A Bit of Fun

This week, my studies have been heavy on abstract, philosophical thought. In defense, I have resorted to a Lewis-Carrollian attempt to add a bit of lightness to the study of Walter Benjamin, David Lynch, and William Blake. Enjoy!

When Benjamin Met Lynch and Blake

When Benjamin met Lynch and Blake
They all went out for tea,
Except that Blake re-named the cakes,
And Lynch forgot the brie.

“No problem, friend,” said Blake to Lynch,
“I have this pound cake here.
But since the name has now been changed
We’ll eat it all as ‘Prear’!”

“Except, dear sir,” said Benjamin,
“There’s not enough for three.”
“But wait! But wait!” cried David Lynch
“Mix dirt in with the tea!

The taste, you’ll find, is not unlike
A bit of blood and worms:
Quite suited for the appetite
Of men who’ve come to terms.”

“He has a point,” said Benjamin,
“The aura is quite rare.”
“Well then, let’s dreat,” said William Blake,
“And sup this glooging fare.”

Since glooging fit the mood by chance,
They all agreed to “dreat”
And when they’d dreaten all the prear,
They called it quite a treat.

But after all was cleared away,
A feeling strange came on,
And William Blake asked David Lynch,
“That dirt you chose – a pond?”

“A puddle, Will,” said David Lynch
“With scum that has no peer!”
“Aha,” said Benjamin to Blake,
“At last it’s all come clear.

The sounds that whistle round our guts
Are not the Future’s art.
Instead, quite simply, what we hear
Is nothing but the start…

It’s Lynch’s first film coming true,
Except not six but three.
You see, our skills are better spent
On books than fixing tea.”

Twitter, Wit, and Elizabeth

To many, Shakespeare, Marlowe, and Sidney seem as far removed from modern society as crème brûlée is from peanut butter and jelly.

A few conventions of modern society convince me to argue otherwise.

Like Twitter. Bear with me.

England in the late sixteenth century enjoyed “an impressive, widespread growth in literacy; an educational system that trained its students to be highly sensitive to rhetorical effects; a social and political taste for elaborate display…and a vibrant, restless intellectual culture” (Will in the World, Greenblatt).

What are the characteristics of the United States in the twenty-first century? More and more young adults attend college, creating if not a vibrant, then certainly a restless intellectual culture, particularly as more and more college graduates find themselves without a job that uses ingenuity or creativity.

One side effect, I think, is a re-awakening taste for wit in the social realm. Perhaps it is no coincidence that the newest social networking phenomenon is called tWITter.

The exchange of brief, one-sided dialogues has progressed from instant messenger to Facebook to texting and Twitter. Humor and wit are the name of the game. And it is a game. These media are ideally suited for banter: light, quick-witted one-upmanship.

One difference is the skill for which Elizabethan courtiers were known. “Courtiers were highly gifted at crafting and deciphering graceful words with double or triple meanings” (Norton Anthology of English Literature, vol.1) Their wordplay was born of cultural necessity. The upper classes were classically trained in rhetorical devices, and court intrigue demanded careful speech.

Perhaps the United States lacks both of those spurs to rhetorical training. Perhaps social networking is becoming more attention-seeking and self-serving. Perhaps, though, we are also returning to a simple enjoyment of language’s subtleties and possibilities.

And lest we fall too deeply in love with the PB&J to the exclusion of fine cuisine, I think we have to ask the question, are these phenomena unique to our society?

My answer? Not a bit.

Or should I say, not a whit.

Or a twhit.

Literati in the World Scoops NPR

…who is just now running the story (At Newspaper, Poets Report for a Day) that I wrote about last week (When Literati Write the News). And I thought I was late!

I know, I know–but it makes me feel accomplished. This is probably the only time I will be able to make this claim.

Heroes Need Mentors Too

“The language describes the true nature of things, not the superficial aspects that everyone sees.” – Eragon

“I’ve told you. A Namer has to know who people are, and who they are meant to be.” – A Wind in the Door

I have a high standard for fantasy, formed by my early exposure to the creative stylings of J.R.R. Tolkien and Madeleine L’Engle, followed by C.S. Lewis, Star Wars, Ursula LeGuin, and J.K. Rowling, then Philip Pullman. After years of recommendations for Christopher Paolini’s Eragon, I picked up the book at a library book sale and, three months later, have finally begun to read it. 

This is not a book review. This is not a critical comparison to earlier authors. As I read, what I notice more and more are the commonalities in fantasy, and I have begun to wonder if they are, in fact, inevitable.

• High fantasy is concerned with the purity of language and its deterioration over time.
• Fantasy acknowledges a connection between name and being.
• Young heroes must break decisively with their past, often through violence done to a loved one.
• Young heroes require tutelage from an older, more experienced person, often a father-figure.
• A period of respite, often traveling, trains the hero, through minor conflicts, for a final confrontation. 
• A defining moment in the hero’s journey occurs when the guide steps aside or is killed.

The pattern is not rigid or complete, and there are certainly exceptions; however, many of these characteristics are present in some form. But why? I have spent some time researching and writing about the question of language, so this time, I was particularly interested in the role of the teacher. 

Fantasy is built on the premise of worlds fundamentally different from our own. For the sake of continuity and immersion, the author cannot step in and define the rules of his or her world. To do so would acknowledge them as creations and thus alienate the reader, making suspension of disbelief nearly impossible.

The teacher, however, can do what the author cannot. Sometimes the hero, as in Harry Potter, is actually in school to learn about his new world. Sometimes, as in The Golden Compass, the hero has a variety of tutors. And sometimes, facilitated by a physical journey toward the climactic conflict, a single mentor completes the task.

What if there were no teacher?

First, the hero would have to uncover the metaphysics of the world experientially or empirically. S/he could never be certain that a spell or type of magic would work. Imagine Eragon exclaiming, “Go fire, go. Fly!” Like Spiderman in Spider-Man 2, when his powers deserted him, the hero would be left to seek counsel for “a friend” at the local psychologist’s office.

Without established wisdom, the hero would never know if evil could be destroyed, or how to do it. There could be no comfort of final victory for the reader either, rendering the story similar to an endless cycle of comic book villains and summer popcorn flick sequels. 

Apparently, heroes need mentors too.

Literary Pigs, Unite!

Check out this link via The Point: Barnyard reign of terror halted…and other unexpected results of the swine flu (originally from John Mark Reynolds in The Scriptorium). Brilliant.

Pumbaa, you’re next. Trust no one. Not even Timon.

Circe – if you want to avoid a government embargo, you might need to choose another animal the next time Odysseus stops by.

And Homer? You might want to send Spider-Pig back before the third episode comes along and he learns about his dark side…

We No Longer Go Gentle

Death is an uncomfortable, disorienting subject for many. The words are insufficient when talking to someone who has lost a loved one. Perhaps that is why the topic is chosen so often by poets, who use words to approach emotion. Perhaps that is also why Americans turn to poetry when they confront death.

For this reason I have chosen The Dying of the Light, an article by Craig Bowron recently published in the Washington Post, for the next ProfoundNet.  In it, the author discusses the “calamity of so long life” (to quote Hamlet) that Americans face, alleviated, but also sometimes prolonged by modern science. The article professes to give no answers, but it challenges readers to think about the American obsession with immortality. 

The title is taken from a well-known and oft-quoted poem by Welsh poet Dylan Thomas, called “Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night,” written just after World War II. Here’s the first stanza of the poem:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

In the poem, good men, wise men, wild men, and grave men all must face the reality of death. In a bleak postwar era, the poet urges men to resist sinking easily toward death. Today, the opposite trend exists, and it is no longer called “that good night.” 

Bowron’s article poetically describes the dilemma facing Americans:

“Everyone wants to grow old and die in his or her sleep, but the truth is that most of us will die in pieces. Most will be nibbled to death by piranhas, and the piranhas of senescence are wearing some very dull dentures. [...] This isn’t about euthanasia. It’s not about spiraling health care costs. It’s about the gift of life — and death. It is about living life and death with dignity, and letting go.”

Citing illness, discontent, and the frail quality of life, a character in Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure makes a poignant observation: “What’s yet in this that bears the name of life? Yet in that life lie hid more thousand deaths. Yet death, we fear.” Shakespeare’s Hamlet wrestles with the same incongruency. 

I am left with a lingering question. If, as poets and authors for centuries have recognized, we fear death, why is it so much easier to throw energy into fighting the inevitable than to consider the underlying reasons for our fear? 

Thanks, Craig, for your thought-provoking article.

Oh, Christmas Tree!

So long, 2008.  Your time is almost up.

As a child, I read the “Golden Books” collection of children’s books. One of my favorites at Christmas was the book “The Christmas Tree that Grew,” a story about a live Christmas tree that grew so rapidly that its owners had to cut holes in their apartment building to allow it to continue. No one called the police or the EPA; instead, the family made new friends among their neighbors. It was a great story. 

It also bears a remarkable similarity to a 2008 phenomenon in the U.K. involving a 35-foot tree cut into sections to appear to be growing out of the house. Read the full story here. 

Take a look at these two pictures, the first from the news story and the second from the storybook. 

So in case you were wondering, if the power of suggestion no longer exists, the power of coincidental parallelism certainly does. 

And with that, have a truly Merry Christmas and a happy New Year! 

The Ghost of a Christmas Carol

Think fast:

• Who said, “God bless us, every one!”?
• Who is Jacob Marley?

If you can answer these questions effortlessly, then you too have been affected by the wide-reaching legacy of Charles Dickens’ 1843 A Christmas Carol. (See a tribute to the author’s influence here).

What does the Ghost of Christmas Present look like? is a much harder question. The answer depends on your source. Do you identify with the green-garbed, larger-than-life, milk of human kindness-drinking man from the Albert Finney musical Scrooge? Or has another picture been imprinted in your mind?

Among the famous actors who have taken on the role of Scrooge are… 

• Patrick Stewart (1999 A Christmas Carol)
• Albert Finney (1970 Scrooge)
• George C. Scott (1984 A Christmas Carol)
• Alistair Sim (1971 A Christmas Carol)
• Michael Caine (1992 The Muppet Christmas Carol)

A full list of related movies is available from the Internet Movie Database. Themes from A Christmas Carol have appeared in scores of television shows, spinoffs, and spoofs. 

Photo by Howard Gold, The Great Dickens Christmas Fair

Around Christmas time, not only do productions of A Christmas Carol  on stage pop up overnight and films of Scrooge and A Christmas Carol (or A Carol Christmas) fill the television networks, but allusions to Dickens’ little book begin to emerge in other areas of popular culture, testimony to the lasting impact of a piece of literature. 

“God bless us, every one.”
Tiny Tim’s famous phrase has made him a poster child for charitable organizations during the holidays.  His name and motto have also been used to represent a spirit of religious universalism or just plain feel-good holiday spirit.

The word “scrooge” has become a synonym for a grumpy, uncharitable person who lacks Christmas spirit or compassion. It is used in as diverse situations as recommendations for thrifty shopping, discussions on religion and the holidays, and a contest celebrating the individual with the least Christmas spirit. 

Of course, Ebenezer Scrooge’s favorite expression, “Bah Humbug,” has become similarly famous. It has appeared in articles about holiday season depression (not a laughing matter by any means), expensive tires, and child safety.

And the list could go on…

One small newspaper points out that the Victorian era, when A Christmas Carol was written, is the time period in which many of our modern Christmas traditions were born. So maybe the fact that holiday celebrants of all ages, regions, and eras have turned to Dickens to find the spirit of Christmas is not so bizarre after all.

*For more usages of A Christmas Carol, try your own Google search!

Atlas Takes Up Again

Today, when the word “forefront” is used in conversation, its companion is very likely to be a variation on the word “economy.” And in many circles, the idea of unmoderated capitalism has become an associated whipping boy.

In the midst of the fray, proponents of both perspectives and political-economic leanings have turned to literature as a battlefield, a rallying cry, or a pointed, “I told you so.”

At the forefront of this economic stichomythia is 1930s-50s author and philosopher Ayn Rand, “the novelist who is to blame,” according to a headline in the Business Standard in India. A symbol of extreme capitalism, Rand’s works are rife with characters like John Galt, of Atlas Shrugged, who preach Rand’s philosophy of objectivism, laissez-faire, and self-interest.

True, literature has great influence, but how does the Business Standard journalist take the connection to such a dramatic conclusion? Here’s a synopsis, from the article:

Alan Greenspan, who, first as chairman of the Council of Economic Affairs and later as chairman of the Federal Reserve Bank of the US, was at the center of economic decision making for two decades right up to 2006 was a great admirer of Ayn Rand and a true believer in the philosophy she espoused in Atlas Shrugged. [...] When Greenspan took his oath of office at the White House for his first public policy job as the chairman of the Council of Economic Advisers, he had Ayn Rand standing beside him.

(Also see Kansas City Star, Alan, like Atlas, shrugged)

Others, defending the free market (see Grand Junction Free Press and the San Jose Mercury News), argue that the US, not purely capitalistic, cannot name current economic conditions as the inevitable result of Rand’s vision. They take a dark view of a future that promises more government involvement. Neither is the Ayn Rand Institute silent on current affairs.

Still others find camaraderie in the pages of Atlas Shrugged. On this editorial page from the southwest Florida News-Press, the third letter down points readers to a re-creation of “Galt’s Gulch,” the capitalist sanctuary established in Atlas. 

A recent poll released by Zogby International informs politicians that 8.1% of Americans have read Atlas Shrugged. What does it mean? and why does it matter? Perhaps the only point is that, as a classic, Atlas remains potent; but perhaps, on a broader scale, literature dealing with the history and philosophy of the American economic system is back in vogue.

Is it any wonder that a film adaptation of Atlas Shrugged currently swirls around Hollywood?

In one sense, then, it does not matter if Rand’s writings are an example of a misguided system that has wreaked havoc in global markets or a manifesto detailing the consequences of excessive government intervention.

For whether Atlas shrugs or stoops again to the yoke, Rand’s revived prevalence in public discourse undeniably reminds us that strict boundaries between literature and society are like the “impenetrable” gateway to Galt’s Gulch – ultimately, an illusion.

What They Didn’t Say

The ability to quote is highly prized among conversationalists. Recognizing and appropriately using a subtle reference to a movie, book, play, or historical figure identifies the individual as someone who is well-read and culturally aware. 

Very few people consciously memorize a text word-for-word. Instead, familiar cues and repetition implant the words in our minds – and not always correctly. 

Sometimes a quotation is repeated incorrectly so often that it eclipses the actual quotation in popular recognition. Check out these websites, which list some oft-misquoted lines from literature:

• Top 10 Shakespeare Misquotes
• Top 15 Film Misquotes
• Top 10 Famous Historic Misquotes

Why does it matter? you may be thinking. Sure, it’s funny, but who cares if the road is “less traveled” or “not taken”?¹ Aside from losing the subtlety of the author’s deliberate word choice, the day-to-day consequences are not immediately apparent.

But think about it in terms of translation. Sometimes the difference between two words or the use of “it” instead of “he” produces humor. Calling oneself a “jelly donut”² was not enough to wreak havoc in international politics. However, in other situations, the results have been potentially serious. In 2007, remarks by a Syrian diplomat were mistranslated (Syrian’s comment on bomb target mistranslated: UN), causing a rush of rumors about the situation.

One of my favorite quotations comes from the 2005 film The Interpreter with Sean Penn and Nicole Kidman. The exchange is as follows:

Tobin Keller: How do you feel about him? 
Silvia Broome: I don’t care for him. 
Tobin Keller: Wouldn’t mind if he were dead? 
Silvia Broome: I wouldn’t mind if he were gone. 
Tobin Keller: Same thing. 
Silvia Broome: No, it isn’t. If I interpreted gone as dead I’d be out of a job, if dead and gone were the same thing there’d be no UN.

The creation of quotes is similarly significant to writers concerned with journalistic integrity. How much can a writer “clean up” a source’s quote before it becomes tampering? (See this article from CBC in Canada for more examples and thoughts.) 

Whether in politics, journalism, or translation, the details of words and quotations have more impact than you might think. The problem begins on a conversational level, but the practice bleeds into areas of greater significance. 

Uncovering misquotes may be, on one hand, an amusing form of comeuppance for those who seek to prove their erudition in conversation, but it also serves as a reminder of just how powerful words – the right ones and the wrong ones – can be.

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Notes

1. The title of Robert Frost’s poem is actually “The Road Not Taken,” but it is often mis-referenced as “The Road Less Traveled.” The consequence is a shift in tone from questioning remembrance to celebration of independence.
2. In a 1963 speech on a visit to West Berlin, John F. Kennedy attempted to call himself a Berliner, but by adding the article “ein” in German, he actually referred to himself as a “jelly donut.” This gaffe has become a well-known cultural reference point (see Time Magazine: Wall-To-Wall Kennedy).