Problems with Utopias: The Best of Times

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Overall, the smug contempt sounds something like this: 

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

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

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

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

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

Not exactly Thomas Aquinas.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They are right. It is weird.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A-Z Characters & Transformation: Sam, Of Course

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

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

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

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

Tolkien knew how to write heroism in everyday life.  

A-Z Characters Who Transform: Miller's Holmes

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

* * * 

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

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

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

But I actually like Jonny Lee Miller's Holmes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A-Z Characters & Transformation: Scrooge

Scrooge is one of the best-known transformative heroes! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Latest Publication: Hermes and the Hunt for Enkidu

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

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

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

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

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

The Desire for Noble Criminals

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1 Nephi: Catholicism

"Great & Abominable"

1 Nephi 12-13 is a kind of historical overview. It references the "Great and Abominable Church" without any other designation. 

However, in Protestantism and in Protestant America, the term was customarily attached to Catholicism. When I was growing up, there were still church members who linked the Catholic Church to the “Great and Abominable Church” (I grew up in upstate New York, so our congregation included ex-Catholics).

The link is far less palatable (and diplomatic) now, of course, and I got tired of it early on. Although some members liked to blame the Great Apostasy on the Council of Nicaea, it is obvious from reading the scriptures and history that (1) any apostasy within the early church occurred within that early church well before the end of the first century C.E. (See all of Paul's letters.)

(2) The Council of Nicaea and other councils of the early C.E. era were complicated affairs--both doctrinally and politically. They reflected the times, didn't cause them. That is, matters got complicated long before the councils were called. 

Nevertheless, many nineteenth-century folks would have associated the “Great and Abominable Church” with Catholicism. Although the Reformation was nearly 300 years old at this point, it was still fresh in the American mind. Puritans left England due to persecution from the remnants of Catholicism, Anglicanism in the form of the Church of England. (Puritans were not striving for freedom of religion in the modern sense of that term, yet the willingness of Puritans to put their beliefs above government demands does foretell elements of the American Revolution.)

Europe was still a bastion, in the nineteenth-century American Protestant mind, to Catholic influences. Truly radical Protestantism, went the thinking, couldn’t take root until the supposed stain of Catholicism was wiped away. This attitude lingered well into the twentieth century.

In fact, New Englanders got extremely nervous when Catholics, including the Catholic Irish, began to settle in Boston. Joseph Smith and his family left New England before the furor really ramped up but there is overlap. The Awful Disclosures of Maria Monk, a fictitious tale of scandal in a Catholic nunnery (rape, dead babies, secrets, catacombs) came out in 1836 (and was presented as non-fiction). 

The narrative of 1 Nephi 13 lends itself to an anti-Catholic interpretation but not entirely. After all, to many Protestants in the nineteenth century, Protestantism itself had faltered and gone down the wrong road--hence, the upsurge in Millennial sects. 

Joseph Smith, for instance, appears to have been entirely disinterested in going after Catholics specifically. It’s unlikely that he knew any anyway. Like Paul with The Law & paganism, Joseph Smith’s overall writing goes beyond a single point to embrace a larger one. Just as Paul continually used various analogies connected to legalism to go after the concept of propitiation (trying to win God's or gods' favor), Joseph Smith used various analogies to attack the underlying causes of pride--such as fancy education and wealth and close-mindedness re: the Congregationalists that he grew up around--rather than a specific denomination.

A-Z Characters & Transformation: Ruth and Rahab, Radical External Change

My current A-Z List tackles characters who transform. I mention in my post about Kate from Taming of the Shrew, 

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. 

Ruth and Rahab from the Old Testament undergo external transformation. They also represent the point of view of Jews within the Jewish diaspora. As parts of what became the Old Testament were being collected, Jewish populations were debating various perspectives. Ruth and Rahab represent a particular position on marriage--namely, that marriage of "foreigners" is acceptable (Ezra represents an opposing position).

As transformative characters, Ruth and Rahab are remarkable. They don't simply change location and group identity--they do it in ways that leave a lasting impression. 

They make these changes without giving up their selves. Ruth debates Naomi (another powerhouse) kindly yet confidently. Rahab is utterly unapologetic. They are not even vaguely victims, despite desperate circumstances (dead husband, besieged city). They are level-headed women who make decisions and accept the consequences--in both cases while protecting others (mother-in-law, entire household). 

I wrote stories about both Ruth and Rahab, one sci-fi, one historical. These woman are tough enough to survive any context.  

Problems with Utopia: The Worst of Times

Utopias, like all so-called revolutions, have to react against something. 

Often, what they react against is "The Worst of Times." The present day is presented as wholly horrific--it must be escaped. And often (though not always) the answer to that horror is a retreat to the past. 

The problem for the utopia builders is that the past was not idyllic. People dealt with it as best they could, the same way as anyone else. 

In pre-written-history, a single skirmish led to the elimination of an entire clan. The child mortality rate was incredibly high. For most of history, healthcare, for all people, was more or less a crapshoot--though people were trying. Medical conditions, ones that appall us now--such as dying from rabies, dysentery, and blood poisoning--were commonplace. Plagues/pandemics didn't just shut down businesses for a year. They wiped out 2/3rds of the population and changed the economic and often the political landscape forever (such changes are, to an extent, still true: that is, disease and volcanoes do more than theory to alter social orders). 

Few people, men, women, minorities, non-minorities, had rights. Most people worked on farms/the land, which doesn't mean they didn't have individual ideas and romances and dreams. But we don't know because most of them didn't write stuff down. They couldn't write. For most of history, most people couldn't write and most of them couldn't read, and that statement includes royalty. 

Children worked and the ones who didn't were treated like pawns to be moved around a chessboard. Conscription was a regular occurrence. Debtors' prisons were a reality. Slavery existed on every continent--and for most of history, it included most populations. It varied in practice. It was still a given.

The variety of food in our current culture simply didn't exist. People ate so they wouldn't die, not for the sake of a "balanced" diet. Many leaders deliberately starved members of their countries up to and beyond Stalin's Russia. Destroying a country's agriculture--salting the earth--in battle was considered a norm.

Death by hanging was commonplace and issued for multiple infractions, most of which we would consider minor. Death by guillotine was considered a kind form of capital punishment. Torture was considered a legitimate investigatory device, not something to be debated or prevented.

There was no such thing as a free press. The left and right's use of "news" for political ends was commonplace. The world was Twitter--only slightly slower on the dissemination end. Sex in office, fraud in office was business-as-usual.

And I could keep going... 

Despite all the negativity, in all time periods, people have...well, okay, yes, a lot of people thought they were living at the end of everything. But they weren't. And most of them simply kept going. Moreover, they defined the world about them in terms of THEIR standards, not in terms of ours (just as we do, as a matter of fact).  

And yet, many utopias maintain that nothing has ever been as awful as it is now and/or nobody recognized the awfulness of the world until now. We need to get back to...

Other people's awfulness, I suppose.  

All the Ms: Mansfield to Marai

Katherine Mansfield: I read a few of Mansfield’s short stories. They were about couples. Rather lightweight now,  at the time (1910s-1920s), they were cutting edge. Mansfield’s production goes along with a prior post–the early to mid-1900s saw a growing interest in what makes romance/marriage work. 

The interest is still there, of course, but at the time, it was considered Modern with the full-weight of the capitalized word.   

Many Bloody Returns includes various tales about vampires. I read the short piece “Grave-Robbed” by P.N. Elrod. I’ve read several books by P.N. Elrod with the protagonist Jack Fleming, a vampire P.I. in 1920s gangster Chicago. I've enjoyed the books and I enjoyed the short story! 

Alessandro Manzoni: The Betrothed is apparently a very famous classic novel from Italy. I love coming across these books! This one seems to fall into the Hugo/Dickens/Dumas tradition–very long book about all kinds of stuff set in the further past. The translation appears to be excellent. 

Jo-Ann Mapson: Finding Casey begins with reflections on a house, which is a surprisingly trope-like way to begin a novel! It also involves a ghost, which is fairly interesting.

Sandor Márai: I often feel like all books on a particular shelf fall into the same category. Marai's Esther’s Inheritance is one of many books on a shelf that begin the same way: a narrator reminisces for several pages before the action begins. I can handle description as a way to begin a novel. And I love dialog (and use that approach myself). But memoir-type reflections don’t strike me as particularly…anything. Where’s the story? 

A-Z Characters & Transformation: The Queen Who Transforms Yet Remains Herself

Extreme transformation is attractive--but careful transformation is more believable. In my master's program, New England Studies, Anne Hutchinson may have attracted more attention (Look how she stood up to the patriarchal system!) but I always found Anne Bradstreet more interesting. In truth, I don't think it is that hard to "buck" the system--though it can be unpleasant when the system doesn't budge and a person gets squashed instead (Anne Hutchinson was exiled). 

Survival and adaptation within the system, however, is far more difficult, thoughtful, and ongoing. Anne Bradstreet married and raised kids and led the life of a Puritan woman within her community--and she also wrote poetry and got published. 

Anne Bradstreet reminds me of Queen Elizabeth II in The Queen starring Helen Mirren. The queen doesn't decide half-way through the movie to tout disestablishmentarian. She doesn't abandoned her identity, doesn't give up her royal title. She also doesn't perform one of those classic "yell at everyone for being jerks" scenes. 

She believes in her role and obligations. She believes in the grandeur of the monarchy she represents. She also worries about its possible obsolesce. She adjusts. She adapts to a specific set of circumstances. 

(And she's played by Helen Mirren.)

Consequently, one of my favorite parts of the film is when she returns to Buckingham Palace and forces herself to inspect the flowers for a dead woman who poured scorn on her and her office. 

As she turns to the crowd, a young child extends flowers. Queen Elizabeth assumes they are for the memorial but no, the child replies, they are for the queen. 

As she moves along the row, the woman at the rope courtesy to her, at first mostly older women but, as she proceeds, younger ones too. 

At the same time that she is adjusting to unusual circumstances, she is shown respect for herself, the person who adapts to her times without losing herself. 

Quincy, Luther's Dog: Great Character Actor

In my most recent A-Z List, I've been exploring characters that change. 

One of the funniest non-human examples is Luther's dog Quincy. 

Quincy is a basset hound. As the guy at the pound says, "A ficus tree and basset hound are pretty much the same thing." 

Except--

Quincy will go crazy when he is left alone or when he sees certain people/colors. So, he destroys the band room and later attacks the band director. 

The hilarity of these moments is how entirely sleepy and unaffected Quincy looks when he appears on-screen--as compared to what people hear him doing or hear about him doing. 

Rather touchingly, Quincy also changes in terms of getting older and eventually dying. That is, he lives a full pet life with Luther, who is equally impacted by Quincy. Eventually, Luther ends up with a new "little" Quincy.  

How to Be Cool: Golf and Black Coffee

Many books and movies employ a kind of epithet for coolness. Just as Athena is "gray-eyed" in Homer's epics, various books and movies use a kind of short-hand to indicate that the character is, let's say, "the cat's meow."

1. Golf 

Numerous heroes, even Poirot and Columbo!, will suddenly hit a golf ball, a hole in one, to demonstrate that despite their finicky, absent-minded natures, they are just too amazing for words. 

A funny variation on this is that Murdoch cannot get good at golf and when he tries to help an Olympian golfer, he messes up the guy's game.  

But generally, yeah, being able to hit a golf ball is apparently really rad. 

Koichi trying to figure out his boyfriend's tastebuds.

2. Black coffee

This particular marker of awesomeness appears with Peter Wimsey. In addition, various aloof and cool heroes in manga dislike sweets. 

Regarding the later, in some cases, the heroes' love of sweets indicates honesty and self-knowledge, which becomes cool in its own right--

But still, a dislike of sugar remains a mark of grit and endurance--and therefore, coolness.  

They are Lying to Us and That's Okay

In nearly every Mythbusters' episode, Jamie and Adam will instruct viewers, "Do NOT try this at home." They make this demand at the beginning of each episode and at what appear to be commercial breaks (I watch the show on DVD).

And you know--you know!--that Jamie and Adam did EXACTLY those things at home when they were kids. 

They were the kid next door from Toy Story. They burned ants and melted toy parts and rebuilt stuff and blew stuff up. 

You can also guess that they don't really mean the admonition. At one point, when testing the myth that if one picks up a food item quickly enough, it won't be laden with germs, Adam begins to say to Jamie, "I agree with you--" 

He then pulls himself up short and stops talking since what Jamie likely said, based on earlier episodes, was, "Kids need to build up immunity!" And neither Adam nor Jamie is supposed to preach eating dirty food to viewers, whatever they believe personally. 

I don't hold the warning messages against the two men. The reason? Sub-text!

What they are truly saying? 

"Don't do this at home where you will be caught or hurt or cause damage, so your parents end up suing us. Please!" 

 

 

Blackmail: The Overused Trope

I've become a fan of Perry Mason, the television series from 1957-1966. 

I am less fond of the movies, 1985-1993+, though I will watch them. 

The reason is not the acting. Behemoth Raymond Burr still occupies the scene, exuding charisma. (It's hard not to see Dick Van Dyke and Andy Griffith as both trying to compete--in their respective detective shows--to be the next Burr. Angela Lansbury didn't compete for that spot; Jessica Fletcher isn't Mason: she's fully competent Della Street.) 

Barbara Hale as Della Street--though ironically more subordinate in 1990 than she was in 1957--still conveys competence, grace, and commonsense. 

And William Katt as Drake's son is, in the initial movies, quite amusing. He is Barbara Hale's son and I appreciated the nod to family.  

The problems with the movies (which I do watch) are three-fold:

1. The opening title sequence is the most boring I've seen on any television show. 

It's hard to understand why. The drawing that accompanies the movie set is quite iconic. Even if the producers were afraid that Burr would drop dead at any moment, a sequence with some art (rather than scenes of a courtroom) would have been better than what we're given. 

2. I prefer 50 minutes to movie-length episode. 

My preference here is true across the board. I don't much care for the Diagnosis Murder and Murder She Wrote movies either. 

3. WAY too many of the movie plots rely on blackmail. 

So...there's a college campus in which the bad guy (who gets killed) blackmailed a bunch of people...or a movie studio in which the bad guy (who gets killed) blackmailed a bunch of people...or a theater group in which the bad guy (who gets killed) blackmailed a bunch of people...or a newspaper in which the bad guy (who gets killed) blackmailed a bunch of people. 

I understand the attraction: the plot device allows for one bad guy victim that nobody really misses and a TON of suspects whose motives will each be uncovered by Mason and his group. 

But it's a trifle boring after awhile. 

It isn't that blackmail plots are boring automatically. Elementary has a fantastic episode that uses blackmail as does BBC Sherlock (both based on the same short story by Conan Doyle). And the original Perry Mason did the occasional blackmail plot okay. 

But ultimately, it does begin to pale--rather like Hitchcock's escape movies. 

One begins to wish for a wealthy oligarch and a bunch of heirs. After all, people do commit murder for reasons other than "I kept having to pay the bad guy money for something dumb I did once" or even "I kept having to pay the bad guy money for something not my fault."  

What about that wealthy oligarch? Or missing child heir? Or infidelity (a standard in original Perry Mason)? Or an argument over a new invention/land/unfair business contract?

I will grant that some of original Perry Masons got a little samey. And there are a limited amount of mystery plots out there. But blackmail...really...again? Don't writers of shows ever watch the previous episode? Even if it was a year earlier? It's time to write another movie script and...nothing different comes to mind? 

All the Ms: Mankel to Mantel

Henning Mankel: Turns out Wallandar is based on books! Faceless Killers is the first Kurt Wallander book. And I had to wonder, outside of England, are the Northern climes incapable of producing non-angsty cozies? 

Thomas Mann: I associate Mann so much with Joseph and His Brothers, I needed a reminder that he was actually part of the intellectual literary community of the early 1900s. I read the opening of Magic Mountain.

Kate Manning: The Gilded Mountain is historical fiction set in the early 1900s in a mining town in Colorado. The opening reminded me of Lost Horizon, only the perspective is totally different. The guide remarks blithely that of course it is possible to bring in pianos and stoves and mahogany wood for the rich man who runs the mine. In Lost Horizon, the risks are deemed acceptable because the monks can pay. In The Gilded Mountain, the risks are deemed the product of greed–the writer intends to tackle the rising labor movements of the era. 

Olivia Manning: Friends and Heroes–husband and wife bond or don’t bond during World War II. A lot of people were writing a lot of books like this in the mid-1900s. That is, marriage as a topic wasn’t relegated to the romance section. Marriage itself was being tackled as a twentieth century “problem” alongside ramifications of the Industrial Revolution.

Hilary Mantel: Wolf Hall. Even before I read reviews (which I rarely do), I was uncomfortable with the book. A red flag for me is when a character is excused from the get-go because that character was abused in the past (there was a time when I was growing up when recovered memories of abuse were treated as the ultimate excuse/explanation). 

I had the same reaction to a fiction book about Deborah Sampson. Her desire to go to war dressed as a man is explained in the novel by her being raped. The idea that she might have dressed as a man and gone to war because she wanted to is bypassed for a “psychological” explanation. And I found it far less interesting. 

A non-excused Cromwell to me would have been far more inviting. 

A-Z Characters & Transformation: The Little Princess

On my list of Characters Who Transform, I am now tackling princes and princesses. 

As mentioned at the beginning of this list, some transformation are internal. Others are external. The transformation of Sarah's life in The Little Princess is entirely external. 

External transformations are quite effective. Still--many children's novels usually also rely on an internal transformation. Mary Lennox and Colin Craven from The Secret Garden, for instance, change their looks and lives outwardly, but that outward transformation is occupied by an inward epiphany or resolution. Edmund and Eustace from The Narnia Chronicles are further good examples. Even Lucy Pevensie undergoes moments of shame and cowardice. 

Frances Hodgson Burnett created two child protagonists who are good and kind and pretty much flawless from the get-go. It is to her credit that the books are so strong. 

Both are like royalty, though they are not technically royal: Cedric, Little Lord Fauntleroy and Sarah, the Little Princess. 

Both children do suffer heartache, including, for Cedric, homesickness, and, for Sarah, weary depression. However, neither of them ever commits wrongs, even when pressed to the wall. 

Again, to Hodgson Burnett's credit, neither of them come across as self-righteous and self-satisfied. Cedric suffers a bit from being almost too good to be true (it's that suit!) but Sarah comes across as more resilient than Pollyannish. 

In both cases, too, the protagonists suffer from external conflicts and are rescued by external means. I submit that one reason Hodgson Burnett is able to pull off this feat is because the rescues are so thoroughly delightful and overwhelming. They are true "deus ex machinas"--however, they don't seem random but rather extraordinarily satisfying.  

I mean, if one is going to throw in a rescue, one might as well go BIG! 

It's not a plot choice I suggest writers rely on too often. Even Tolkien said, of the eagles, that they were "machines" and shouldn't be relied on too much (his eagles only come after the protagonists have, in fact, descended into the pit--they are not purveyors for grace; grace is already provided since death is not an automatic negative; rather, the eagles are purveyors of life being far more interesting when characters are still alive). 

Again, a lesser writer could never pull off what Hogdson Burnett accomplishes in her books. And I suggest that one reason that she succeeds is that, like with Tolkien's eagles, the character are already doing okay. Sarah would likely, eventually, simply take over the school or at least move on to a better one. Cedric is already beloved by his grandfather, whatever happens to his birthright.