth said.

Darcy tried not to glower. There were people who liked to mock others for the sake of mocking, not because there was anything to mock at. He said so.

"I hope I never ridicule what is wise or good," Miss Elizabeth said, but she did like to laugh at "follies and nonsense." Perhaps Mr. Darcy was without folly?

Darcy considered that he was intelligent, consistent, dependable with a good head for business and a strong sense of purpose. He was not lazy, vain, or stupid, which were the sorts of faults that deserved criticism. He was prideful, but that was understandable given his position and duties in life. He tried to make this clear.

Miss Elizabeth cocked her head. The amusement was there but something else as well: she was studying him, and Darcy felt a kind of panic. He didn't know if he liked being studied, but he didn't want Miss Elizabeth to form the wrong conclusions.

She began to turn away, and Darcy heard himself say, "I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, very profound." He wasn't flexible, like Charles. He didn't feel sympathy for people of low character nor did he easily excuse such behavior. "My good opinion once lost is lost for ever."

She didn't like that. "You have chosen your fault well. I really cannot laugh at it. You are safe from me."

That didn't make Darcy feel better. He got the impression that Miss Elizabeth didn't like people who were safe from her. "Every disposition has a tendency to some particular evil," he pointed out rather desperately.

"And your defect is a propensity to hate everybody."

Darcy almost laughed. She was so smug in her playful way, but he had been watching and listening to her since he arrived in Hertfordshire: "Yours is willfully to misunderstand them."

She was surprised but not, Darcy was relieved to see, offended. She opened her mouth, and then Miss Bingley interrupted with a request for music. Miss Elizabeth turned away. Darcy found he was leaning forward in his chair and carefully sat back.

He was not interested in her. He was not foolish like his friend Bertram from college who went and married his landlady's daughter. Darcy had listened to a thousand panegyrics of the daughter's affectionate nature and lovely face and kind heart. The couple lived separately now, and Darcy believed the affectionate, lovely, kind daughter was being kept by another man.

Forming instantaneous affections was imprudent. It resulted in nothing but misery. But many men had been caught by a careless interest. He had been too obvious, too forward in his appreciation of Miss Elizabeth. He must not speak to her again while she remained at Netherfield with her sister.

And he didn't.

Darcy's Point of View: The Ball at Netherfield

Elizabeth and Darcy Go to the Netherfield Ball, and Neither Has a Good Time

Darcy hated fancy events. He put them on at Pemberley, of course, but there, he had things to do, such as consult with Mr. Talbot, his butler, on where to park any extra carriages. Moreover, he always knew his guests, and when things got really noisy, he just went to his study.

Charles had opened up Netherfield's study for the ball. Darcy stood in the front hall and tried not to look at his watch. He greeted Colonel Foster and several of the officers; Wickham wasn't among them. Darcy wasn't surprised. He had seen Wickham several days earlier with the Bennet sisters; he had guessed that Wickham, having seen Darcy, wouldn't attend the ball. Wickham had made his excuses no doubt. He was good at that. Even Darcy had thought him charming and plausible until he lost Darcy's good opinion.

The Bennets arrived. Darcy could hear Mrs. Bennet's voice. He found himself looking for Miss Elizabeth among the family group. He wasn't interested in her. He was just curious about her well-being.

She was wearing a pale blue dress. Her dark hair formed ringlets about her face. She was laughing as her eyes searched the company. Perhaps she was looking for Darcy, but he wasn't interested in her, so he retreated to the wall.

Not being interested didn't mean he shouldn't ask her to dance. This was Charles' first ball at Netherfield. Darcy wanted to help make it a success. He would even dance a few times. He approached Miss Elizabeth during the fourth dance and solicited her hand for the next. She agreed, and Darcy walked off smiling to himself. Apparently, Miss Elizabeth just needed the right venue to agree to dance.

He collected her for the fifth dance. She seemed unusually serious, but part way through the opening steps, she smiled and said, "Mr. Bingley has had good weather for his event."

Darcy nodded.

A few steps later, "It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy," she told him.

"I will say whatever you want me to say."

That amused her, which was rather a relief. She liked to talk, and he had no problem with her chatting if she wanted to, but instead she said thoughtfully, "Conversation ought to be so arranged that couples have the trouble of saying as little as possible."

That remark was aimed at him. He'd never been good at small-talk, but she needn't copy his example. He said so.

Miss Elizabeth raised her brows. Oh, they were very alike, she assured him. Neither of them would say a word unless it could impress others.

She was not describing herself. Was she describing Darcy? Did she think he gave his comments special weight? He worried over her insinuation through the next few moves. He didn't think he was a pompous man—

Miss Elizabeth's next remark stopped his train of thought. She said, "When you met us the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance."

Wickham, she meant, and Darcy tensed. He had intended subtly, carefully, to warn her against Wickham, to say something like, "Not all of the officers in Meryton are of equal worth." She was bright; she would understand his point.

Instead of him warning her, she was challenging him. He said slowly, "Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may insure his making friends; whether he may be equally capable of retaining them is less certain."

But Mr. Wickham had lost his friendship, Miss Elizabeth pointed out, and Darcy felt his temper rising. He should have guessed that Wickham was already spreading tales about their relationship. Why did Darcy never see it coming? He hadn't seen it coming when he was a boy. He hadn't seen it coming with Georgiana. His father hadn't seen it. For intelligent men, they had both been remarkably stupid about Wickham.

And now it was happening again-with Miss Elizabeth who was bright and intelligent and kind and ready to believe anything that was said to her in a plausible manner.

"The orchestra is performing well," he said to change the subject.

Her mouth went crooked which meant she was amused, but Darcy was too upset to be pleased. He needed to say something about Wickham; he needed to warn her. They were standing across from each other, waiting to join hands. He would take her hands and say . . . and say . . .

Sir William interrupted his thoughts. As expected, Sir William had stopped to comment on the dancing. He also mentioned "a certain desirable event"—with a glance towards Miss Bennet and Charles; Darcy followed the glance—and Miss Elizabeth's bright eyes. On and on Sir William went, talking about nothing. Finally, he bowed and strolled on, leaving Darcy to Miss Elizabeth, and Darcy realized that he wouldn’t be able to say anything about Wickham—to Miss Elizabeth or anyone else. They would question him. They would want to know his reasons. Miss Elizabeth especially would never accept such a statement without explanation.

He prepared himself to ask a question about books. To his surprise, Miss Elizabeth reverted to the earlier subject: "You are very cautious, I suppose, as to your resentment being created?"

"I am."

"And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?"

"I hope not. May I ask to what these questions tend?"

She was trying to make out his character, she told him, and there was no amusement in her voice. "I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly."

Wickham again. Darcy could imagine—he knew—the sorts of things Wickham would say about him. She shouldn't take the word of one man about Darcy. He tried to say this, but she cut him off lightly: "If I do not try to understand you now, I may never have another opportunity."

She said it as if they were barely acquainted. Darcy felt like he'd known her for years. He'd been forward with her. He'd told her things about himself. They were more than barely acquainted.

The dance ended; they separated. Darcy strode into the dining room, wishing he could go riding or help the gardener move rocks or shoot something. He leaned his head briefly against the doorframe and tried to block out all the noise and chatter.

Someone was speaking to him—a prim-looking man with flaccid hands; he was introducing himself to Darcy. Darcy had no idea why. Darcy wasn't the head of the ball; this wasn't his house.
The man's name was Mr. Collins. He was a clergyman. He had the honor of holding a position at Hunsford. He humbly begged Darcy's pardon, but he could assure Darcy that Lady Catherine, Darcy's aunt, was in good health—on and on and on the man went. Monosyllabic responses didn't stop him. Darcy waited for a pause and moved away.

He remembered, as he sat at one of the supper tables, that his aunt had written him about finding a clergyman for the rectory in her parish. Darcy had never responded; apparently, she had found someone on her own. He remembered too that Miss Bingley had mentioned a Mr. Collins in connection with the Bennets—a cousin of Mr. Bennet's. If anyone had asked, Darcy would have guessed him a cousin of Mrs. Bennet's: their unending chatter was so similar.

He could hear that unending chatter now. He'd sat at the same table as the Bennets, diagonal to Miss Elizabeth. He tried to catch her eye; he needed to make up for what happened in the ballroom—he'd walked off rather abruptly—but Miss Elizabeth was busy shushing her mother.

Good luck, Darcy thought. The mother was nattering about her daughter's upcoming marriage. Darcy felt a qualm until he realized Mrs. Bennet was talking about Miss Bennet, not Miss Elizabeth. He hadn't known Miss Bennet was engaged; surely, Miss Bingley or Charles would have told him.

With an utter sense of shock, Darcy realized that Mrs. Bennet was talking about her daughter and Charles. Charles? Charles wasn't interested in Miss Bennet; he was friendly towards her, yes, but that was Charles' way.

Except—except Sir William had mentioned "a desirable event," and the lady to whom Mrs. Bennet was speaking seemed to agree that the engagement existed.

Ridiculous. Charles wasn't interested in Miss Bennet or Miss Bennet in Charles. She'd hardly shown Charles the same interest that, well, her sister had shown Darcy.

Darcy suddenly felt ill. His stomach hurt. If these people had decided that Miss Bennet was going to marry Charles, what had they decided about Darcy and Miss Elizabeth? Was he going to have to set matters right? Talk to people about his feelings? Since Darcy had no idea what his feelings really were regarding Miss Elizabeth, he couldn’t think of anything more dreadful.

No. It was nonsense. Nobody had behaved improperly—except for Mrs. Bennet. Charles was not interested in Miss Bennet. Miss Bennet was not interested in Charles. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth had not crossed the lines of decency. These assumptions were the ravings of a mad woman—not lunatic, maybe, but extremely silly.

Except . . . her friends and neighbors believed her.

Charles and his sisters were going to have to leave Netherfield. Soon.

The music hour had begun. Young ladies were exchanging places at the pianoforte. Miss Mary Bennet massacred "The Lass With the Delicate Air" in her weak, reedy voice, but all Darcy could think about was how to convince Charles to leave. Charles would tire of Netherfield eventually but not in the next week or so and engagements could be formed in less time.

Mr. Bennet's voice interrupted Darcy's thoughts: "You have delighted us long enough. Let the other young ladies have time to exhibit," and Darcy saw Miss Mary blush and scurry back to her seat. He frowned. No father should humiliate his own child. What kind of parents were these Bennets—publicly exposing their children right and left?

Avoiding Miss Elizabeth, Darcy left the supper room. Charles was going to have to leave—and not come back—before the Bennet parents exposed their oldest daughter, both their oldest daughters, to neighborly ridicule.

Charles did leave Netherfield the next morning to go up to London. He had to speak to his solicitors there about some of his father's stocks. Darcy rode with him to the Meryton junction. He watched Charles ride on, Charles waving his hand in a casual salute and shouting, "Look for me in a few days!"

Darcy wished suddenly, desperately, that he could talk to Miss Elizabeth about Charles. She knew what Charles was like. She knew her sister wasn't interested in Charles. She could solve this problem. She was good at problems. Darcy was not good at problems, not these sorts of problems anyway. He could figure out tax problems and weather problems and dirt problems and horse problems. But everything else he left up to people like Mrs. Reynolds. Like when the second housemaid got pregnant by Jarrad, one of the stable hands: Mrs. Reynolds talked to the girl and to Jarrad, Darcy approved the marriage, and the couple moved to one of the cottages. They were hard workers; Darcy liked them; he was glad not to lose them. He was very glad Mrs. Reynolds had done all the talking. Darcy surrounded himself with people who did all the talking.

Right now, all he had was Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, but presumably they loved their brother and wanted the best for him. He rode back to Netherfield and asked their advice about Charles and Miss Bennet.

They were as horrified as Darcy at the idea of the engagement—which was a relief. He didn't like to think he was overreacting. But no, the sisters were stunned: What an inappropriate connection! Those parents! Miss Bingley began to say something disparaging about Miss Elizabeth, caught Darcy's eye, and said instead, "The three younger sisters have no discipline," which was true. Miss Mary had no musical discipline and the two youngest flirted with the officers: Darcy had noticed the flirtations, although not as much, it appeared, as Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. No matter. They all agreed that any connection should be severed.

"Does Miss Bennet care for Charles at all?" Darcy asked.

Of course not, they assured him. She was their friend, not their brother's.

They would all leave Netherfield immediately. They would go up to London and inform Bingley of the change in plans. Darcy went to his room to pack. He considered
sending a note to Miss Elizabeth, then shook his head at the thought. They were not on such intimate terms.

Darcy, Miss Bingley, and the Hursts arrived in London, loaded down with trunks. Darcy would stay another few weeks and then depart for Pemberley. He didn't need to be there as often in the winter as the rest of the year, but he liked to check in with his steward and Mrs. Reynolds, and it was a good excuse to get away from London. From Pemberley, he would visit the Fitzwilliams and then Lady Catherine.

Charles looked at him blankly as Darcy explained his itinerary. "I thought you would come back with me to Netherfield," he said finally.

"I think you should stay in London."

"Why?"

Darcy was alone with Charles. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were upstairs unpacking. He said, "The families there seem to think you and Miss Bennet are practically engaged." He tried to laugh, then wished he hadn't. Charles wasn't laughing. He had got up and wandered over to the sitting room windows.

"Is that so bad?"

"It isn't a suitable match, Charles."

"She is—"

"She and Miss Elizabeth are genteel young ladies, but the family, Charles, is not what you should aim for."

"I'm from trade." Charles said to the curtains. His back was rigid.

"I'm not referring to the Bennet's relations. Though your father did hope better for you."

"Like owning an estate." Charles was as caustic as Charles could be. Darcy winced and was silent.

"I'm not good at that sort of thing," Charles said. "You know that."

Darcy took a deep breath. "What do you want for your children, Charles? The Bennet father does not tend to his family or his estate. You would not be so lax."

"She isn't like that."

"Perhaps not. But you inherit the family when you marry and the family's legacies. Charles, you can do better."

He shook his head.

Darcy said, "If you return, you will encourage the rumors and hurt her chances for a suitable match."

"She expects me to return."

Darcy almost smiled. "I don't think she is that committed," he said as gently as he could.

Charles hunched his shoulders.

Darcy said, "Has she teased you? Flirted with you? Commented on your character?"

Charles said stiffly, "We discuss many things."

"Personal things?" Darcy had never heard Miss Bennett ask Charles about his faults.

Charles came back from the curtain and collapsed into a chair.

"No," he said.

"She has no expectations, Charles. Only her mother and her neighbors do. You haven't hurt her."

Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst came down then and reiterated everything Darcy had said with many more examples and expostulations until Darcy rather wished they would leave Charles alone.

But at least the matter was settled. In January, shortly before Darcy left for Pemberley, Miss Bennet visited the London house. She was staying with her uncle and aunt in Cheapside, Miss Bingley informed Darcy, "but of course, Charles needn't know."

No. It was better that Charles not know. The issue was over. The Bennet sisters were in the past. They could all move on with their lives.

Darcy's Point of View: Rosings I, Darcy Decides to Propose

Darcy and Elizabeth Meet at Rosings, and Darcy Makes a Huge Miscalculation

Darcy arrived at Rosings with his cousin, Colonel John Fitzwilliam. Lady Catherine greeted them in her usual way: condescension mixed with pleasure.

"The Collinses have the oddest visitor," she said at the dinner table. "A friend of Mrs. Collins from before she was married. I can't speak to modern manners, but the friend seems a very forward sort of person. Of course, she claims to know you Darcy, but I can't believe—"

Mr. Collins had married Charlotte Lucas: Darcy knew that from letters he had received from the Bingleys. Charlotte Lucas was friends with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He set down his knife and fork and concentrated on his aunt.

"—and very self-assured which I'm sure is not entirely proper for a young lady, even a young lady of twenty—"

Would she never state the visitor's name?

"—and all five sisters already out."

It was Miss Elizabeth. Darcy's stomach felt odd, and he realized he had no more appetite.

"Five sisters," John was saying in his mild humorous way. "Good heavens."

"Astonishing, isn't it," Lady Catherine said without hearing John's irony; she never did. Had Miss Elizabeth tried to laugh at her? If so, Darcy couldn't imagine the encounter had been a success.

"Do you remember this Miss Elizabeth?" John asked on their way to the drawing room to play cards.

"Yes," Darcy said.

"A bit more entertaining than our aunt?"

"Yes."

John was all for meeting the two young ladies—Mrs. Collins' sister was also visiting. The next morning, they headed to Hunsford, encountering Mr. Collins on the lane. Mr. Collins bowed and reminded Darcy of their last meeting and apologized for forcing Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam to walk all the way from Rosings without his companionship. Darcy decided that Miss Elizabeth's current living situation must provide her with a surfeit of follies and nonsense.

He entered the parsonage parlor after John. "Hello," John said, striding up to Miss Elizabeth. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance." Darcy turned to Mrs. Collins. John could afford to bypass such courtesies; no one ever noticed. Darcy sat besides Mrs. Collins, who seemed pleasant enough; he remembered her from Hertfordshire as a calm, intelligent person. Mr. Collins was rather lucky in his choice of mate.

John was discussing the countryside with Miss Elizabeth. She smiled and responded, glancing occasionally at Darcy. Their last conversation had been at the Netherfield ball. They had discussed Wickham. He could hardly raise that subject now. He could ask her about poetry, but no, that was too complex a subject for this brief meeting. John had already covered the countryside. Darcy could ask her about her travels to Hunsford, but no, John had already covered that topic too.

"How is your family?" Darcy said.

Miss Elizabeth broke off a light remark to John and turned to him.

"They are well," she said. "My eldest sister has been in London for several months. You didn't see her there?"

He'd known Miss Bennet was in London. He hadn't seen her. The correct response was "No" except the question implied knowledge of Miss Bennet's whereabouts, not just an actual meeting. But if he said, "Yes," Miss Elizabeth would want to know how her sister appeared, and he couldn't answer that, so, "No," he said.

She cocked her head slightly, and Darcy felt a sudden qualm, but he could hardly explain his thought process at the current moment.

"Very nice gel," John said as they left the parsonage, and Darcy nodded. Yes, she was.

He spent the next few days closeted with the house steward going over the household books. Lady Catherine had a tendency to underpay her land servants and lower house staff while vastly overpaying her upper house staff. The house steward made some rather pleading suggestions, and Darcy agreed to effect certain changes. He would simply tell Lady Catherine that the changes had been made. She would respond with long rants on her servants' habits—which rants Darcy never listened to—but she wouldn't counter-command the changes. Until Darcy left, anyway.

He told the steward this, and the steward agreed, looking depressed. But Rosings wasn't really Darcy's responsibility.

Every evening, John and he took a walk to view the grounds—Rosings was a lovely estate. During these walks, Darcy learned that John was spending almost every day at the parsonage; John would report on his visits: "Miss Elizabeth is very clever," he would say, or, "Miss Elizabeth agreed that Evelina lacks sparkle" or "Miss Elizabeth is quite the walker."

She was clever. She had interesting opinions about literature and people and other such things. She was quite a walker—in fact, Darcy could tell John . . . but he decided, No. John might not understand about Miss Elizabeth walking three miles to see her sister; he might put the wrong interpretation on Darcy remembering the incident. Darcy thought of Miss Elizabeth's dark eyes and glowing cheeks and friendly smile and kept his thoughts to himself.

He saw her at church where they all sat through a rather rambling sermon on the importance of respecting one's betters. He thought about speaking to her—he could ask her about . . . about . . . she was already gone, her arm linked with Mrs. Collins's.

"I've invited the Collinses and their guests for a small party," Lady Catherine announced that evening, and Darcy felt a wash of relief. He would have a whole evening to come up with a conversational gambit.

John got Miss Elizabeth's attention first, of course. Darcy was stuck listening to Lady Catherine's critique of Mr. Collins's sermon while Mr. Collins listened avidly. Darcy watched John question Miss Elizabeth about Kent and Hertfordshire—"And what do you think of Scott's latest?" Miss Elizabeth answered his questions with her usual ease, laughing occasionally.

John could be droll.

"—and of course, Fordyce is always an excellent resource," Lady Catherine was saying.

John was a younger son, of course, with little money. He had good prospects; he was a good dependable man. But Miss Elizabeth couldn't afford—

Darcy frowned at his train of thought. She was just being friendly. There was nothing personal about her conversation with John. Darcy was making untenable assumptions. He was getting as bad as Mrs. Bennett.

Lady Catherine ended her critique and shouted to John: "What are you telling Miss Bennett? Let me hear what it is."

John turned, brows raised. His eyes met Darcy's, and he winked. Darcy felt a sudden chill. Surely, John and Miss Elizabeth's conversation had been general, impersonal. One couldn't have intimate conversations in drawing rooms—

One could actually, as Darcy knew.

"We were talking of music, madam."

Darcy let out a breath.

Lady Catherine proclaimed that she loved music. "If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient." And what about Georgiana and her music?

"She is quite accomplished," Darcy said. He had seen Georgiana before he visited the Fitzwilliams. He had been impressed at how far she had come in both singing and playing. She had a clear mezzo-soprano and had mastered several Haydn sonatas. He said so.

"Pray tell her from me," said Lady Catherine, "that she cannot expect to excel if she does not practice a great deal."

Georgiana practiced constantly, Darcy explained, trying not to snap. Snapping never made any difference with Lady Catherine. She hardly heard him now.

"I have told Miss Bennett several times that she will never play really well unless she practices more."

Darcy glanced at Miss Elizabeth, expecting a mocking rejoinder, but Miss Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap and looked demure. Darcy thought he saw her lip twitch.

Lady Catherine tapped his arm to regain his attention. "I have often told her to come to Rosings every day and play on the pianoforte—"

That was a kind offer, and Darcy looked back at Miss Elizabeth, hoping to see a smile of appreciation.

"—in Mrs. Jenkinson's room. She would be in nobody's way, you know, in that part of the house."

Darcy winced and stared at the carpet. He hoped Miss Elizabeth would still play and sing tonight despite his aunt's rudeness.

She did at John's request. She chose an adagio, and Darcy sat back, relaxing as she began.

"Of course, Anne much prefers pieces by Charles Avison," Lady Catherine said, and Darcy tensed, annoyed. He hated people to interrupt performances, musical, theatrical, or otherwise. He got up abruptly and walked across the room, so he could watch Miss Elizabeth.

And she spoke to him, directly to him: "You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming so seriously to hear me. But I will not be alarmed though your sister does play so well—"

So she had attended to his comments about Georgiana. Darcy smiled.

Miss Elizabeth continued: Darcy wouldn't frighten her. "My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me."

That was true, only she wasn't really afraid of Darcy. She knew he would never try to discomfort her; she knew him pretty well, in fact. She was teasing, pretending alarm she didn't feel. He said so, and she laughed, and Darcy felt himself relax a little more. This was the kind of camaraderie they had had in Hertfordshire.

Miss Elizabeth was telling John that Darcy knew her real character and she could expose Darcy's character if she wished. Darcy wasn't worried. John already knew his character pretty well, and Darcy had learned that Miss Elizabeth was never as critical in her judgments as she threatened.

"I am not afraid of you," he told her.

John laughed and asked for particulars. Miss Elizabeth lowered her voice to a shocked murmur: Did he know, could he comprehend . . . the first time she'd met Darcy he had only danced four dances "though gentlemen were scarce; and more than one young lady was sitting down in want of a partner."

It took Darcy almost a minute to realize she was speaking of that first ball in Hertfordshire—when he had refused to dance with any one but Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. He had refused to dance with a young lady suggested by Bingley.

He had refused to dance with Miss Elizabeth.

He flushed. He hadn't noticed the imbalance of men and women. He had barely noticed who Bingley recommended, but Miss Elizabeth had noticed and remembered; all this time, she had thought him uncivil, deliberately rude.

He said, "I am ill-qualified to recommend myself to strangers." She must understand that. She knew him well enough.

But she was shaking her head. Darcy said desperately, "I have not the talent of conversing easily with those I have never seen before." She must have noticed that.

She was still shaking her head. She took the time to practice the piano, she pointed out. Surely, Darcy could take the time to be sociable.

She didn't practice that much. But she did practice enough to give pleasure to her friends and family. Darcy was the same although he admitted that sometimes even his friends and family were a little confused by his behavior. He would have to try harder. He said so. "Neither of us perform well to strangers."

She grew serious again, her amusement dimming as she eyed him. Lady Catherine approached, and Miss Elizabeth began to play. Darcy sat down near the pianoforte, feeling confused. Miss Elizabeth had never mentioned that first ball when she stayed at Netherfield. But then she had been occupied with her sister. On the other hand, she and Darcy had had a number of conversations—Darcy could remember all of them, nearly verbatim. She had never seemed angry with him. She'd asked him questions and smiled and bantered with him.

She smiles and banters with John.

She didn't study John. She didn't ask John about his faults. Darcy glowered at the fireplace and hardly noticed when the party broke up.

The next morning, he left Rosings early, without John, and went to the parsonage. He would visit Mrs. Collins and Mrs. Collins' sister and perhaps, Elizabeth would be there, and he could make sure she bore him no ill-will.

She was alone. Darcy paused on the parlor threshold, confused. He wasn't prepared for a tête-à-tête. He didn't have his thoughts ordered. Mrs. Collins was supposed to be there to carry the conversational ball: that's what married ladies did.

He sat slowly. Miss Elizabeth asked after the occupants at Rosings. Darcy replied. He started to get his bearings. He hadn't expected a tête-à-tête, but he wasn't sorry. He sat in the parlor's armchair and watched Miss Elizabeth at the desk. She was dressed in something soft and bright. Her hair was informally arranged, and Darcy found he liked it better than a formal arrangement. He realized she was watching him, amused, and the anxiety in him lessened. Their relationship was back to normal—to the way it had been in Hertfordshire, to the way things should be between them.

The way they should always be. Darcy realized he had forgotten he was not interested in Miss Elizabeth. There was no point denying it: he was interested.

They discussed Netherfield and whether Charles would let or sell it. They discussed the parsonage and Mr. Collins's marriage to Mrs. Collins. "It must be very agreeable to her to be settled within so easy a distance of her own family and friends," Darcy said. Miss Elizabeth was surprised. "Easy distance" for Miss Elizabeth apparently meant in the same neighborhood. Miss Elizabeth blushed when Darcy said so, and Darcy's heart beat a little quicker.

This was marriage talk—how far a woman wanted to live from her family. Miss Elizabeth had never seemed someone who wanted to spend her married life a hop, skip, and a jump* from her parents' door. He couldn't think of anything more frustrating than trying to manage a household with Mrs. Bennet's interference. Pemberley, at least, was a long way from Hertfordshire.

"You are not that attached to Longbourn," he said, leaning forward.

Miss Elizabeth looked surprised, and Darcy retreated. He was being too forward, making assumptions; he was hardly prepared to—to—

To propose?

He left the parsonage in a state of utter bewilderment. She was too genteel, too intelligent, to assume an offer where none was made, but she must know—she was so good at reading people—how Darcy felt. She wouldn't be surprised if he proposed.

Which put the decision back on Darcy. He had decided she was wrong for him. He decided that in Hertfordshire four months ago. Why would he change his mind now?

He had, he admitted, thought about Elizabeth often in the last four months. He had saved up things to tell her, things he could actually never tell her unless they were engaged. He had spoken of her to Georgiana—he distinctly remembered doing that—without, however, mentioning any kind of attachment.

He couldn't marry her. It was not an appropriate connection. He sat in his room, head in hands. He had expected to marry a woman of his own status with a similar background—someone to be chatelaine of Pemberley, who could handle the work involved and be a role model for Georgiana.

Elizabeth was an excellent role model, but with Elizabeth came her family. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were not acceptable role-models for any young person. Nor did they supply an appropriate environment for a future Mrs. Darcy. That Elizabeth could manage a household, Darcy had no doubt, but she'd had little experience with well-run estates. Longbourn was half the size or less of Pemberley, and Mr. Bennet ran it at less than full potential.

If only she was a member of his set. If only she had a stronger pedigree. His father had married Lady Anne Kenway, descended from a family of ancient Anglo-Saxon heritage. Darcy's mother had brought money and stability and worth to the Darcy line.

The line didn't need more money, but Darcy thought it could use stability. The incident with Wickham had shaken his sense of security. Georgiana would not make the same mistake again—he hoped—but she was young; she needed good examples.

Elizabeth is a good example. But not her sisters—except Jane, Jane who Bingley had wanted to court. Darcy had told him the connection was a bad one which was true. What would Bingley think if Darcy married a Bennet sister?

Elizabeth would understand Darcy's conflict. She had often blushed at her parents' behavior. She knew what they were like. She knew what Darcy was like.

But he couldn't discuss the matter with her—not unless he made an offer. Once she accepted, she would ease his mind.

If he offered. If. If. If.

He visited the parsonage several times over the next few days; he watched Elizabeth talk and laugh, listened to her good sense, observed her manners with John and Mr. and Mrs. Collins. He took her expressions and witticisms and occasional smiles at him back to his room at Rosings where he replayed them in his mind.

He shouldn't propose.

But he would.

He was going to get married.

What an absolutely astonishing thought.

NOTE: I am ending Rosings I here. The next section—the proposal, rejection, and letter—is massive, psychologically speaking. In the original, this is where Darcy is forced to undergo the most excruciating self-examination on record. So I will handle it separately.

*"Hop, skip, and a jump" is, in fact, an acceptable phrase for this time period!

Darcy's Point of View: Rosings II, Darcy Is Rejected

Elizabeth and Darcy Have a Fight, and Darcy Tries to Explain Himself

The Collins party was invited to drink tea at Rosings. Elizabeth would be there; Darcy would pull her aside. He had prepared a short explanation of his thought process in asking her to marry him. After the explanation, he would propose. He wasn't sure he would tell Lady Catherine about their engagement. The idea made him rather tired. No, it would be inappropriate in any case. He would have to speak first to Elizabeth's father.

He washed his face and hands, dried them on a towel, straightened his collar and, heart pounding, went downstairs.

Elizabeth wasn't there. She had a headache, Mr. Collins explained amid multiple apologies. Lady Catherine looked temporarily annoyed and then promptly forgot about Miss Elizabeth's health.

Darcy sat and fretted. He was leaving soon, the day after tomorrow. His proposal couldn't wait. The last thing he wanted to do was visit Elizabeth in Hertfordshire. He might change his mind by then.

That might be for the best, he thought as he excused himself to the company. Only he'd decided to ask her today. He'd decided. He had to see her, propose to her, lay out everything for her understanding.

He hardly saw the lane as he walked to the parsonage. He knocked on the door and was admitted. He entered the parlor, greeted Elizabeth and sat. He couldn't remember his speech—what he'd intended to say or do. It would be easier if she said something, but she was silent. He got up and walked about the room, his feet scuffing the floor. He faced her:

"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

It was easier then—he remembered everything he meant to say. He presented all the arguments for and against the marriage. He explained his feelings, his anxieties. He praised her attributes, especially in comparison to her family. He finished with a declaration that he could not conquer his attachment to her, and he hoped he would be rewarded with her hand in marriage.

He stopped. He wanted to sit down but decided it would probably be best to continue standing. For the first time, he looked at Elizabeth's face, studying her expression.

She looked rather blank. Darcy frowned slightly. Was she concerned about the social gap between them? Should he be more reassuring?

She began to speak. At first, Darcy wasn't sure what she was saying. He kept waiting for the "but, I will accept," only it never came. She was saying, "No." She was rejecting his proposal.

"I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly."

She had flirted with him. She had been friendly with him. They had discussed personal topics. She was behaving as if none of that had ever happened. She was acting as if she didn't know how Darcy felt.

She stopped speaking. Darcy realized he was gritting his teeth. He took a deep breath and said, "I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavor with civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance."

He heard his petulance and didn't care. He wanted to goad her. She was too composed—as if their relationship was as light and careless as her discussions with John.

His goad worked. He had offended her, Elizabeth said. Insulted her. Moreover, he had ruined the happiness of her beloved sister—

Miss Bennet? He had never done anything to Miss Bennet.

Was he denying he'd interfered between her and Mr. Bingley?

Yes, he had interfered, but his actions were justifiable.

What about his treatment of Wickham?

Darcy's incredulity spilled into anger. Did Wickham mean something to her then, more than Darcy had imagined? "You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns."

Elizabeth proclaimed a general interest: everyone must feel pity for Mr. Wickham's misfortunes which had been inflicted on him by Mr. Darcy, by Mr. Darcy who ridiculed Mr. Wickham's position in life.

Darcy felt numb. She believed Wickham over him. She believed Wickham's sorry excuses over Darcy's example. He'd told her to be wary of Wickham; he'd told her at the Netherfield ball, and she still believed Wickham's tales—as if she and Darcy had never spoken together, never shared thoughts, never experienced any camaraderie at all.

No—this wasn't because of Wickham. It couldn't be. She was reacting to Darcy's honesty. He'd thought she was better than the ordinary type of female who needed insincere praise. He said so.

She was standing by now. There was no amusement in her face. She was breathing hard.

"You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me other than to spare me the compassion I might have felt if you had behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner."

A more gentlemanlike manner. He had—he was—

"You could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it." She was disgusted by his arrogance, his conceit, his selfish disdain for the feelings of others.

The room was beginning to close in. He had to leave. He made the appropriate remarks, and then he was out in the lane, his head pounding. It was still dusk. Darcy felt as if a hundred hours had passed. He found he was standing at the gate to Rosings. He stared across the park, feeling sick and rather light-headed.

He was a fool. That was what happened when you made decisions based on emotion. You were a fool; you proposed to a lovely girl who didn't care about or understand your character, your very appropriate reservations—

If you had behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner. Darcy winced. Perhaps he had been too detailed with those reservations. But her reasons for rejecting him—her sister and Wickam—were completely unjustified. How could she be so blind? He had assumed she had more intelligence, more insight than she obviously did.

She loves her sister.

And Wickham?

He shouldn't have gotten angry. Darcy grimaced. If he hadn't gotten angry, he could have explained himself. He turned back towards the parsonage but stopped. He wouldn't stay calm, and she was angry, truly angry. Faced with that much anger, nothing he said would come out right. He wasn't even sure she would listen.

He would write her. He returned to the house through the kitchen. The servants nodded as he passed. In his room, he lit the lamp, sat at the desk, and began to write.

He wasn't going to propose to her again—he made that clear. No, he was going to address her accusations against him. He dealt with her sister first, explaining that he didn't believe Miss Bennet was attached to Charles. He confessed he had dissuaded Charles from pursuing the relationship. He even confessed that he knew Miss Bennet had been in London: "Perhaps this concealment, this disguise, was beneath me. It is done, however, and it was done for the best. On this subject I have nothing more to say, no other apology to offer."

He sat back, breathing heavily. The lamp was guttering, and he lit a fresh one. He reread the paragraphs he had written.

The tone was not civil. Darcy wasn't sure why. He was being objective, factual. He'd even admitted to knowing that Miss Bennet was in London and that he hadn't told Charles. Elizabeth might consider that a concealment—he'd admitted as much—but he honestly didn't think it was. He should rewrite the page. He reached for a new sheet.

He heard himself say, "She doesn't need to know," and stopped, appalled.

He wasn't being objective at all. His behavior with Miss Bennet had involved concealment. And now he was justifying himself—he, Darcy, was making excuses, as if he were someone like Wickham, as if he weren't a gentleman at all.

He could rewrite it, but he didn't know how else to explain his behavior towards her sister. He added a line: "Though the motives may to you very naturally appear insufficient, I have not yet learnt to condemn them."

He moved on to her accusation about Wickham. This involved disclosing Georgiana's troubles, but Elizabeth would be circumspect, and she needed to know Wickham's true character. He didn't know how far Elizabeth's attachment to Wickham had gone. He had heard that Wickham was engaged to a Miss King, but that wouldn't stop Wickham from ruining Elizabeth's reputation if such a course took his fancy.

And she needed to know that he, Darcy, wasn't as Wickham had painted him. He was not as good as he should be perhaps, but he wasn't so corrupt.

He told her everything: about growing up with Wickham, about his father's will, about Wickham's decision to go into law rather than the church. Darcy had realized several years before that Wickham was idle, dissipated, and licentious. His charm was a cover for plausible lies. He was a man who looked out only for himself. When Darcy's father died, Darcy had handed over Wickham's legacy and put him out of his mind.

Until Wickham applied to Darcy, stating that he wanted to become a clergyman after all. Darcy refused to help—Wickham had already had his legacy; Darcy would never fund such an inconstant libertine—so Wickham revenged himself on Darcy by trying to elope with Georgiana.

Darcy could admit now that Georgiana's companion, Mrs. Younge, had been Wickham's confidant from the beginning. At the time, he had been furious at the woman's stupidity: to let Georgiana meet freely with Wickham—to encourage Wickham's addresses! Lucky that Georgiana told Darcy about the planned elopement. He hadn't seen Wickham's perfidy coming. He hadn't imagined it as a possibility at all. Lucky stupid man.

He was, it seemed, altogether blind about people. He'd never guessed at Elizabeth's feelings. He had thought she liked him. But he couldn't accuse her of playing games with him. Truth was, she had behaved no differently with him than with John.

Except. Except—she had seemed to understand him. She was so quick, so friendly, so exactly the sort of person Darcy would be lucky to marry. Darcy leaned his head on his hands and watched the lamp guttered into oblivion.

He lit another towards dawn and added a few extra lines. She could go to Colonel Fitzwilliam if she wished to verify all Darcy had written. "God bless you," he wrote and signed his name.

He slept for a half-hour, changed, and went out into the still morning. Everything was pale dew and new spring green. He had seen Elizabeth strolling occasionally in a grove near the park gate, and he went there now, the letter clenched in his hands. If she didn't come—but she had to come. He didn't know what he would do if she didn't come.

She did though she began to retreat when she saw him. She looked drained and unhappy; she hid her feelings so well most of the time, and Darcy felt an odd ache at how similar they were in this regard: plausible faces presented to the world.

For a terrible moment, he thought she would reject the letter, but she took it, he asked her to read it, he retreated. He called at the parsonage, knowing she would remain outdoors to peruse the letter. Then, he returned to Rosings.

He and John were going back to London the next morning. Darcy sorted his shirts in his room. He concentrated on mundane things—clothes, cravats, boots. John strolled in towards mid-afternoon.

"Good work. I'm already packed."

Darcy nodded, eyeing him. Had Elizabeth asked him to verify the contents of the letter? He couldn't ask. Surely, John would tell him.

John said, "I understand you already said farewell to our parson's household."

"Yes," Darcy said.

"So did I. I missed the lovely Miss Elizabeth unfortunately. Ah, well. Life is made up of stray encounters, is it not," and he went off good-humoredly.

Had she avoided John? Was she still reading the letter? Would she believe anything Darcy had written? He sat on the edge of the bed and watched the sky darken and wished he was at Pemberley.

NOTE: Darcy's self-examination will continue in the next post: Elizabeth comes to Pemberley.

Darcy's Point of View: Elizabeth Comes to Pemberley

Darcy and Elizabeth Meet at Pemberley, and Darcy Gets All Excited About Showing Off His Property

"I'm needed at Pemberley," Darcy told Georgiana.

They sat in their private sitting room in an Oxford inn. The Bingleys occupied rooms on the floor above. Miss Bingley had suggested breakfasting together, but Darcy preferred to breakfast with just Georgiana.

Georgiana was smearing marmalade on toast and humming softly. Darcy held a letter in his hand. "Max"—his land steward—"has a question about the Merrydew's tenancy. You'll travel on with the Bingleys."

Georgiana put down her toast. Darcy folded up the letter and tucked it into his breast pocket. The Merrydews were good tenants, but they had no money sense. Darcy wondered if he should send Mr. Jetter, his house steward, to reorganize their books.

Georgiana said, "Can't I go with you?"

Darcy looked at her in surprise.

"I'm not taking the carriage," he said. "You'll be able to see Oxford with the Bingleys and come on with them."

Georgiana picked at the tablecloth. Darcy nabbed another piece of toast and pushed back from the table.

"I could follow you in the carriage," Georgiana said.

Darcy looked at her bent head. He was missing something, something Georgiana wanted and wasn't saying. He took a deep breath.

"The Bingleys are good company."

"Oh, yes."

"You enjoy your time with them."

"Yes."

"And Mrs. Annesley is here."

"She's very nice," Georgiana said.

Then what was the problem?

Relationships, Darcy had discovered in the last four months, were quagmires filled with implications, suggestions, and underlying messages. Darcy wasn't good at any of it.

"I thought you thought I was getting better," Georgiana had said just three days before after Darcy commented on her singing. He had stared at her, realizing that his comment had been unintentionally critical. He had stammered an explanation, and Georgiana had nodded gravely. But until she said what she did, Darcy hadn't heard how he sounded at all.

Sometimes he wondered why Elizabeth hadn't just laughed him out of the parsonage when he started to propose.

Georgiana said to the tablecloth: "They compliment me a lot."

"Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst?"

"Yes."

"Compliments are nice."

Georgiana gave him a skeptical look, an echo, Darcy realized, of one of his expressions. He grinned. "They are a little overwhelming," he agreed. "I'll tell Charles to take you and Mrs. Annesley in his carriage. Bingley's sisters can have mine."

And that was all—she was happy again; he could go. Darcy went out of the room, wondering if Elizabeth would have figured out Georgiana's problem before Georgiana even mentioned it.

Probably. Yes.

In his breast pocket, next to the letter from Darcy's steward, was a letter Darcy had begun to Elizabeth. He would never send this one; she had rejected him: he knew his place. But there were times when Darcy yearned to explain to her that he hadn't known he was being rude—in Hertfordshire, at Rosings. These days, when he looked back on their conversations in those places—replaying his remarks—he could only wince.

If you had behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.

He hadn't. He'd taken everything for granted: Elizabeth's understanding; her compliance. He'd never tried to woo her. She might as well have been Mrs. Reynolds or Max or any of his other servants. She might as well have been Charles. You didn't ask a woman to marry you without, at least, giving her some reason to agree.

He stayed overnight in Leicester and arrived at Pemberley in the morning. He didn't go straight to the house but met Max at the Merrydews. Mr. Merrydew contritely laid down a token payment and a new rent schedule was drawn up. Afterward, Darcy spoke to George Merrydew, Jr. who shook his head over his father's business practices and advised Darcy that he was taking over the financial side of the farm. All in all, a good meeting.

Darcy rode with Max along the northern edge of the estate to examine some drainage problems. He left Max at the Chandlers—Max was married to Mr. Chandler's daughter—and cut across the estate to the Pemberley stables. He would talk to Mr. Talbot and Mrs. Reynolds about the coming guests and then he would go fishing. The Bingleys, with Georgiana, would not arrive until the next morning. He whistled as he walked from the stables to the house. He liked to have Pemberley to himself, guest-less, now and again.

"How old would you say it was?" said a voice, and Darcy turned his head to see a group of callers standing on the road, looking up at the house: a man and two women, one older, one younger. The younger woman turned, and Darcy looked straight into Elizabeth Bennet's eyes.

His brain stopped working. He said something. She said something. He got the impression that he was asking the same questions over and over and over. Elizabeth answered without looking at him. He stopped talking, nodded, and walked on.

Loomis, the head gardener, came alongside him, saying, "We didn't know you'd be back today, sir," and Darcy explained about Max and the Merrydews; Loomis praised the summer weather "especially in regard to the rhubarb." Darcy "uh huhed"; Loomis saluted and walked off as they reached the house.

Darcy stood in the cool north portico, staring blankly into the foyer. She was here. She was at Pemberley. She must—she couldn't—why was she here?

She was with friends obviously or relations. On tour. But why would she be here?

"Hello, sir," Mrs. Reynolds said, coming into the foyer. "We expected you tomorrow."

"I had to confer with Max."

"We've had some callers," Mrs. Reynolds took his dust coat. "The young lady is acquainted with you."

"Yes."

"They greatly admired the house. I took them into the gallery." Mrs. Reynolds twinkled. "The young lady praised your portrait."

"Did she?" Darcy said.

Mrs. Reynolds beamed and went away, and Darcy stood in the portico, feeling like several tons of rock had landed on his head and been gently brushed away.

Elizabeth was here—at his house—on his land. Elizabeth admired the house. Elizabeth admired his portrait.

Darcy went into the washroom in the servant's wing and scrubbed his hands and face. He tidied himself, then ran outside to the gardens. He cornered Loomis.

"The callers—where did they go?"

Loomis had seen them head towards the wood. Darcy followed the walk, stopping gardeners as he went. Elizabeth and her party had crossed the bridge and were examining the trout stream. Darcy followed. He saw the man first, speaking to Josh, who maintained the stream. A tallish woman with an elegant, if tired, air stood beside him, smiling faintly. Elizabeth was strolling in Darcy's direction along the bank, her eyes following the flow of the water. Darcy wanted to stop and watch her but reminded himself to be sociable.

He approached. He greeted her. He was less stunned this time though still unbelieving. He watched her face, listened to her tone. She didn't seem angry. In fact, she was praising Pemberley.

"It's delightful," she said. "The coppice-wood we came through is full of charming windings. I'd love to explore—" she flushed, falling silent.

She meant it. She wasn't prone to flattery, even at her friendliest. He should show her the orchard and the duck pond. But she had friends with her, and he requested an introduction.

They were her uncle and aunt, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. Darcy was surprised. He'd understood Mr. Gardiner was a tradesman. He must have a thriving business indeed if he could take off several weeks during the summer. The Gardiners shook hands with Darcy, commenting civilly on Pemberley's grounds and answering Darcy's questions. They were staying at the inn at Lambton since Mrs. Gardiner grew up in Lambton. Everything they said was generous, to the point, friendly.

"I've never seen such a well-stocked stream," Mr. Gardiner said. "Your man says you keep it clear of oaks—"

Darcy nodded, and they began to discuss stream maintenance with Josh chiming in occasionally. Mr. Gardiner, Darcy found, was an avid fisherman, so Darcy offered him the use of fishing tackle "if you want to fish at Pemberley during your stay."

"The best spot is there below the bridge," he added, and Mr. Gardiner began to describe useful fishing techniques. They all stopped to admire some water-plants, and then Mrs. Gardiner took her husband's arm. Darcy found himself beside Elizabeth.

She had been unnaturally silent, and he studied her with concern, still amazed that she should be here.

"We didn't know any of the family would be at Pemberley," she said. "We wouldn't have called—"

Of course not. Darcy understood that. But at any other time, Pemberley was open to callers. "I came ahead to speak to my steward," he said. "I'm traveling with my sister—and those who claim an acquaintance with you—Mr. Bingley and his sisters."

He stopped then, wondering if she would refer to the letter, but she only nodded. He said, "Will you allow me, or do I ask too much, to introduce my sister to you?"

She lifted eyes to his face then, astonished, pleased, and Darcy wanted to shout his relief. She wasn't angry at all! "Yes," she said, and they walked on.

She liked the grounds. She liked the house. She wanted to meet his sister. Darcy could hardly believe his luck. He stopped himself from demanding confirmation: Did she really like Pemberley's views? Had she really told Mrs. Reynolds she liked his portrait? Did she really want to meet Georgiana? But Elizabeth didn't lie or fib. He could trust she meant what she said.

They arrived at the house before her aunt and uncle. "Would you like to step in?" Darcy asked, thinking he could show her the improvements he'd made to the flue in the drawing room fireplace. But she had already seen the house, and she declined. So Darcy stood beside her, watching the glowing summer sky and thinking how marvelous it was that Elizabeth liked Pemberley.

"Have you visited Matlock?" she said, and they discussed Derbyshire towns until the Gardiners arrived.

"I'll bring my sister to visit once she arrives," he said, and Elizabeth assented.

He could hardly believe his luck—Elizabeth in Derbyshire; Elizabeth staying in Lambton; Elizabeth here at Pemberley. He could never have imagined this after that terrible interview at Rosings.

She had read the letter—she must have read the letter. Had she believed him? Given him the benefit of the doubt? She must have, enough for her to be here at least, to not be angry with him. He would match her civility; he would show her he knew how to behave like a gentleman. He strode into the house and ordered a suitable repast. He hardly noticed eating it, and he went to bed with a more untroubled mind than he'd had in the last four months.

The Bingleys and Georgiana arrived the next morning. Mrs. Reynolds showed Charles, Mrs. Hurst, and Miss Bingley to their rooms. Darcy followed Georgiana to her sitting room.

"Do you remember me mentioning the Bennets?" he said, prepared to repeat his previous descriptions, but, "Yes," Georgiana said.

"Miss Elizabeth is staying at Lambton with her aunt and uncle. I'd like you to meet her."

Georgiana looked at him, and for a fleeting moment, Darcy thought she seemed amused. But no, he was reading Elizabeth's expressions into his sister's face, that was all.

"I would be pleased," Georgiana said.

"This afternoon," Darcy said. "If you're not too tired."

"No," Georgiana said, still looking at him.

"How was the trip?"

"I listened to Charles tell me all about the beauties of Hertfordshire," she said.

If he didn't know better, he'd think his sister was becoming coy.

Mrs. Annesley came in then; Darcy requested Georgiana's presence in half an hour—she would be prompt, his sister was not given to tardiness, thank goodness—and went down to the stables. He met Charles there, admiring Darcy's latest purchases (Charles never spent more than ten minutes unpacking).

"Where are you off to?" he said when Darcy ordered the curricle.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet is visiting the area," Darcy said. "I am going to introduce Georgiana to her."

He hadn't considered how Charles would react to mention of a Bennet sister, if Charles would be upset or shame-faced, but Charles smiled hugely and said, "Oh, let me accompany you," and Darcy agreed.

Georgiana came down, dressed in visiting clothes, and the three of them squashed into the front of the curricle. It was a beautiful day of crisp sunshine and cool breezes. Charles told Darcy about the trip from Oxford, nudging Georgiana to confirm his descriptions, and they drew up outside the Lambton inn well before the dinner hour.

Darcy went in first with Georgiana. Elizabeth and the Gardiners were waiting in the inn's upstairs parlor. Darcy greeted the Gardiners and brought Georgiana forward to meet Elizabeth. Georgiana found it hard to meet new people, but he trusted Elizabeth would put her at ease. He was proved correct. Elizabeth was asking sensible questions—the kinds of questions Georgiana could answer easily—and Georgiana was answering them.

"You spend your summer months at Pemberley?" Elizabeth asked her.

"Yes," Georgiana said.

Perfect.

He fetched Bingley who came in with hands outstretched. "Hello, Miss Elizabeth. How splendid to see you again!"

Darcy turned to the Gardiners who posed several queries in their easygoing way. Yes, Darcy had met Miss Elizabeth in Hertfordshire. She was an excellent pianist and singer. She danced well. Did they know Miss Elizabeth had nursed her sister at Netherfield for a week? The Gardiners exchanged a glance, but they were well-bred people; Darcy wasn't afraid of strictures from them.

Elizabeth was looking towards him, and she smiled—though her gaze seemed quizzical. Darcy sat beside Bingley, who was still commenting on the pleasure of meeting Elizabeth. "How are all the dear friends in Hertfordshire? How is your family?"

Elizabeth answered his questions. Georgiana put her hand on Darcy's sleeve. He bent his head to her:

"They could come for dinner some night."

"You should ask them yourself," Darcy said gently.

Georgiana made the invitation; Mrs. Gardiner accepted for the day after tomorrow. On the way out, Darcy asked Mr. Gardiner to come fishing at noon the next day. Mr. Gardiner agreed.

"Isn't it remarkable?!" Bingley said in the curricle. "What a small world we live in! I never thought to see any of the Bennet sisters again."

Darcy gave him a considering look. It had been eight months since Bingley wanted to offer for Miss Bennet. Darcy had encountered him several times since, and Bingley had always seemed in good spirits. Darcy assumed Bingley had transferred his affections to a London beauty.

He felt suddenly ashamed. Bingley was impulsive but not shallow. Bingley had cared for Miss Bennet. Apparently, he still cared. Was I wrong to interfere there? For many months now, Darcy had deplored his deception in the matter, but he had not supposed Bingley's thoughts still dwelt on that tall, serene woman of limitless composure. It occurred to Darcy that Miss Bennet might even be a good balance to Bingley. He would need to speak to him.

There was no time for private conversation that night or the next morning. Darcy had to confer with Loomis and Josh about the fishing. Mrs. Reynolds, he knew, had sorted out the guests' needs, but he queried Mr. Talbot about the cook's stores (they were full). He rose early the next morning to visit the Sheldons—Mr. Sheldon wanted to purchase some trees from the estate proper; Darcy was inclined to agree, but he wanted to check the Sheldon land first. When he returned to Pemberley, Mr. Gardiner had arrived, so Darcy went immediately to the trout stream and had a fascinating conversation about gravel beds with Mr. Gardiner and Max.

Towards the end of the conversation, Mr. Gardiner said, "My wife and niece are visiting your sister this morning."

That was excessively civil. Darcy should return to the house to thank them. He said so and thought Mr. Gardiner looked amused.

When he entered the saloon at Pemberley, Elizabeth and Georgiana were sitting with Mrs. Annesley and Mrs. Gardiner near the windows. He crossed the room.

"Good morning, Mr. Darcy," Miss Bingley called. She sat at the other end of the saloon with Mrs. Hurst. Darcy nodded to them and put a hand on Georgiana's shoulder.

Mrs. Gardiner glanced up at him. "We understand Miss Darcy is an accomplished musician."

"Miss Elizabeth is also quite accomplished," Darcy said.

"Miss Elizabeth likes Haydn," Georgiana said softly.

"You admire Haydn too, don't you, dear?" said Mrs. Annesley and gave Georgiana an encouraging glance. "Which piece in particular?"

"'Le Matin,'" Georgiana said, and Elizabeth said, "Oh, yes, it's so cheerful, don’t you think?"

Darcy decided Mrs. Annesley deserved a raise.

Georgiana was smiling at Elizabeth's analysis of Haydn when Miss Bingley cut in:

"Pray, Miss Eliza, has not Colonel Forster's militia removed from Meryton? That must be a great loss to your family."

Darcy frowned and glanced at Elizabeth. If she'd read the letter, if she'd believed the letter, she would have cut off any close relationship she had with Wickham. Darcy trusted her that far. But he had no guarantee that she had read or believed anything he wrote.

She didn't appear disconcerted, however. "Yes," she said, "the town greatly misses the militia's business," and returned immediately to a discussion of symphonies with Georgiana.

Darcy arranged for his carriage to take Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth back to Lambton. Elizabeth stood beside him as they waited for the groom, and he thought how much he had missed her brown curls and amused mouth. She was a warm presence against his shoulder—as natural there as everything at Pemberley. She said, "Your sister is lovely," and Darcy said, "Yes, she is," and their voices combined with the clop of the horse's hoofs and far-off gurgle of the stream. Darcy returned to the house feeling more content than he had even before he visited Hertfordshire.

Entering the saloon, he found Georgiana sitting stiff and unresponsive on the sofa while Miss Bingley held forth on some subject. To his astonishment, Darcy realized she was criticizing Elizabeth. On and on she went, disparaging Elizabeth's complexion and features and eyes.

Darcy could only wonder at the woman's lack of decorum. This was not Netherfield where Miss Bingley's notions held sway. Elizabeth and Miss Bingley were Georgiana's guests. Georgiana should rebuke Miss Bingley, but Darcy didn't expect it of her. Setting aside Georgiana's shyness, she was hardly prepared to challenge so much rudeness. Darcy listened to the stream of petty insults and wondered that Charles could have such a sister. For the first time, he considered that Miss Bingley may not have been the best person to consult in November about Charles' feelings.

"I believe you thought Miss Elizabeth rather pretty at one time," Miss Bingley said to him, and now, he could answer: "Yes, but that was only when I first knew her; for many months since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance."

He couldn't storm out, but he did recollect an urgent need to confer with Mr. Jetter about some Pemberley business and left the room.

Later that night, after dinner (Miss Bingley was excessively silent, so they listened to Mrs. Hurst and Charles discuss shooting), Darcy wondered if Georgiana had caught the earlier reference to Wickham. Wickham hadn't entered the corps when Georgiana agreed to elope with him, but of course, that information was known. On the way to his room, Darcy saw a light beneath Georgiana's sitting room door and tapped.

"Come in."

Georgiana sat in a window seat. Darcy said, "Are you well?" and sighed with relief when she turned a tranquil face towards him. There had been many tears as well as self-reproaches in the months after the aborted elopement. Darcy had felt ineffectual. He hadn't returned Georgiana to school until her mood improved, and he'd found her a suitable guardian. He had submitted Mrs. Annesley to several long interviews with both he and Mrs. Reynolds.

Mrs. Annesley had proved a trustworthy and kind guardian. Georgiana was still cautious, even somber, but tonight, she looked reflective, absorbed, rather than sad.

She said, "I like her."

Darcy settled into an armchair. He knew what "she" Georgiana was referring to.

"She's genuine," Georgiana said.

Yes, she was. They were probably the only two siblings in the whole of England who understood the substantial worth of that quality. Brother and sister smiled at each other.

Georgiana turned back to the window. "I'd liked a sister," Georgiana said to it.

Without a doubt, his sister was becoming coy.

Darcy's Point of View: Hunting for Wickham

This section is so long, I've divided it in half: "Hunting for Wickham" and "Dealing with Wickham." I wrote it all together though, so I will post both halves at the same time. Both halves could also be titled "And then everything went ka-plooey."

Darcy Learns About Elizabeth's Troubles and Goes Hunting for Wickham (but doesn't actually kill him)

The next morning, Darcy rode to Lambton alone to see Elizabeth.

He was not going to ask her to marry him: a proposal would embarrass and alarm her. But he could improve her opinion of him. He wasn't thinking further ahead than that.

He looped the horse's reins through the hitching post and requested a servant to announce him. He followed close on the servant's heels and had to jerk to a halt when the servant suddenly stopped. The door to the parlor had opened; Elizabeth darted through.

She was shaking. She saw the servant, then him, and blurted, "I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment on business that cannot be delayed; I have not an instant to lose."

Darcy begged her to send the servant, and she did, retreating into the parlor and collapsing onto a chair. She was white and breathing unsteadily. Darcy offered her wine. She refused; she had heard dreadful news from Longbourn, she said, and started to cry.

Darcy stood over her, aghast. There was nothing he could do. He forced himself to sit and clenched his hands on his knees.

Elizabeth explained: her youngest sister had eloped with Mr. Wickham. It was unlikely that Wickham would marry her. "I might have prevented it!" Elizabeth cried. "I who knew what he was."

Darcy flinched, but she was not accusing him. She was reproaching herself.

"Is it certain, absolutely certain?" Darcy said.

"Yes!" Wickham and Lydia had left Brighton together. They had been traced to London. Her father had gone to London to search for them. Her sister had written for Mr. Gardiner's assistance. The Gardiners and Elizabeth would hopefully leave soon for Longbourn. "I have not the smallest hope," Elizabeth said and Darcy's insides twisted at the wretched unhappiness in her face and voice.

He had never felt so powerless. He hated this feeling. With Georgiana, the danger had been past. But this—this—

"My eyes were opened to his real character. But I was afraid of doing too much. Wretched, wretched mistake!"

And still she did not reproach him, though her words could have been Darcy's own. He had known Wickham's character. He had done nothing, and now this sister of Elizabeth's was paying for Darcy's inaction.

He realized he was pacing and stopped himself. He was useless here. He could do nothing to ameliorate Elizabeth's pain. In any case, this was a family matter; she would much prefer her uncle and aunt to Darcy's company.

He made his excuses, saw her gather herself to respond with courtesy. She requested secrecy, and he gave it: she didn't need to ask. He looked at her carefully before he left; she was white and shaky, but she would be alright until the Gardiners came. He ran down the inn steps, unhitched the horse.

This was where reticence got you. This was what happened when you protected yourself and your family from other people's snickers and sidelong glances and expressions of concern. Darcy had let Wickham operate freely amongst reputable folk. What had he thought would happen?

Ashamed, he realized he had assumed others would be wise enough to avoid the worst—as Darcy had with Georgiana. But he had only avoided the worst with Georgiana by luck. Perhaps the Bennets, the Lucases, and Colonel Forster should have recognized Wickham's basic insincerity, but no one would make the leap from insincerity to rake—not when Darcy remained so profoundly silent on the subject.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

It would not have been difficult to warn them. He would not have had to reveal much. A hint in Mrs. Bennet's ear would have exiled Wickham from all good homes. A word in Colonel Forster's ear would have given that military gentleman reliable, even necessary, information about one of his officers.

Stupid.

He knew before he reached Pemberley what he needed to do, and he needed to do it. His London solicitors would follow instructions, but Darcy needed to move, act, do something.

He encountered Charles at the stables. "I'm called to London," he said as much to Hutchins, the stable master, as to Charles. "I'll leave tomorrow morning."

"Very good, sir," Hutchins said while Charles said, "What's wrong? Do you want me to accompany you?"

"I can't provide details. Please, stay on, enjoy yourself. I'll return as soon as I can."

Charles looked concerned, and Darcy felt a wrench of disappointment. He would have liked to confide in Charles; he would have liked Charles' help in London. But what he told Charles, Charles would tell his sisters, and Darcy had to protect Elizabeth's reputation for as long as possible. Wickham's actions had tainted her, had tainted her whole family, including Miss Bennet; if Charles ever intended to propose to Miss Bennet, he could not know of this calamity.

Darcy alerted Mrs. Reynolds to his journey. She sent his valet to pack a valise, and Darcy went in search of Georgiana. She had escaped the Bingley sisters and was seated in the Yew garden, embroidering with Mrs. Annesley. Mrs. Annesley agreed good-humoredly when Darcy requested a moment alone with his sister.

"I have to go to London," Darcy said when Mrs. Annesley had departed.

"Why?"

"The Gardiners have been called back to Longbourn. There's been a misfortune in the Bennet family."

"Oh, no," Georgiana said, and he took her hand.

"I think I can fix it," he said. "But Miss Elizabeth had to leave also."

"Has someone died?"

Darcy pondered. They were a family of almost abnormal privacy, yet he had to tell someone even if the news hurt Georgiana.

"Wickham has run off with Elizabeth's youngest sister."

He wasn't sure what he expected: a swoon, perhaps tears, but Georgiana only breathed a little quicker. She frowned.

"I have to find Mrs. Younge," Darcy said, rising.

"You should ask Gloria Faintree," Georgiana said.

He re-sat abruptly. Georgiana's color was high, but she was serious and determined.

"They were friends," Georgiana said.

Gloria Faintree was a servant in the London house, had been when Mrs. Younge was Georgiana's guardian.

Darcy said, "Did she—?"

"No," Georgiana said quickly. "She wasn't at Ramsgate. I don't think she ever met Wickham, but she might still be in contact with Mrs. Younge."

"Yes." Darcy squeezed his sister's shoulders. Georgiana smiled at him sadly:

"I guess I'm not the only silly girl in England."

He'd been right to tell her. If he'd thought more about the situation, he wouldn't have said anything—but Georgiana had faced the news with maturity. And she had helped him.

So much for well-meaning reticence.

He had meetings with Max and various tenants that afternoon. More meetings were scheduled for the rest of the week. He discussed with Max which meetings could be postponed until Darcy returned and which Max should carry out on his own. They discussed all the estate business Darcy had meant to tackle over the next month. Max took notes. Darcy trusted him; Max would do alright.

He returned to Pemberley late. His valise was ready. He slept for a few hours, waking at dawn. Mrs. Reynolds had packed breakfast for him. The carriage was waiting. They departed Pemberley at a muffled trot. Darcy meant to make it to London in one day, which meant several stops to exchange horses, but speed mattered. The more time passed, the more likely the scandal would break. Darcy would lose any leverage he possessed with Wickham, and Elizabeth's reputation would be ruined.

It wasn't going to happen. Darcy could fix this. He would fix this.

They arrived in London near midnight. His groom, Paul, would return to Pemberley tomorrow, retrieving the Pemberley horses on the way. Darcy collapsed into bed and slept until late morning.

He asked the housekeeper to send in Gloria Faintree while he ate breakfast. As he was finishing, a short, plump maid entered the room. She froze like a hare at the end of the table. Only her fingers moved, endlessly pleating her apron.

Darcy said, "Do you know Mrs. Younge's whereabouts?"

The girl opened her mouth and whispered something. Darcy said, "What's that?"

"I've heard, sir," the girl said in a slightly louder voice, "that she's in Edward Street, sir—she keeps lodgings."

"Thank you," Darcy said. The girl was shivering now. He didn't think he'd been unduly harsh. Perhaps she thought Darcy would dismiss her.

"Do you have dealings with her?" he said.

"Oh, no, sir. I did, sir, when she was Miss Georgiana's companion. Before. She wrote me after when she moved to Edward Street—I never responded, sir."

"Good," Darcy said. "Thank you," he added and smiled, and the maid smiled awkwardly in return.

He went to Edward Street. Mrs. Younge wasn't there; he told the maid he would return but didn't leave his name. He loitered in the area, taking refreshment at a tap house that overlooked the length of the street.

A hackney carriage pulled up to Mrs. Younge's door. A trim woman in a velvet lined gown descended with several boxes: Mrs. Younge. Darcy paid for his drink and went out. He was at the lodging house door almost as soon as it had closed. He knew he was bordering on incivility, but the longer he waited, the greater the chance that Wickham would leave London with or without the Bennet girl. He knocked. The maid answered.

"Oh, hullo," she said. "Mrs. Younge has just returned—"

He stepped in, handing over his card. His name meant nothing to the maid. She went into a room at the end of the narrow foyer. Darcy waited, a large immovable object. Voices murmured: the maid's, cheery, impassive; Mrs. Younge's, surprised, alarmed. Darcy sighed, crossed the foyer, and opened the parlor door.

"You were not invited in, Mr. Darcy!" Mrs. Younge cried.

She was a compact, stylish woman. She exuded an aura of tactful refinement: a veneer, Darcy knew, but no doubt, it impressed her lodgers.

"I am looking for Wickham," Darcy said as the maid, brows raised in deliberate disinterest, sidled past him out the door.

"Why do you imagine he is here?"

Because Wickham always kept a guarantee, a woman he could fall back on for money and support. Darcy didn't say so. He needed this woman's good will, at least for the moment. He took a deep breath and said as civilly as he could, "I want to help him."

"You?" She snorted and then looked annoyed at her lack of dignity.

"He's going to need help. I can improve his situation. Tell him that."

"He will, of course, leap to trust you." Her sneer was obvious.

"My word is trustworthy."

She pursed her lips and looked unbelieving.

"More than his," Darcy said. "He never married you."

She reddened, and Darcy cursed himself for losing his temper; he might as well speak the truth now: "He's taken another bride."

"He won't marry her." The veneer was nearly gone now. Mrs. Younge was almost triumphant. Darcy quelled his disgust.

He said, "He wants a wealthier wife?"

She shrugged and rose, recovering some of her poise. "The maid will show you out."

He didn't move. He didn't understand why any woman would associate with Wickham once his character was exposed. Did Mrs. Younge honestly think Wickham would repay her devotion?

"He'll gamble away the money before you ever see it," he said.

That gave her pause.

Darcy said, "I am willing to compensate you for any information."

She considered, eyes half-closed. Darcy watched her, at a loss. He could not comprehend a woman such as this—without decency or self-respect or basic kindness.

"My knowledge is valuable," she said, and Darcy understood. He took coins out of his purse and set them on a table near the door.

"This is a partial payment," he told her.

"I'll see what I can manage."

He could do nothing more except go. Wickham and the youngest Bennet could be anywhere. They would surface eventually; Darcy must find them before the world heard of their whereabouts which meant he had to rely on Mrs. Younge's greed.

He returned to his house, paced in his study. There was no guarantee that Mrs. Younge would contact Wickham, no guarantee that Wickham would contact him. It was possible that Wickham had married Lydia, but if he had, he would have contacted Mr. Bennet for funds. Darcy should contact the Gardiners to find out if Wickham had made such a request.

He couldn't. He had nothing to offer them. He would be acting out of self-indulgence, a desire to share his burdens, to check on Elizabeth's health, her state of mind. He couldn't go to the Gardiners until he knew for certain that everything was fixed.

A message came from Mrs. Younge the next evening: "I have located your missing friend. I will give you more information if you call tomorrow at 11:00."

Darcy went. He handed over more coins, and Mrs. Younge gave him an address. He hoped it was valid, that he wouldn't have to return for another address for which he would have to pay more money. He didn't like being this vulnerable to rapacious people.

He was scowling when he finally came face to face with Wickham.

Darcy's Point of View: Dealing with Wickham

Darcy Finds Wickham, and Wickham Behaves More or Less as You Might Expect

"Hello," Wickham said. "I didn't know you were in London, Darcy."

"Do you have the youngest Bennet girl with you?

"The 'youngest Bennet girl'? Do you mean, Lydia Bennet?"

Darcy waited.

"I didn't expect anyone to know yet. Well, well, well, the rumors sure spread quickly. Did Miss Bingley burn your ears with scandal?"

"Why her?" Darcy said. "The family is not wealthy—"

"I'm not going to marry the girl." Wickham laughed. "I thought you knew me better than that."

"Why take her at all?" Darcy barked. "You had a good commission."

Wickham looked rueful. "And debts," he said. "Rather a lot of them. Let me tell you, Darcy, soldiers play for high stakes."

"So—" Darcy boggled. "Are you hoping the militia will just forget you owe its members money?"

"I'm resigning my commission." Wickham grinned. "Not a lawyer, not a soldier, not a vicar—due to you, of course—"

"You gave up that occupation," Darcy snapped, wishing he wouldn't react to Wickham's lies. He said as calmly as he could, "I want to see Miss Lydia."

"She's not your type."

Darcy waited. Wickham shrugged. "Upstairs."

Wickham was lodged near the Strand. The house had several apartments, grouped together around a dim stairwell. A single servant—there was also a live-in cook—showed Darcy to the upper room of Wickham's suite.

"Stay," Darcy told the servant. She gave him a baffled look but shrugged and followed him through the door.

A young, buxom woman sat by the windows, playing with a kitten. She rose as Darcy entered. He recognized her; he recognized too that, like Georgiana, she was well-formed despite her youth. Darcy felt a sudden aching desire to go down and kill the blithe man sitting in the room below. But that would not help anyone.

"Oh, la," Miss Lydia said, "it's Mr. Darcy."

"Hello, Miss Lydia."

"Why are you here?"

"I want you to return to your family."

"Why?

Darcy took a deep breath. "They are worried about you. Your sister, Miss Elizabeth, was very upset when she learned you had eloped."

"Jealous, no doubt," Miss Lydia said. "I managed to capture Wickham's affections, not her."

"Are you sure he cares for you?"

Miss Lydia was not offended but rather astonished. "Of course. He gave me Bert—" she held out the kitten. It looked like a product of alley cat.

Darcy found himself exchanging a glance with the servant who shrugged.

He tried again: "He hasn't married you."

"He's just waiting to get some money that was promised him."

Darcy stared at her. She was possibly the most non-thinking creature he had ever met. And yet, there was something ingenuous about her; she was amiable if exasperating.

He went down to Wickham's sitting room, towing the interested servant behind him. It was a wise precaution. Wickham was ready with his smutty accusations, "Well, if you insist on seeing Lydia alone—" but stopped when he saw the servant.

"How much are your debts?" Darcy said, and Wickham told him: it was a huge amount, but it could have been worse.

"I'm assuming some are debts of honor," Darcy said. Wickham made a face. Darcy was suddenly fed up—with him, this place, the foolish girl upstairs—except Elizabeth's reputation was at risk, and Elizabeth loved her little sister.

He said steadily, "You will draw up a list of your debts. You will remain here in this house. I don't have to remind you that duels, despite the pamphleteers, are still fought in England—over debts of honor."

Wickham blanched. Darcy exited after the servant and gave his feelings some vent by slamming the sitting room door.

At the outside door, the servant said, "Where can I reach you, sir, if he tries to decamp?"

Darcy looked down. The servant, a worn woman of any where from sixteen to thirty, looked back at him. Her clothes were grimy; her hair untidy. She had clearly been underfed for most of her life, but her eyes were lively, her mouth formed for laughter, and Darcy's heart suddenly felt a little lighter. Not everyone was taken in by Wickham.

"What's your name?"

"Kat, sir. Kat Giles."

He gave Miss Giles his card and several coins and went down the street, his objectives set out clearly before him: he was going to fix this!

He paid a visit to his solicitors the next morning. Now that he knew the amount of Wickham's debts, he knew what he could offer to gain Wickham's compliance. He knew, also, what Wickham would try for, but debts of honor were not like ordinary bills, not even for Wickham. If certain soldiers learned of Wickham's whereabouts, they would show far less restraint than Darcy. Tempting to tell them. However, they would also care little for Lydia Bennet's situation.

Darcy would handle everything. That meant paying out a great deal of money. He did not intend to raise his rents or to let go any of his servants. No one under his protection would suffer for Wickham's behavior. He would have to sell Munchen Farm. It was not part of the entailed estate but rather a farm his father had purchased during his lifetime. The land servants there would have to be relocated to other parts of the Pemberley estate. Luckily, harvest time was near when extra laborers were hired by the Pemberley estate proper and by many of Darcy's tenants. The Munchen Farm servants would make up the extra labor force. Darcy would worry about their further employment come winter.

The solicitors were not pleased. Darcy wasn't pleased, but there was no point in dwelling on the offensiveness of the situation. The farm must be sold; the money must be made available. Wickham's name was mentioned, and the solicitors became frigid with disapproval.

"I would suggest the money not be given directly to Mr. Wickham," the head solicitor, Mr. Garrison said.

"It won't be," Darcy promised.

He returned to Wickham's apartments. "They've been fighting," Miss Giles told Darcy, skipping up the stairs ahead of him. "She's not so sure of marriage since you came."

"Would she leave?" Darcy said, knowing the conversation was improper and not much caring.

"No, sir. He as good as told her he didn't care if she left, but she won't go. That age, they're sure they can get love just by wanting it."

Yes.

Wickham had made a list of his largest debts. Darcy looked them over, demanding particulars, receipts (some of which Wickham had).

"Are you really going to save my honor?" Wickham said smugly as the day wore on.

"Once you marry Miss Lydia."

Wickham looked pained. "I could make a better marriage."

"Miss King's uncle didn't think so," Darcy said. The uncle had broken Miss King and Wickham's engagement: Darcy had gotten that piece of information from Mr. Garrison.

Wickham actually flushed, glaring.

"You need immediate relief," Darcy said. "I'm offering it."

"I'm not going to marry the chit just to clear some bills."

"I'm aware of that."

A crafty look entered Wickham's face. He smoothed it out with a pleased laugh. As Darcy had expected, he suggested Darcy give him an improbable sum which, of course, he wanted placed directly in his hands.

"Your debts will be paid," Darcy said, "through my solicitors. Money will be settled on Miss Lydia—in such a way, Wickham, that you will not be able to touch it. A better commission will be purchased for you, and a nominal amount of money will be settled on you."

Wickham protested. A pittance! How typical of Darcy not to be more generous! But all the time, there was wonder in his eyes: he knew Darcy owed him nothing. He wasn't sure why Darcy was offering such terms. But if he questioned Darcy's motives, he would lose his ability to bargain. Darcy had learned years earlier how Wickham's mind worked.

He went away with Wickham's list of debts, and when he returned the next morning, Wickham agreed to all his terms.

He must now inform the Gardiners of the arrangement, and he took a hackney carriage to Gracechurch Street. He rang the bell; a maid answered. Mr. Gardiner, she told Darcy, was engaged with Mr. Bennet.

Darcy hesitated. He didn't dislike Mr. Bennet. The man was a poor landowner but not actually neglectful. He would accept the terms Darcy had drawn up—and the money. In fact, he would need to pay Wickham's bills in Meryton.

The maid was waiting. Darcy just needed to say, "Tell Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Bennet that Mr. Darcy has called with information on Miss Lydia Bennet," and he would be welcomed into the current conference.

Darcy couldn't do it—he didn't know Mr. Bennett, not really. He didn't dislike him, but he didn't have full confidence in him. He did have full confidence, he realized, in Mr. Gardiner. Mr. Gardiner would be reasonable and objective. Darcy could work with Mr. Gardiner.

"I will return at a later date," he said and went to the London house.

He ate a light meal and slept fitfully, woke early. He was washing his face with cold water from the night before when he realized he had another reason for avoiding Mr. Bennet:

No one in Meryton could know what he'd done. The Gardiners were trustworthy. The Bennet parents were not. Elizabeth's reputation would be no better off if Darcy's part was known than if he had never played a part at all. Lydia must be removed to the Gardiners' home as soon as possible; the world must believe she had been there since she left Brighton.

Elizabeth, perhaps, had a right to the whole truth, but Darcy did not have the right to force the information on her. Let her believe her uncle had fixed everything.

He ate a small breakfast and took the carriage to Gracechurch Street. Mr. Gardiner was not engaged. He would be down directly. Darcy was admitted and left in Mr. Gardiner's study. He sank into a deep armchair and felt a sudden onslaught of exhaustion. It was almost over. It was almost fixed. Elizabeth's reputation was safe. No one, except Lydia, was going to pay for Darcy's mistakes. Lydia, one could argue, didn't seem to know she was paying. Darcy knew, however, and was sorry for it.

He was half-asleep when Mr. Gardiner entered. He roused himself as Mr. Gardiner leapt forward hand out. "Mr. Darcy—what brings you here?" and then, before Darcy could respond, "We had such a pleasant time with you at Pemberley. We were sorry to leave so abruptly—and so was my niece."

Darcy nodded. "I hope you will visit again," he said. "I am not here, however, to offer an invitation. I have found Miss Lydia Bennet."

He explained everything. He was right; Mr. Gardiner was quick to appreciate the important point: the need to secure the marriage through the careful distribution of money, little of which would pass directly through Wickham's hands.

The only argument Darcy had with Mr. Gardiner—and later, Mrs. Gardiner—was about who the money should come from. Mr. Gardiner wanted to take on the whole expense. Darcy had looked over the Gardiners' home; it was large, well-proportioned with comfortable, tasteful furnishings. He admired the paintings on the wall, and the well-stocked bookcases. Mr. Gardiner was a well-off man. But he was not well-off to the tune of 9,653 pounds. He had, moreover, five children. Darcy would not allow this family, this overly generous family, to burden itself financially. Darcy would manage the whole; it was, in any case, his problem. He would fix it.

Lydia would come to Gracechurch Street. Darcy had to return to Pemberley, but he would come back for the wedding at which point Wickham would receive his commission and the money promised him for his own use (it would be given to help him "start a new life with his bride," but Darcy knew Wickham would spend it on himself; hence, the individual settlement on Lydia).

"Oh, you are obstinate," Mrs. Gardiner said to Darcy, half fretful, half laughing.

"That is not the worst of faults," Darcy said.

"I could also accuse you of a lack of liveliness," she said, "but I think marriage would cure that," and she kissed his cheek.

He returned to Pemberley two days later. Before he went, he issued an order to his London butler, Mr. Poole. Mr. Poole was to visit a certain house—Darcy gave him the address—and hired the services, should she agree, of a servant woman named Miss Katrina Giles.

Darcy's Point of View: Last Chapter!

Darcy Decides to Propose to Elizabeth (Again) and Then Takes Awhile Getting Around to It

Charles intended to return to Netherfield for the shooting season. His sisters were going on to Scarborough.

"You'll come to Netherfield, won't you?" Charles said to Darcy, half-pleading, half-embarrassed.

Darcy agreed. He and Charles had not had a private chat since Darcy returned to Pemberley. Charles had not mentioned the Bennet sisters, and Darcy had wanted to forget the subject: he was hardly in a position, now, to court Elizabeth.

But Charles' suit still had merit. If Darcy went with him, he could see for himself how Miss Bennet felt. He could encourage Charles if Charles needed encouragement.

They arrived at Netherfield. They went shooting. Darcy walked the grounds and spoke to the land steward who seemed rather depressed, but Darcy couldn't summon up energy to badger Charles about Netherfield's land.

Finally, they visited the Bennets. Charles proposed going as if the thought had just that moment occurred to him. Darcy smiled inwardly.

Mrs. Bennet, of course, was ecstatic to see Charles. Charles flushed and sat down near Miss Bennet. Darcy glanced at Elizabeth. She had greeted him, but she was focused now on her sewing. She didn't look at him. He asked after the Gardiners. She answered in a stilted manner.

Darcy sat on a hard little chair and felt miserable. What had he expected? She had suffered weeks of uncertainty when her sister eloped with Wickham. She knew how culpable Darcy was there, how much to blame for Wickham's behavior in the first place. Any kindness she may have felt at Pemberley would have been wiped well away by now.

Mrs. Bennet rattled on about Miss Lydia and the shooting season, and Darcy sat and wished he had stayed away. But there was Charles to consider. Miss Bennet seemed pleased to see Charles, if quiet. But then that was her natural bent. It was not her sister's: why was Elizabeth so silent unless Darcy's coming embarrassed her?

Charles praised Miss Bennet repeatedly on the way home—so lovely, so good-natured. Didn't Darcy think so? Darcy agreed absently.

They went to dinner at the Bennets. Elizabeth spoke to Darcy a few times which eased his depression, but it wasn't like before. Nothing would ever be like before. Except for Charles, who spend the entire evening at Miss Bennet's side. On their way back to Netherfield, he said, "Isn't she remarkable? Even you have to admit that, Darcy."

Darcy had admitted it, rather incessantly, over the past twenty-four hours. He sighed, glancing at Charles and found that Charles was watching him earnestly.

"Do you intend to court her?" Darcy said. Surely Charles had already decided.

"Yes!" The reply was explosive. "So, you approve? You didn't approve a year ago."

"No," Darcy said. "I owe you an apology there, Charles. I presumed where I shouldn't have, and I kept information from you—Miss Bennet visited your sisters in London."

"She did? They never—"

"I convinced them the connection was a bad one."

"Oh." There was silence between them, then, "You had no right to do that," Bingley said stiffly.

"I was wrong. I was also wrong about Miss Bennet's feelings."

"In what way?"

"She cares for you."

"Really?"

Darcy gazed at him wonderingly. He had expected more recriminations, but Charles only looked pleased.

"Yes," he said. "She is pleased to see you when we visit Longbourn. She prefers your company to everyone else's."

"Then if I propose," Charles said, "you won't be upset?"

"Of course not," Darcy said, rather startled, and Charles beamed.

Darcy went up to London the next day. There were papers to sign regarding the Munchen Farm. It had been purchased by Lord Crambourne who owned land in Derbyshire. Darcy was pleased: Crambourne would be a good neighbor and landlord, and Darcy hoped he would rehire many of the Munchen Farm servants.

The London house was quiet—Georgiana would not return until after Christmas—with a partial staff. One morning, Darcy encountered a maid washing the stoop. She stepped back, said, "Good morning, sir," in a laughing way, and he recognized a primly dressed, well-fed Miss Giles.

He considered calling on the Gardiners where he could pretend for an hour or two that they were all back in Pemberley in the halcyon summer days before everything Darcy wanted collapsed forever.

He returned from the solicitors one afternoon to find the London house in an uproar. Lady Catherine was in London. She had stopped by that morning to see Darcy. She was most displeased that he was out. Darcy sighed, told Mr. Poole to prepare the kitchen—Lady Catherine would insist on coming to dinner at least one night—and prepared to stay at home the following morning.

To his surprise, Lady Catherine returned that evening. She had many friends and relations in London; Darcy would have thought her wholly occupied in bothering them. Luckily, the cook, used to Lady Catherine's sudden assaults, had already restocked the larder. Darcy offered a meal; Lady Catherine swept it aside.

"I have alarming news," she announced. Darcy sat in the chilly drawing room—there was no point wasting fuel by lighting a fire—and waited for her to finish: perhaps, Lady Catherine's housekeeper had finally gotten fed up and left.

"Your name, my dear nephew, is being bandied about in the worst way."

Darcy tensed. Had she heard about Wickham and Miss Lydia (Mrs. Wickham now)? How could she have heard?

"In connection with Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"Miss Elizabeth?"

"You are right to be astonished. I could hardly believe it. The rumors people spread—you know the oldest daughter is marrying your friend—"

Darcy didn't know, but he wasn't surprised: Charles and his spontaneity. Darcy quelled a rush of envy. Good for Charles.

"—an advantageous match for her, I must say. But there is no reason for people to suppose that simply because you are friends, you would marry the sister. I can confirm absolutely there was no suggestion of such an idea when you visited Rosings—"

Only a proposal which had been rejected.

"I have done what I can to squelch this odious gossip. I even visited the girl—"

"What?"

"Can you believe it, Darcy? She knows that such a connection would be improper, but she refused to deny the rumor. Yes, I can see that astonishes you—" Darcy had risen and was gaping at his aunt. "An obvious falsehood, yet she refused to admit it. I explained about Anne—"

Darcy looked confused. What about Anne?

Lady Catherine coughed and waved a hand—

"And she still refused to acknowledge that there is no engagement between you. She knows she would disgrace you—"

"She wouldn't," Darcy said, but Lady Catherine didn't hear him. She continued, her voice rising:

"She knows your family would never accept her—" (the Fitzwilliams would, John would, anyone who mattered to Darcy would)—"yet she remained obstinate. She thinks you would not care about her low connections—" (Darcy would be lucky to get the Gardiners as relations. As for Mrs. Bennet, well, Pemberley was a long way from Longbourn.) "She finally admitted there was no engagement, but she would not promise to never enter into one. I realize you would never offer for her, but her willingness to countenance the possibility will only further the rumors. She actually intimated that it was none of my business—"

On and on went Lady Catherine's voice. Darcy could only stare at the unlit fire and replay Lady Catherine's words in his head: She would not promise to never enter into one.

Into an engagement. With Darcy.

She would not promise to never enter into an engagement with me.

If she had decided against Darcy, she would have said so. She may have scrupled at being too blunt, but she would have been frank about her emotions, especially to Lady Catherine.

"You must persuade her to stop these rumors," his aunt was saying.

Darcy nodded absently. Had Elizabeth's feelings changed since April? He'd hoped so at Pemberley, but there hadn't been enough time to judge. If her emotions had changed, why hadn't she spoken to him when he visited Longbourn with Charles?

You didn't speak to her, he reminded himself. But Elizabeth was better at that sort of thing than he. He shrugged. It didn't matter. She wasn't opposed to the idea of engagement—that was what mattered.

He finished his business with the solicitors. Two days later he was back at Netherfield.

Charles was full of his engagement: Miss Bennet had said, "Yes." Wasn't it amazing? Wasn't it marvelous? They would be married before Christmas. Would Darcy be his best man? Charles was the happiest of men.

"It's rather hard to talk to her alone," he admitted. "Mrs. Bennet—" he paused judiciously— "likes to, ah, discuss the wedding. But I have a walk in mind for tomorrow. Will you come?"

Absolutely. They set out early. Mrs. Bennet was delighted to see them, even Darcy. She wanted to tell Darcy about Lady Catherine's visit. Darcy cringed, ready to apologize for his aunt's behavior, but Charles cut in with his offer of a walk, and all three sisters plus Charles and Darcy set off towards the Lucases.

Charles and Miss Bennet fell further and further behind. The youngest sister—Kitty?—left them at the Lucases' gate. Darcy was relieved that Elizabeth didn't want to go in. He needed time and relative solitude to order his thoughts, prepare himself to propose.

Suppose she said, "No."

She couldn’t say, "No."

She might. She might have said what she did to Lady Catherine out of anger—her relations with Darcy were, after all, none of Lady Catherine's business. Or Lady Catherine might have misunderstood or misread . . .

If she said, "No"—Darcy could hardly contemplate the idea, the emotional heartbreak. He wasn't good at heartbreak.

But suppose she meant to say, "Yes," and he didn't ask?

His thoughts were interrupted. Elizabeth was speaking of Darcy's intervention with Wickham. Darcy frowned, astonished. He'd trusted the Gardiners not to report his involvement.

It wasn't the Gardiners, Elizabeth reassured him, but Lydia. And Elizabeth was grateful: "Let me thank you again and again, in the name of all my family, for that generous compassion which induced you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications for the sake of discovering Wickham and Lydia."

Darcy felt some of his panic ebb away. She wasn't angry because he hadn't acted sooner or faster. She was appreciative; she understood what he'd been though. He'd done it for her, not her family. He said so, which struck him, after the fact, as a little rude, but Elizabeth blushed and looked at the ground.

Another bit of panic ebbed away. Apparently, Darcy had said the right thing. He continued while his courage was up: "You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever."

He waited, and it seemed as if the world shrunk, like a bubble, around him. He didn't hear the birds or wind or far-off rumbling carts. He waited in that narrow, quiet place where all he saw was Elizabeth's face.

"You are so generous—" she said, stammering—Elizabeth stammering!—"my feelings are nothing like they were that first time. I am ashamed of what I felt. I would be honored—happy to receive your addresses."

Darcy almost laughed. She had agreed. It seemed so completely unlikely that he stood for several more seconds in that bubble world, and then he was holding Elizabeth's hand which was warm, and he was back in the lane with the birds chirping and the wind rustling the trees. He could hear workers far-off in the fields, see the gray of early frost on the grass. He could see Elizabeth's cheek close against his coat, and he felt complete, unbelieving delight.

"I am very lucky," he told her because she needed to know. Her good sense, her good humor, her kindness and intelligence, her beautiful eyes—all these things made him the luckiest of men. He described them all, and it was the easiest thing Darcy had ever done.

They walked on, hands clasped. They discussed Lady Catherine, Elizabeth laughing at Darcy's explanation: "I knew enough of your disposition to be certain that had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have said so."

He was right, Elizabeth said. He knew her very well. She referred, self-consciously, to his proposal at Rosings. She was sorry now that she had been so harsh, but she hadn't been harsh. Darcy had been an ass. He behaved better now. He told her that and asked about the letter. Had she even read it? She had; she had believed it; she had been ashamed at how grossly she had misjudged him. She nudged him then—he shouldn't dwell so on the past; they were different people now.

Darcy agreed. She was so wise, his Elizabeth, but he'd waited several months to explain to her his character, and he did so now, carefully, seriously, and she listened attentively.

They moved on then to happier subjects—Charles and her sister. Darcy explained what he had confessed to Charles, and Elizabeth smiled at him. She seemed to think he had pushed Charles to propose to Miss Bennet, but Charles had intended to offer when they returned to Netherfield: Darcy assured her on that point.

She grinned, and Darcy eyed her suspiciously, but she only leaned against him, and Darcy felt bone-deep relief and satisfaction. Elizabeth was going to marry him. How astonishing.

Marriage, Darcy knew, involved other people. He told himself sternly that he would bear up under Mrs. Bennet's raptures and the curiosity of Longbourn's neighbors. Speaking to Elizabeth's father was easy in comparison although Elizabeth seemed nervous. In fact, once the engagement was announced, Darcy thought she seemed more nervous than he. But she was happy enough when they could go on walks together.

The Collinses came for a visit, and Mr. Collins simpered. Darcy was surprised Mr. Collins didn't rouse Elizabeth to her usual sarcasm. "You bear all their fawning so composedly," she said.

"We're engaged," Darcy said, which he figured explained everything, but Elizabeth only shook her head fretfully. At least she was herself around Darcy.

The fawning continued. Sir William congratulated Darcy on "carrying away the brightest jewel of the country" and asked when he would see Darcy dance at St. James with his wife. Darcy just smiled. When Sir William was gone, he shrugged for Elizabeth's benefit, and they shared reminiscences of their dances together. "Will I still have to do most of the talking?" Elizabeth said, and Darcy said, "Yes."

Georgiana wrote to Elizabeth and to Darcy. Elizabeth showed Georgiana's letter to Darcy—four pages—but wouldn't let him read it. To Darcy, Georgiana wrote, "Thank you for my new sister. I will see you both soon." The weddings—his and Elizabeth's, Charles and Miss Bennet's—would occur in early December. Darcy and Elizabeth would spend Christmas at Pemberley with Georgiana and the Gardiners. The Gardiners were pleased, Elizabeth told Darcy, to gain such a worthy nephew. "I am pleased to gain such a kind uncle and aunt," Darcy said and spoke the truth.

A year ago, he had left Pemberley alone to visit Netherfield. Now, he would return to Pemberley with a new bride; at Pemberley, his sister and new aunt and uncle would be waiting. There were times during the courtship when, Elizabeth coming to meet Darcy on the road between Netherfield and Longbourn, Darcy would halt the horse, watch her come and think, "I am a man of remarkable good fortune."

Epilogue

It is de rigueur for Austen-inspired writers to follow Elizabeth and Darcy beyond the end of the book into their married lives (and sometimes into their bedroom). I have added my own epilogue to counter two common approaches by these writers:

1. Darcy spends his entire married life only thinking about his wife (rather than his farm, his budget, soap).
2. Darcy is a prim Victorian gentleman, shocked by the facts of life (such as his wife becoming pregnant). The guy works on a farm, people, and the Victorians are a few decades away.

Darcy came upstairs to find Mrs. Reynolds and his wife removing the curtains in the front guest bedroom. He tucked his hands behind his back. He had been helping Max and the Walston boys unearth the tree trunk in the south pasture, and his hands were filthy. Lizzy wouldn't care, but Mrs. Reynolds would scold.

"Those curtains should be hung in the back room," Lizzy said. "I'm thinking blue curtains in here—what do you think?"

"They won't be too dark?" Mrs. Reynolds said.

"Maybe—" Lizzy frowned. "Green, perhaps?"

"I'll bring up some swatches," Mrs. Reynolds said and went out with her arms full. She gave Darcy a sharp look, but he smiled at her—"You can charm anyone when you smile," Lizzy would tell him—and Mrs. Reynolds only sniffed.

He sat on the divan at the end of the bed and yawned. He hadn't meant to help with the tree trunk, but it was rather frustrating to watch people mishandled a task. He studied his hands and wondered if there was any more castile soap in the house.

Lizzy was walking back and forth in front of the windows. His wife had an eye for color and had evinced an interest in decorating that surprised and sometimes alarmed Darcy. She was, however, much more frugal than he had anticipated.

He said, "Charles is looking at estates in Stafford," and grinned as Lizzy spun towards him.

"That's wonderful. Oh—" she went a little white and sat abruptly on the divan.

Darcy looked at her in concern. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. Oh, Bill, it would be wonderful to have them so close."

"Yes. I thought you'd be pleased." He gave Lizzy a hug and started to rise—they probably had some castile soap in the downstairs washroom—then stopped: Lizzy was short of breath as well as pale.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

She shook her head, frustrated. "Lately—I haven't been feeling so good. I'll be fine by lunch."

"Maybe you're starting a baby," Darcy said and headed towards the door. Half-way across the room, Lizzy said, "Bill!" and he turned back. She sat on the divan, staring at him, her face pale, eyes large.

"I think you're right," she said, stunned.

Darcy shook his head. Why was she surprised? Her mother was fertile—she had given birth to five healthy daughters and survived.

He went back, kissed the top of his wife's head. He was pleased, though babies at this stage always seemed rather remote to Darcy.

"I've never had a baby," Lizzy said to his shirt which made Darcy laugh. She grimaced up at him. "I've taken care of children, but this—"

"Lizzy," Darcy said, still amused, "you can do anything."

She laughed then and pushed him away, "Get along, you," and Darcy went out to wash his hands. Sometimes, he thought as he ran down the stairs, his wife could be a bit clueless.


*For those who think it improbable that Lizzie would not already know she was pregnant (she grew up around farm animals too), well, you may be right. However, it is possible for a woman to experience morning sickness by the fourth week, and if Lizzy wasn't counting . . . Also, although Mrs. Bennet is quite vocal about things like dating, I'm not sure she would be the best person to go to about the facts of life. Mr. Bennet would just quote Shakespeare or something.

And, yes, Darcy can be "Bill"—why not? Fitzwilliam, William, Bill. Granted, "Will" was the more common nickname at the time, but someone had to use "Bill" first!

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!

For J, I started to 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

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

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

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)

I chose Raymond Feist's Faerie Tale for F.

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

Not really. For E, I read Aaron Elkins' Skeleton Dance. 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

For "D" I chose Theodore Dreiser's Sister Carrie. I chose Dreiser 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

"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 Clive 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

For "B" I chose 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

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 & Riley, Buffy & Spike

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

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

I've Talked About Politics; I Might As Well Talk about Religion!

Warning 1: This post involves positive ruminations about religion. If religious discussions make you uncomfortable, don't read it! If you think all religious people are dopes, don't read it! If you want to write comments about how corrupt and/or blind religious people are, I would suggest a different blog that actually discusses religious people in those terms.

Warning 2: This post deals with the "scriptures are just good stories/metaphors that help us learn about life" approach. This post disagrees with that approach. If you have (1) leapt to the conclusion that I am a rampaging fundamentalist or (2) think anyone who accepts scriptures as more than metaphors is a fool, the remainder of this post will simply annoy you.

You have been warned!

I consider the "scriptures are just good stories/metaphors that help us learn about life" approach to be barely more tolerable than the "everything in the scriptures should be taken literally" approach. The one opens religion to navel-gazing and warm fuzzies while the latter simply moves theology into missing-forest-for-the-trees territory.

Religion rests on a leap of faith, a leap that is not merely metaphorical or good-hearted or instructive but is, in the eyes of the world, completely irrational and incomprehensible. Paul spent most of his missions and letters trying to teach people the doctrine of (literal) physical resurrection whilst they very literally laughed in his face (and occasionally did worse things): a literal physical resurrection was too simplistic, childish, wishful, ridiculous, unbelievable and, frankly, corporal, get outta town, Paul.

I obviously don't agree with such detractions. Here's why: if I wasn't religious, I would be a materialist. I have never understood settling, belief-wise, for the non-physical, nice-sounding instructive metaphor rather than the real, if unlikely, physical claim.

I don't believe that accepting a real, if unlikely, physical claim places me in literalism territory, mostly because I'm not a big fan of either/ors. For example, to get really controversial, I don't accept either the metaphorical explanation of the beginning of the Bible (the creation story isn't talking about the actual creation but rather about the importance of nature in our lives!) OR the literal perspective which presents the first two chapters of Genesis as some kind of Douglas Adams' self-help manual: How to Create a World in Six Easy Steps.

I believe Moses received a vision from God about the beginnings of the universe? the world? humankind? the Israelites? Something. Moses then wrote down that vision. What he wrote down was later rewritten but the essence of what he wrote can still be found in Genesis.

In other words, Moses saw something. God wanted him to see it. Moses wanted us to know. That's a pretty good starting point for me. It's real.

Now, I'm not saying it's real in the "I can prove it through court records" sense. I know I can't. I'm saying that, to me, the reality of a man talking to God and seeing something important about humankind is much more interesting and intense and worth believing in than literal statements or metaphorical philosophizing.

Okay, now that I've talked about Genesis, I'm going to talk about the Book of Mormon, so if the Book of Mormon and/or Mormonism in general makes you squeamish, you can stop reading.

I believe Joseph Smith found and translated the Book of Mormon. That's what I believe.

This is what I think: I think that, like all translators, much of Joseph Smith's own personality and perspective crept into what he translated but the essence of the original text is still there. As a lifelong student of folklore, fables, and myths, I think the Book of Mormon reads like nothing ever written (which isn't to say that similar motifs don't show up in folklore, fables, myths, the Book of Mormon, and, for that matter, the Old Testament). I also think the original writers of the books in the Book of Mormon were, like the writers of the Old Testament, individual and imperfect, however inspired. That is, I think they were real, and I think their reality matters (they weren't carbon-copy modernized characters who simply exist, textually, to make us thoughtful about our own conditions).

Now that I've said all the above, here is my point: Faith is faith is faith is faith. I have no proof for any of the above. From a secular, scientific point of view, what I claim and prove in the classroom or secular arena must involve observable/provable evidence. But in my personal life, what I observe simply isn't enough for me; hence I am religious and believe in stuff that I can't see or prove. Yet I still believe it is real. Or, rather, I believe in it because I believe it is real.

And once I believe in its reality, I'm going to believe in it the way I believe rain is wet, my cats are nuts, and English composition matters. I'm not going to believe in it (just) because it makes me feel good or because it sounds lovely or because it teaches me important lessons about life.

Real things matter. I'm not sure I can convince anyone that they matter who doesn't already agree with me that they matter. Still, the reality of God--God as a being, not an ethical construct--matters just like the reality of history--as a series of events, not an academic construct--matters. (My main beef with literalism is that literalism so often doesn't take in the full essence of the reality.)

Which doesn't mean, I should reiterate, that I expect people to believe in the actuality/reality of the Book of Mormon or the Old Testament or the New Testament. Just, trying to find middle ground by claiming that well, it doesn't matter whether any of it happened because there are good wholesome metaphorical truths in the scriptures . . . that isn't middle ground to me.

I really am one of the fools.

NOTE: I realize I am juggling two definitions of "reality" in this post. On the one hand is the argument that everything in the Bible "really" happened--which I actually don't believe. However, I do maintain that the "historical" personages referred to did exist: Abraham, Noah, Moses, etc. (those individuals who matter to the historical narrative). At some point real records were made concerning their deeds, however corrupted or fragmented those records later became.

On the other hand, I don't think Job really existed; I think he is a literary construct. And I'm not completely tied to Esther having been a real person although I think it would be a pity if she wasn't (such a great story!).

Even arguing the existence of various Old Testament personalities poses a problem, however, because I don't think there's anything to be gained by arguing, lawyer-style, that X person existed, ergo the scriptures are "true." I am arguing rather that the stories of the Old Testament are grounded in real events within a historical context (i.e., they were gathered after everybody moved to Babylon for a couple of centuries). They are more than metaphorical lessons and contemporary (for the time) inventions.

Which brings us to the second definition of "reality," which is that the stories point to other/greater realities. This sounds suspiciously like metaphoricalizing, except I am arguing that the realities the stories point to are the actual realities they claim to point to. The creation story is pointing to something that has to do with creation, not to the metaphor of birth. Paul's letters regarding resurrection are pointing to a resurrection, not a metaphor about having a fresh outlook on life.

Basically, I'm arguing that there is a difference between saying, "These people may have existed and what they have to say should be taken seriously" and saying, "What does it matter? It's just a story to make people feel better and give them hope."

HISTORY & LEARNING

Jack Daniel, Gibbs Dinozzo

NCIS and Stargate SG-1 are, believe or not, quite similar television shows.

First, both shows are simply fun. NCIS is a Bellisario show--Bellisario also created Quantum Leap. To sum up: Bellisario produces good, non-frills story-telling television.

Stargate is good story-telling television too. I don't consider the seasons after 4 as interesting as earlier seasons (although there are occasional great episodes). Nevertheless, both NCIS and Stargate provide non-pompous, unself-conscious, self-amused, and enormously relaxing television viewing.

I don't know if there is any overlap amongst the NCIS and Stargate writers, but the life/earth-saving teams of NCIS and Stargate have similar leads. As Eugene points out in response to my post about Stargate SG-1, both Richard Dean Anderson and Mark Harmon play leaders who verge on the edge of exasperation (although Mark Harmon's Gibbs is more tightly strung than Anderson's Jack).

And both Jack and Gibbs have a back-up or foil--Daniel (Michael Shanks) in Stargate and Dinozzo (Michael Weatherly) in NCIS. And despite their very different personalities, Daniel and Dinozzo relate to their respective bosses in similar ways.

(1) Both Daniel and Dinozzo are outsiders to the military. Daniel is an archaeologist. Dinozzo was a cop; in season 2, Dinozzo comments that Gibbs met him when he was a cop, giving the impression that Gibbs deliberately recruited Dinozzo.

By choosing outsiders as their "side-kicks," Jack and Gibbs show they are more flexible than other members of the military. This is effective character development, since both Jack and Gibbs (the heroes) must be relatable to the possibly non-military audience. Daniel and Dinozzo become the conduits through which viewers get to know the heroes.

In their side-kick capacities, Daniel and Dinozzo act as opposites to Jack and Gibbs. Daniel is more intellectual than Jack (not more intelligent, just more intellectual). Jack basically wants to fish, occasionally save the day (whilst thrashing the bad guys), and keep his team members safe. Daniel wants to read big books, translate stuff, look at old monuments, and read more big books.

Likewise, Dinozzo--possibly the most extroverted character on television--is "day" to his introverted boss's "night." Dinozzo is into technology, making him the antithesis of both Jack and Gibbs (Gibbs is especially grumpy about technology). He also makes most of the popular culture references on the show (in one of my favorite scenes in all NCIS, he tries to explain the symbol of the key in Millennium Actress to McGee).

By encapsulating the opposite qualities to their bosses, Daniel and Dinozzo enhance their bosses' positive qualities. Jack does not have to be the intellectual and fishing and arty and life-saving hero; he can be himself. (One of the best lines from season 7 is when Jack's "ghost" tells Carter, "Face it, Carter, I'm not that complex.")

Likewise, by giving Dinozzo all the "hip," up-to-date, cool jargon and toys, Gibbs remains the pure (ungadgety) tough guy. Since Weatherly is perfectly willing to play the clown, Gibbs can be grumpy about "cool" things but still look cool in comparison to Dinozzo (but the cool stuff is still there, even if Gibbs isn't the holder of the cool stuff).

In other words, the sidekicks for both Jack and Gibbs highlight their bosses' strong points while taking over or taking care of their weak points.

(2) On a girly note, Shanks and Weatherly are just soooo handsome and in the same way (although they actually look nothing alike): regular features with fairly strong jaw lines. That is, they are handsome without being pretty and much more relaxing to watch than pretty men. A pretty man, like a pretty woman, can startle and impress the viewer; beauty is its own reward (and has value). But it is rather like viewing too many impressionist paintings. Eventually, you want some meat.

For example, I've always found Gary Dourdan, David Duchovny and Chris Noth much more interesting to watch than Brad Pitt. Of course, sexiness matters as well--which Dourdan, Duchovny and Noth have in the extreme (Duchovny is one of those interesting actors where you get the impression, from the episode commentators, that his physical presence is actually even more charismatic than he comes across on the screen). Shanks and Weatherly are more damped down sexiness-wise than Dourdan, etc., but they have enough sexy vibes to hold your interest. Poor David James Elliott from JAG was, in my opinion, an exceptionally handsome man with about as much sex appeal as a toaster.

(3) Both Daniel and Dinozzo are funny. The only flaw in the Daniel/Jack exchanges is that both actors play the straight man (with Teal'c as the super-duper straight man). Still, Anderson and Shanks have good comedic timing, and Shanks can do the blank-that-was-odd look very well (although in Season 5, you can tell Shanks is bored out of his mind since that kind of look is all he does).

Dinozzo is the Costello of the Gibbs-Dinozzo relationship. He does good physical comedy; the season 2 opening credits show a hilarious clip from season 1 with Dinozzo "dancing." I admit when I first started watching NCIS, I was put off by Dinozzo's superficial sexism (more of this later), but either age has mellowed me or I perceive Dinozzo's character differently than I used to. I now consider him one of the funniest of the NCIS characters (although I have a soft spot for Ducky's conversation).

(4) Lastly, Daniel and Dinozzo both operate as moral centers of their teams. In Red Dwarf, Lister performs a similar function despite the fact that Lister is a slob and much less self-disciplined than Rimmer. Lister is more aware of the moral/ethical problems of a situation even if he doesn't stir himself to deal with them.

Likewise, Daniel operates as the ethical voice of SG-1. This doesn't mean the other members aren't ethical. It just means that Daniel performs that particular role. In the fascinating episode "The Other Side", Daniel continually objects to the lack of background information the team has collected regarding a group of potential allies. Exasperated, Jack tells him to shut up. Jack then has an unsettling conversation with the group leader at which point he apologizes to Daniel and tells him to continue collecting information. (And SG-1 learns that their so-called allies are basically Nazis.)

Jack immediately recognizes (possibly faster than Daniel) that the conversation is "off," and he immediately takes action. His ethics are just fine, thank you very much. But he also recognizes that Daniel's willingness to be the outsider, to look at multiple facets of an issue, provides a necessary counterpoint to the team's objectives. (I like it that Carter sometimes sides with Daniel and sometimes with Jack--unlike so many sitcoms, Carter is NOT the feminine voice of reason and goodness--none of that "If only women ran the world, life would be perfect" crap; I sometimes think the Stargate writers are the most non-sexist, commonsensical people in the world.)

Speaking of sexism, I think Dinozzo deliberately "acts" the part, mostly to annoy Kate (the character, not Kate, the blog writer)--that is, Weatherly is an actor playing the part of a guy who is partially playing a part. Dinozzo is far more reliable and down-to-earth than he comes across.

This shows up in his relationship with Gibbs. One of the most important aspects of the Dinozzo-Gibbs relationship is that no matter how often Gibbs rides Dinozzo, Dinozzo receives the hardest assignments involving the greatest degree of personal trust. Yet nobody ever comments on this fact. It's all so . . . manly and stiff-upper-lippish although Dinozzo's attitude is much more Dennis Quaid from The Right Stuff than Darcy from Pride & Prejudice. As Tom Wolfe writes in The Right Stuff, the astronauts will talk about flying, maneuvers, crashes, anything but the actual courage that makes them take the risks. This is Dinozzo. More than Gibbs, he is the guy who can walk away from the job. Similarly, he is the guy who can relax and find a joke in the most unpleasant of situations. His detachment gives him a degree of sanity that the other, more intense characters, lack. (But his basic loyalty is never called into question.)

I happen to love the Jack-Daniel/Gibbs-Dinozzo combination. I am not interested in the yaoi aspects of male bonding; rather I enjoy the good old-fashioned "we few, we happy few" band-of-brothers quality. Television and movies are beginning to show this type of bonding more between men and women, but it still remains, to a degree, the province of men. It's enchanting.

TELEVISION

If I Ever Needed Proof that (Some) Liberals Are Intolerant . . .

At one of the colleges where I work, I often encounter a guy I've nick-named "bitter guy" (he is bitter about his movie scripts not selling--completely comprehensible!). For the purposes of this blog, I will continue to call him bitter guy although, yes, he does have a name, and I do know what it is.

He teaches a class after I finish my three classes for the day. Lately, when I've been over in the English building, I've encountered him waiting for his next class to begin, and we've discussed politics. He is a liberal--I'm a conservative libertarian plus I don't much care for political scandals, so I'm not usually ready to combat arguments about what scandalous things have shown up about a politician on the web lately. However, he is a reasonably rational human being, and I'm a reasonably rational human being, and we can usually at least exchange ideas. He can say what he thinks. I can say what I think, etc.

And sometimes the conversation gets downright hilarious. Today, I was complaining about how Democrats and Republicans use the whole "man of the people" approach, and he started doing this riff about how politicians tell stories: "Poor little Johnny with no legs crawled up to me, trailing blood and pleading, 'Oh, Politician, please help me . . .'" (Yes, I do think that is hilarious.)

Unfortunately, our conversations appear to be at an end. Towards the end of our conversation today, we were joined by a guy who works in one of the nearby offices, had overheard our conversations and couldn't contain himself any longer.

As soon as he started, I knew the reasonably intelligent and humorous exchanges I'd had with bitter guy were at an end. The guy--I'll call him totally officious arrogant dude (Toad)--said, "I'm just wondering how they will rig the election this year."

Oh, yeah, conspiracy theories about elections, how fascinating. (Insert MAJOR sarcastic monotone.)

Then Toad started going on about how the computers in 2004 were rigged. I said, "But in Florida when they recounted the actual ballots, Bush won."

"No," he said. "The Wall Street Journal, New York Times, [etc. etc.] all said the votes in [x] states came out in favor of Kerry."

I was still naive enough to think that actually presenting my point of view/knowledge would be effective, so I reiterated that Florida counted the votes, and Bush won Florida, and a tiny article did appear about that fact. [Note: You may perceive that I confused the 2000 and 2004 elections although, for all I know, Florida recounted its votes in 2004 as well as 2000. Joe clarifies information about the 2000 election in the comments, and I comment on my confusion. Unfortunately, it wouldn't have mattered much which election I'd referred to: 2004, 2000, or 1824: Bush stole them all! Toad did not respond to my statement by correcting my misinformation--I doubt he knew my information was incorrect. He responded as follows:]

"Of course you would say that," Toad said. (Remember this phrase--"Of course you would say that": we'll be coming back to it.)

In any case, Toad's response was a huge clue that this was the type of conversation where Toad's "facts" are all legitimate (no matter how unlikely to human nature) while my "facts" are all tainted. Yeah, I've been here before.

I said so. I said, "This is going to be one of those conversations where everything Republicans do is evil, and everything liberals do is good, and I don't do those kinds of political conversations."

"Not it isn't," they chorused, and Toad started trying to tell me that I was misrepresenting what he'd said.

The ?monologue? didn't get any better. I kept making motions to leave (I should have just walked out), but everytime I did, there was an insistence by both guys that they weren't being extreme, that Toad wasn't--as I claimed--simply throwing political statements around and politicizing everything. You can't have a conversation with a person who instead of responding to what you say--see below--puts political bars around it before moving on to his NEXT conspiracy theory.

For example, Toad said, "I'm willing to admit that [United States' democracy] was a failed experiment. I think Plato was right. I'm in favor of a benevolent dictatorship."

"Uh," I said, "I wouldn't agree with that," which was much nicer, I think you will agree, than saying, "You're one of the stupidest people I've ever met. What are you doing teaching here in a good community college? You should be teaching at some yuppie bastion of higher academe with other lame brains who think their freshman-level 'insights' about America are soooo sophisticated."

No, I didn't say that at all; I just said, "Uh, I wouldn't agree with that."

"Oh," he said, "of course you wouldn't."

Of course you wouldn't. Not "Why do you disagree with me?" Not even "Let me explain why I'm right in detail" which would have been excrutiating (stupidity doesn't usually get much better in detail) but at least would have shown a desire on Toad's part to communicate, exchange ideas, and maybe learn.

Nope. "Of course you wouldn't," he said. "I've been listening to you for a week."

So this guy has heard me talking twice about politics and has decided, based on those 60 or so minutes that he knows what I think and that nothing I say can surprise him because . . .

Hmm--let's think about this. Let's suppose this guy had heard me going on and on about how evil Bush is, how stupid Bush is, how much I hate Republicans for those 60 minutes or so, do you think it is likely he would say to me, "Of course you think that" whenever I made a statement?

Are you kidding? He would be fawning all over me. We would spend the hour between classes throwing bumper stickers all over each other and telling each other how much we hate the establishment--yeah, they stink, yeah, yeah.

Sheep.

And I'm not stupid. From the beginning of the ?conversation? Toad had been very clear about his perspective, especially in comparison to mine. Plus, I could hear his tone of voice, and I've heard it before. It's the tone liberals in my master's program used to dismiss anyone who presented conservative ideas without said liberals actually having to address those ideas or explain their own ideas.

So, once again, I tried to point out to Toad and bitter guy that I don't much care for these types of political conversations--mostly because there wasn't one. Toad wasn't listening to anything I said; instead, he was dismissing everything that didn't support his "Bush stole the 2004 election; McCain is horrible; Hillary is right about healthcare; American democracy isn't working; one of these days, the Republicans will declare marshal law" perspective. In fact, Toad wasn't prepared to even ponder that he might be wrong about any of his facts or that anyone's facts or perspectives might have validity. (I've mentioned before that my inability to be completely unreasonable is a handicap in this type of conversation. For all I know, the New York Times and Wall Street Journal did print the articles Toad mentioned, and I personally accept those newspapers as more or less trustworthy sources. If I was less rational, I could have shouted, "We all know the New York Times is simply a product of liberal think-tanks!" which would have been the level Toad was arguing at. But I can never pull off stuff like that.)

I didn't say all of the above, but I did try to say some of it, and, yup, I was told once again by Toad that I was misreading what he'd said.

Then Toad made a mistake. He said, "I don't see how any woman could vote for the McCain platform."

And I got mad, really mad. I despise that kind of political platitude--the kind of thinking that says all women must function as a group and should think a certain way and should only be concerned about women's issues.

I said so. AND once again, Toad tried to tell me that I was reading a stance into his statement that wasn't there. He wasn't making any claims about how women should vote!

But he'd already made the mistake, and I had proof.

I said, "So why didn't you say, 'I don't see how people could vote for McCain's platform? Why did you say 'women'?"

He was actually momentarily stymied, but bitter guy--who, I think, was trying to bring the conversation back to a rational level--said, "Here are the things I don't agree with about the McCain platform," and started listing them.

If the conversation had just been me and bitter guy at that point, I would had heard him out (as I had done during our prior conversations). But I was so fed up with Toad's disingenuous politicized pontificating, that I interrupted bitter guy after the third item.

"Yeah," I said. " And if I then told you that there were things about McCain's platform I agreed with, then you," and I turned to Toad, "would say, 'Oh, of course you do.'"

That, I told them--far less coherently and calmly than I am writing this--is just throwing political statements at people, and I don't do that.

What I really meant to say was "Toads who dismiss people who think differently than them without hearing out what said people actually think are self-righteous jerks," but it didn't come out that way.

"I don't do that," I said and walked out.

I confess I wish I was the kind of cool-headed person who could have wryly pushed the conversation to some truly extreme level and then shrugged my shoulders at the witlessness of it all. I wish I was the kind of cool-headed person who could have said, early on, "I know where this is going" and just left. Sometimes, I can be that cool-headed person, but it's really hard when one is faced when so much foolish self-righteousness within a five minute period! And after 2 years of grad school, I no longer feel obligated to put up with it.

The irony is, exchanging ideas with bitter guy was enough to get me thinking, "Maybe, I'll go the libertarian route after all." I still like Obama even if I think his platform has some major weaknesses. Talking to Toad makes me want to go out and vote for every single conservative and Republican candidate I can get my hands on--like those annoying anti-cigarette commericals that make me want to start smoking.

But I've gained more insight into why (some) liberals believe--KNOW--they aren't intolerant despite all evidence to the contrary. It isn't just that they think "my liberalism = tolerance" as I've postulated elsewhere. Rather, they honestly think that belittling another person's perspective isn't intolerance. Toad honestly seems to believe (or acted as if he believes) it is his god-given right or gift to humanity to trot out his political extremism and dismiss all other perspectives from a discussion. Of course, I'm right! I'm doing you a favor by making sure you know how right am I! If you question my tolerance, it must be that YOU are intolerant. If you call me on my intolerance, you must be reading your own intolerant paranoia into my statements. Nothing I say or do could possibly be close-minded--after all, I'm a liberal.

When Goldberg pairs liberalism with facism . . . he isn't wrong.

NASTY FESTIVALS

Convention Notes 2008: Republican Convention

Four years ago, I wrote up National Election convention notes for my family. Those notes can be found on my blog. This year, I am posting the notes directly to the blog. Last week, I posted concerning the Democratic Convention. This week, I will post concerning the Republican Convention. My on-campus teaching jobs also start this week--Back to School!--so I will not post the same level of coverage as I did last week, but I will attempt to post every night.

September 4, 2008

I've been thinking about the news coverage. It does seem that the coverage of the Republican Convention has been slightly more waspish than the Democratic Convention coverage. I know that sort of comment becomes instantly suspect when I mention that I am, all things considered, more conservative than liberal. However, at this point, I have little personal investment in who wins the National Election.

And I have a theory about why the coverage of the Republican Coverage is somewhat more catty than it has been. My theory is connected to my master's program. I should state that none of my professors were particularly prone towards political-correctness; that is, they rarely made any concerted effort to push the students in any particular direction, and they occasionally seemed downright thankful to my tendency to (indirectly) question geo-social-political assumptions.

Nevertheless, most of the students, including me, were raised with political correctness, and at least one student was actually invested in it. Now, in terms of civility and good manners, I'm all in favor of political correctness. When it comes to limiting dialogue, however, I get testy. And I began to notice a trend in the discussions in my program--students freely criticized Caucasians, males, Americans, and Christians but not other groups. I honestly don't think this was due to any specific prejudice. I think it occurred because those groups, at least, could be talked about--without repercussions or worries about crossing a particular line.

I noticed this partly because, as a Mormon, nobody knew whether I was a minority (deserving special consideration) or whether I was part of the Christian/conservative mainstream. I never enlightened anyone (the answer is "Both"). I think being non-labelly is a good thing.

But the (unstated) question always seemed to be, "Can we talk about these people or not?" One reason I never complained about the anti-Christian comments was I feared the solution would be worse than the problem--what kind of dialoguing occurs when nobody can criticize anyone? I also figured, "Mormons are tough enough to take it."

And Christians, Caucasians, Americans (and Republicans) can take it too. Nevertheless, I've wondered if one reason the press went after Palin so hard was because they could--finally--go after somebody. Without tittle-tattle, the press dies. If the press felt hampered, in any way, by Obama's race, a "freebie" (white, female, young, conservative, presumably Christian, pro-life) would have been thankfully latched on to.

And sure, that's a form of reverse racism, but doesn't it bode well for women that Palin does NOT belong to untouchable territory?

Besides, she can take it.

A number of sports people talk. Sweet unaffected presentations. But what's with all this "spiritual revival" stuff? Sorry, folks, I think secular democracy is the best thing that ever happened to the United States, especially for us religious types. Rodney Stark has written a GREAT book (Discovering God: The Origins of the Great Religions and the Evolution of Belief) where he argues that the moment governments lose their hold on religion, religions proliferate!! It isn't that people begin to become religious when a state religion vanishes; it is that the absence of a state religion allows people to express their existent religious preferences.

I'll admit, I think people who get hyper about government offices posting the Ten Commandments are limited in their understanding (the United States is largely the product of Judeo-Christian thinking--accept this, people), but I prefer my politicians to keep their religious feelings to themselves. Don't tell me how to worship God. I can figure that out for myself, thank you very much. Just fight the United States' wars and balance the budget. Thank you and goodnight.

Senator Lindsey Graham: He is saying some truly intelligent things about Iraq. I get so tired of news coverage that does not appreciate the enormous strides that have been made in Iraq. "I'm not saying Barack Obama doesn't care--he just doesn't get it!" This guy is a pretty good speaker--succinct, strong on his main points, able to summarize and then refute the opposition.

Video of Sarah Palin. She didn't marry her high-school sweetheart immediately out of high school. I find that comforting. She does have an impressive resume. She may have made mistakes, but she sure has done stuff!

Let's see, how many Democratic nominees lately have actually done more than show up in the Senate? Okay, that was rude, but I have a theory about why Democrats have a tendency to go for relatively inexperienced presidential nominees. If Goldberg is right and the Democratic Party (and American liberalism specifically) is heavily influenced by progressivism, then the Democrats have been infused by the cult of youth--the idea that young, inexperienced, unpracticed people (politicians, teenagers, etc.) somehow have an "in" to the right, the perfect, the ideal answers.

They don't (by the way).

A video about Cindy McCain--she is a remarkable person. (I think Gary Sinise is the narrator--you go, Gary!)

Cindy McCain: She comes to the stage surrounded by her family--that is really sweet. She's not a natural speaker; she's more the "lady calling for philanthropic aid," which is what she is. She is gracious and . . . wait . . . "If only the Federal government would get itself under control and out of our way!" You go, girl!

That was a fleeting moment. She's a bit dull. I think Laura Bush has a more energetic style--for all her quiet reserve.

Palin is there, and boy, she is perfectly confident without airs or coy simpering. She carries herself well.

Cindy McCain is still dull. But she's doing her job, and she does have a true International perspective. I'm not sure how (if) she will come across to the great American public though. Oh, well, that's what Palin is for.

John McCain is next! I confess I know almost nothing about John McCain other than what I've heard in this convention. I do know that in 2004 (before he dropped out), he was a media favorite. He seems to be genuinely liked by people who meet him.

The video is good. Yes, we are going to hear more about his service in Vietnam. Still, it is a remarkable story, and if a nominee has such material . . . he should use it.

And the video does go on to other things.

John McCain: Positive comments about President George W. Bush and Laura Bush. His mum is 96! He addresses Obama: "You have my respect and my admiration." He means it. That is very cool. "We'll go at it--that is the nature of this business."

Disruption on the floor--what is it with these protester types? Are they THAT threatened by an opposing point of view?

I hate to tell you . . . McCain's kind of dull. But then I don't demand flash and glam in my presidents.

I will say, I think the floor is a little disconcerted by his willingness to go after anyone from tobacco companies to union bosses. I like it.

What will he do?

Double child tax exemption.
He isn't going to wish away the global economy. I can get behind that.
He's all about education. "Empower parents with choice."
Drill off-shore and other ideas: I've got to tell you, I think hybrid automobiles are kind of silly.
Help Georgia?
"I know how to secure the peace." How? How?
His experience.

In a way, it is to McCain's credit that he hasn't provided some huge list of goals (since I never believe in those goals anyway). And I think he really means what he says about bipartisanship and government transparency.

He tells his story again, only this time he mentions the American soldiers who fed him in his cell, and the men who buoyed him up and helped him--that's very cool.

"If you find faults with this country, make it a better one."

He has a positive, upbeat attitude. He hasn't gone after Obama that much. He does appear to have a clear ideology and purpose for running. He just isn't all that . . . gripping. He has passion, but it doesn't reach me.

And there are my balloons! Hooray!!

The commentators liked the speech! I tell you, the press truly likes McCain. They may not like Republicans, but they like McCain himself.

Out of the PBS pundits, only Mark Shields agrees with me--go figure. He makes the point that McCain does not talk as well about himself as he does about others.

Brooks was disappointed at the lack of a clear policy change. He did think, and I agree, that McCain's sincerity came though. I have been told that McCain is much better as an extempore speaker while Obama is much better at planned speeches (should make the debates interesting).

My summary of both conventions: the Democratic Convention was a more professional, stunning spectacle. The Republican Convention, however, came across as more real and raw (which was helped by the Republicans not moving to a huge football stadium). How will the conventions affect the campaigns? I think Obama will be promoted as smart, eloquent, thoughtful, concerned with the average American, and different with an experienced back-up; McCain will be promoted as gruff, old, experienced, patriotic, and non-Washington-circuit with an able non-Washington-circuit back-up.

Let the games began!

September 3, 2008

Mark Shields just made the exceptionally silly argument that "Republicans" tend to turn on the media when things aren't going well. Oh, that's right, Democrats never, ever do that. (Insert supremely sarcastic tone.)

I think there is a great deal of parochialism in politics. In my master's program, I would get incredibly frustrated by the completely un-ironic comments made by students that everybody they knew voted for Kerry. I found it bizarre in the extreme. There has never been a time in my life (including when I lived in Provo, Utah) when I didn't know people who thought and voted differently from me. To not be aware of that information . . . I would have to be dead.

I think the media suffers from extreme parochialism--both at NBC (see Joe's remarks in the comments) and at FOX. The reporters start thinking that ALL right-thinking people think like THEM.

This is all to say that Mark Shields probably honestly believes that when the Democrats squawk over "bias" in the press, they are raising important issues, but when Republicans squawk, it shows their paranoia. This is natural parochialism.

But he really should know better.

Chairman Michael Williams: "Life begins at conception."

I'm a Mormon, and I don't even like where this argument goes. I think House (House, M.D.) is rather cynical about abortion, but I think he has a valid point. Birth is a really clear line. You start giving the fetus (which resides in a person's body) the same rights and considerations as a baby, and man, talk about government interference.

I'm not saying I think abortion is good or right or anything else. I get incredibly annoyed with so-called feminists who think ALL right-thinking women are pro-choice. I think it is empty-headed and deliberately blind to avoid or ignore possible ethical objections to abortion, but this is one area where I think such objections have to come from the individual plus the individual's religious community, family, and doctor. I don't want the government making decisions about this AT ALL.

Resident Commissioner of Puerto Rico Luis Fortuno: "This nation will achieve strategic independence by 2025" regarding gas, energy, etc. Oh, groan. Talk about radical isolationism--and both parties are advocating this.

Meg Whitman, former President and CEO of eBay: John McCain is wonderful--rah, rah, rah.

Okay, I really do need more specifics at this point.

Michael Steele: Everybody in both parties is American, rather than Democrat or Republican.

Whatever happened to supporting your party's ideology?

It isn't the Republican's fault that the more the week goes on, the more fed up I get. It's the sheer confluence of political platitudes. How do political analysts do it? I told my students today, "This semester includes a National Election, and the media is all hyped up. But you know, in a 1000 years, all that will be left will be monuments and writing. That makes me happy."

And it does.

"Drill, baby, drill, and drill now." Okay, I like that line. I approve of anyone who says things so far outside the norm.

The hilarious thing is how much liberal acquaintances of mine think they are advocating non-accepted ideologies when in fact, their ideologies are so much taken for granted that I'm probably the most unique, out-of-kilter thinker they've ever met just because I think Bush isn't evil, Palin is interesting, there are more kinds of feminists than Hillary, and JFK maybe wasn't god.

It reminds me of a very funny episode from Coupling when a Labor (liberal) woman discovers that a guy she wants to date is Conservative. She then discovers that a gay friend of theirs is also Conservative. She is appalled. They tell her, "Hey, your party is in power now. You're the establishment."

"No, I'm not!" she says, horrified.

"Yes, you are," they say. "We're the Rebel Alliance. You're the Empire," and they start humming the soundtrack from Star Wars.

It is hilarious and very, very British. American Liberals just can't accept how very, very establishment and accepted they are.

Mitt Romney is coming up next. Since I just mentioned I am Mormon, I need to address Mitt Romney as a nominee. When Mitt Romney was in the primaries, did I think he should be president because he was Mormon?

No. Well, actually, I didn't much care.

Yes, there were Mormons in my local congregation who supported him. And there were Mormons in my local congregation who were completely opposed to him. And there were people like me who said, "Well, I'm sure he's a nice guy, but I really don't think he would have a chance at winning the election" and not just because of his Mormonism.

Interestingly enough, Northern Maine, whose Republicans are about as conservative as Republicans can get, supported Romney in the primaries. I don't doubt his administrative ability, and I know third-hand that he is a very fine and upright individual, but I did question his ability to wow the American people. From a purely "let's win" perspective, the nominee has to be many things to many people. Does that mean that nominees are always the best people for the job? No (look at Kerry). But they do have to be electable (as a negative example, look at Kerry). I was never convinced Romney was that electable.

I will also admit that a little part of me just can't shake the fundamental Libertarian belief that good people don't become politicians, and what does it say about Mormons when one does? Okay, I now apologize to all self-sacrificing politicians from many religions.

Mitt Romney: "Is Washington Liberal or Conservative?" He is speaking directly to the base. And . . . this is why I don't think he could have won the primaries.

He's really going after liberals, and I don't actually disagree with any of it, but it makes me nervous. I tend to respond not so much to what people say, but to the verbiage they use. I've mentioned elsewhere that when I was in my master's program, I got tired of the anti-Christian comments made by a fellow student. The verbiage she used was exactly the same verbiage people used in the early part of the 1900s to argue that Jews were an International/business conspiracy out to get everyone else. Exactly the same types of phrases.

I know she didn't, in her heart of hearts, want a Holocaust against Christians. It was simply acceptable for her to use that language. And I knew enough of history for her verbiage to make me wince.

"Let's keep Al Gore's private jet on the ground--" that is much, much funnier than a reference to McCain's three houses.

But Romney's rabble-rousing still makes me nervous.

The Talking Heads think he is setting himself up for 2012--big mistake, if so. These days, people win elections based on the swing-voters, moderates, and Independents, not the party base (says I).

Mike Huckabee: "I am genuinely delighted to be here tonight for my second choice for the Republican president: John McCain." Now, that is true graciousness. "I have great respect for Senator Obama's ability to become his party's nominee not because of his color but in indifference to it." THAT is a fine line. Me too, Huckabee. And the floor applauded--good for them.

He is a clear, to-the-point speaker. I find him much easier to listen to than Romney. And he's funny. Okay, I confess, I prefer speakers who use humor.

"A government that can do everything for us is a government that can take everything from us." Yes, yes, yes!!! Finally!!!!!! That, to me, is the ultimate point. Yes, people should help each other. Yes, a perfect society would be "of one heart and one mind, and dwell in righteousness [with] no poor among them." But that is only possible if individuals decide to do it. If a government is used to enforce this perfection, it will HAVE to be given the power to do other, less friendly things. And, taking human nature and history into consideration, it will do those things.

"I'm a Republican because I didn't want to spend the rest of my life poor waiting for the government to rescue me."

He then talks about a lot of stuff that makes me think "Do the Republicans really think this will help them win?"

Okay, the teacher story was really great: "You don't have to earn your desks because these [veterans] already did." I also like the way he tied the students' desks to the desk in the Oval Office. I'm all about tying things together coherently!

Not a bad speech, but I'm not the type of person that extreme right stances (middle part of Huckabee's speech) appeal to. Hmm, so maybe I'll be voting Libertarian after all.

Hawaii Governor Linda Lingle: Discussion of Palin. Lingle is the right person to defend Sarah Palin's record, and her speech is succinct and to the point. However, I do wish someone would address the issue of Wasilla's debt. She makes the point that Obama and Biden have no executive experience. True.

Rudy Giuliani: I like him. He tells stories. I hope he tells stories this year.

Comparing Obama v. McCain--"Who are you going to hire?"

In terms of showing magnaminity to the other side . . . I don't think either party is going to win that award this year. The convention floor is extremely partisan (but no more than those Democrats who practically spit when they say Bush's name).

Giuliani has made the point that Obama's records in Illinois and Washington aren't that impressive. He is right about that. Obama's lack of leadership is one of his campaign's biggest weaknesses. (And very saavy of Giuliani to use Biden and Hillary Clinton's words on this subject.)

"Change is not a destination, just as hope is not a strategy"--good line but pretty forgettable.

"If I were Joe Biden, I would want to get that VP thing in writing." That's funny. I don't think Obama is quite as waffling as Kerry; I think he is careful and close. However, Giuliani is doing the job of showing how the "other" candidate is not a reliable bet.

"I'm sorry Barack Obama feels her hometown isn't . . . cosmopolitan enough." Giuliani can be downright hilarious in his delivery. He's a fun speaker.

He sure likes to talk though.

When do they ever ask a man, "Will he have enough time to govern and spend time with his children?" Excellent point!! Isn't it hilarious that the people asking that question are Republicans! Take that, NOW!

No stories. I'm disappointed.

FINALLY!! Sarah Palin is up. Okay (deep breath). What do *I* think? (And I'm sure you are holding your breaths in anticipation of my thoughts!)

The floor LOVES her.

She has just declared what her focus will be as Vice President: Special Needs children.

She will now defend her record. She has a clear, non-shrill voice. She is confident and not defensive. She is far more personable than Hillary--sorry, Hillary supporters (personally, I doubt very much that Hillary supporters will switch to Palin, but I think Independent feminists might go for her).

I have to mention that I like the changing slides on the stage's backdrop.

She is making specific references to what she did as governor--I am impressed!

Gas and oil. Gas and oil. Well, I buy Palin's experience here more than anyone else's so far.

She has delivered some fairly funny bon mots regarding Obama. She doesn't rant. She sounds . . . like a PTA mom. It's refreshing.

Okay, I have to admit, it bothers me when Republicans cheer about NOT giving terrorists their rights. I don't have that much investment in the issue, and for all I know, tackling terrorists is more complicated than the ACLU could cope with, but is that really something to get excited about?

She did a good job. She talked a great deal about McCain and ignored a lot of the press's speculations. That shows real strength of character.

So, I like her. I'm even impressed.

But I need to hear McCain before I make any lasting decisions (which I will then feel free to change at any time).

And my request has been answered! John McCain just showed up--I guess it has become de rigeur for the presidential candidate to show up Wednesday instead of Thursday.

He will speak tomorrow--read this blog for my thoughts on that speech!

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Jo Anne Davidson talks about conservative women. You would think that reasonably intelligent people would already know that many women are deliberately and thoughtfully conservative, but unfortunately, the politically-correct, NOW-like mindset still cannot accept that truly independent and intelligent women do not all come from the liberal camp. Talk about close-mindedness.

Norm Coleman: Reference to Hurricane Gustav. Who says Gustav will hurt the Republican Convention?

"I'm not indecisive, am I? That could be an Obama campaign slogan." Okay, it's the first truly funny thing I've heard in both conventions so far. Democrats can be catty, but Republicans can actually tell jokes. Ann Coulter is nuts, but she is much funnier than Michael Moore.

"John McCain has a face that says, 'Yes' because that's what's in his soul." Excellent line.

Okay, the convention hall is really ugly. I'm disappointed. The Republicans usually do better. I loved the 2000 convention hall which was light with plenty of open spaces and a sand-colored stage. The convention hall this year is just blah. On the other hand, it is simple.

So the Republican Convention is going for the PATRIOTIC/FLAG/WE LOVE AMERICA stuff. Not that I have anything against any of that stuff. I side with O'Rourke who in, I think, Holidays From Hell gets ticked at the lack of patriotism shown by leftists who traveled to Russia and openly criticized the United States. I love the song "I'm Proud to Be an American!" I have no problem with the Pledge of Allegiance remaining part of school programs across the United States. I once got incredibly upset at a neighbor who allowed her kid to throw a little American flag on the ground.

However, I get uncomfortable with the flag waving=good people/Pledge=pure American stuff. When my mom and dad were in school, the Pledge did not include the "God" phrase--that came along later. But these things get sacralized and all my pure liberal conservative instincts go "Yikes!"

David Brooks comes out pretty strong defending Palin and criticizing the media's obsession with her kid. "Look," he says (I'm summarizing), "every politician puts his or her kids on the line, in the limelight. In general, the media has agreed to lay off, but this time, they aren't. Why is that Palin's fault?" Good for Brooks!

The beginning of the Democratic Convention was all "Will Hillary support Obama?" The beginning of the Republican Convention is all about Palin. I think that's one point to the Republicans.

Michele Bachmann: "Government fosters service the best when government binds service the least." She is speaking about John McCain's encouragement of service organizations.

"We must never forget what government is NOT: government is NOT a philanthropic organization. Government is not the family. And government is certainly not the church."

It's about time somebody said it!

She's doing a good job articulating a specific philosophy! Gee, was she ever up for the vice presidential spot?

Wes Gullett with his black daughter, Nicki?: He is talking about Cindy McCain's work. I'm not sure how I feel about the show-n-tell. But those are very sweet girls (who McCain brought home, and Wes Gullett and his wife adopted). The political objective here seems a bit vague: Adoption is a good option? Foster care is positive? The United States is open to immigration?

You know, it is really hard NOT to believe in the bias of the press when you see all this "Ahhh, scandal regarding Palin, look! look! look!" It makes my skin crawl. Where's the civility? Jim Lehrer isn't terribly thrilled with the material; Brooks is getting as annoyed as his moderate soul can allow. Watching Mark Shields justify it is downright distasteful--Palin hasn't even spoken yet!

More discussion of McCain's reaction to Hurricane Gustav and requests for aid (who says Hurricane Gustav hurt the Republicans?)

Fire Capt. Shanna Hanson just got an incredibly warm welcome as did President George Bush (Senior).

These women speakers make me very happy--it's like the Republicans said, "You want feminism--we'll give you feminism!" Good. Nothing ticks me off more than the "oh, you're a woman, you can only think one way, you MUST be a liberal" attitude.

Tommy Espinoza, President & CEO of Raza Development Fund: I finally got it! It's an evening of volunteers and community organizations. As an answer to government control, it's a fairly effective presentation (although I hope someone actually makes the point clear and explains the importance).

So far the convention has appeared less well-coordinated than the Democratic Convention, but the floor is consistently up and the speakers come across as more sincere. (And appearances are deceptive--the Democratic Convention was constantly changing its program which annoyed Jim Lehrer--in his mild-mannered way--to no end. That isn't happening with the Republican Convention. PBS is able to follow its planned arrangements without having to cut to the floor every two seconds.)

Gary Sinise (one of my favorite actors) narrates a film about U.S. Seal Mike Monsoor, Medal of Honor recipient: what a remarkable story! The floor's reactions seem truly warm and spontaneous--it's nice.

The speakers are skipping back and forth from service to military, but the theme is consistent: individual sacrifice.

Laura Bush is up!! I think she is such a fine human being. "I'm proud that the first U.S. female Vice President will be a Republican woman." Yeah, that would be cool.

She says good things about her husband: "Change you can really believe in." She isn't usually so fired up in her sweet, refined way (Fanny Price on a rampage). Good for her!

George W. Bush: I still like him. I know he has made many mistakes, but I've always liked the guy.

"I know the hard choices a president must make." Ye-ah, he does.

It's a pretty normal Bush speech. He praises his wife, like he always does. His praise always comes across as very real and loving. I do like the guy.

Laura praises Cindy McCain--another gracious lady.

Well, nothing really different yet but well-grounded material.

Fred Thompson: He was on Law & Order? I love Law & Order.

He says Washington and the media is all up in arms about a woman who has actually governed rather than hit the "Washington cocktail circuit"--now, that's a great line.

He's a strong speaker: Palin is the only speaker in either party who knows how to properly "field dress a moose." Heh.

Thompson is making the case for McCain as a maverick: so far, it is all "mischievous boyhood" stuff. Instead of George Washington cutting down the tree and then confessing, the story should be that George Washington cut down the tree and then . . . cut down twenty more!

Thompson is going to tell the story of McCain's military record. It is extraordinary--very impressive. Still, it doesn't tell me how his governing will be different from other politicians. But I think it is supposed to be a presentation of McCain's (truly) tough and (truly) noble character. Does the ability to withstand terrible physical torture indicate an ability to withstand emotional and politicking pressure? I don't know.

Still, McCain's history is utterly astonishing. And well-told.

"This is the kind of character that civilizations from the beginning of time have sought in their leaders." Yeah and . . . sometimes, it works. Sometimes . . . it don't. The heroic and charismatic Julius Caesar was an impressive leader, but the bureaucratic Augustus was probably better. Alexander was a great administrator, but he lived hard and died young. Charlemagne was apparently pretty good. Richard the Lionheart stank.

Thompson is a first-hand witness of McCain's behavior in the Senate--this is necessary information. And Thompson is also really fun to listen to. Obama is the "most liberal, most inexperienced nominee to ever run for president"--ouch! The Democratic-controlled Congress is the "least accomplished" Congress in history. "This is not reform, and it is certainly not change." He's right although from a Libertarian point of view, you could argue that a totally incompetent and ineffectual president and Congress might not be totally terrible for the United States (economically, at least).

Thompson is the only one so far who has pointed out that taxing businesses DOES hurt the average everyday citizen. "They say they aren't going to take any water out of your side of the bucket, just the other side of the bucket." That is totally funny.

Geez, did McCain consider this guy for VP?

Possibly the best speech so far.

There is a strong reaction from the floor regarding remarks about government corruption and government control. This is the most anti-government crowd of Republicans I've ever seen.

Joe Lieberman is up!! I really like him. He's now an Independent. I didn't know that. (Will Zell Miller show up?)

McCain will put our country first.

*Sigh.* It's not a bad sentiment, but I've been watching over a week's worth of political yaddaya by now. I wonder if I should try speechifying to my students: "You should put your English papers first. You should come together over your peer reviews. You should work on grammar rules that make every American proud."

"God only made one John McCain, and he is his own man." Good line.

"Eloquence is no substitute for a record."

I think the Republican tactic has been set--the old, gruff, independent, experienced guy versus the young buck.

Lieberman can speak to Obama's Senate record. Lieberman argues that Obama's record is less independent than . . . Clinton's--now, THAT is saavy. Lieberman may not completely enchant the floor (although they have been positive in their responses), but he will reach moderate Republicans.

Another good--though loooong--talk. Lieberman said some really blunt things about what's going on in Washington. However, I do think the Republicans' efforts to reach Independents may be somewhat more effective than the Democrats' efforts (I'm not sure leftists amongst the Democratic leadership understand Independents).

I think the evening was a little bewildering, but the speeches were much, much better than the Democratic speeches on the first two nights. (You could probably argue that a three night convention is more effective than a four night convention in any case.)

Palin will speak tomorrow. I'm excited to learn more about her!

Labor Day, Monday, September 1, 2008

Recap:

A week ago, when I began watching the Democratic Convention, I thought Obama and Biden were a shoo-in for the presidency. I should state here that I am a conservative Libertarian. I don't agree with many of Obama's proposals, and in general, am not a big fan of Democratic economic policies. I also don't have the highest regard for liberal attitudes towards the military and military policies. How much liberalism affects or infects the Democratic party is as debatable a point as how much religious fundamentalism affects or infects the Republican party.

In any case, despite my reservations--and the strong possibility that I will actually vote Libertarian this year (rather than going with a vote that "counts")--I thought Obama was going to win the National Election in November by a wide margin. He is young, black, eloquent, and likable. Plus the economy is reportedly not doing so well. (Some economists somewhere once made the case that the National Election is always decided based on the economy OR, at least, the perception of the economy.)

Additionally, the Republicans have made some pretty bad blunders over the last eight years. I am not one of those Independents that thinks George Bush, Jr. (or Senior for that matter) is the spawn of Satan. I don't even think he was (necessarily) wrong to go into Iraq. But, as I mentioned last week, I do think the Bushes aren't terribly good at communicating their visions. This does not mean that history won't appreciate Bush, Jr.'s hard work; it just means that in the world of short-term politics, he is rather a liability to his party.

So, last week, I thought, "Obama has it. Game over."Then I watched the Democratic Convention. It was a very, very smart convention. It was well-crafted. A convention should be well-crafted. It also needs good speakers. The Democratic Convention had good speakers although none of them were really memorable. (The 2004 Conventions included far more memorable speeches from both parties, but the evenings were also far more inconsistent--bad speaker, bad speaker, great speaker, bad speaker. The Democratic Convention had consistently okay to good speakers.)

A convention also needs to create memories. The truth is nobody but people like me watch the conventions, and I mostly watch them to pick up lessons in good and bad communication. Conventions are for the delegates, the pundits, the news media, and the opposition. BUT the impression made by the convention on those listed groups has, I believe, a huge impact in terms of formulating memory. What are people going to keep talking about? What are people going to be hearkening back to? What image will people carry with them over the next three months?

So what was the Democratic Convention's impact on the memory of the above listed communicators?

"Wow!!!! Uh."

It was well-planned and well-executed. It retained an emotional high over four days. It had great music. It was an impressive spectacle. But that's all. Despite the use of phrases like "we must make a change," nothing new was really said. It was, thankfully, slightly less vindictive than Democratic conventions usually are, but there was nothing truly individualistic about it. Palin is the most individualistic thing that happened that week, and she happened to the Republicans.

That's a problem.

Maybe.

It depends on what McCain does this week. It depends a great deal, I think, on Palin. Mostly, I think it depends on whether the Republicans can convince the delegates, pundits, news media, and opposition that the Republican Convention did offer up something substantial.

I am full of curiosity.

Since my television is still wonky, I will be watching a large portion of the convention on CNN.

The Republican Convention has suspended most of its televised first day speeches, etc. due to Hurricane Gustav. Personally, I think this was a wise decision. I also think it is being handled tastefully (with a request for donations for Hurricane Gustav sufferers). Kudos for grace under pressure.

Which is more than I can say about the protesters. Yes, I know they have been mostly peaceful, and it's their right, etc., but all they do is reinforce my (albeit jaded after two years of graduate school) perspective that liberals (who I associate with protesters more than I do conservatives) love freedom so long as it enables them to say and do what they want but no one else--especially not people they disagree with. (I felt the same way about the protesters outside the Republican Convention in 2004 and about the degree of coverage the regular news media gave them. For all I know, there are protesters at the Democratic conventions, but I never hear about them.) Heaven forbid the Republicans should even MOUNT a campaign in opposition to Obama. How dare they!! Boo! Hiss!

Oh, grow up.

Apparently, there were protesters at the Democratic Convention "protesting everything" (thanks to Carole for the update and the quote). However, my objections still stand. I know protesting is a time-honored element of American society, but I can't say that a protester has every convinced me of anything except that political discourse is sadly in need of fewer political opinions that can fit on a sign or a bumper sticker.

(And why aren't the protesters down in New Orleans helping Gustav victims?)

Speaking of being a grown-up, I am impressed by Obama's statement re: Palin's kid (and why anyone thinks Palin's kid being pregnant will hurt her with average Americans is beyond me):

Sen. Barack Obama said firmly that families are off-limits in the campaign for president, reacting to news that GOP running mate Sarah Palin's 17-year-old daughter is pregnant. "Let me be as clear as possible," Obama said. "I think people's families are off-limits, and people's children are especially off-limits. This shouldn't be part of our politics. It has no relevance to Gov. Palin's performance as governor or her potential performance as a vice president." (CNN.com)

Good for him: I hope he and his people stick to it.

Hopefully, Hurricane Gustav will not cause great problems to the people on the Gulf!

Coverage of the Republican Convention will resume here when prime time coverage resumes.

Convention Notes 2008: Democratic Convention

Four years ago, I wrote up National Election convention notes for my family. Those notes can be found on my blog. This year, I am posting the notes directly to the blog. The Democratic Convention is this week. The Republican Convention is next week. I will post (almost) every day with the current day first.

I should state first that although I am more or less a conservative libertarian, my interest in the conventions is mostly centered on communication: what choices do the parties make? how do they portray themselves? what sort of speeches do they make? and what exactly does the convention hall look like?

I should also state that I (usually) watch PBS with Jim Lehrer, Mark Shields, and David Brooks (when my television is working) plus the PBS pundits, all looking a little older than four years ago. I like the civility. I think Mark Shields tends to be a little too "Democrats can do no wrong; David Brooks is the only acceptable Republican in the world." David Brooks is, granted, (relatively) conservative, but his analysis tends to be more prudent and self-effacing. I find self-effacement very charming.

Thursday, August 28th

It's a DeMille film! The Democratic Convention has moved to a football stadium and become the cast of thousands. And thousands. And thousands.

I turned on the television about 9:30 and the current speaker was talking about Obama's ability to be Commander-in-Chief. As far as I can tell, the Democrats have decided McCain's military record is the Republican's biggest threat. It seems kind of odd when you remember that pollsters in 2004 said "moral issues" were deciding factors in how people voted, not the war in Iraq. But maybe that was just one survey.

We are about to hear from "regular, everyday Americans." And next week, Republicans will haul out their "regular, everyday Americans" and frankly, the whole game makes me tired. I mean, what exactly is the selling point? "MY regular American only earns minimum wage." "MY regular American only earns minimum wage and is a single mother." "MY regular American only earns minimum wage, is a single mother, AND takes care of her four aging grandparents." "MY regular American only earns minimum wage, is a single mother, takes care of her four aging grandparents, AND works near Willy Wonka's candy factory--" oh, sorry, strayed in Roald Dahl there.

The speakers did a good job, but I still can't get behind this technique. If you want to find a struggling family that has fallen on hard times in the last eight years, geez, how hard is that? Finding a struggling family whose lives have improved over the last eight years won't be that hard either--it's called life, people.

Before my PBS went kapluey, David Brooks referred to the convention as a "spectacle" rather than a "political event." Well, the conventions are always "spectacles," but he has a point. Will it sell the Democratic party? Maybe. Those who plan to vote Democrat anyway will love it. Those who plan to vote Republican will scoff at the flash and glam. And the rest of us will react according to taste. Personally, I dislike being sold things from health insurance to phone plans, and I really dislike people selling me things by going on and on about HOW GREAT IT IS, HOW COOL IT IS, HOW WONDERFUL IT IS. "Look," I tell the salesperson on the phone, "just tell me what you are selling, and we can go from there." And the person doesn't, and the conversation is over.

But that's me.

Now I will wax libertarian--I don't much trust in either party. Politicians have to sell themselves; one of the inevitabilities of selling oneself is there has to be something to sell. With businesses, the thing being sold is the latest product. With politicians, it is the latest service. So politicians have to keep coming up with services to sell, things to do, problems to fix. Defining an ideology, presenting a political perspective, arguing over the role of government: all these things fall by the wayside. Sure, intellectuals within the parties may be doing these things, but politicians have to keep selling themselves, have to keep convincing the American people that they can make life better.

And here's the thing: the human animal is insatiable. Nothing is ever enough. Things can always be better, different, improved, more, beyond. In some ways, this makes humans marvelous, great, idealists, movers and shakers. In other ways, it makes humans greedy, base, self-aggrandizing, and even amoral. Politicians will always be able to offer more because nothing will ever be enough. But that isn't necessarily a good thing.

I don't know if there is a solution to all this or at least, I figure the solutions could be much worse. Actually, I do think there is a solution, but the solution lies within the individual, not the state. This problem the state can't fix because the state's invested interest is NOT to fix it. It is up to individuals to draw the line, fall back, refuse to take more, refrain from asking for more, suffer without government involvement, choose virtue over satisfaction, freedom over indulgence.

Thus endeth the lesson.

Sometimes, the news media is just silly. CNN's coverage includes the phrase: "Obama expected to address change in speech." Wow! I never ever expected THAT!

Obama speaks!

He will address the economy first.

He praises McCain--is this the Republican convention? Oh, wait, nope, it's Obama speaking. "John McCain has voted with George Bush 90% of the time." The irony is that pro-Bush voters who think John McCain is too left or too maverick will be comforted by this "fact."

But I don't think Obama is really aiming his speech at Republicans (whatever the Democrats say) but at Independents.

Apparently, McCain has said we are "a nation of whiners--" okay, I admit it, I laughed. It's not very smart politics, but when you consider how often higher academe goes on and on about our decadent American society, it's kind of funny that McCain would be criticized for saying something that gets written about in the New York Times on a daily basis.

Obama is criticizing McCain for giving tax breaks to the rich. Unfortunately, this is such a common knee-jerk criticism of Republicans, I'll need to hear the other side before I pass judgment.

Okay, Obama, so what are you going to do about the economy?

Insert Jeopardy music.

More Jeopardy music.

Here we go:

• Tax breaks for small businesses
• Keep jobs in the United States
• Eliminate capital gains taxes on small businesses
• Cut taxes for 95% of all working families
• End dependence on oil from the Middle East in 10 years (but he isn't going to drill)
• Invest in clean-coal technology!!
• Safely harness nuclear power!! (He's got me!)
• Fuel-efficient cars built in the United States
• Invest in wind power and solar power (he lost me) which research will provide new jobs (he really lost me: government creating jobs to improve the economy--erk)
• Invest in early childhood education (kind of pointless)
• Pay teachers higher salaries
• Raise education standards
• "If you commit to [help] our country, you will be able to afford college." (Well, that's already true--it's called enlistment in the U.S. Army.)
• Affordable healthcare--lower premiums
• Insurance coverage similar to what U.S. Senators have
• Stop discrimination by insurance companies
• Equal pay for women (what is it with this non-issue?)

How will he pay for it?

• Close corporate loopholes
• Eliminate Federal programs (which will make him ALL kinds of friends)

I don't think that's enough.

Obama addresses foreign affairs:

"Don't tell me Democrats won't defend this country." Well, Democratic leaders didn't exactly line up behind Reagan, now did they?

He's going to end the war in Iraq, curb Iranian and Russian aggression, and end terrorism.

Ohhkay. Now, I really don't think he has a clue. International politics are hard, Barack. Pollyanna optimism will not solve the problem.

He looks forward to debating McCain. He thinks they both have a Patriotic perspective.

How bothered am I by Obama using Martin Luther King, Jr.'s legacy to bulwark his own image? (No, he didn't say that, but that's how it feels). I'm not sure.

Obama is a good speaker. He's clear, passionate, and has the ability to hit fundamental/common values. (Good parallelism too.)

Can he do all the above? Well, bonus points for self-confidence, but I think life is much messier than Obama is promising.

Does he know that? Does he believe he can sweep into office and fix everything? Or does he know that politics is hard and messy and is simply talking the talk to get to the White House?

I don't know.

I must say again, GREAT music this time around for the Democratic Convention. The big closing blow-out also looks good although I miss balloons. I really, really like balloons at a convention.

Ah, but they do have fireworks. I LIKE fireworks.

I will say, the Democrats have put on one of the snazziest conventions I have ever seen, even including Bush 2000 which was pretty good.

Part of a convention's job is to energize the delegates, so they will go back home and work hard to convince others how to vote. I think this convention has more than done that job. However, as many, many people have told me over the past week, few people watch the conventions themselves. So how big an impact will the Democratic convention have on the long term vote? Very little directly. (There really wasn't anything new said.) However, indirectly, it could have a great deal of impact in terms of how the Democrats continue to portray themselves.

On to the Republican Convention!!