A-Z Characters & Transformation: The Surprise Reveal or What the Audience Truly Wants

In one of his discussions on horror, Stephen King points out that the human brain can imagine greater horrors within a text than a film can capture. Granted, there are exceptions. I watched the black & white French Les Diaboliques as a student. All of us in the theater gasped-as-one at the great reveal. 

So often, however, these moments run the risk of falling somewhat flat. The "man behind the curtain" turns out to be...

The Wizard of Oz. A conman (or a couple of Ferengi) who is not what everyone thought, just a rather ordinary guy pulling wires. 

With Baum's Oz, the almost random, dreamlike ordinariness of "O" is rather the point: "A little old man with a bald head and a wrinkled face." He readily admits to being a "humbug" though he argues, "I'm really a very good man, but I'm a very bad Wizard, I must admit."  

Seeing as the book is, possibly, a dream of Dorothy's, the random non-surprise here makes sense. It may also explain why I don't care for the book. I have a hard enough time with the dreamlike sequences in Miyazaki's work--but they at least seem to capture a feeling of transcendence. The Wizard of Oz comes across as a very long in-joke, which I find unsettling. 

But again, Baum is a good-enough writer to take the "reveal" where it goes. The "thing" behind the curtain may not live up to expectations, so why not simply go to those disappointed expectations. 

Another solution, interestingly, seems to be to give away the reveal. In Heaven's Official Blessing, Xie Lian--and the reader--are fairly sure of the true identity of San Lang. It isn't exactly a secret--it simply isn't addressed until necessary. Likewise, the audience knows the twins in Twelfth Night are alive, even if they do not.

Which suggests that the reveal isn't for the characters' sake. Rather, it is artistically satisfying for the audience to watch the confrontation, the reveal, the ripped-off disguise. We know it is coming: we still want to see it happen.   

(Regarding the placement of Oz on this list, Characters Who Transform: the character doesn't transform, but his transformation or reveal alters the main characters' understanding: as with the audience, the impact of the reveal is greater on others than on the character.)  

Problems of Utopias: Nobody Wants to Do the Yucky Jobs

One of the major problems with utopias is that they are invented by people who don't understand grunt work or specialization. 

Grunt Work

Take Charlotte Perkins Gilman. She wasn't as wealthy as her relations, the Beechers, She wasn't as poor as the Alcotts. But she did her own share of grunt work as a writer and lecturer to pay the bills. She wrote constantly. She traveled constantly. And the work was exhausting. 

But it was work she liked, not work she loathed--namely, it wasn't the boring, niggling, not so interesting stuff that must get done at some point. 

When More argues that members of his Utopia only have to work 6 hours a day (aside from the two years when they go off to be farmers), he is ignoring that daily grind--the reality that nothing in an urban environment can be sustained without someone filling the potholes and shoveling up the horse droppings. 

In Lost Horizon, Shangri-la is presented as entirely beautiful and modern--the baths are from Ohio (seriously)--while the well-paid "porters" are credited for the items' arrival. Nobody explains how exactly heavy-duty construction materials, such as pipes, and other items could be carted in over the treacherous passes without (1) numerous porters dying; (2) a major commercial interest noticing. 

And who is putting in all the stuff when it arrives? Are those workers doing the grinding, dusty, dirty work for the good of the other residents? Because they (conveniently) enjoy grinding, dusty, dirty work? They actually might. But it's not the kind of work that can be started and then stopped (only 6 hours a day!) or performed at a leisurely pace (not without causing more problems--see issues in pouring cement). Which means, a group of somebodies is working quite hard behind the façade of delightful and restful beauty.

Roman roads are honored for a reason. Michelangelo's attempt to create decent access to a marble quarry was made for a reason. 

In fairness, Gilman saw grunt work as a specialty. If she had the money (she didn't), she would have willingly paid manual laborers large sums of cash.  

Unfortunately, she didn't understand specialization as a lifestyle. 

Specialization

Gilman is an exception to many utopia builders because she did notice grunt work (she'd had to do it), and she did think it should be fairly compensated. 

In fairness to Gilman, at Fruitlands,

the women did much of the work.

In comparison, one of the more irritating aspects of Plato, More, and many nineteenth century transcendentalists is their conviction that agriculture isn't THAT hard. It is just, you know, work. But anyone can do it. 

More's Utopia sends people to the fields for 2 years after which they can come back (unless, of course, they--wink, wink--WANT to stay). The system utterly ignores the issue of specialization. All the education in the world can't replace hands-on experience. Every 2 years means that every 2 years, an entirely new group of farmers would have to be retrained on how to breed cattle and how/when to plant and how to get the best yields. How to butcher. How to harvest. How to help domesticated animals give birth... 

It's hard to believe that More was this stupid, and C.S. Lewis is likely correct that More was being extremely ironic in a very English "can't you tell I'm joking?" way. 

Bronson Alcott was a sweet  

beloved man--and he was daft. 

The transcendentalists who started farms and then were shocked--shocked!--when they didn't have time to philosophize in the evenings were, in fact, that stupid. 

As mentioned, Gilman understood the theoretical idea of specialization--especially with people who would care for children--but she never grasped it as a reality. Her main female characters in Herland are supposedly specialists--nature girls who roam about checking trees for bugs and so on (forest rangers, basically)--yet they never seem to be in the woods since they are always sitting around with their boyfriends and attending lectures on the meaning of life. 

That is, Gilman utterly fails to grasp what it means to be devoted to a specialty, especially by someone who is not a "meaning of life"  philosopher. If the young women truly love what they do (which Gilman claims), they would either...

(1) Roam all over the country, examining trees and noting issues with bugs and growth. They would compile reports; they would give lectures on THEIR specialty; they would get all nerdy with other forest rangers. 

(2) Pull a Gerald Durrell and spend hours examining a particular patch of earth. 

The remarkable aspect of the young Gerald Durrell is that he did both of the above. When his family arrived on Corfu, he roamed all over the island, learning the language and collecting animals. He also had the capacity to sit for hours noting the behavior of the insects on the wall near one of the family's homes. 

Watch a prepubescent child who is engrossed in a valued (by the child) activity. That combination of energy and obsession is very normal. One minute acting like a dinosaur. The next, learning every single name of every single dinosaur. 

"[Happens] more often than you'd think," 

says Howard about Sheldon and 

Leonard's science fight.

Gilman does not seem to comprehend that any true specialist--educated or not--will act in similar fashion, male or female. Gilman understood specialization in terms of interests, not in terms of behavior. And behavior is not dictated by theory. In fact, it often overrides its so-called "purpose." Specialists don't stop being specialists when their specialty gets in the way of propriety. Or the State's objectives. 

Like many utopia builders, Gilman didn't observe the world. She explained it.

The Best Archie Goodwins

 

I've seen a number of Nero Wolfes. I consider Timothy Hutton and Joe Penny (as Jake in Jake & the Fatman) the best Archies. 

The reason connects to a quote from Jacques Barzun that can be found on the Nero Wolfe Wikipedia page.

 If he had done nothing more than to create Archie Goodwin, Rex Stout would deserve the gratitude of whatever assessors watch over the prosperity of American literature. For surely Archie is one of the folk heroes in which the modern American temper can see itself transfigured. Archie is the lineal descendant of Huck Finn...Archie is spiritually larger than life. That is why his employer and companion had to be made corpulent to match.

Timothy Hutton and Joe Penny capture the Huck Finn quality. They have a rawness, a physical easiness that lies somewhere between suppleness and bruiser-like directness. They are never entirely still. And their quickness of thought comes from brash self-confident experience. 

Lee Horsley opposite William Conrad is too slick and yuppie-like. Pietro Sermonti opposite Francesco Pannofino is better, but he also plays the straight man to Pannofino. Both these Archies lack the brashness, the Archie who can appreciate Wolfe's gourmet dishes but is happiest with pie and milk.

Timothy Hutton and Joe Penny capture that raw talent brashness.   

A-Z Characters & Transformation: Nero Wolfe, The Untransforming Detective

My latest A-Z List is characters who transform. I also address characters who don't transform: what constitutes transformation; what doesn't. 

One of the most amusing non-transformations is book detectives who remain the same age over several decades. It's rather like TV detectives who never retire (though Murdoch, who begins his career in the series at approximately 35 is still believably working 18 years later, and the series does move forward in time, so every season is the next year in the early 1900s). 

Miss Marple, Poirot, Nero Wolfe--they all remind me of my left-brain father getting frustrated when my mother began to lose her memory and talked about her parents as still being alive. He would growl, "They would be 130 years old!" 

Rex Stout reputedly stated about Nero Wolfe, "I didn't age the characters because I didn't want to." I LOVE that. Some authors get apologetic. Others, like Sayers, intend to age their characters from the beginning (Wimsey marries when he is 45). But Rex Stout apparently perceived his mystery stories the way I perceive sci-fi: put THIS character into a situation and see how the character handles it, whether the situation is pre-World War II or a 1960s bohemian neighborhood--

Which may explain why Nero Wolfe has proved so "translatable"!  

All the Ms: Depressing Literature in the Ms

I play a half-joking/half-serious game with myself when I am driving. After two events of the same kind, I declare that it is a Pedestrians Running Out Into Traffic Day 

or 

Large Trunks Blocking the Way Day 

or 

Cars Coming Up Suddenly on Side Streets Day. 

With this list, I feel like I have encountered reading trends, including Modern Depressing Life With Naval Gazing Novels. I honestly don’t see the point of this stuff but hey, if people want to read it…

Maybe, they read it for the same reason Stephen King says people watch horror movies: to emphasize their own normality. 

Or not. 

Haven’t a clue. 

The list below is a sample. However, in fairness, though all the books are contemporary and all the books are about life being a pain, blah blah blah, some of them look...not so bad. 

Nicholas Mancusi: A Philosophy of Ruin is about a guy whose Mom dies and he somehow gets into drugs. It’s such a boring premise, it makes my brain hurt.

Emily St. John Mandel: The Glass Hotel starts with random sentences on a page, then skips to a character who is depressed and self-conscious and whose narrative is interrupted by discussions with a therapist…and I forced myself to read 10 pages. 

Becky Mandelbaum: The Bright Side Sanctuary for Animals starts with a dozen cliches about redneck hicks in Kansas—but that’s kind of the point. That is, there is a difference between the author inserting cliches to force a conclusion and an author speaking out of the head of a character. The difference is the difference between sermonizing and art. Mandelbaum is writing art. 

Lee Mandelo: Feed Them Silence is about a woman who gets a grant to link herself to wolves while her marriage is falling apart. To be honest, I found the animal concept gripping. But failed marriages bore me, including lesbian marriages. And I thought the protagonist’s wife’s lectures were so nauseating, I couldn’t figure out why the protagonist (however flawed) married her in the first place.  

Marina Mander: The First True Lie is about a boy who is now a “half-orphan” since his father died. The boy’s voice comes across as quite authentic (not a term I enjoy using, but this list calls for the term).  

1 Nephi: Scripture Reading from Reformation to Enlightenment

Bible literalism is a relatively late development in the production, collection, and canonization of scriptures. It popped up throughout the Middle Ages (and earlier), of course, but didn't take off until the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

The Reformation

Martin Luther was

quite argumentative.

Luther et al. challenged Rome's authority based on the belief that the scriptures were the only reliable source of God's truth. The matter was instantly made more complicated by not everyone understanding what the scriptures actually said (translations into everyday language were being made but not all translators had the same background in Greek, Hebrew, and Latin). Luther and Calvin believed that scripture was the ultimate authority--and were no more enthused than Catholic authorities at the variety of interpretations. 

The variety of interpretation happened anyway. For instance, some Protestants insisted on literalism regarding Christ's whereabouts ("right hand of God") while some insisted that the reference was only figurative. 

The Enlightenment

The Enlightenment—a highly varied movement itself—underscored the concept of a rational and reasonable deity. The associated assumptions have impacted everything from church organization to charity work to scripture reading. Many things we take for granted—such as forensics as evidence—are both older than the Enlightenment and were encouraged by the Enlightenment. (Theology, likewise, has always focused on producing a coherent explanation of God and God's acts.)

One of the Enlightenment's ideas was “evidential” religion, the idea that the natural world and rational argument could prove philosophical and, if necessary, religious truths. The idea influenced generations of believers, from literalists using the natural world and the Bible to prove the equivalent of Creationism to near-atheists using the natural world and Bible studies (coming out of Germany) to prove the non-existence of miracles. 

Not everyone was a fan of using the scriptures as proof. But "evidential" religion fit in with the Protestant Reformation's emphasis on going to the scriptures for proof. 

Nineteenth Century

In the nineteenth century, the Bible’s clarity was being challenged by aforementioned scholars. An increasing number of Protestants pointed out that Saint Paul was probably speaking hypothetically or metaphorically or specifically or historically when he spoke about “election.”

There were plenty of people in-between. Many religious believers honestly didn’t want to go in either direction. They didn’t want to discard rationality and evidence from the natural world—but why should that mean getting rid of the unseen, unknowable, and unprovable?

Since an understanding of quantum mechanics hadn’t yet shown up in the sciences, they had a point.

That is, many nineteenth-century religious communities were perfectly capable of rejecting the logical fallacy of either/or (one must either accept that all scriptural events are metaphors or one must accept that they are meant to mean exactly what a current translation argues in a one word=one definition sense without any room for debate or context). 

Nineteenth-century readers were also open to a third possibility: more revelations, more visions, more scriptures, and more to come. 

In 1 Nephi, Nephi defines the brass plates as "spoken by the mouth of all the holy prophets..delivered unto [the prophets] by the Spirit and power of God” rather than spoken by God...delivered as incontestable words. The prior phrase places the translator on the non-literal side of the argument with the addition of a possible compromise.  

God may not change. But that doesn't mean that humans fully understand the mind/nature of God--which, as in the Reformation--opens religion to endless interpretation. 

Bad Guys Are the Most Balanced People Out There

I have a theory that movie/television villains are the most balanced people out there. 

I'm sure this theory could be quickly disproved. But I think it is interesting how many villain-playing actors, like Tod Slaughter (original twirling-mustache villain), have had long-lasting and apparently successful family relationships. 

Two possible explanations: 

1. Actors who play villains know their niche. 

They know their range, how good they are, what they can play. They are not constantly grieving over supposed lost opportunities or supposed lost recognition. They are, on the hero side, Jonathan Frakes, who got the role of Riker, found he loved it, and went on to become a well-established actor and director in an industry that is right up his alley. 

2. The actors have fun. 

Likewise, on the hero side, Jonathan Frakes had no problem poking fun at himself in the Star Trek-tribute Castle episode that he directed. 

And Christopher Lee, who had a reasonably happy life and was married for 54 years, apparently had to be carefully sat on during Lord of the Rings filming because otherwise, he would tell story after story after story after story... 

As my brother Joe points out, Vincent Price was also a nice, thoughtful, and complex man who, like Edward G. Robinson, shown above, had a wide range of interests (and a very distinctive voice).  

Villains are, in fact, really good guys!  

A-Z Characters & Transformation: Transformed Monsters, Justification or Truth?

Many, many people have written stories from The Monster's perspective, whether the Monster is Grendel or a serial killer. In truth, these stories aren't the product of modern psychology. The tradition goes back to Shelley's Frankenstein and even farther. 

The desire to creep into the "other's" mind and understand it is very old. The Epic of Gilgamesh presents a point where Humbaba, the giant or ogre that Enkidu and Gilgamesh have come to kill, presents his "side" and pleads for his life. Arguably, he is lying to waste time (Enkidu and Gilgamesh kill him anyway). But he gets a surprising amount of dialog. 

My favorite example of a justifying Monster is The Dracula Tape by Fred Saberhagen. Using Bram Stoker's own text, Dracula argues that he has been massively misunderstood. His "truth-telling" is  fun because he isn't entirely trustworthy. Ambiguous. Sarcastic. He doesn't present a Dracula transformed into a decent, virtuous, sacrificing hero. Rather, his "truth-telling" transforms him into...a guy who isn't quite as bad as people say.  

Monsters who turn out to be UTTERLY unlike their original characters are a little too much, like stories which turn out to dreams. Far better to have a Smaug who speaks half-truths than a Smaug who uses Bilbo as his personal therapist. 

Monsters should never be entirely stripped of their monster-selves, even when transformed.  

People Don't Change: History Doesn't Work on a Straight Line

One of the basic truths of life is that "eras" don't come about overnight. 

C.S. Lewis attempted to explain this point when he discussed the medieval age and the Renaissance: nobody woke up one morning and said, "Oh, it's 14_ _ or 15_ _. It must be the Renaissance!" Furthermore, ideas that emerged in the Renaissance originated (and were discussed) generations earlier. For that matter, ideas that held firm during the medieval era continue into the present day, where they are not automatically dismissed as uneducated superstition. 

Interestingly, many current historians agree. But at the time, Lewis was kind of a radical. 

I recently delved into hunter-gatherer culture and found (to my delight but not my astonishment) that the Agricultural Revolution didn't take place one morning in 8000 BCE. In fact, for many years (thousands) , a combination of hunter-gatherer techniques and agriculture took place--in the same way that cities began BEFORE the Fertile Crescent was entirely settled. 

Nothing ever stays in one place.  

And I'm sure that various people over those thousands of years bemoaned changes in approach/technology (that seem all the same to us) and/or touted a change in approach/technology as THE WAY OF THE FUTURE (a change that has since entirely vanished) and/or looked back to a "Golden Age" (that probably never existed) and so on and so forth...

Problems with Utopias: The Problem of Wanting Homogeneity Without Acknowledging How It Comes About

Occasionally, people in my church will exclaim, "The Church is the same wherever you go!" 

I've never found that statement particularly confronting. It isn't human nature, for one thing.  

This desire for sameness can't be blamed on religion or right-wingers. I've encountered it with leftists who want "small town" lovableness without the small town tendency to hold witch trials. They want the benefits of the "we all know each other, have the same attitudes about important topics, and extol the same rituals" with none of the negatives. They want streamlined government services without asking, "What infrastructure is needed to make that happen?" 

Thomas More's Utopia promotes cities that are all "exactly alike" in layout. Plato likewise argues that the elite members of his Republic will share "common houses and meet at common meals." 

The similarity in architecture and habits extends to an acceptance of established norms (ironically, since utopias are often formed in protest of standing norms). James Hilton's Shangri-la, for instance--though somewhat more hands-off than Plato and More's utopias--is based around the entirely unbelievable assumption that two people in a dispute--over a woman, for instance--will settle it peacefully because one person will let the matter go out of sheer "que sera sera" whateverness (as if an entire culture was run by Bingleys rather than Darcys). 

Hilton has his main character, Conway (who is something of a que sera sera guy himself) question the ability to get people to let things go. As with More and Plato, stigma (or "shame") is the operating factor, the inculcation of a belief that certain things are simply "not done." 

Gilman's Herland plays with the idea of accepted norms but she is less willing to explain precisely where so much harmony starts from. She promotes individuality and an unnerving degree of cultural sameness at the same time. That is, she wants the easygoing "that's just the way things are" attitude of Shangri-la (More and Plato are more willing to punish people). Unlike Hilton, however, she doesn't have an entire tradition of cultural mores to back her approach. 

An inability to recognize the inherent tension between cultural sameness and individual-do-what-you-want autonomy is one of the most annoying aspects of people who praise utopias. Many countries with greater cultural convergence than America/Europe also have far stricter immigration laws. Many countries with greater cultural convergence include far more stigmas about behaviors, even placing those behavior into the category of mental illness. Many countries with greater cultural convergence exhibit far more deference to older people, so that in the BL that I watch/read, achieving the parents' consent or, at least, the parents' lack of disapprobation is considered a primary goal. (So is going to school, getting good grades, working hard, and not causing unnecessary furor in public settings.) Pluralism takes a back seat to not rocking the boat.

The response to these obvious observations is for utopia-praisers to hack up cultures and people to create imaginary results. Preachers of "it's so much better over there" ignore that most other cultures are as complicated and multi-faceted as their own. Instead, they (1) present those cultures as monolithic entities; (2) "translate" those cultures to fit their needs and views. 

The result is wishful thinking: nothing is that homogeneous, not if humans are involved. 

All the Ms: Malvaldi to Manchester

Malvaldi, Marco: Despite starting with an unnamed “he” in the prologue and a “you” in the first chapter, The Measure of a Man is fairly fascinating. It’s about the Italian Renaissance–Leonardo Da Vinci, in particular. The text reads more like commentary than fiction. At one point, the narrator states, “If opinion polls had existed then…” But hey, it’s the Italian Renaissance, so anything goes (Star Trek had an episode about the Italian Renaissance!). 

Mamet, David: Chicago is about a newspaper reporter and, ah, Chicago in the 1920s. Which means, I wouldn’t have started it if not for this project (there’s a man with a gun on the cover). The opening is actually quite interesting–a group of friends talking in a duck blind–and emphasizes that cities have always been more cosmopolitan than labels suggest. The dialog is snappy and feels quite real. I still lost interest. 

Manansala, Mia P. I am always gratified to discover a new mystery author! Homicide and Halo-Halo is a Tita Rosie’s Kitchen mystery. I honestly had no idea it was a mystery–I realize the title should have been a give-away though a lot of the titles in this list are often ironic–but I quickly figured out the genre when the Filipino narrator referred to “ah, yes, that mess we cleared up last year” in the opening chapter. That opening moves quickly. The narrator has a definite personality and culture. And a police detective shows up by the end of the first chapter! 

Manchester, William: Shadow of the Monsoon felt rather like E.M. Forester meets Sinclair Lewis with M.M.Kaye thrown in for fun. 

A-Z Characters & Transformation: Lionel from Christie's Nemesis

Lionel, the nephew of Miss Marple, is a great example of a character who transforms--

And he isn't in the book! 

In the Joan Hickson Miss Marple movie Nemesis, Lionel is Miss Marple's waffling nephew who shows up in St. Mary Mead when he is at loose ends. He accompanies his aunt when she starts out on the pilgrimage/investigation set in motion by Jason Rafiel. 

From a writing perspective, the change here is perfect--on the page, Miss Marple can think about her task and review her options. But absent a voiceover (and I generally side against voiceovers), a film requires conversation. As a physically strong man with an ironic sense of humor and complete willingness to follow his aunt's lead, Lionel (played by Peter Tilbury), makes a great companion. He also acts well opposite Joan Hickson since he carries a touch of camp about his mild persona. 

And he changes. The film is far more generous with all the male characters, including Mr. Rafiel's estranged son Michael. One of the most touching scenes is when Lionel takes the initiative (finally) to track down Michael and gently inform him of the investigation's conclusion. 

The transformation is gently done--it doesn't distract from Miss Marple's work and triumph. As all good transformations should be, it is all show, no tell. Lionel doesn't become someone else. He remains Lionel, only a more grounded and experienced Lionel.  

He also doesn't distract from the plot. Overall, the film is quite faithful to the book. 

Excellent writing!  

All the Ms: Lack of Trigger Warnings, Thank Goodness

I was about fifteen. I was standing in my parents' kitchen talking about something--school or drama club or something--to an adult who had asked me a question. She suddenly broke in and said, "My, you have such a large vocabulary!" 

I was completely stymied. I didn't think of my vocabulary as large--it was simply the way I talked. 

Granted, several older siblings, discussions at the dinner table, being read to for part of my life, being well-versed in the scriptures, and being a dedicated reader meant that I had a high vocabulary for my age. But I had never deliberately acquired words (I didn't have a Word of the Day calendar). It was entirely natural. 

The conversation didn't resume. 

In retrospect, I surmise that the adult woman was uncomfortable or thought she was being nice or was trying to shut me up--but the event underscored two outcomes in my life. For a long time, I would stammer even while teaching because I would get self-conscious about my "vocabulary." (I now have the habit of defining words while I talk, and I care far less what people think.) 

And second, I hated social media before social media existed. 

Exegesis or hermeneutics is the study of the study of texts. That is, rather than reading Shakespeare and trying to figure out what he meant or reading Shakespeare and discussing how he wrote, exegesis or hermeneutics would examine what people have said about Shakespeare. (Hermeneutics is mostly focused on the scriptures--but not automatically.) 

It's not a completely horrible line of study. But it seems like it has taken over...everything. The entire world has turned into the adult who rather than responding to the thing I said is commenting on my character or behavior. 

Rather than read a text, students have AI tell them what it said. Rather than respond to a point, social media imbibers label the point or argument and the point-maker. Rather than read a book, readers are warned of the book's content. 

I'm aware that people who write or like trigger warnings believe they demonstrate sensitivity for others' experiences. Unfortunately, my experience is not taken into account. 

I perceive trigger warnings as one more bullying "explanation" (lecture, chastisement, headache, hectoring) between me and the text, another way to push away direct experiences or ideas, another way to corral the unknown or uncomfortable, another way to shut down the conversation, another way to assume what I need to be told.  

I'm not one for avant-garde, edgy, "challenging" literature. But I'm entirely capable of forming my own opinions about whether I will keep reading something or not. And I can handle discomfort with language. 

One of the pleasant aspects of my current reading challenge (All the Ms) is how few trigger warnings I've encountered. Granted, I don't spend much time on the pages before the prologue or first chapter (as mentioned earlier, I'm not even reading the jacket blurbs). So I may miss such warnings. But they are often hard to miss. And I've come across very few so far. 

It's a relief. As I try out different books by M authors, I can have a real conversation with the author, not a conversation where someone holds up a hand and says, "Oh, my, I know what you need to be told. I know what you're supposed to think about others or yourself or these characters. In any case, it's best that there are no surprises. On top of which, watch out that you don't actually get immersed or enjoy yourself...not until I've told you have you will likely react to everything. After all, I've got a label all-prepared!"  

In sum, there's no sign at the beginning of the book stating, "You shouldn't continue unless you are THIS TALL."  

 

The Fruitfulness of Gardening Detectives

I'm a big believer that characters need jobs--even full-time detectives! After all, Sherlock has his bees; Joan from Elementary keeps up her license and eventually gets a kid. Jobs give characters things to master and discuss.  

I've mentioned in previous posts that writers and priests provide decent "other" jobs. 

So do gardeners!  

The British comedy-mystery Rosemary & Thyme--with the excellent Felicity Kendal and Pam Ferris--is a great example. Their contract work allows them to visit different locations, from French and Italian villas to ritzy neighborhoods (during a local gardening competition) to a small allotment to a churchyard to a university. So much variety lends itself to a variety of crimes (though most of them fall into the "cozy" category).

There is still the "my goodness, everywhere you go, murders crop up" issue (which leads Natalie in Monk to accuse him of being "the Prince of Darkness"). But again, eh, it's British, so it's allowed. And the murders--like with Jessica on her book tours but unlike the local priest--are at least not all occurring in a single area. 

However, like the local priest, the ability for Rosemary and Laura to investigate WHILE replanting gardens and getting waterfalls to run is, oddly enough, a little more of a stretch than Jessica doing interviews and then returning to her hotel. 

Still--the use of a flower project in nearly every episode is delightful. Just as Rosemary and Laura resolve a case and bring social harmony back into alignment, they also resolve the gardening issue and beautify their immediate environment. The closure of both "cases" at once is quite enchanting!    

Enos & The Wilderness

Enos & The Wilderness

Heading into the wilderness to gain insight is not merely a product of modern life and Sondheim’s Into the Woods. The ancient world is full of gurus stepping away from agricultural and urban centers to find themselves and effect contact with deity.

However, one major difference exists between then and now. For much of history, that stepping away was a risk, challenge, and sacrifice. The praying petitioner was stripped of day-to-day concerns and self-protection. It is possible that hunter-gatherers included unorthodox members who traveled alone for the fun of traveling alone. It is also possible that such members were considered practically pathological and usually ended up dead.

When Saint Anthony the Great made his way into the “wilderness”—as numerous gurus had done before him—what mattered was the arduous nature of the experience. Nature was not one’s friend. Nature was, quite literally, the thing that would end your life.

Charles G Finney

In All the Trouble in the World, P.J. O’Rourke writes about Petrarch’s hike up Mount Ventoux, “During his brief sojourn upon the Ventoux peak, the poet stood astride the medieval and modern ages—the first European to climb a mountain for the heck of it, and the last to feel like a jerk for doing so.”

Joseph Smith

Acclaims to nature exist in early Western and Eastern literature. In one of my master’s courses, the professor and some students tried to convince the rest of us that nobody was awestruck by the Grand Canyon until Western civilization told them they should be. So much nonsense! (Academic theories, despite the jargon, are often disturbingly self-centered.) Multiple Native American tribes centered their religious ceremonies in the Grand Canyon. They weren’t exactly doing it in the middle of Kansas.

Okay, maybe they did—but my point stands: a remarkable natural occurrence is a remarkable natural occurrence, from waterfalls to the aurora borealis. Observant humans have always commented on nature’s awe-inspiring products—just look at cave paintings.

What changes are the ways in which those wonders are addressed. Human beings are social animals. Once one person goes into the wilderness not to be challenged or to die but to be inspired and comforted, everybody is going to start going for the same reasons until the act becomes a custom, and they will use the language (as both writers and translators) that relates to that custom.

The customs of wilderness-as-fear and wilderness-as-inspiration run through the nineteenth century. Jonathan Edwards—despite terrifying a generation of Congregationalists with “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God”—was a big believer in nature’s spiritual influence. A Puritan’s goal was to undergo a personal conversion and/or reckoning. Nature could help that individual comprehend God’s glory and God’s love.

The connection between contemplation and nature would take off with the Transcendentalists. Though he likely would have disapproved of some of their notions, they are Edwards’ philosophical heirs.

Nineteenth-century readers would have related to both purposes: inspiration/comfort—personal challenge/sacrifice--which run concurrently through Nephi and Enos’s experiences: sunk deep into my heart, wrestle, hungered, guilt swept away, pour out, struggling, unshaken, labored. The Wilderness is an unfriendly place where one struggles. The Wilderness is a place where one retreats and prays and learns.

A-Z Characters & Transformation: Does Kate of Taming of the Shrew Transform?

I questioned whether I should include Katherine from Taming of the Shrew on my A-Z Characters Who Transform List. Does she transform? She gets married. She remains married. She defends her husband in the play's climatic ending. But is she truly "tamed"?

First, I see Petruchio and Kate as distinct people. They aren't representative of men and women. They are Petruchio and Kate.  

A great many people, however, feel that the relationship must be explained or justified in some way. One common interpretation is to argue that Petruchio is trying to "help" Katherine by teaching her social rules. The version I saw during my Theatre in London program used this interpretation (and was one of the few to use the frame story). It is the same interpretation used by the BBC version, John Cleese as Petruchio. 

It is unbelievably sexist. 

It is far more sexist than Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton behaving like...Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. Elizabeth Taylor's Kate hasn't been trained (like a poodle) to play a social game (join the right clique, flatter the correct people, use the proper vocabulary). She is a force of nature who comes up against another force of nature and finds she is willing to fight it out. At the end, she is still able to leave him guessing.   

My absolute favorite version, however, is Shakespeare Retold's with Shirley Henderson and Rufus Sewell. Sewell's Petruchio is frankly kind of nuts. Henderson's Kate is this tiny bundle of super-intelligent political acerbity. They adore each other. At the end, she tells off her bratty sister. She is willing to give up everything for Petruchio. He is willing to give up everything for her. What's the problem?

This Katherine isn't tamed. If anything, her true self--what has always been her true self--gets concentrated and distilled. 

Fantastic couple! 

As for the initial question--I use "transform" throughout this list from its narrowest to its broadest sense. That is, a character may transform internally or externally, for good or for bad, slightly or to an extreme, beneath a mask or without a mask. 

At the end of the play, the character of Kate is no longer single and she is happier. 

So, yes, in that sense, she does transform!  

All the Ms: Maloy to Maltman

Maloy, Kate: Every Last Cuckoo is about a not-uncommon topic: the death of a spouse. It is somewhat unique because the main character, Sarah, is seventy-five; her husband, eighty when he dies. She mourns him. She also deals with different issues than do books with younger bereaved protagonists, such as older children and grandchildren. A nice variation on the form!

Malte, Marcus: The Boy.  Lots of vague pronouns. I realize “on” translated from French is often “we” in English, but the two words don’t have the same meaning. Faulkner can get away with “we” because he has a purpose. I don’t think anyone else should use it. 

Maltman, Thomas: The Night Birds tackles a fairly fascinating reality that I think often gets lost in discussions of history: The German pioneers on the American frontier had a fraught relationship with the Indians, whom they feared. The book presents the darker side of the pioneering experience. 

However, my biggest issue with the book is actually the voice. The boy, Asa, is–as far as I can tell–about ten or so at the book’s beginning. But he sounds much older, not just when he is remembering but when he states things he thought at the time. In comparison, one of the truly remarkable aspects of To Kill a Mockingbird is that Harper Lee retains Scout’s perspective and understanding from whatever age she is throughout the book (she matures to near teens over the course of the book). 

The issue here is difficult. I resolved it in His in Herland by having the second narrator question his own memories from his early teen years: Did I really think that? Or is that what I understand about myself now?  
 

Della Street and Betty Jones: Attitudes Don't Work on a Timeline

One of the more irritating attitudes that occurs in every age is the chronocentric insistence that everything has led up to now (us). There is consequently, an insistence on streamlined history which moves from Point A to Point B to Point C to where-things-are-now.

It was the best of the times. It was the worst of times. 

The fallout is an inability to perceive or acknowledge that things are not automatically better or worse just because of the year or due to a theory. 

One common story, for instance, is that women once upon a time were so hemmed in and exploited and powerless than anything post-1950 must be better. 

I recently watched Perry Mason (1957-1966) and Barnaby Jones (1973-1980). What struck me is that Della Street, played by Barbara Hale, is a much more put-together and independent character than Betty Jones, played by Lee Merriweather. 

Della from Day 1 is direct, outspoken, involved with the investigations. She discovers dead bodies and copes without screaming or dropping stuff. She leaves the office to find witnesses. She occasionally confronts bad guys (though she rarely fights them). She is down-to-earth, uncowed: a great role model! 

In the first season of Barnaby Jones, Betty Jones takes messages, gets worried, falls for a conman, and gets kidnapped. 

Seriously? 

Maybe she gets more to do later on.

But the difference here indicates that a tough, no-nonsense woman is not the product of an increase in years or "modernism." Good grief, Portia from Shakespeare has more oomph to her than Betty Jones!

I won't say that nothing every improves over time--such as medical understanding of the human body or legal rights in certain contexts. 

Only, most things don't work to a pattern, what with changing politics, changing religious beliefs, changing opportunities, black swans, changing stigmas, and so on. Things can change in one area but not in another. They can change and then revert. They can change, then have entirely unintended consequences. 

Even with medical advances, people should be humble enough to think, Maybe things are more complicated. Real life doesn't work according to trends.