Eula Biss's On Immunity is an interesting book, and one not easily categorized.
Part medical journalism, part cultural theory, part literary criticism, part memoir, it reflects on the historical, socio-economic, and moral forces that shape the conversation around vaccination and public health.
Though the author is clearly and straightforwardly pro-vaccination (and pro-required-vaccinations), she does not caricature or castigate those with whom she disagrees. She tries to explain, if not entirely without critique then at least without rancor, what sense anti-vaccination movements might be trying to make.
She accounts for fears that are more subtle (and less easy to disprove) than the fear of autism (which is the only anti-vax fear that gets much play time in public discourse). Most of these fears seem more morally pernicious than the autism-fear. While the autism-fear springs from a garden variety distrust of government, energized by an apparently spurious "scientific" finding, these more subtle fears seem to spring from some combination of racial, gender, socioeconomic, and xenophobic impulses.
They're fears that find interestingly medical expression in, for example, Bram Stoker's Dracula. (I'm sure there are other sci-fi and literary works that might also be worthwhile comparisons, but Dracula nicely captures the spirit of the moment. Vampire stories are so trendy, even when they're over a hundred years old.)
Her interweaving of different discourses (cultural theory, literary criticism, moral philosophy, etc.) is relatively skillful, but I felt at times as if she were dabbling in all of them and allowing none of them sufficient time to say something truly powerful.
I was intrigued by most of the different threads she was trying to weave together, though. I'm not sure I felt terribly enlightened about vaccinations or about society in general, but I was left really, really wanting to read Dracula.
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Friday, March 27, 2015
Friday, August 1, 2014
You Should Start a List
. . . of all these awesome books I keep recommending for you.
Also, you should thank me for pointing out which ones have upcoming movies, like The 5th Wave. Normally, I wouldn't write about YA fiction on this high-class intellectual website. But since Rick Yancey wrote a book that isn't insulting to my intelligence, I will give credit where it is due.
T5W is about an alien apocalypse. It tracks Cassie Sullivan and some surrounding characters in their attempts to survive. The aliens in this book are surprisingly less cliche and aggravating than one would expect. Their planet is apparently out of commission, so they found Earth and decided to take it. Before doing so, they need to eliminate all the humans.
But because they need to preserve the natural world, their approach is not as simple as "blow everyone up." (No, Michael Bay, you may not direct the film adaptation.)
As you should have inferred from the title, the alien takeover takes place in five waves. The first wave is the giant electromagnetic pulse which eliminates nearly all human technology, and also kills a whole bunch of people who happened to be flying in an airplane or speeding on the interstate at an unfortunate time. The second wave dropped really large metal rods on fault lines, leading to actual killer waves affecting all coastal cities. The third wave killed 97% of the remaining population. It was a modified form of Ebola which kept the same deadly symptoms but was genetically engineered to spread far faster. And in the fourth wave, the aliens enter human bodies and replace our consciousnesses with their own; these invaders are then used to snipe wandering survivors.
If I tell you the 5th wave, it would ruin, like, half the plot, and besides, you'll have a hard time sleeping tonight anyway.
Cheers,
Isaac
Also, you should thank me for pointing out which ones have upcoming movies, like The 5th Wave. Normally, I wouldn't write about YA fiction on this high-class intellectual website. But since Rick Yancey wrote a book that isn't insulting to my intelligence, I will give credit where it is due.
T5W is about an alien apocalypse. It tracks Cassie Sullivan and some surrounding characters in their attempts to survive. The aliens in this book are surprisingly less cliche and aggravating than one would expect. Their planet is apparently out of commission, so they found Earth and decided to take it. Before doing so, they need to eliminate all the humans.
But because they need to preserve the natural world, their approach is not as simple as "blow everyone up." (No, Michael Bay, you may not direct the film adaptation.)
As you should have inferred from the title, the alien takeover takes place in five waves. The first wave is the giant electromagnetic pulse which eliminates nearly all human technology, and also kills a whole bunch of people who happened to be flying in an airplane or speeding on the interstate at an unfortunate time. The second wave dropped really large metal rods on fault lines, leading to actual killer waves affecting all coastal cities. The third wave killed 97% of the remaining population. It was a modified form of Ebola which kept the same deadly symptoms but was genetically engineered to spread far faster. And in the fourth wave, the aliens enter human bodies and replace our consciousnesses with their own; these invaders are then used to snipe wandering survivors.
If I tell you the 5th wave, it would ruin, like, half the plot, and besides, you'll have a hard time sleeping tonight anyway.
Cheers,
Isaac
Monday, July 28, 2014
Homages
It may seem like Isaac is the only one doing any reading, but, alas, it is just that he is the only one writing about what he's reading.
I've finally gotten around to reading a few of the homages to Jane Austen that have proliferated in recent years--one that I really wanted to read, and one that Isaac told me I should.
Perhaps because my expectations for the latter were so low, I found the former far more disappointing.
Of all the derivative works that have come out of Austen's corpus these last few years, I thought I would really enjoy P. D. James's Death Comes to Pemberley. James is a strong writer, and though I sometimes feel her mysteries are a just a little too Freudian, I never find them dull. She is, like Austen, acutely aware of both the foibles and the promise of humanity, but she is confident enough in her own style that she wouldn't feel the need merely to mimic Austen. I really believed she was up to the challenge of writing a sequel to Pride and Prejudice.
(more after the jump, with possible vague spoilers)
I've finally gotten around to reading a few of the homages to Jane Austen that have proliferated in recent years--one that I really wanted to read, and one that Isaac told me I should.
Perhaps because my expectations for the latter were so low, I found the former far more disappointing.
Of all the derivative works that have come out of Austen's corpus these last few years, I thought I would really enjoy P. D. James's Death Comes to Pemberley. James is a strong writer, and though I sometimes feel her mysteries are a just a little too Freudian, I never find them dull. She is, like Austen, acutely aware of both the foibles and the promise of humanity, but she is confident enough in her own style that she wouldn't feel the need merely to mimic Austen. I really believed she was up to the challenge of writing a sequel to Pride and Prejudice.
(more after the jump, with possible vague spoilers)
Monday, July 21, 2014
Adventures in the World of Books
I should write a book.
I certainly read enough of them. I would know what to do.
Most recently, yours truly read Incarceron by Catherine Fisher. You've seen it. It's that book. With the cover. You know, that one.
No? Well, it's a steampunk fantasy (genres are getting increasingly strange) set in... prison. Sort of. The story is told from many narrators' perspectives, some of whom are inside the prison and some of whom are not. Those outside the prison are living in what appears to be your average nameless medieval kingdom.
But anyway, back to the prison, because it's wayyy cooler than the lame palace that all the other people are doing. It's an enormously large, very sentient, ever-changing landscape. Some prisoners are placed in cells, without their previous memories, others are simply born in the world that is the prison. It's a prison not only because you can't leave (ever) and therefore have to live out your life trying to survive in this strange landscape, but also because life in this large world is hell.
Each Wing of the prison has a different identifying characteristic: the Ice Wing and the Tunnels of Madness are two particularly sucky examples. It's obvious what life is like, right? In the Ice Wing, temperatures are permanently stuck below freezing, there's snow everywhere -- it's basically Canada, only without the Canadian bacon and nice people, because no one stuck in this prison is nice. All the compassionate, caring, kind-hearted souls are murdered by the rampaging gangs who plunder, steal, and enslave pretty much anyone they can. Because, well, life sucks in prison, but if you have a slave, it sucks a little less.
Did I mention how the prison is always trying to kill you? Yeah, it's a sentient prison. It has really good, really malicious, and really megalomaniacal (is that a word?) artificial intelligence. It has billions of small, metallic beetles that carry a single red camera which observes the inhabitants. It really likes being in control of these puny little people. And because this is steampunk, and technology is basically a plot device which needs very little explanation, the prison can control and change every aspect about itself in order to torment its inhabitants. Getting too big for your britches? Surprise earthquake right in the middle of your plunder party. Saying really nasty things about the prison? When you wake up in the morning, your wing of the prison may have completely changed places overnight. Or a gust of wind could blow you into a canyon. Or you could be eaten by carnivorous kudzu. The prison is so malicious and evil and overlordly that it gave itself a name: Incarceron.
So now that I've thoroughly disturbed you (and incurred a visit from Child Protection Services), what's the plot like? It follows our hero, Finn, and a supporting band of other characters, some in prison, some Outside, as they journey through jail to try to Escape. See, escape from the prison is impossible. It's so large, the dome of the roof is beyond the visible sky, the ends of the map are all covered in mountains, caverns, or fiery lakes, and the floor goes on forever: no flying, breaking, or digging your way out.
Yet one man, a magician named Sapphique, is purported to have escaped. There is a multitude of legend and myth and story surrounding this magician, who is said to have looked long and suffered greatly in his many forays to escape Incarceron. He is said to have played riddles with Incarceron itself, fallen from the highest heights and risen from the bottomless valleys, and to have gone through the Tunnels of Madness and exited with his sanity (and highly improved pickup lines at the local pubs). So, obviously, everyone dreams of escape. Including the fearless hero of the story who through many acts of bravery, blah blah, etc.
Go read the book. And the sequel. Before they make it a movie. Don't worry, they keep delaying it. You can probably let your kids read it too.
Cheers,
Isaac
I certainly read enough of them. I would know what to do.
Most recently, yours truly read Incarceron by Catherine Fisher. You've seen it. It's that book. With the cover. You know, that one.
No? Well, it's a steampunk fantasy (genres are getting increasingly strange) set in... prison. Sort of. The story is told from many narrators' perspectives, some of whom are inside the prison and some of whom are not. Those outside the prison are living in what appears to be your average nameless medieval kingdom.
But anyway, back to the prison, because it's wayyy cooler than the lame palace that all the other people are doing. It's an enormously large, very sentient, ever-changing landscape. Some prisoners are placed in cells, without their previous memories, others are simply born in the world that is the prison. It's a prison not only because you can't leave (ever) and therefore have to live out your life trying to survive in this strange landscape, but also because life in this large world is hell.
Each Wing of the prison has a different identifying characteristic: the Ice Wing and the Tunnels of Madness are two particularly sucky examples. It's obvious what life is like, right? In the Ice Wing, temperatures are permanently stuck below freezing, there's snow everywhere -- it's basically Canada, only without the Canadian bacon and nice people, because no one stuck in this prison is nice. All the compassionate, caring, kind-hearted souls are murdered by the rampaging gangs who plunder, steal, and enslave pretty much anyone they can. Because, well, life sucks in prison, but if you have a slave, it sucks a little less.
Did I mention how the prison is always trying to kill you? Yeah, it's a sentient prison. It has really good, really malicious, and really megalomaniacal (is that a word?) artificial intelligence. It has billions of small, metallic beetles that carry a single red camera which observes the inhabitants. It really likes being in control of these puny little people. And because this is steampunk, and technology is basically a plot device which needs very little explanation, the prison can control and change every aspect about itself in order to torment its inhabitants. Getting too big for your britches? Surprise earthquake right in the middle of your plunder party. Saying really nasty things about the prison? When you wake up in the morning, your wing of the prison may have completely changed places overnight. Or a gust of wind could blow you into a canyon. Or you could be eaten by carnivorous kudzu. The prison is so malicious and evil and overlordly that it gave itself a name: Incarceron.
So now that I've thoroughly disturbed you (and incurred a visit from Child Protection Services), what's the plot like? It follows our hero, Finn, and a supporting band of other characters, some in prison, some Outside, as they journey through jail to try to Escape. See, escape from the prison is impossible. It's so large, the dome of the roof is beyond the visible sky, the ends of the map are all covered in mountains, caverns, or fiery lakes, and the floor goes on forever: no flying, breaking, or digging your way out.
Yet one man, a magician named Sapphique, is purported to have escaped. There is a multitude of legend and myth and story surrounding this magician, who is said to have looked long and suffered greatly in his many forays to escape Incarceron. He is said to have played riddles with Incarceron itself, fallen from the highest heights and risen from the bottomless valleys, and to have gone through the Tunnels of Madness and exited with his sanity (and highly improved pickup lines at the local pubs). So, obviously, everyone dreams of escape. Including the fearless hero of the story who through many acts of bravery, blah blah, etc.
Go read the book. And the sequel. Before they make it a movie. Don't worry, they keep delaying it. You can probably let your kids read it too.
Cheers,
Isaac
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Adventures in Literary Land, Vol. Religion
I've been Christian my whole life. Having spent two-thirds of that life surviving my parents' theology degrees, that's not surprising. However, I've always had a slightly difficult time relating to people who are either "born-again" or staunchly agnostic or atheist. I have a hard time with the first group because to my haughty, intellectual ears, their conversion experiences often sound cheesy or excessively emotional. Of course, born-agains are invaluable to the faith because of their ability to evangelize. The second group is perplexing because I can't understand their stubbornness to disbelieve or insist that belief is worthless.
Anyway, my mother got a book out from the library recently, and according to tradition, I picked it up and finished it before she could even get started. I found her lack of reading ... disturbing. And then I realized: It was a trap! She got me to learn about the Bible through subliminal methods involving (a) leaving a cool-looking book lying around the house and (b) waiting for me to read it.
So this book. It was titled The Year of Living Biblically and was made 12 times better because of the cover image.
As you can see from the subtitle, a guy decided to try and follow all the rules and advice and commandments of the bible. His previous book was about reading the entire Encyclopaedia Britannica from A to Z. Clearly a sadist.
He writes in the introduction that he was of Jewish heritage but labeled himself as agnostic before his noble quest. In the epilogue, he states that he cannot quite bring himself to believe in the god of Judaism but is no longer agnostic. This is a man who writes for Esquire and reads encyclopedias for a living. So what did he do?
Well, everything. He stopped shaving. Stopped eating shellfish. Wore tassels on his clothes. Prayed regularly. Stoned adulterers. Those are just a few of the purity laws which he attempted to follow. He also tried to obey the moral laws like the 10 Commandments, the advice to pray regularly, or Leviticus 19:18. Look it up.
So it's an interesting read. It's an almost day-by-day account of what his new life is like. He notices the changes that his self-imposed restrictions and mandates are wreaking on his habits and thoughts. He has some moments where he actually feels connected to God and his heritage, and other moments when he is frightened by some sects which are affected by the same biblical literalism that his project requires. It's a very interesting experience.
Go read it.
Cheers,
Isaac
Anyway, my mother got a book out from the library recently, and according to tradition, I picked it up and finished it before she could even get started. I found her lack of reading ... disturbing. And then I realized: It was a trap! She got me to learn about the Bible through subliminal methods involving (a) leaving a cool-looking book lying around the house and (b) waiting for me to read it.
So this book. It was titled The Year of Living Biblically and was made 12 times better because of the cover image.
As you can see from the subtitle, a guy decided to try and follow all the rules and advice and commandments of the bible. His previous book was about reading the entire Encyclopaedia Britannica from A to Z. Clearly a sadist.
He writes in the introduction that he was of Jewish heritage but labeled himself as agnostic before his noble quest. In the epilogue, he states that he cannot quite bring himself to believe in the god of Judaism but is no longer agnostic. This is a man who writes for Esquire and reads encyclopedias for a living. So what did he do?
Well, everything. He stopped shaving. Stopped eating shellfish. Wore tassels on his clothes. Prayed regularly. Stoned adulterers. Those are just a few of the purity laws which he attempted to follow. He also tried to obey the moral laws like the 10 Commandments, the advice to pray regularly, or Leviticus 19:18. Look it up.
So it's an interesting read. It's an almost day-by-day account of what his new life is like. He notices the changes that his self-imposed restrictions and mandates are wreaking on his habits and thoughts. He has some moments where he actually feels connected to God and his heritage, and other moments when he is frightened by some sects which are affected by the same biblical literalism that his project requires. It's a very interesting experience.
Go read it.
Cheers,
Isaac
Friday, June 20, 2014
Isaac's Adventures in Literary Land, Vol. Whatever
Science Fiction has always been a personal favorite genre of mine. Part of the allure is the fancy new technology that the main characters always get to use/enjoy/abuse. Another interesting result of reading Asmiov or other greats is realizing how right they often were about their future (our present).
Margaret Atwood's dystopian novel Oryx and Crake is a particularly chilling and relevant example of an author seeing a possible future. I won't bother too much with plot, it's about as complex as Ken Ham's opening statements in his debate vs. Bill Nye the Science Guy.
But the actual premise of the book is pretty simple: genetic engineering and biochemical manipulation have become so advanced and useful that they pervade everyday life. Buildings have plant matter incorporated to become more efficient, physical appearance can be changed as quickly as in Scott Westerfield's Uglies, and man's dream of the 24-wing chicken has finally become a reality.
With all this awesome technology lying around, the world was only waiting for some genius to come along and start the apocalypse. Which is precisely what happens.
Now beware, further explanation of plot follows the jump, accompanied with spoilers. Those who cherish the idea of reading a book as an adventure into unknown territories should stop reading this and go read a book, preferably the one I'm writing about, so that you can come back and finish reading it.
Margaret Atwood's dystopian novel Oryx and Crake is a particularly chilling and relevant example of an author seeing a possible future. I won't bother too much with plot, it's about as complex as Ken Ham's opening statements in his debate vs. Bill Nye the Science Guy.
But the actual premise of the book is pretty simple: genetic engineering and biochemical manipulation have become so advanced and useful that they pervade everyday life. Buildings have plant matter incorporated to become more efficient, physical appearance can be changed as quickly as in Scott Westerfield's Uglies, and man's dream of the 24-wing chicken has finally become a reality.
With all this awesome technology lying around, the world was only waiting for some genius to come along and start the apocalypse. Which is precisely what happens.
Now beware, further explanation of plot follows the jump, accompanied with spoilers. Those who cherish the idea of reading a book as an adventure into unknown territories should stop reading this and go read a book, preferably the one I'm writing about, so that you can come back and finish reading it.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Adventure in Literary Land II
Isaac is back with another review of obscure books your teenage child probably loves.
John Green is my favorite modern author behind Scott Westerfield and Rowling. Not only does he write excellent books for teens, but he also has multiple YouTube channels dedicated to random facts and education. His brother Hank is more of the same. Check them out.
I first heard of JG about a year ago when a friend of mine was fangirling about his book The Fault in Our Stars. Apparently it's the best book ever and I need to get around to reading it. Anyhoo, a girl in my bio class was reading a JG book and offered to let me borrow it, knowing that I would finish within the school day.
An Abundance of Katherines is the story of a child prodigy who never reached full potential. This distinction is discussed several times throughout the novel and is better explained there than here. The protagonist, Colin, is said genius and his amigo Hassan plays the part of slightly less intelligent but far more funny Muslim best friend. Hassan spends the better part of the novel trying to get Colin out of his self-obsessed funk. Colin has a mental block when it comes to dating, which manifests itself in that he can only date girls named "Katherine." It must be spelled that way or no deal. The general pattern of these relationships is that Colin get dumped and feels bad about himself, and then finds another Katherine and the cycle repeats. Well, the 19th time is the worst for poor Colin because Katherine XIX is also Katherine the Great: the original Katherine who started the trend. Hassan observes the emotional fallout and takes Colin on a road trip. The two find a job in a small town somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and encounter Lindsey, who is the love interest of the story. That's about all the plot that one needs to know except this last bit.
Colin becomes fixated on the idea of creating a mathematical equation that plots the outcome and happiness of a given relationship. For the sake of brevity, I will link to it here.
The novel's main strength is that it connects deeply with its reader. It seems written by one of us, and by one of us I mean teens. Hassan is the best friend we all wish we had. Lindsey is the cool not-girly girl that we all wish we were dating. Colin is the tormented teenager we all think we are. John Green's writing style is the epitome of young adult literature. Each chapter has at least three footnotes that impart a random fact or related anagram or strange historical parallel that both lighten the mood and complete our of Colin's brain: random, funny, and tangential. Never will you ever find more anagrams in one piece of literature.
So Abundance of Katherines is really one of those "voyage of self-discovery" books that you read in freshman English class, only AOK is actually enjoyable to read. Holden Caufield, we're looking at you.
Hopefully your humble literature critic will get his hands on more John Green and will be able to more accurately discuss his authoring merits. But you all / y'all / youse should not panic in fear if your child comes home with a JG novel in his/her backpack. It's okay. It gives you an excuse to read it too.
Cheers,
Isaac
John Green is my favorite modern author behind Scott Westerfield and Rowling. Not only does he write excellent books for teens, but he also has multiple YouTube channels dedicated to random facts and education. His brother Hank is more of the same. Check them out.
I first heard of JG about a year ago when a friend of mine was fangirling about his book The Fault in Our Stars. Apparently it's the best book ever and I need to get around to reading it. Anyhoo, a girl in my bio class was reading a JG book and offered to let me borrow it, knowing that I would finish within the school day.
An Abundance of Katherines is the story of a child prodigy who never reached full potential. This distinction is discussed several times throughout the novel and is better explained there than here. The protagonist, Colin, is said genius and his amigo Hassan plays the part of slightly less intelligent but far more funny Muslim best friend. Hassan spends the better part of the novel trying to get Colin out of his self-obsessed funk. Colin has a mental block when it comes to dating, which manifests itself in that he can only date girls named "Katherine." It must be spelled that way or no deal. The general pattern of these relationships is that Colin get dumped and feels bad about himself, and then finds another Katherine and the cycle repeats. Well, the 19th time is the worst for poor Colin because Katherine XIX is also Katherine the Great: the original Katherine who started the trend. Hassan observes the emotional fallout and takes Colin on a road trip. The two find a job in a small town somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and encounter Lindsey, who is the love interest of the story. That's about all the plot that one needs to know except this last bit.
Colin becomes fixated on the idea of creating a mathematical equation that plots the outcome and happiness of a given relationship. For the sake of brevity, I will link to it here.
The novel's main strength is that it connects deeply with its reader. It seems written by one of us, and by one of us I mean teens. Hassan is the best friend we all wish we had. Lindsey is the cool not-girly girl that we all wish we were dating. Colin is the tormented teenager we all think we are. John Green's writing style is the epitome of young adult literature. Each chapter has at least three footnotes that impart a random fact or related anagram or strange historical parallel that both lighten the mood and complete our of Colin's brain: random, funny, and tangential. Never will you ever find more anagrams in one piece of literature.
So Abundance of Katherines is really one of those "voyage of self-discovery" books that you read in freshman English class, only AOK is actually enjoyable to read. Holden Caufield, we're looking at you.
Hopefully your humble literature critic will get his hands on more John Green and will be able to more accurately discuss his authoring merits. But you all / y'all / youse should not panic in fear if your child comes home with a JG novel in his/her backpack. It's okay. It gives you an excuse to read it too.
Cheers,
Isaac
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
College-Level Kiddie Lit
I told my ethics students that one of the goals of the class was to make it harder for them to go grocery shopping (or car shopping or pet shopping or spouse shopping and so on). Being an ethicist--especially one trained in narrative theology--just plain makes it harder to get stuff done, sometimes.
The "narrative theology" part makes it especially hard to just pick up any old kids' book and read it to my poor, long-suffering children.
I infected my students with that bit of insanity this morning--I had them read a few children's books to each other and talk about what a person or community formed by that book my believe or practice or understand. (I'm grateful to Vigen Guroian for having written on this topic a few years ago.)
I've done this exercise a few times, and the thing that struck me most this time around was the way books don't always do what they purport to do.
For example, we were all a little put off by Hooper Humperdink...? Not Him!, which was supposed to be a fun romp through the alphabet, wrapped in a tidy narrative of inclusion. The narrator spends the entire book building a fabulous party, while throwing out little asides about not inviting Hooper Humperdink, because he just doesn't like him.
Of course, it's a kids' book, so, in the end, the narrator decides to invite him after all.
Well, you know, that's real sweet and all, but after thirty-two pages of sneering at him, that sort of grudging permission is hardly inclusion. When I asked my students what children might learn, morally, from this book, one of them rightly suggested that this book gives a child permission to dislike other children, so long as they throw them a few token invitations to participate in special activities.
I think there might be some wisdom in giving children permission to talk about their dislikes of other children--it's a natural enough phenomenon, and the solution (corralling and contravening one's own emotions) is a little unnatural and probably needs some verbal processing.
But that is not the delicate dance that Hooper Humperdink performs.
Richard Scarry, without bothering to wrap his silly story in a tidy moral, actually does a much better job of introducing children to the notion of inclusion.
His Firefighters' Busy Day is, like all his books, simply a silly story from start to finish. The four firefighters never seem to manage to get to eat, because every time they sit down to try, the alarm rings and they have to tend to another not-terribly-urgent emergency. The needy-person-in-distress is always Mr. Frumble, a hapless cat who can't seem to manage his pickle car, or anything else.
Where it gets interesting--far more interesting than Hooper's little morality tale, for all that Scarry is completely uninterested in being morally interesting--is when the firefighters figure out that Mr. Frumble is Busytown's most annoying citizen. What do they do? "So that they can finally have a quiet moment to eat, the firefighters invite Mr. Frumble to have dinner with them at the firehouse."
And they prepare him (and themselves) a meal, while keeping him safe there at the firehouse.
I always tell my students that they should run toward their problems (like, a professor whose class they've been cutting or for whom they haven't turned in a bucketload of work), not away from them. Richard Scarry is telling them to grab their problems and bring them home for dinner.
Now, Scarry keeps it from being a tidy morality play by having the alarm ring once again, just as they were sitting down to dinner with Mr. Frumble . . . and they all leave, wishing Mr. Frumble a good dinner on their way out.
Am I reading too much into this silly story by suggesting that a community formed by this story might just have better resources for dealing with difficult people than a community formed by the Hooper Humperdink story?
Perhaps. But guess which one I'm going to be reading to my boys way more often than the other?
The "narrative theology" part makes it especially hard to just pick up any old kids' book and read it to my poor, long-suffering children.
I infected my students with that bit of insanity this morning--I had them read a few children's books to each other and talk about what a person or community formed by that book my believe or practice or understand. (I'm grateful to Vigen Guroian for having written on this topic a few years ago.)
I've done this exercise a few times, and the thing that struck me most this time around was the way books don't always do what they purport to do.
For example, we were all a little put off by Hooper Humperdink...? Not Him!, which was supposed to be a fun romp through the alphabet, wrapped in a tidy narrative of inclusion. The narrator spends the entire book building a fabulous party, while throwing out little asides about not inviting Hooper Humperdink, because he just doesn't like him.
Of course, it's a kids' book, so, in the end, the narrator decides to invite him after all.
Well, you know, that's real sweet and all, but after thirty-two pages of sneering at him, that sort of grudging permission is hardly inclusion. When I asked my students what children might learn, morally, from this book, one of them rightly suggested that this book gives a child permission to dislike other children, so long as they throw them a few token invitations to participate in special activities.
I think there might be some wisdom in giving children permission to talk about their dislikes of other children--it's a natural enough phenomenon, and the solution (corralling and contravening one's own emotions) is a little unnatural and probably needs some verbal processing.
But that is not the delicate dance that Hooper Humperdink performs.
Richard Scarry, without bothering to wrap his silly story in a tidy moral, actually does a much better job of introducing children to the notion of inclusion.
His Firefighters' Busy Day is, like all his books, simply a silly story from start to finish. The four firefighters never seem to manage to get to eat, because every time they sit down to try, the alarm rings and they have to tend to another not-terribly-urgent emergency. The needy-person-in-distress is always Mr. Frumble, a hapless cat who can't seem to manage his pickle car, or anything else.
Where it gets interesting--far more interesting than Hooper's little morality tale, for all that Scarry is completely uninterested in being morally interesting--is when the firefighters figure out that Mr. Frumble is Busytown's most annoying citizen. What do they do? "So that they can finally have a quiet moment to eat, the firefighters invite Mr. Frumble to have dinner with them at the firehouse."
And they prepare him (and themselves) a meal, while keeping him safe there at the firehouse.
I always tell my students that they should run toward their problems (like, a professor whose class they've been cutting or for whom they haven't turned in a bucketload of work), not away from them. Richard Scarry is telling them to grab their problems and bring them home for dinner.
Now, Scarry keeps it from being a tidy morality play by having the alarm ring once again, just as they were sitting down to dinner with Mr. Frumble . . . and they all leave, wishing Mr. Frumble a good dinner on their way out.
Am I reading too much into this silly story by suggesting that a community formed by this story might just have better resources for dealing with difficult people than a community formed by the Hooper Humperdink story?
Perhaps. But guess which one I'm going to be reading to my boys way more often than the other?
Friday, March 7, 2014
Adventures in Literature Land
NOTE: Isaac has been on sabbatical from the blog. He's been busy with various duties, including: getting older, doing copious amounts of homework, and trying to be cool. No fear, he has returned.
So, I read a book the other day. Shocking, I know. But I read a book, and it turned out it was the first in a trilogy. Then it turned out that this trilogy had a sequel, so really it was four books, proving for once and for all that authors clearly have no idea what they're doing.
But the book was Uglies (Scott Westerfield) and I categorize it as YA dystopian tech-fantasy. The main plot theme is in this brave new world, surgery and science have combined to find the archetype of the most attractive faces possible. These features include large eyes, symmetrical faces, and other tiny markers that make humans subconsciously attracted to one another. So in this semi-postapocalyptical society, the governments of the various cities have decided that to eliminate the conflicts and unfairness of the previous mold of humans, they will make the pretty-making operation compulsory starting from age 16. Certain other imperfections of society are removed, including the money system (governments pay for all of their citizens' needs), weapons (except for the giant cache the government has), and anything at all that damages the natural world of the earth.
The whole history behind the book's current events is that the old humanity, the "Rusties," seriously screwed up the world and that the above changes are the way to recover and fix it. Problem is, some people don't like being forced into surgery, forced into a certain physique, etc. The main character, Tally Youngblood, loses her best friend to the elite clique of pretty people when he turns 16 three months before she. She quickly finds a new friend, Shay, who goes against the norm and runs away rather than become pretty. She feels comfortable with her natural look. This aggravates the government. "Special Circumstances" (the new FBI or whatever) forces Tally either to follow her friend and give away the location of a hidden village of like-minded rebels, or to forgo the pretty-making surgery -- to be ugly forever. The rest of the book catalogs Tally's struggle with betraying Shay and her new friends and the inner turmoil of realizing that life as an ugly isn't that bad.
Despite being young adult literature, Uglies and its sequels are worth reading. Scott Westerfield keeps the story interesting and relevant from start to finish. You keep reading for the resolution of the plot twists, and then keep thinking because of the many ethical issues that Westerfield brings up, all the while satirically hinting that today's modern society is the generation responsible for the semi-apocalypse.
Anyway I can't give away the plot of the novel, nor the rest of the trilogy (quadrilogy?), but more and more through the books the government is shown to be evil. Mind-control and other unethical acts are disguised as the only possible way to keep society from destroying itself. So I asked myself the following question: regardless of how it turned out, was the government's original idea right?
Is the main problem of humanity our propensity to judge people based on one look at them? No, really -- is it?? Westerfield doesn't intend to tell us that we all have to be 100% pretty (or 100% ugly) to solve our problems. The "rusties" were also wasteful, constantly at war, and selfish.
It still begs the question: how much does appearance affect our lives?
Think about it.
Cheers,
Isaac
So, I read a book the other day. Shocking, I know. But I read a book, and it turned out it was the first in a trilogy. Then it turned out that this trilogy had a sequel, so really it was four books, proving for once and for all that authors clearly have no idea what they're doing.
But the book was Uglies (Scott Westerfield) and I categorize it as YA dystopian tech-fantasy. The main plot theme is in this brave new world, surgery and science have combined to find the archetype of the most attractive faces possible. These features include large eyes, symmetrical faces, and other tiny markers that make humans subconsciously attracted to one another. So in this semi-postapocalyptical society, the governments of the various cities have decided that to eliminate the conflicts and unfairness of the previous mold of humans, they will make the pretty-making operation compulsory starting from age 16. Certain other imperfections of society are removed, including the money system (governments pay for all of their citizens' needs), weapons (except for the giant cache the government has), and anything at all that damages the natural world of the earth.
The whole history behind the book's current events is that the old humanity, the "Rusties," seriously screwed up the world and that the above changes are the way to recover and fix it. Problem is, some people don't like being forced into surgery, forced into a certain physique, etc. The main character, Tally Youngblood, loses her best friend to the elite clique of pretty people when he turns 16 three months before she. She quickly finds a new friend, Shay, who goes against the norm and runs away rather than become pretty. She feels comfortable with her natural look. This aggravates the government. "Special Circumstances" (the new FBI or whatever) forces Tally either to follow her friend and give away the location of a hidden village of like-minded rebels, or to forgo the pretty-making surgery -- to be ugly forever. The rest of the book catalogs Tally's struggle with betraying Shay and her new friends and the inner turmoil of realizing that life as an ugly isn't that bad.
Despite being young adult literature, Uglies and its sequels are worth reading. Scott Westerfield keeps the story interesting and relevant from start to finish. You keep reading for the resolution of the plot twists, and then keep thinking because of the many ethical issues that Westerfield brings up, all the while satirically hinting that today's modern society is the generation responsible for the semi-apocalypse.
Anyway I can't give away the plot of the novel, nor the rest of the trilogy (quadrilogy?), but more and more through the books the government is shown to be evil. Mind-control and other unethical acts are disguised as the only possible way to keep society from destroying itself. So I asked myself the following question: regardless of how it turned out, was the government's original idea right?
Is the main problem of humanity our propensity to judge people based on one look at them? No, really -- is it?? Westerfield doesn't intend to tell us that we all have to be 100% pretty (or 100% ugly) to solve our problems. The "rusties" were also wasteful, constantly at war, and selfish.
It still begs the question: how much does appearance affect our lives?
Think about it.
Cheers,
Isaac
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Ordinary Reading
I calculated last year that if I lived a slightly-above-average lifespan and read a book a week for the rest of my life, I could read about 2500 more books in my lifetime.
This does not seem like nearly enough.
But I won't even read that many if I keep up my current pace, so we'll need to step up our game in 2014.
Now, if I read two books a week for the rest of my life (presuming a slightly-above-average lifespan), I could get a good 5000 more books read. And that seems more reasonable than 2500.
So I decided to set 100 books a year as a goal.
I can't decide whether to get a list going and be organized about it or to grab the nearest book and read.
If I had a list of 100 books, I'd always have an idea of what to read next. And I could put together some mutually illuminating selections.
If I just grabbed books that looked good, maybe I'd finish more books.
It's tough to say which is better.
It's hard to self-educate. Much easier when someone else is assigning your reading list. My best grad school classes had a one-page syllabus. 15 weeks, 15 books, one paper. Boom.
Maybe I should just make up seven courses with 15 books apiece. There's an idea.
In any case, I've already finished my first book of the year. The fact that I only had twenty pages left to read is irrelevant. I'm declaring myself off to a good start.
This does not seem like nearly enough.
But I won't even read that many if I keep up my current pace, so we'll need to step up our game in 2014.
Now, if I read two books a week for the rest of my life (presuming a slightly-above-average lifespan), I could get a good 5000 more books read. And that seems more reasonable than 2500.
So I decided to set 100 books a year as a goal.
I can't decide whether to get a list going and be organized about it or to grab the nearest book and read.
If I had a list of 100 books, I'd always have an idea of what to read next. And I could put together some mutually illuminating selections.
If I just grabbed books that looked good, maybe I'd finish more books.
It's tough to say which is better.
It's hard to self-educate. Much easier when someone else is assigning your reading list. My best grad school classes had a one-page syllabus. 15 weeks, 15 books, one paper. Boom.
Maybe I should just make up seven courses with 15 books apiece. There's an idea.
In any case, I've already finished my first book of the year. The fact that I only had twenty pages left to read is irrelevant. I'm declaring myself off to a good start.
Monday, November 4, 2013
On Not Being Jane Austen
If I hadn't learned French first, I might have enjoyed learning German.
But, alas, after mastering (more or less) the glorious beauty of the French tongue, speaking German felt like gargling used motor oil.
I suspect the same might be true of my appreciation of Elizabeth Gaskell: if I hadn't read dear Jane first, I might have really liked Mrs. Gaskell.
I finally finished Wives and Daughters last week, which rather felt like I was doing my duty by Gaskell than anything else.
Perhaps not--it was a story worth finishing, but I would have preferred that she had wrapped it up a hundred pages earlier.
(Everyone does, in fact: her death left the novel unfinished, by a mere one or two chapters. An appended reflection by her editor and publisher was highly unsatisfying.)
I am being too tepid in my praise. There are some real gems in here--scenes, observations, turns of phrase, characters. Hers must have been a tremendous skill, to have created such characters, with such modest, quotidian virtues and vices, such realism in their very multi-facetedness.
I mean, really--who can create such a character as Cynthia Kirkpatrick nowadays? Her comment about being a "moral kangaroo" will be my epitaph, I'm quite sure. What passes for a flawed hero or a "complex" character now is too easy: add rudeness or grumpiness or an inexplicable sense of having a "tortured" soul to an otherwise perfect character, and you're done.
The plot, too, is delicate, realistic, modest. Gaskell has too much innate charity to write a genuinely immoral person into her narrative. The very meanness of her worst "villain" prevents her from having any worse effect than the domestic discomfort of those around her. This is no small evil, in a tale of domestic proportions, but a Willoughby or a Wickham has more effect on the social body than does Mrs. Gibson.
But I never could quite overcome my annoyance at being spoon-fed throughout. No character has a thought, a motivation, a movement of the spirit that Gaskell does not report--in as charitable and gentle a manner as could ever be, but, nonetheless, with a thoroughness that began to grate long before the tale's denouement. Austen could have conveyed as much, and more, with half the words. There is a great artistry in saying things by leaving them unsaid, and it is not the sort of artistry that Gaskell displays. I never got past the first chapter of Little Women, for that very reason.
Gaskell's work is worth persevering through, however. There is delicateness and subtlety here, in spite of the wordiness, and the moral sensibility, on full display throughout, never trips over into frank preachiness.
Incidentally, the BBC film version of this novel does a lovely job of bringing to life those complex characters. Cynthia, Mr. Gibson, and especially Squire Hamley are beautiful creatures, and the production has far less of the odor of typecasting than the BBC Pride and Prejudice does. I highly recommend it.
But, alas, after mastering (more or less) the glorious beauty of the French tongue, speaking German felt like gargling used motor oil.
I suspect the same might be true of my appreciation of Elizabeth Gaskell: if I hadn't read dear Jane first, I might have really liked Mrs. Gaskell.
I finally finished Wives and Daughters last week, which rather felt like I was doing my duty by Gaskell than anything else.
Perhaps not--it was a story worth finishing, but I would have preferred that she had wrapped it up a hundred pages earlier.
(Everyone does, in fact: her death left the novel unfinished, by a mere one or two chapters. An appended reflection by her editor and publisher was highly unsatisfying.)
I am being too tepid in my praise. There are some real gems in here--scenes, observations, turns of phrase, characters. Hers must have been a tremendous skill, to have created such characters, with such modest, quotidian virtues and vices, such realism in their very multi-facetedness.
I mean, really--who can create such a character as Cynthia Kirkpatrick nowadays? Her comment about being a "moral kangaroo" will be my epitaph, I'm quite sure. What passes for a flawed hero or a "complex" character now is too easy: add rudeness or grumpiness or an inexplicable sense of having a "tortured" soul to an otherwise perfect character, and you're done.
The plot, too, is delicate, realistic, modest. Gaskell has too much innate charity to write a genuinely immoral person into her narrative. The very meanness of her worst "villain" prevents her from having any worse effect than the domestic discomfort of those around her. This is no small evil, in a tale of domestic proportions, but a Willoughby or a Wickham has more effect on the social body than does Mrs. Gibson.
But I never could quite overcome my annoyance at being spoon-fed throughout. No character has a thought, a motivation, a movement of the spirit that Gaskell does not report--in as charitable and gentle a manner as could ever be, but, nonetheless, with a thoroughness that began to grate long before the tale's denouement. Austen could have conveyed as much, and more, with half the words. There is a great artistry in saying things by leaving them unsaid, and it is not the sort of artistry that Gaskell displays. I never got past the first chapter of Little Women, for that very reason.
Gaskell's work is worth persevering through, however. There is delicateness and subtlety here, in spite of the wordiness, and the moral sensibility, on full display throughout, never trips over into frank preachiness.
Incidentally, the BBC film version of this novel does a lovely job of bringing to life those complex characters. Cynthia, Mr. Gibson, and especially Squire Hamley are beautiful creatures, and the production has far less of the odor of typecasting than the BBC Pride and Prejudice does. I highly recommend it.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Classy Libraries
The latest rabbit hole I've been lured down: how to organize my academic library.
This is a surprisingly complicated question.
I thought it would be straightforward: pick either Library of Congress or Dewey, then go to WorldCat and find the proper designation for each of my books, then shelve.
Then I discovered that WorldCat doesn't have the official Dewey designation for every book. Then I discovered that it's up to the individual library to assign the Dewey designation. (So, like, one library puts Julian's Revelations under "Christianity, Practical Life" and another under "Christian Mysticism.")
And then I discovered that Library of Congress is actually a pretty clunky and unhelpful system, particularly in the theology and ethics sections where most of my books are.
And then my bibliophile friend told me about the Pettee system, which was developed for theological libraries but which was sadly replaced by the stupid Library of Congress system. (One more thing to blame Congress for.) It even had a category for "theological works of no value whatever," and I have quite a few books in that section! But it is rather elaborate for a library of only a thousand books or so.
And then I thought that maybe my old non-systematic system might not be so bad after all.
Especially since whatever system I come up with will be further complicated by the fact that I only get custody of about half of our academic books. The other half have to go in Stephen's office.
(I'm sure he's comforted by the fact that this rather trivial separation from my books--he's only in the office next door, after all--is distressing enough to me that I've added "Because I might not get all the books" to my list of reason not to divorce him. It's a long list anyway, and the first item is pretty comprehensive: "Because he's Stephen." But no reason not to add stuff.)
So, I'm just going to make up my own system, but, still, I'm having some anxiety about this. If you have any recommendations or thoughts, feel free to comment. Here's what I think I'll do (and remember that this is just for my office books):
Bible
Bibles, then commentaries and studies in canonical order of book(s) treated, then reference and translation materials.
Theology and Ethics
Primary sources arranged chronologically by author's death date (or birth date if living), secondary sources arranged alphabetically by author after the theologian treated.
Ethics Group (not already included in T&E)
Philosophy and philosophical ethics, Religious ethics, Law and Government, and Public Policy, including scientific approaches to ethics topics, arranged by topic, then chronologically.
History and Church History (includes biographies, autobiographies, and secondary sources not already in T&E or Literature.)
Chronological by time period covered.
Church Life
By topic: Liturgy, Preaching, Devotional, Ecclesiology, Church Administration, Popular Works, Christian Art. Alphabetical by author within each topic.
World Religions
General and social science approaches, then by religion, then alphabetical by author. Special section for other religions' approaches to Christianity.
Literature
Primary sources arranged chronologically by author's death date (or birth date if living), secondary sources arranged alphabetically by author after the writer treated.
Social and Hard Sciences (not otherwise categorized)
By topic, then alphabetical by author
Current Project Bookshelf
Books for whatever writing project I'm working on, arranged by topic or relevant chapter.
Well. It's a work in progress.
Next step: inventing call numbers!
This is a surprisingly complicated question.
I thought it would be straightforward: pick either Library of Congress or Dewey, then go to WorldCat and find the proper designation for each of my books, then shelve.
Then I discovered that WorldCat doesn't have the official Dewey designation for every book. Then I discovered that it's up to the individual library to assign the Dewey designation. (So, like, one library puts Julian's Revelations under "Christianity, Practical Life" and another under "Christian Mysticism.")
And then I discovered that Library of Congress is actually a pretty clunky and unhelpful system, particularly in the theology and ethics sections where most of my books are.
And then my bibliophile friend told me about the Pettee system, which was developed for theological libraries but which was sadly replaced by the stupid Library of Congress system. (One more thing to blame Congress for.) It even had a category for "theological works of no value whatever," and I have quite a few books in that section! But it is rather elaborate for a library of only a thousand books or so.
And then I thought that maybe my old non-systematic system might not be so bad after all.
Especially since whatever system I come up with will be further complicated by the fact that I only get custody of about half of our academic books. The other half have to go in Stephen's office.
(I'm sure he's comforted by the fact that this rather trivial separation from my books--he's only in the office next door, after all--is distressing enough to me that I've added "Because I might not get all the books" to my list of reason not to divorce him. It's a long list anyway, and the first item is pretty comprehensive: "Because he's Stephen." But no reason not to add stuff.)
So, I'm just going to make up my own system, but, still, I'm having some anxiety about this. If you have any recommendations or thoughts, feel free to comment. Here's what I think I'll do (and remember that this is just for my office books):
Bible
Bibles, then commentaries and studies in canonical order of book(s) treated, then reference and translation materials.
Theology and Ethics
Primary sources arranged chronologically by author's death date (or birth date if living), secondary sources arranged alphabetically by author after the theologian treated.
Ethics Group (not already included in T&E)
Philosophy and philosophical ethics, Religious ethics, Law and Government, and Public Policy, including scientific approaches to ethics topics, arranged by topic, then chronologically.
History and Church History (includes biographies, autobiographies, and secondary sources not already in T&E or Literature.)
Chronological by time period covered.
Church Life
By topic: Liturgy, Preaching, Devotional, Ecclesiology, Church Administration, Popular Works, Christian Art. Alphabetical by author within each topic.
World Religions
General and social science approaches, then by religion, then alphabetical by author. Special section for other religions' approaches to Christianity.
Literature
Primary sources arranged chronologically by author's death date (or birth date if living), secondary sources arranged alphabetically by author after the writer treated.
Social and Hard Sciences (not otherwise categorized)
By topic, then alphabetical by author
Current Project Bookshelf
Books for whatever writing project I'm working on, arranged by topic or relevant chapter.
Well. It's a work in progress.
Next step: inventing call numbers!
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Wives and Prattlers
I've been reading some Elizabeth Gaskell lately. Mostly Wives and Daughters, although I've glanced at North and South and tried to remember Mary Barton (which I only allegedly read for my undergrad Brit Lit class).
Wives and Daughters is very good, but two things have struck me over and over again as I read it.
First, Molly Gibson is Fanny Price. I've never heard anyone complain about Molly Gibson they way they complain about Fanny Price. And in the BBC adaptation of Wives and Daughters, Molly Gibson is an entirely winning, sympathetic creature, played just as Gaskell wrote her.
But poor Fanny never gets such a cinematic treatment. That's a shame. If someone could be bothered to try, that would be nice.
Second, between Jane Austen and Dorothy Sayers lies a vast wasteland . . . well, maybe not wasteland . . . okay. I'll admit that Gaskell is a strong writer and an insightful reader of people.
But I have the same problem with Gaskell that I have with Louisa May Alcott. She leaves almost nothing unsaid. Every point is belabored, every thought detailed, every nuance shouted from the rooftops. Jane would have written the same book with half the words, and probably still come out ahead in the incisive critique department.
The book is filled with worthy observations, the characters are finely drawn, and it has, really, some lovely one-liners. ("I'm not saying she was very silly, but one of us was very silly and it wasn't me." "I'm capable of a great jerk, an effort, and then a relaxation–but steady, every-day goodness is beyond me. I must be a moral kangaroo!")
And so I persevere. And I try not to compare her to Jane so very often.
Wives and Daughters is very good, but two things have struck me over and over again as I read it.
First, Molly Gibson is Fanny Price. I've never heard anyone complain about Molly Gibson they way they complain about Fanny Price. And in the BBC adaptation of Wives and Daughters, Molly Gibson is an entirely winning, sympathetic creature, played just as Gaskell wrote her.
But poor Fanny never gets such a cinematic treatment. That's a shame. If someone could be bothered to try, that would be nice.
Second, between Jane Austen and Dorothy Sayers lies a vast wasteland . . . well, maybe not wasteland . . . okay. I'll admit that Gaskell is a strong writer and an insightful reader of people.
But I have the same problem with Gaskell that I have with Louisa May Alcott. She leaves almost nothing unsaid. Every point is belabored, every thought detailed, every nuance shouted from the rooftops. Jane would have written the same book with half the words, and probably still come out ahead in the incisive critique department.
The book is filled with worthy observations, the characters are finely drawn, and it has, really, some lovely one-liners. ("I'm not saying she was very silly, but one of us was very silly and it wasn't me." "I'm capable of a great jerk, an effort, and then a relaxation–but steady, every-day goodness is beyond me. I must be a moral kangaroo!")
And so I persevere. And I try not to compare her to Jane so very often.
Friday, August 9, 2013
Adventures in the World of Books and Movies, Part I
It's a well-known fact that my mother has great love in her heart for Jane Austen and her many literary works. It is also a well-known fact that my mother has memorized all of the aforementioned literary works and their various film adaptions.
It is a slightly less well-known fact that I actually enjoy reading only one of said literary works, thus eternally shaming and tormenting my English-major mother. But hey, Pride and Prejudice is the only one I've read in the past 8 years, so it's possible that my opinions have changed since I was still homeschooled.
Either way, that's why when I learned that a major portion of the assigned reading was in fact P&P, I didn't run away screaming: "Pages and pages of itty-bitty print! British girls complaining about men not falling in love with them! AIEEEEEEEEE!"
Having watched the BBC film adaptation at least 5 times through, and having read the book about the same number of times, it's safe to say I've reached my memory threshold for Bennet & Co. That is to say, I remember all the good lines, who (whom?) everybody is (does, loves, owes, has, is related to, etc.), and the plot (and setting, and theological arguments, and moral arguments, and feminist arguments, and all the other things my mother gushes about in her virtually nonexistent spare time).
Anyway, while at the grandparents a week ago, the Keira Knightley version of P&P was on. Keira Knightly is an actress. From somewhere that makes unfaithful adaptations of great literary novels. She is known for having a unique smile and the other female endowments necessary to be an actress. Anyhoo, she was Elizabeth Bennet in the non-BBC version of P&P. Mom said I should watch it.
-- "Why?"
-- "Because it's bad, and will allow you to fully appreciate all the wonderful plot pieces that it omits."
-- "Seems legit."
It was horrendous. I'm usually an expert at analyzing failure, wierdness, other people, or really anything else, but I couldn't get it. There were so many things wrong my brain hurt. I'm sure all the actors and actresses are wonderful people when they're not playing from a bad script, but I could get past the 17 times I said "Wait! That's not in the book!" in the 5 minutes that I watched the movie. I was told that the K.K. adaptation is the most unfaithful Austen film except for Mansfield Park, and I never really like Mansfield Park in the first place.
Comparatively, I liked the non-BBC Collins better than the BBC one, but I think that's kind of the point. You're not supposed to like him. As for everybody else... meh. BBC is just so perfect. You can't top that. So don't try beating Brits at their own game. That's today's lesson.
Cheers,
Isaac
It is a slightly less well-known fact that I actually enjoy reading only one of said literary works, thus eternally shaming and tormenting my English-major mother. But hey, Pride and Prejudice is the only one I've read in the past 8 years, so it's possible that my opinions have changed since I was still homeschooled.
Either way, that's why when I learned that a major portion of the assigned reading was in fact P&P, I didn't run away screaming: "Pages and pages of itty-bitty print! British girls complaining about men not falling in love with them! AIEEEEEEEEE!"
Having watched the BBC film adaptation at least 5 times through, and having read the book about the same number of times, it's safe to say I've reached my memory threshold for Bennet & Co. That is to say, I remember all the good lines, who (whom?) everybody is (does, loves, owes, has, is related to, etc.), and the plot (and setting, and theological arguments, and moral arguments, and feminist arguments, and all the other things my mother gushes about in her virtually nonexistent spare time).
Anyway, while at the grandparents a week ago, the Keira Knightley version of P&P was on. Keira Knightly is an actress. From somewhere that makes unfaithful adaptations of great literary novels. She is known for having a unique smile and the other female endowments necessary to be an actress. Anyhoo, she was Elizabeth Bennet in the non-BBC version of P&P. Mom said I should watch it.
-- "Why?"
-- "Because it's bad, and will allow you to fully appreciate all the wonderful plot pieces that it omits."
-- "Seems legit."
It was horrendous. I'm usually an expert at analyzing failure, wierdness, other people, or really anything else, but I couldn't get it. There were so many things wrong my brain hurt. I'm sure all the actors and actresses are wonderful people when they're not playing from a bad script, but I could get past the 17 times I said "Wait! That's not in the book!" in the 5 minutes that I watched the movie. I was told that the K.K. adaptation is the most unfaithful Austen film except for Mansfield Park, and I never really like Mansfield Park in the first place.
Comparatively, I liked the non-BBC Collins better than the BBC one, but I think that's kind of the point. You're not supposed to like him. As for everybody else... meh. BBC is just so perfect. You can't top that. So don't try beating Brits at their own game. That's today's lesson.
Cheers,
Isaac
Saturday, July 13, 2013
For The First Time, Again.
One small consolation for the impracticalities of widely-spaced children: getting to read the classics for the "first" time, over and over and over.
We started The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe tonight, in honor of Theo's sixth birthday. His eyes could not have gotten any wider.
I can still remember starting the Narnia series with Isaac, in Paris. He's read it on his own, several times, since then. But this is the first time we've read it aloud in ten years.
We counted through the chapters and discovered that there are seventeen. Isaac said, "Wait, that means we'll finish it in, like, two weeks. That's not right. You can't rush through this book."
I do remember it taking at least a month when we read it with Isaac. I don't remember why. Certainly not because his attention span was shorter than Theo's. Perhaps mine was, back then. I think I only read parts of chapters.
Two weeks does seem rather quick.
I was looking over at Amos while we were reading, thinking about how little he understood, and how much fun it will be when we do this all again in five or six years.
I can't wait.
If you had the chance to introduce a book to someone precious to you, at just the right age for him or her, what book would that be?
I would have a hard time picking just one book. Charlotte's Web, Farmer Boy, Pride and Prejudice, the Borrowers, A Wrinkle in Time, the Screwtape Letters--how could you choose?
But the Narnia series is special.
We started The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe tonight, in honor of Theo's sixth birthday. His eyes could not have gotten any wider.
I can still remember starting the Narnia series with Isaac, in Paris. He's read it on his own, several times, since then. But this is the first time we've read it aloud in ten years.
We counted through the chapters and discovered that there are seventeen. Isaac said, "Wait, that means we'll finish it in, like, two weeks. That's not right. You can't rush through this book."
I do remember it taking at least a month when we read it with Isaac. I don't remember why. Certainly not because his attention span was shorter than Theo's. Perhaps mine was, back then. I think I only read parts of chapters.
Two weeks does seem rather quick.
I was looking over at Amos while we were reading, thinking about how little he understood, and how much fun it will be when we do this all again in five or six years.
I can't wait.
If you had the chance to introduce a book to someone precious to you, at just the right age for him or her, what book would that be?
I would have a hard time picking just one book. Charlotte's Web, Farmer Boy, Pride and Prejudice, the Borrowers, A Wrinkle in Time, the Screwtape Letters--how could you choose?
But the Narnia series is special.
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