I have been doing some reading, albeit not as much as I ought to be doing, in the hopes of getting some paper ideas together. It had not been going entirely well (as I think I may have mentioned), but today, I was able to get some work done on one idea that has been clamoring for release from the dark and depraved confines of my head into the significantly brighter confines of the page. I am pleased by the development, and I mean to follow up on it. If I can make things work, or get them to work, the way I want them to, I will be in good shape.
But I am not going to talk about that paper. Instead, I'll talk about something only barely tangentially related to it, and that through more removes than Hollywood is from Kevin Bacon (on average, maybe).* No, I am going to talk about something that occurred to me when I was reading Vladimir Brljak's "The Books of Lost Tales: Tolkien as Metafictionist" (Tolkien Studies 7 [2010]: 1-34). In the article, Brljak traces changes in Tolkien's conception of the Middle-earth narrative arc as a redaction from a received translation of older histories and asserts that the metafictional narrative--that is, the frame of the tale as the redaction--serves to highlight the unattainability of the story, simultaneously making it a valid work of sub-creation and reinforcing the removal of the sub-creation for the observable reality of the readership. Brljak employs a substantial amount of textual evidence from the primary Middle-earth narrative arc (The Silmarillion, The Hobbit, and The Lord of the Rings) and from subsidiary sources (namely the History of Middle-earth series) to support his point, doing a fair job of it, although there is certainly more that could be done.
As I read Brljak's article, I was struck by the parallels between what he identifies as the presentation of the metanarrative frame within The Lord of the Rings and that identified as being present in the excellently-named Geoffrey of Monmouth's History of the Kings of Britain. On my bookshelf, I have a translated edition of the text (my Latin is really rusty, okay) carried out by Michael A. Faletra. He remarks, as others have, on the Galfiridian comment that the History is a translation of a yet older text given him by another scholar (15); in the translation, the comment appears in the second paragraph of the dedicatory epistle (41). In discussing the gift from the older scholar, Walter, Faletra notes that, if the book exists, it "contained not the continuous narrative that Geoffrey presents but a collection of miscellaneous historical materials" (15). Faletra has more to say, as might be expected, and I have been interested in it for other reasons, but those other reasons are not what I want to address now.
It was the assertion of the likely-never-to-be-found-because-likely-never-existing book from Walter as a collection of diverse accounts and bits of lore, to which Brljak's depiction of Tolkien's metafictional frame struck me as parallel. Just as Faletra is skeptical that Walter's book will ever emerge (21), Brljak reminds his readers--who are presumably also Tolkien's--that there is no actual Red Book (the source-text identified in The Lord of the Rings as being the ultimate source of its narrative) (9). Just as Faletra asserts that Geoffrey "was dealing with a surplus of information and that he added, deleted, compressed, embellished, and rearranged" it (21), Brljak notes that "the most drastic of the quantitative changes [to the narrative of The Lord of the Rings from the metafictional Red Book] were those of subtraction" (10) and that qualitiative changes were necessary to take the text from its partial origin in diaries to a third-person narrative that encompassed more action and information than that to which the characters who contributed most to that narrative could provide (11-13). And just as Brljak asserts that "A key element in Tolkien's fiction is an elaborate metafiction...about the way in which parts of a heterogeneous 'chronicle' came to be transformed into literary narratives" (21), Faletra asserts that Geoffrey gives us "history, as we might put it today, as literature" (30). In the views of both critics, both texts employ their presentations of themselves as reworked from earlier sources to secure a hold on the reader's imagination, thereby securing for themselves something approaching permanence.
I am certain that more can be done regarding the two critical commentaries, and I may, in time, return to them. But for now, I will point out only that if Brljak and Faletra as correct in their assertions as I think they are, we have one more point of correspondence between Tolkien's work and Arthurian literature--and there is some work to do in that line of inquiry.
*The link is where it is on purpose. I promise.
Works Cited
~Brljak, Vladimir. "The Books of Lost Tales: Tolkien as Metaficitonist." Tolkien Studies 7 (2010): 1-34. Project Muse. Web. 21 June 2012.
~Faletra, Michael A. Introduction. The History of the Kings of Britain. By Geoffrey of Monmouth. Ed. and trans. Michael A. Faletra. Peterborough, Ontario, Canada: Broadview, 2008. Print. 8-34.
~Geoffrey of Monmouth. The History of the Kings of Britain. Ed. and trans. Michael A. Faletra. Peterborough, Ontario, Canada: Broadview, 2008. Print.
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query tolkien. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query tolkien. Sort by date Show all posts
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
20131224.0724
I am rereading Tolkien's Lord of the Rings...again. I have lost track of how many times I have read the piece; in my adolescence, when I first encountered it, I read the text repeatedly, and in my adulthood, I have read it annually or more often. Tolkien's masterwork has informed my writing; my master's thesis works with his commentaries, and I offer conference papers that invoke him at greater and lesser length. (I know the links are to a website that I am not diligent in maintaining. I am working to improve.) So it is...accurate to say that I view Tolkien's writing as important.
That I do will mark me in the eyes of some as being...flighty. I carry with me the nagging suspicion that I am viewed by those who prize the older iterations of my profession of professing as something of a scholarly dilettante, wasting my time on trifles instead of working with the mighty works of the traditional English-language canon (and I suppose it means that I worry about that dilettantism myself). And perhaps it is the case that I look largely at the relatively recent works of Tolkien and of his successors--notably Robin Hobb--because I cannot handle the "serious" pieces of writing. Or, more likely, I look at writing because I cannot handle the "real" world of business, politics, or the STEM fields; I delve into letters not because I am stupid--which I like to think is clearly not the case--but because I am weak (again, the nagging suspicion of how I am viewed and the similarly nagging self-doubt).
My self-doubt aside, the view that the writing of the past is of more value than that of the present is wrong. I am aware that there is a lot of insipid pap available; I am also aware that we have only a small part of the writing that has been done, and even among that small portion, there is a fair bit that is simply bad. It does not get carried forward as much as the "great" works, admittedly, but the fact that it is there to be seen demonstrates that the writers of the past were of as varied quality as the writers of the present. (Tim William Machan has somewhat to say about it.) We simply see more of the variety now because we live now; had we lived then (and been able to read), we would have seen much the same proportion--and the proportion itself is an issue. There is much more to read now than before, even with the Internet; is not most online content written even now? That does mean there is more crap through which to sift, but it also means that there are more treasures to be found. Jewels in raw form may need cutting and polishing, I admit, but that does not mean they are not worth value. And some have already been burnished to a shine through much handling.
I will go add another gleam to the Middle-earth corpus.
That I do will mark me in the eyes of some as being...flighty. I carry with me the nagging suspicion that I am viewed by those who prize the older iterations of my profession of professing as something of a scholarly dilettante, wasting my time on trifles instead of working with the mighty works of the traditional English-language canon (and I suppose it means that I worry about that dilettantism myself). And perhaps it is the case that I look largely at the relatively recent works of Tolkien and of his successors--notably Robin Hobb--because I cannot handle the "serious" pieces of writing. Or, more likely, I look at writing because I cannot handle the "real" world of business, politics, or the STEM fields; I delve into letters not because I am stupid--which I like to think is clearly not the case--but because I am weak (again, the nagging suspicion of how I am viewed and the similarly nagging self-doubt).
My self-doubt aside, the view that the writing of the past is of more value than that of the present is wrong. I am aware that there is a lot of insipid pap available; I am also aware that we have only a small part of the writing that has been done, and even among that small portion, there is a fair bit that is simply bad. It does not get carried forward as much as the "great" works, admittedly, but the fact that it is there to be seen demonstrates that the writers of the past were of as varied quality as the writers of the present. (Tim William Machan has somewhat to say about it.) We simply see more of the variety now because we live now; had we lived then (and been able to read), we would have seen much the same proportion--and the proportion itself is an issue. There is much more to read now than before, even with the Internet; is not most online content written even now? That does mean there is more crap through which to sift, but it also means that there are more treasures to be found. Jewels in raw form may need cutting and polishing, I admit, but that does not mean they are not worth value. And some have already been burnished to a shine through much handling.
I will go add another gleam to the Middle-earth corpus.
Monday, May 6, 2013
20130506.0848
My wife and I have subscriptions to a number of magazines thanks to members of our families. Accordingly, I read a number of magazines, including Texas Monthly. As I did so this morning, I noticed in Dan Oko's "The Secret Shore" the comment that "J.R.R. Tolkien's towering Ents, the ancient, gnarled beings in The Lord of the Rings, have nothing on the Big Tree at Goose Island State Park." And I was somewhat surprised to see it.
I am a long-time reader and fan of Tolkien's work; I have commented on him in this blog before, and I have even used his works in my scholarship once or twice. I wholeheartedly endorse study and use of his works, not just the commentary on Beowulf that is still standard reading for students of Old English, but the more widely known Middle-earth corpus. Seeing him invoked in a major, mainstream magazine, then, was greatly pleasing.
It was also somewhat of a shock. Neither erudite scholarship nor fantastic fiction often spring to mind in discussions of Texas, especially of the rural Texas that the parks Oko describes very much are. (Both perhaps should, given the overwhelming incidence of high-quality colleges and universities in Texas and the fact that Robert E. Howard, the creator of Conan the Barbarian, was Texan.) Tolkien being used as a standard of comparison for discussion of a state park in Texas, then, does not suggest itself as the most natural tactic to take.
Then again, writers tend to be readers, and readers tend to be nerds; it should not be a shock that a piece of nerd culture would pop up in a work of writing, or that an editor (who also was likely a nerd) would allow it into print. Also, Texas Monthly is produced in Austin, and Austin is hardly representative of the state as a whole (despite being the seat of the state legislature). The presence of UT and the status of much of the city (especially in the minds of many New Yorkers) as a sort of colony of Williamsburg would make it more likely that the environment in which the magazine is produced would conduce to such literary references. Too, following Peter Jackson's work, Lord of the Rings is part of the American mainstream--and therefore part of the Texan mainstream. It should not, therefore, be too much of a shock to see it deployed.
Still, the part of me that remembers being ridiculed for having not only a book in my hand, but a book written by Tolkien, cannot help but start and stare at seeing something so long loved in print as I did this morning. I ought not to be surprised anymore; I ought not to still feel the urge to prove acceptable my taste for and legitimate my work in fantasy literature. Yet I am and I do, and as long as it is so, I will be able to feel a sudden and unexpected delight at seeing something like what Oko writes.
I am a long-time reader and fan of Tolkien's work; I have commented on him in this blog before, and I have even used his works in my scholarship once or twice. I wholeheartedly endorse study and use of his works, not just the commentary on Beowulf that is still standard reading for students of Old English, but the more widely known Middle-earth corpus. Seeing him invoked in a major, mainstream magazine, then, was greatly pleasing.
It was also somewhat of a shock. Neither erudite scholarship nor fantastic fiction often spring to mind in discussions of Texas, especially of the rural Texas that the parks Oko describes very much are. (Both perhaps should, given the overwhelming incidence of high-quality colleges and universities in Texas and the fact that Robert E. Howard, the creator of Conan the Barbarian, was Texan.) Tolkien being used as a standard of comparison for discussion of a state park in Texas, then, does not suggest itself as the most natural tactic to take.
Then again, writers tend to be readers, and readers tend to be nerds; it should not be a shock that a piece of nerd culture would pop up in a work of writing, or that an editor (who also was likely a nerd) would allow it into print. Also, Texas Monthly is produced in Austin, and Austin is hardly representative of the state as a whole (despite being the seat of the state legislature). The presence of UT and the status of much of the city (especially in the minds of many New Yorkers) as a sort of colony of Williamsburg would make it more likely that the environment in which the magazine is produced would conduce to such literary references. Too, following Peter Jackson's work, Lord of the Rings is part of the American mainstream--and therefore part of the Texan mainstream. It should not, therefore, be too much of a shock to see it deployed.
Still, the part of me that remembers being ridiculed for having not only a book in my hand, but a book written by Tolkien, cannot help but start and stare at seeing something so long loved in print as I did this morning. I ought not to be surprised anymore; I ought not to still feel the urge to prove acceptable my taste for and legitimate my work in fantasy literature. Yet I am and I do, and as long as it is so, I will be able to feel a sudden and unexpected delight at seeing something like what Oko writes.
Wednesday, June 4, 2014
20140604.0600
I got a bit of good news yesterday. The Tales after Tolkien Society, of which I seem to be a charter member, has a blog now, and I am one of the contributors to it. The blog is new, as is the Society that sponsors it, but there are already other posts on the way, and more are welcome.
Part of what that blog will do is host short-form scholarship on medievalisms that pop up in contemporary popular culture. I do some of that on this blog from time to time, or I have done so; it seems to me that the posts to this webspace I would use to do so would now be better served to go to that blog, leaving this one to carry other commentaries and the occasional bits of material actually worth reading. I have to wonder if any of it will be missed, of course, but I can hope to find broader audiences and more comments left in response to the scholarly work I do online.
The issue of audience is one of some importance to scholars. Part of how we are evaluated is in terms of our impact, which is measured in large part by how frequently we are cited by others. This means that how frequently we are read by others is integral to our being validated by the broad body of professionals in the field. (This is of course imperfect, since a scholar who is frequently cited only to be rebutted is not likely to be regarded well--unless that person is Stanley Fish, against whom much ink has been spilled and many pixels arrayed, including some of mine. And there is something of the ad populum fallacy at work, whatever the prevailing opinion about a given piece may be; that many people make use of it does not mean its quality is sound--something people might say about particular French theorists who should remain nameless since the author is dead and the construction of a stable self to have a name is untenable.) And so I hope to be widely read not only because of my vanity (although certainly in part because of my vanity).
The Society blog may well offer a venue for more reading, and not only of my work, but of others in the Society. Certainly I hope that it will be the case; I am invested in the success of the Tales after Tolkien Society, and that success cannot come about except through continued awareness of and engagement with it. I will doubtlessly mention it in this webspace from time to time, even as I expand my attentions to include its evolving activities. For there is more to come; I am told that other social media platforms will soon feel the Tales after Tolkien presence, and I cannot regard that as a bad thing.
Part of what that blog will do is host short-form scholarship on medievalisms that pop up in contemporary popular culture. I do some of that on this blog from time to time, or I have done so; it seems to me that the posts to this webspace I would use to do so would now be better served to go to that blog, leaving this one to carry other commentaries and the occasional bits of material actually worth reading. I have to wonder if any of it will be missed, of course, but I can hope to find broader audiences and more comments left in response to the scholarly work I do online.
The issue of audience is one of some importance to scholars. Part of how we are evaluated is in terms of our impact, which is measured in large part by how frequently we are cited by others. This means that how frequently we are read by others is integral to our being validated by the broad body of professionals in the field. (This is of course imperfect, since a scholar who is frequently cited only to be rebutted is not likely to be regarded well--unless that person is Stanley Fish, against whom much ink has been spilled and many pixels arrayed, including some of mine. And there is something of the ad populum fallacy at work, whatever the prevailing opinion about a given piece may be; that many people make use of it does not mean its quality is sound--something people might say about particular French theorists who should remain nameless since the author is dead and the construction of a stable self to have a name is untenable.) And so I hope to be widely read not only because of my vanity (although certainly in part because of my vanity).
The Society blog may well offer a venue for more reading, and not only of my work, but of others in the Society. Certainly I hope that it will be the case; I am invested in the success of the Tales after Tolkien Society, and that success cannot come about except through continued awareness of and engagement with it. I will doubtlessly mention it in this webspace from time to time, even as I expand my attentions to include its evolving activities. For there is more to come; I am told that other social media platforms will soon feel the Tales after Tolkien presence, and I cannot regard that as a bad thing.
Friday, August 23, 2019
20190823.0430
The Prince of Fantasists writes into Bilbo's mouth that the hobbit feels "like butter scraped over too much bread." It's a lovely simile, one fit for the food-loving perian and broadly accessible to readers, most of whom will have at least passing familiarity with the noted substances. Like most comparisons, however, the simile has more to unpack in it than comes across on a first reading, owing chiefly to its vehicle of butter.
For if it is the case that Bilbo is like butter--and it might be argued that he is in ways--then it must be wondered what cow yielded the milk from which he was churned and who did the churning. Easy answers within the milieu include Manwë and Ilúvatar, and Gandalf might well be thought to have had a hand in the cultivation, as well. Others include Bilbo's parents, and it may well be noted that the cow grazed upon the grass of the Great Smials, the quality of which comes out in the product of its milk. (The obvious out-of-milieu answer is, of course, Tolkien himself, or Tolkien's narrative persona, at least.)
As to the spreading, there is ultimately one answer: Sauron. It is the Ring that extends Bilbo's life, that lets him endure as long as he has by the time he makes the comment in the quote, and the Ring is an extension of Sauron, per the text. The argument could be made that the action of the simile--spreading too little over too much--is miserliness and parsimony, both of which are generally considered negative, therefore appropriate to attribute to the Dark Lord. So, too, does the image that arises of a knife pushing the butter along the bread; it portends violence, knives being knives, but it also foreshadows the ultimate defeat of Sauron, as the knives used to spread butter are generally dull, rounded, suitable for cutting only the softest of things. They are not of much use as weapons; their proposed violence is muted at best, apt for an evil destined to be beaten.
The simile both reveals some of the character of its speaker and offers a bit of subtle foreshadowing (though not a bit that comes as a surprise, given the expectations of genre in place at the time). Further interrogation might reveal yet more, of course, speaking perhaps to Tolkien's own ideologies or to some other commentary on the greater world. But even a brief look at the phrasing reveals that there is work to be done, reminding readers who are interested in taking that look that there is much to unpack in the simplest of notes and showing that entry into criticism is not so hard a thing as might be imagined.
For if it is the case that Bilbo is like butter--and it might be argued that he is in ways--then it must be wondered what cow yielded the milk from which he was churned and who did the churning. Easy answers within the milieu include Manwë and Ilúvatar, and Gandalf might well be thought to have had a hand in the cultivation, as well. Others include Bilbo's parents, and it may well be noted that the cow grazed upon the grass of the Great Smials, the quality of which comes out in the product of its milk. (The obvious out-of-milieu answer is, of course, Tolkien himself, or Tolkien's narrative persona, at least.)
As to the spreading, there is ultimately one answer: Sauron. It is the Ring that extends Bilbo's life, that lets him endure as long as he has by the time he makes the comment in the quote, and the Ring is an extension of Sauron, per the text. The argument could be made that the action of the simile--spreading too little over too much--is miserliness and parsimony, both of which are generally considered negative, therefore appropriate to attribute to the Dark Lord. So, too, does the image that arises of a knife pushing the butter along the bread; it portends violence, knives being knives, but it also foreshadows the ultimate defeat of Sauron, as the knives used to spread butter are generally dull, rounded, suitable for cutting only the softest of things. They are not of much use as weapons; their proposed violence is muted at best, apt for an evil destined to be beaten.
The simile both reveals some of the character of its speaker and offers a bit of subtle foreshadowing (though not a bit that comes as a surprise, given the expectations of genre in place at the time). Further interrogation might reveal yet more, of course, speaking perhaps to Tolkien's own ideologies or to some other commentary on the greater world. But even a brief look at the phrasing reveals that there is work to be done, reminding readers who are interested in taking that look that there is much to unpack in the simplest of notes and showing that entry into criticism is not so hard a thing as might be imagined.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
20110423.1720
I have a few times mentioned that there are stories that inform blog posts I have made. Referring to stories that are not themselves under discussion is a time-honored tradition in writing. Tolkien does it in The Lord of the Rings, noting in Sam's pudgy hobbit mouth the tale of Beren Erchamion or having a comment come out of Aragorn's about the "cheek to make verses about Eärendil in the house of Elrond" or some such thing.¹ Milton does it all over the place in Paradise Lost, opening the poem with a lot of stuff about Mount Sinai and an Aonian mountain. Malory talks about "the French book."² Even Beowulf mentions other stories within its own story, some of them not told directly but strongly, strongly hinted at.
Those who will see a disjunction among Tolkien and the other authors and works listed--though they are all dead English white guys--will be pleased to know that I have a reason for including him. That is, I have a reason other than that I am a nerd who likes to read "that fantasy crap" for including him. You see, in "On Fairy-stories," Tolkien makes the comment that references to stories understood as common cultural referents by the characters involved in a given story increase the correspondence of the literary world with the directly observable world in which the reader exists.³ The closer that correspondence, the more believable the literary world, and the easier therefore the immersion in the story that is necessary for literary enjoyment.
There is some of that going on in what I write in this blog. As is necessarily the case with writing, the voice or persona that presents these words is a fiction. It is not me, even though it is me; really, it is a particular view of me that I want you to see. This does, of course, make it total bullshit (ask Harry G. Frankfurt in his On Bullshit). The references, then, are ways to further the perception of the persona; they make it look like my blogging persona has some kind of family life and experience, even though it really is something that I just come up with as I sit in front of one computer or another with more time than sense.
But there is also something else going on. The communicative act is one which creates an ephemeral community; that is, the community only exists in the moment during which the communicative act occurs. It is a commonplace that communities are concerned in part with defining themselves, and that one way a community defines itself is by articulating what it is not. By making references to other events, I tacitly delineate what the community is not: those who do not understand the references are left outside of the community. They are denied the full meaning of the posts, and thereby are not completely included in the communicative act.
This is, of course, because I do not like them, as they are jerks.
Notes
1. As this is not a formal essay, I am not going to bother pulling up the specific page number. So there.*
2. He does so in late Middle English, which I do not reproduce here.
3. Provided, of course, that a reader exists. This is not always the case, however.
*It's Fellowship of the Ring, page 285.
Those who will see a disjunction among Tolkien and the other authors and works listed--though they are all dead English white guys--will be pleased to know that I have a reason for including him. That is, I have a reason other than that I am a nerd who likes to read "that fantasy crap" for including him. You see, in "On Fairy-stories," Tolkien makes the comment that references to stories understood as common cultural referents by the characters involved in a given story increase the correspondence of the literary world with the directly observable world in which the reader exists.³ The closer that correspondence, the more believable the literary world, and the easier therefore the immersion in the story that is necessary for literary enjoyment.
There is some of that going on in what I write in this blog. As is necessarily the case with writing, the voice or persona that presents these words is a fiction. It is not me, even though it is me; really, it is a particular view of me that I want you to see. This does, of course, make it total bullshit (ask Harry G. Frankfurt in his On Bullshit). The references, then, are ways to further the perception of the persona; they make it look like my blogging persona has some kind of family life and experience, even though it really is something that I just come up with as I sit in front of one computer or another with more time than sense.
But there is also something else going on. The communicative act is one which creates an ephemeral community; that is, the community only exists in the moment during which the communicative act occurs. It is a commonplace that communities are concerned in part with defining themselves, and that one way a community defines itself is by articulating what it is not. By making references to other events, I tacitly delineate what the community is not: those who do not understand the references are left outside of the community. They are denied the full meaning of the posts, and thereby are not completely included in the communicative act.
This is, of course, because I do not like them, as they are jerks.
Notes
1. As this is not a formal essay, I am not going to bother pulling up the specific page number. So there.*
2. He does so in late Middle English, which I do not reproduce here.
3. Provided, of course, that a reader exists. This is not always the case, however.
*It's Fellowship of the Ring, page 285.
Monday, March 25, 2019
20190325.0430
Today, of course, marks the anniversary of the destruction of the One Ring and the fall of Sauron. Along with 22 September, it is one of the most important days in Tolkien fandom, being, among others, Tolkien Reading Day. There is part of me that laments not being able to do more to celebrate it than to make this note; I have to work today, and not only at my day job, so I cannot spend the day re-reading the Tolkienian works I have ready to hand, and I do not have the funds available to gather any more such for myself at this point. But there is also part of me that is reasonably at ease with not having to maintain the fervor of my earlier nerdiness anymore. I have done my bit of nerdiness, and I continue to do bits of nerdiness, but I am increasingly a casual fan of things, rather than the more...intensive fan that I have been. The intensity's a lot to maintain, and I do not have it in me to do that much anymore.
I do not think I have lost in the exchange, though. It is the case that I would like to be able still to immerse myself in the voracious consumption of new knowledge--not just about Tolkien, but about the many nerdinesses in which I have indulged and still, if to a lesser extent, indulge. (There remain many, which is probably part of the problem.) But I know that doing so is largely selfish; even if I do as I have done in the past and still do, and I take what I know and work to put what I learn from it out into the world as an article or somesuch thing, so that others might come to know more, I still keep more than I give back. And I take from my family and from other concerns in doing so; reading takes time, and while the reading is a thing I can do with Ms. 8, the writing that would follow is not something that admits of doing well while attending to my child. (The reverse is also true.) I do wake early in the day so that I have some time to do such things during which I know my family does not need me, and I spend that time as well as I can, but there is only so much I can do in so much time. I am not at a place where I can do more of it.
Still, what I get from being a family man more than a nerdy man--or from trying to be, since I may well not be at that point yet--is more than I lose. No, I cannot sit and indulge myself for hours on end. I can, however, indulge others, and, in the case of my daughter, I can watch her grow in no small part because I give her what I give her. And I can still share some of the nerdiness I purchased at no small cost with her. (I am fortunate, too, that her mother indulges my geekitude.) Perhaps she will not be so happy with it as I have been, but perhaps she will find it the source of comfort I did, and, if she does, it will be a way I can be closer to a person whom I love to excess.
I do not think I have lost in the exchange, though. It is the case that I would like to be able still to immerse myself in the voracious consumption of new knowledge--not just about Tolkien, but about the many nerdinesses in which I have indulged and still, if to a lesser extent, indulge. (There remain many, which is probably part of the problem.) But I know that doing so is largely selfish; even if I do as I have done in the past and still do, and I take what I know and work to put what I learn from it out into the world as an article or somesuch thing, so that others might come to know more, I still keep more than I give back. And I take from my family and from other concerns in doing so; reading takes time, and while the reading is a thing I can do with Ms. 8, the writing that would follow is not something that admits of doing well while attending to my child. (The reverse is also true.) I do wake early in the day so that I have some time to do such things during which I know my family does not need me, and I spend that time as well as I can, but there is only so much I can do in so much time. I am not at a place where I can do more of it.
Still, what I get from being a family man more than a nerdy man--or from trying to be, since I may well not be at that point yet--is more than I lose. No, I cannot sit and indulge myself for hours on end. I can, however, indulge others, and, in the case of my daughter, I can watch her grow in no small part because I give her what I give her. And I can still share some of the nerdiness I purchased at no small cost with her. (I am fortunate, too, that her mother indulges my geekitude.) Perhaps she will not be so happy with it as I have been, but perhaps she will find it the source of comfort I did, and, if she does, it will be a way I can be closer to a person whom I love to excess.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
20120926.1928
On my subway ride to work today, I finished reading my copy of the September 2012 issue of College English. Among its pages is an article by Kurt Fosso and Jerry Harp, "J. Hillis Miller's Virtual Reality of Reading" (79-94). I am not familiar with the work of Miller other than as the two discuss it, but even in that discussion, I found much upon which to think.
Fosso and Harp repeatedly assert that Miller works to establish in his own critical work the idea of the literary world--that is, the world described within works of literary art and craft, in which their plots take place and their characters exist--is a virtual world, one which prefigures the text which gives a reader access to it. They note that, in Miller's conception, "the literary work does not exist only in this or that copy of a text, nor in the mind of the author, nor in the experience of a reader. Rather, any given piece of literature can be said to exit only in a dynamic interaction of texts, writers, readers, and hermeneutics" (81). They also go to great lengths to present Miller's ideas as partaking of the tradition of the Platonic Ideal, and they state that art, being necessarily an incomplete presentation or representation, functions best when it acknowledges its own imperfectness. Fosso and Harp depict Miller as positioning literature as a form of virtual reality long before computer-aided virtual realities gained mainstream acceptance in popular American culture, concluding that Miller's ascription of value to literature specifically because of its ability to immerse readers in an alternate reality is his own overriding, central tenet. It is perhaps a bit simplistic an assertion with which to conclude, but the article overall does a fair job of relating Miller's major works to an audience perhaps not wholly familiar with them.
Fosso and Harp do situate Miller in a long tradition of literary criticism and one of its parent disciplines, philosophy. My own biases, developed through my own years-long course of study and strange quirks in my literary tastes, tell me that Miller's assertion that literature at its most successful depicts events that take place in a world that exists before and after the text* is an echo of Tolkien's assertion in "On Fairy-stories." I will admit that it is entirely likely that Miller has not read that particular bit of Tolkien's corpus; writers of genre fiction of any sort are not terribly highly regarded in a great many academic circles, and those who work in fantasy literature are typically worse off than the rest. Similarly those old proponents of works by "dead white guys." But the presentation of Miller as making the argument that there is a literary world for each text that pre-exists the text seems to me to be Tolkien's assertion of storytelling as a sub-Creative act written again. For the Prince of Fantasists, it is the employment of allusions to remote histories--the reference to a pre-existing reality within the text--that does so much to lend his Middle-earth corpus the sense of being a living world, which sense fosters much of the appreciation of his work.
*This is, of course, according to Fosso and Harp's presentation of them. I have no reason to actively doubt that they are--I tend to accept the editorial process of College English as being valid and resulting in the publication of good scholarship--although I am certain that there are other ways to interpret Miller.
Fosso and Harp repeatedly assert that Miller works to establish in his own critical work the idea of the literary world--that is, the world described within works of literary art and craft, in which their plots take place and their characters exist--is a virtual world, one which prefigures the text which gives a reader access to it. They note that, in Miller's conception, "the literary work does not exist only in this or that copy of a text, nor in the mind of the author, nor in the experience of a reader. Rather, any given piece of literature can be said to exit only in a dynamic interaction of texts, writers, readers, and hermeneutics" (81). They also go to great lengths to present Miller's ideas as partaking of the tradition of the Platonic Ideal, and they state that art, being necessarily an incomplete presentation or representation, functions best when it acknowledges its own imperfectness. Fosso and Harp depict Miller as positioning literature as a form of virtual reality long before computer-aided virtual realities gained mainstream acceptance in popular American culture, concluding that Miller's ascription of value to literature specifically because of its ability to immerse readers in an alternate reality is his own overriding, central tenet. It is perhaps a bit simplistic an assertion with which to conclude, but the article overall does a fair job of relating Miller's major works to an audience perhaps not wholly familiar with them.
Fosso and Harp do situate Miller in a long tradition of literary criticism and one of its parent disciplines, philosophy. My own biases, developed through my own years-long course of study and strange quirks in my literary tastes, tell me that Miller's assertion that literature at its most successful depicts events that take place in a world that exists before and after the text* is an echo of Tolkien's assertion in "On Fairy-stories." I will admit that it is entirely likely that Miller has not read that particular bit of Tolkien's corpus; writers of genre fiction of any sort are not terribly highly regarded in a great many academic circles, and those who work in fantasy literature are typically worse off than the rest. Similarly those old proponents of works by "dead white guys." But the presentation of Miller as making the argument that there is a literary world for each text that pre-exists the text seems to me to be Tolkien's assertion of storytelling as a sub-Creative act written again. For the Prince of Fantasists, it is the employment of allusions to remote histories--the reference to a pre-existing reality within the text--that does so much to lend his Middle-earth corpus the sense of being a living world, which sense fosters much of the appreciation of his work.
*This is, of course, according to Fosso and Harp's presentation of them. I have no reason to actively doubt that they are--I tend to accept the editorial process of College English as being valid and resulting in the publication of good scholarship--although I am certain that there are other ways to interpret Miller.
Sunday, November 9, 2014
20141109.0822
Freelance work continues, which is good because I need the money.
I have commented before (here and here, for instance) about the ways in which the freelance work I have been doing has expanded my reading repertoire. (It is an odd thing for someone who studies and teaches literature for a living would speak of such a thing or feel the need to do it, admittedly.) Although I cut my teeth on Asimov and read his Foundation corpus and Tolkien's Middle-earth corpus on a more or less annual cycle, and such works are increasingly part of the main stream of US popular culture (more the latter than the former, as it happens), and although such writers as Chaucer and Shakespeare and such works as Beowulf and Le Morte d'Arthur remain known if not exactly enjoyed by most, the stuff that I read and study* is not normally regarded as being really part of popular literature. What I read for my freelance work, however, is.
Most recently, I read for the freelance write-ups Gillian Flynn's 2009 Dark Places, and I found it strangely compelling. The protagonist is hardly a sympathetic character, although she is positioned such that she really should be; typically, the victim of substantial physical and emotional trauma evokes a level of pity almost inevitably associated with sympathetic portrayal, but such is not the case in the text. Instead, the character wallows in the effects of the trauma, not so much because she cannot surpass it as because she is unwilling to surpass it. She is offered ample opportunity, both in the narrative as it unfolds and in the presumed back-story, to seek help and find a way to navigate trauma so as to enter more fully into the world and help herself to be more than the victim of circumstance. She repeatedly refuses, accepting her status as acted upon throughout the text and only loosely moving into being the actor.
Part of me recoils from the character, likely as a result of the deeply ingrained habituation of my upbringing and my participation in the main stream of US popular culture noted above. (Being defined as several ways Other** by that main stream requires engagement with it.) Another part recognizes the characterization as an echo, probably unintentional, of Donaldson's characterization of Thomas Covenant in the first three novels of his series. Still another part of me, likely that which has grown up as a result of my training in the academic humanities, reminds me that I do not have enough grounding in trauma theory to be able to untangle the understandings of horrific events embedded in and transmitted by Flynn's Dark Places. Having neither the situated ethos of having suffered trauma myself nor the invented ethos of long study of trauma as trauma and the effects it has on those who have endured it, I perhaps ought not to say so much about the presentation of it in text as I otherwise might.
Although I recognize that the last part of me is more likely correct than the first, I recognize also that the former will have much more currency in the prevailing culture of the United States. I can easily envision many of the people among whom I grew up, and indeed among whom I now live and among whom I lived in The City, seeing such a person as Flynn's protagonist and thinking "Pull it together; something bad happened to you, yes, but you have to get over it and move on." I can easily envision them looking at her failure to do so and seeing only weakness that deserves condemnation. Perhaps there is something in the novel that seeks to force upon the reader the question of how to handle such people as Flynn's protagonist, people who are shaped by their circumstances in ways that they cannot or will not set aside and yet unfit them for "normal" life. Or perhaps there is something in the novel that uses the protagonist to frustrate what "normal" means. But most readers will not seek for such a thing; they will see instead that the work thwarts the easy and comfortable expectations they have as a result of reading repetitions in the genre, and they will turn aside from it utterly.
I did not, though, not only because of the paycheck, and I am glad of it.
*I am well aware that the study of literature is fraught, that many will suggest it is not worth studying at all, and that others will chafe at the inclusion of Asimov and Tolkien alongside Chaucer and Shakespeare. Tolkien generates quite a bit of scholarship, including what I curate here; Asimov prompts somewhat less, although he ought to get more, since he was himself an academic. And I maintain that the rejection out of hand of "popular" work by scholarly bodies is a large part of what prompts the rejection of scholarly bodies by the readership of "popular" works.
**I am aware also that my Otherness is less in scope and scale than the Otherness imposed on, well, others. I make no claim to being particularly or especially excluded / abjected. I have a small taste of it, though, and I can make inferences about its extrapolation, perhaps.
I have commented before (here and here, for instance) about the ways in which the freelance work I have been doing has expanded my reading repertoire. (It is an odd thing for someone who studies and teaches literature for a living would speak of such a thing or feel the need to do it, admittedly.) Although I cut my teeth on Asimov and read his Foundation corpus and Tolkien's Middle-earth corpus on a more or less annual cycle, and such works are increasingly part of the main stream of US popular culture (more the latter than the former, as it happens), and although such writers as Chaucer and Shakespeare and such works as Beowulf and Le Morte d'Arthur remain known if not exactly enjoyed by most, the stuff that I read and study* is not normally regarded as being really part of popular literature. What I read for my freelance work, however, is.
Most recently, I read for the freelance write-ups Gillian Flynn's 2009 Dark Places, and I found it strangely compelling. The protagonist is hardly a sympathetic character, although she is positioned such that she really should be; typically, the victim of substantial physical and emotional trauma evokes a level of pity almost inevitably associated with sympathetic portrayal, but such is not the case in the text. Instead, the character wallows in the effects of the trauma, not so much because she cannot surpass it as because she is unwilling to surpass it. She is offered ample opportunity, both in the narrative as it unfolds and in the presumed back-story, to seek help and find a way to navigate trauma so as to enter more fully into the world and help herself to be more than the victim of circumstance. She repeatedly refuses, accepting her status as acted upon throughout the text and only loosely moving into being the actor.
Part of me recoils from the character, likely as a result of the deeply ingrained habituation of my upbringing and my participation in the main stream of US popular culture noted above. (Being defined as several ways Other** by that main stream requires engagement with it.) Another part recognizes the characterization as an echo, probably unintentional, of Donaldson's characterization of Thomas Covenant in the first three novels of his series. Still another part of me, likely that which has grown up as a result of my training in the academic humanities, reminds me that I do not have enough grounding in trauma theory to be able to untangle the understandings of horrific events embedded in and transmitted by Flynn's Dark Places. Having neither the situated ethos of having suffered trauma myself nor the invented ethos of long study of trauma as trauma and the effects it has on those who have endured it, I perhaps ought not to say so much about the presentation of it in text as I otherwise might.
Although I recognize that the last part of me is more likely correct than the first, I recognize also that the former will have much more currency in the prevailing culture of the United States. I can easily envision many of the people among whom I grew up, and indeed among whom I now live and among whom I lived in The City, seeing such a person as Flynn's protagonist and thinking "Pull it together; something bad happened to you, yes, but you have to get over it and move on." I can easily envision them looking at her failure to do so and seeing only weakness that deserves condemnation. Perhaps there is something in the novel that seeks to force upon the reader the question of how to handle such people as Flynn's protagonist, people who are shaped by their circumstances in ways that they cannot or will not set aside and yet unfit them for "normal" life. Or perhaps there is something in the novel that uses the protagonist to frustrate what "normal" means. But most readers will not seek for such a thing; they will see instead that the work thwarts the easy and comfortable expectations they have as a result of reading repetitions in the genre, and they will turn aside from it utterly.
I did not, though, not only because of the paycheck, and I am glad of it.
*I am well aware that the study of literature is fraught, that many will suggest it is not worth studying at all, and that others will chafe at the inclusion of Asimov and Tolkien alongside Chaucer and Shakespeare. Tolkien generates quite a bit of scholarship, including what I curate here; Asimov prompts somewhat less, although he ought to get more, since he was himself an academic. And I maintain that the rejection out of hand of "popular" work by scholarly bodies is a large part of what prompts the rejection of scholarly bodies by the readership of "popular" works.
**I am aware also that my Otherness is less in scope and scale than the Otherness imposed on, well, others. I make no claim to being particularly or especially excluded / abjected. I have a small taste of it, though, and I can make inferences about its extrapolation, perhaps.
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
20150203.0721
The plains-sweeping wind blows outside, carrying chill and sounds of traffic to Sherwood Cottage, and I once again wish for warmer feet. They would offer less distraction from today's tasks of pushing through a shorter freelance piece (which ought not to take long) and grading what came in yesterday as needing grading. (The students have been advised that I might not get all of that done today. They have proven more engaged than most, which prompts me to work harder for them, but there are other demands on my time, and some of them come before the jobs I do. Ms. 8, for example--and she seems to be doing better so far today.)
I find also that I will have something to write for the Tales after Tolkien Society blog, to which I have been admittedly insufficiently attentive. A member of the Society pointed out a news article in which a Texas fourth-grader was suspended from school for "threatening" another student with Tolkien's One Ring. (Here's another.) Having grown up in Texas, although not the part of the sprawling Lone Star State in question, I am unsurprised that such a thing happened. (I will also not be surprised if the incident ends up being lampooned in Texas Monthly's Bum Steer Awards.) Texas schools favor zero-tolerance policies for those outside the highest socio-economic strata, and they tend to take a dim view of those who express interest in things other than guns, sports, and "Christian" faith. (And maybe alcohol, although there are many dry counties in the state.)
I doubt that the kid in question is an angel, otherwise. I note that the child is reported to have been in disciplinary trouble at other points--although one instance could use more context, and another seems to be a typical overreaction--and, as a teacher, I know that a student identified as a troublemaker receives careful scrutiny. Can't be helped, really. human nature being as flawed as it is and in the ways it is. But I also doubt that, had the kid quoted Revelation or some other...flavorful part of the Bible, he would have been sanctioned by the school. And I note the differences in headlines between the two articles; while the Daily News has problems (with which I am familiar from life in The City), it is not in this case making the mistake of equating a student referring to fictional magic as actually enacting "real" magic, as the more local source does. So I have to wonder what else is going on--and I have to think that I know full well what it is.
There are places where decades past have never passed. The places cling to years gone by, idealizing them in what soon become unhealthy ways, focusing on fads that are soon proven foolish to those who actually pay attention--but they do not pay attention, remaining happily consumed with themselves and their desperate cleaving to "when things were better." I think such a thing is in place where the child lives, and I think the time clung to is the time when Pat Pulling was popular. And that is a shame.
I find also that I will have something to write for the Tales after Tolkien Society blog, to which I have been admittedly insufficiently attentive. A member of the Society pointed out a news article in which a Texas fourth-grader was suspended from school for "threatening" another student with Tolkien's One Ring. (Here's another.) Having grown up in Texas, although not the part of the sprawling Lone Star State in question, I am unsurprised that such a thing happened. (I will also not be surprised if the incident ends up being lampooned in Texas Monthly's Bum Steer Awards.) Texas schools favor zero-tolerance policies for those outside the highest socio-economic strata, and they tend to take a dim view of those who express interest in things other than guns, sports, and "Christian" faith. (And maybe alcohol, although there are many dry counties in the state.)
I doubt that the kid in question is an angel, otherwise. I note that the child is reported to have been in disciplinary trouble at other points--although one instance could use more context, and another seems to be a typical overreaction--and, as a teacher, I know that a student identified as a troublemaker receives careful scrutiny. Can't be helped, really. human nature being as flawed as it is and in the ways it is. But I also doubt that, had the kid quoted Revelation or some other...flavorful part of the Bible, he would have been sanctioned by the school. And I note the differences in headlines between the two articles; while the Daily News has problems (with which I am familiar from life in The City), it is not in this case making the mistake of equating a student referring to fictional magic as actually enacting "real" magic, as the more local source does. So I have to wonder what else is going on--and I have to think that I know full well what it is.
There are places where decades past have never passed. The places cling to years gone by, idealizing them in what soon become unhealthy ways, focusing on fads that are soon proven foolish to those who actually pay attention--but they do not pay attention, remaining happily consumed with themselves and their desperate cleaving to "when things were better." I think such a thing is in place where the child lives, and I think the time clung to is the time when Pat Pulling was popular. And that is a shame.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
20140726.0826
My wife and I watched Willow last night. It was not the first time either of us had seen the movie, certainly, and as we watched, we both remarked on how well the film holds up. It remains a cheesy knock-off of Tolkien, of course, and is intertwined with it even more deeply than a focus on small folk fighting abominable dark powers with the help of bigger folk suggests; some of the scenes were filmed in Middle-earth New Zealand. But as I watched, I found my mind filling with ideas for papers that I could write, not just about the specific movie, but about the genre of fantasy film in general, working from, say, the 1978 animated Lord of the Rings through Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings films.
The last few words point towards a common problem in academic work: determining the limits of a study. It is not possible, of course, to look at all things that are or have been, so any examination must limit itself to looking in specific places. That specificity matters, however; there are concerns of representativeness of examples to address, and even if the examples within a give frame are representative of that frame, the frame may not be positioned such that it takes in an adequate view. Windows offer a useful metaphor; a window of 100 square units in area easily can measure 1x100, 2x50, 4x25, 5x20, 10x10, 20x5, 25x4, 50x2, or 100x1,* and the view from each will be different from any of the others, although the window is in at least one sense the same size in each case. For fantasy films examined by someone who often treats fantasy literature, the invocation of Tolkien makes sense, and so bracketing the field of study with film versions of the Prince of Fantasists suggests itself. Then again, animated film and live-action film operate under different constraints (even if the increasing prevalence of CGI and motion-capture tend to blur them), so mixing the two may not make for the most reliable frame.
Such are the kind of thoughts that occupy me, even when I do kick back with family just to watch a movie. The Work is omnipresent in a way that other jobs I have had have not been and in a way that the words of others tell me their work is not. It suffuses most of what I do; most of what I see and hear is filtered through it. When I am therefore asked why I "can't just enjoy it," I know that those who ask do not understand. I am a worker on The Work. It is from working on The Work that I find my joy (other than in my family, but my wife is a scholar; she understands). Finding ideas in things and working through them is fulfilling. Why should I not then do it? Why, then, should I not have such thoughts as I did while watching Willow with my wife last night? And why should I not act upon them in days to come?
*I am aware that I ought to identify which unit I mean. That I do not is deliberate; I do not want to get into an argument about which system of measure to use. I am also aware that the measurements are mathematically equivalent. The rephrasing is also deliberate--and those who have built things know that 1 wide and 100 high is not the same thing as 100 wide and 1 high, which is the kind of difference indicated. Not all students of English are ignorant of such concerns.
The last few words point towards a common problem in academic work: determining the limits of a study. It is not possible, of course, to look at all things that are or have been, so any examination must limit itself to looking in specific places. That specificity matters, however; there are concerns of representativeness of examples to address, and even if the examples within a give frame are representative of that frame, the frame may not be positioned such that it takes in an adequate view. Windows offer a useful metaphor; a window of 100 square units in area easily can measure 1x100, 2x50, 4x25, 5x20, 10x10, 20x5, 25x4, 50x2, or 100x1,* and the view from each will be different from any of the others, although the window is in at least one sense the same size in each case. For fantasy films examined by someone who often treats fantasy literature, the invocation of Tolkien makes sense, and so bracketing the field of study with film versions of the Prince of Fantasists suggests itself. Then again, animated film and live-action film operate under different constraints (even if the increasing prevalence of CGI and motion-capture tend to blur them), so mixing the two may not make for the most reliable frame.
Such are the kind of thoughts that occupy me, even when I do kick back with family just to watch a movie. The Work is omnipresent in a way that other jobs I have had have not been and in a way that the words of others tell me their work is not. It suffuses most of what I do; most of what I see and hear is filtered through it. When I am therefore asked why I "can't just enjoy it," I know that those who ask do not understand. I am a worker on The Work. It is from working on The Work that I find my joy (other than in my family, but my wife is a scholar; she understands). Finding ideas in things and working through them is fulfilling. Why should I not then do it? Why, then, should I not have such thoughts as I did while watching Willow with my wife last night? And why should I not act upon them in days to come?
*I am aware that I ought to identify which unit I mean. That I do not is deliberate; I do not want to get into an argument about which system of measure to use. I am also aware that the measurements are mathematically equivalent. The rephrasing is also deliberate--and those who have built things know that 1 wide and 100 high is not the same thing as 100 wide and 1 high, which is the kind of difference indicated. Not all students of English are ignorant of such concerns.
Saturday, May 23, 2015
20150523.0803
It seems that I cannot stop writing about the 50th International Congress on Medieval Studies in this webspace, even as I await the information I need to do more about it on the Tales after Tolkien Society blog (submissions to which and comments about extant posts on which are welcome). Today, I discuss a panel I went to for purely personal reasons: Papers by Undergraduates II. One of my now-former students (he has graduated) presented on the panel, using a paper written for my class and workshopped with me for a year afterwards to try to get it in shape. How could I not sit to hear his talk? And how, then, could I not sit for the other papers on the panel?
The first offering was Kiana Gonzalez's "Staying True to Tradition," which asserted a reason for Egyptian puppet-show writer Ibn Daniyal to adhere to traditional Greek models. In effect, as I understood from Gonzalez, he does so to remain in accord with the Turkish underpinnings of his work with the trickster figures Aragouz/Karagoz and Hacivat. As she approached the topic from an art history perspective, much was made of the craft of the puppet shows, citing visual and recorded performative features rather than texts to make the argument. I found it fascinating, actually, and I found myself asking her for her bibliography, as one of the long-standing research projects I have going may well benefit from it. (I do not go in for puppet shows themselves as a research topic, but they do crop up in the milieu described in one of the series which I do treat regularly.)
Jonathan T. Garner followed with "The Samurai of Leinster: The Heroic Diarmuid in Gen Urobuchi's Fate/Zero." His was the paper that grew from my class, and since his introductory notes announced it to the session, I feel free to discuss it here.* It argues--which I know from having worked with the paper for some time and having a copy of it--that the presentation of Diarmuid in Fate/Zero is calculated to address prevailing audience understandings and needs not only for its original Japanese audiences, but also for Western audiences who are likely to have it only or primarily in translation. Reliance on the shared features of formalized codes of conduct, artificial as they may actually be, does much to bridge the two audiences, as does particular components of the physical depiction of Diarmuid. I imagine that Garner will be doing more with the paper; I hope to see it come out in a more extended form, more developed than the constraints of conference work allow.
The panel concluded with Dylan Matthews's "Intimacy and the Monarch in Thomas Hoccleve's Address to Sir John Oldcastle." Matthews, a student of RF Yeager, argued that Hoccleve's piece must be read in terms of Oldcastle's relationships with his king as well as of Hoccleve's own involvement in the affairs discussed. (My graduate advisor, who focuses on Hoccleve in his own work, would likely be able to say more on the matter than I.) The deployment of Lancelot in the work is telling; he is either a negative example or a parallel, invited to return to his former allegiance because much valued and ultimately undone because the invitation was refused. (The thought occurs that Hoccleve might be making a tacit accusation of adultery, given Lancelot's character history.)
Again, there is more to say about the 'zoo. While most of the rest of what I did has to do with the Tales after Tolkien Society, and so will be discussed elsewhere, there was at least one other event I attended that bears discussion here. Too, there are some ideas that need unpacking, and this will be a good place to attend to them--later on.
*One of the interesting things that will require untangling noted in an earlier post is just how much a conference presentation counts as a "public" event. This is not the place to treat it directly, but I rather think that such a post is coming.
The first offering was Kiana Gonzalez's "Staying True to Tradition," which asserted a reason for Egyptian puppet-show writer Ibn Daniyal to adhere to traditional Greek models. In effect, as I understood from Gonzalez, he does so to remain in accord with the Turkish underpinnings of his work with the trickster figures Aragouz/Karagoz and Hacivat. As she approached the topic from an art history perspective, much was made of the craft of the puppet shows, citing visual and recorded performative features rather than texts to make the argument. I found it fascinating, actually, and I found myself asking her for her bibliography, as one of the long-standing research projects I have going may well benefit from it. (I do not go in for puppet shows themselves as a research topic, but they do crop up in the milieu described in one of the series which I do treat regularly.)
Jonathan T. Garner followed with "The Samurai of Leinster: The Heroic Diarmuid in Gen Urobuchi's Fate/Zero." His was the paper that grew from my class, and since his introductory notes announced it to the session, I feel free to discuss it here.* It argues--which I know from having worked with the paper for some time and having a copy of it--that the presentation of Diarmuid in Fate/Zero is calculated to address prevailing audience understandings and needs not only for its original Japanese audiences, but also for Western audiences who are likely to have it only or primarily in translation. Reliance on the shared features of formalized codes of conduct, artificial as they may actually be, does much to bridge the two audiences, as does particular components of the physical depiction of Diarmuid. I imagine that Garner will be doing more with the paper; I hope to see it come out in a more extended form, more developed than the constraints of conference work allow.
The panel concluded with Dylan Matthews's "Intimacy and the Monarch in Thomas Hoccleve's Address to Sir John Oldcastle." Matthews, a student of RF Yeager, argued that Hoccleve's piece must be read in terms of Oldcastle's relationships with his king as well as of Hoccleve's own involvement in the affairs discussed. (My graduate advisor, who focuses on Hoccleve in his own work, would likely be able to say more on the matter than I.) The deployment of Lancelot in the work is telling; he is either a negative example or a parallel, invited to return to his former allegiance because much valued and ultimately undone because the invitation was refused. (The thought occurs that Hoccleve might be making a tacit accusation of adultery, given Lancelot's character history.)
Again, there is more to say about the 'zoo. While most of the rest of what I did has to do with the Tales after Tolkien Society, and so will be discussed elsewhere, there was at least one other event I attended that bears discussion here. Too, there are some ideas that need unpacking, and this will be a good place to attend to them--later on.
*One of the interesting things that will require untangling noted in an earlier post is just how much a conference presentation counts as a "public" event. This is not the place to treat it directly, but I rather think that such a post is coming.
Monday, December 8, 2014
20141208.0735
Today is the first day of exams week, and today is the first day I give an exam during the week. My literature class will get done today, and I will be putting in some final-touch type grades on my technical writing classes in preparation for their examinations on Wednesday and Friday. Thus, while I will be busy, I will not be so busy as I have been, and I will have a bit of time to focus my attention otherwise. This is good, for I have no shortage of other tasks requiring my attention.
I had hoped that some of that attention would need to be given to more freelancing work. I do not have an order waiting for me, however, either through the exchange that gives me most of my work or through the private channels that send occasional bits my way. This disappoints, because I do feel compelled to pick up another few gifts, and having the additional money would be of great help with that. Perhaps orders will come in later today.
Some attention probably ought to be paid to my work on the Tales after Tolkien Society blog, Travels in Genre and Medievalism. I have not posted to it since last month, and while others ostensibly contribute to it, I have not had submissions from other sources for some time. There are ideas growing in the fertile soil of minds; harvest them and grind them into flour for baking or malt them for brewing, that we may eat and drink deeply!
Some also ought to make its way to the ongoing search for a continuing-line job. I remain pleased with the way I am treated where I currently work; I am voicing no complaints against it. But I am on a term contract, as I believe I have noted several times before, and I would like to have less worry about whether or not I will have a job next year. Hence the search. I know that its success will not eliminate worry, but it will diminish it significantly.
A chunk will doubtlessly find itself devoted to the online game I am helping supervise. With over 100 players and some 20 staff (including me), there is a lot going on in that community, and I am entertained to watch it and gratified to participate in it. And I have an idea for a Tales after Tolkien Society piece that may make use of the community; I can turn my work on it into work I should be doing. Possibly. The results will determine if I may or not...
Finals week is the beginning of when I can attend to such things in earnest. It is not without its own challenges, of course, but those challenges are much more easily managed than those of the semester as a whole. Too, there is a near, definitive ending to them, and that is a thing greatly to be appreciated. I am not ungrateful for it, and so it is with somewhat lightened heart that I approach it now, going to do what it is that I need to do.
I had hoped that some of that attention would need to be given to more freelancing work. I do not have an order waiting for me, however, either through the exchange that gives me most of my work or through the private channels that send occasional bits my way. This disappoints, because I do feel compelled to pick up another few gifts, and having the additional money would be of great help with that. Perhaps orders will come in later today.
Some attention probably ought to be paid to my work on the Tales after Tolkien Society blog, Travels in Genre and Medievalism. I have not posted to it since last month, and while others ostensibly contribute to it, I have not had submissions from other sources for some time. There are ideas growing in the fertile soil of minds; harvest them and grind them into flour for baking or malt them for brewing, that we may eat and drink deeply!
Some also ought to make its way to the ongoing search for a continuing-line job. I remain pleased with the way I am treated where I currently work; I am voicing no complaints against it. But I am on a term contract, as I believe I have noted several times before, and I would like to have less worry about whether or not I will have a job next year. Hence the search. I know that its success will not eliminate worry, but it will diminish it significantly.
A chunk will doubtlessly find itself devoted to the online game I am helping supervise. With over 100 players and some 20 staff (including me), there is a lot going on in that community, and I am entertained to watch it and gratified to participate in it. And I have an idea for a Tales after Tolkien Society piece that may make use of the community; I can turn my work on it into work I should be doing. Possibly. The results will determine if I may or not...
Finals week is the beginning of when I can attend to such things in earnest. It is not without its own challenges, of course, but those challenges are much more easily managed than those of the semester as a whole. Too, there is a near, definitive ending to them, and that is a thing greatly to be appreciated. I am not ungrateful for it, and so it is with somewhat lightened heart that I approach it now, going to do what it is that I need to do.
Friday, February 13, 2015
20150213.0757
I am aware that my writing has been somewhat ragged this month. I have skipped days and made all-too-brief entries other days. Things are busy for me, as I believe I have indicated, not only from the work of teaching and grading (and I have a major assignment hanging over my head at the moment as one of several weekend events), but also from the work of freelancing (I have a job to do in that regard, another weekend event), my own ongoing research (just getting a book chapter finalized, which I appreciate greatly; the short piece which I need to make into a video presentation for Tolkien Days; as well as setup for Kalamazoo; seeing about getting things together for SCMLA, since I am chairing a panel and want to present on another; and possibly putting together something for MLA itself), ongoing job hunts (I have an online interview today, and I have been sending out applications in rapid succession for a while, now) and the work of maintaining Sherwood Cottage, particularly with Ms. 8's first birthday coming up in less than a week. The head-cold, which is currently trying to move into my chest despite my ramping up my fluid and vitamin intake, is not helping.
Still, I ought not to complain. I have work to do, and that I keep getting asked to do the work by people who are prominent in their fields (I was invited to participate in the Tolkien Days thing, and the folks organizing it are eminent scholars of medievalism--my kind of people) bespeaks the regard in which I am held. (If it would translate into a tenure-line position, I would be grateful.) The more "normal" work keeps money flowing into the household, and it supports medical, dental, and vision insurance, the last of which my Mrs. and Ms. 8 will use today and I will use next week. (Since my wife and I both wear glasses from need, as do our parents, we expect that Ms. 8 will end up needing to, as well. Best to accustom her to the optometrist early.) There are problems, certainly, but there are always problems, and those I face are far easier to face than others I might name and which are faced by others not too far from where I sit as I write this. I work to resolve mine, because the fact that they are less bad does not mean they are not problems, but this morning, at least, I have a sense of perspective about them.
It is not often that I have such a sense. Like many, I grow easily myopic, consumed with the small part of existence that is mine, failing to see beyond it. My world is restricted, partly because I have chosen a way of life that is often cloistered, and although my walls are not living jet, they yet circumscribe but little, and the doors within them are small. It becomes easy to forget what lies outside them when sight or sound of that outside rarely penetrates them. I and others will do well to remember better.
Still, I ought not to complain. I have work to do, and that I keep getting asked to do the work by people who are prominent in their fields (I was invited to participate in the Tolkien Days thing, and the folks organizing it are eminent scholars of medievalism--my kind of people) bespeaks the regard in which I am held. (If it would translate into a tenure-line position, I would be grateful.) The more "normal" work keeps money flowing into the household, and it supports medical, dental, and vision insurance, the last of which my Mrs. and Ms. 8 will use today and I will use next week. (Since my wife and I both wear glasses from need, as do our parents, we expect that Ms. 8 will end up needing to, as well. Best to accustom her to the optometrist early.) There are problems, certainly, but there are always problems, and those I face are far easier to face than others I might name and which are faced by others not too far from where I sit as I write this. I work to resolve mine, because the fact that they are less bad does not mean they are not problems, but this morning, at least, I have a sense of perspective about them.
It is not often that I have such a sense. Like many, I grow easily myopic, consumed with the small part of existence that is mine, failing to see beyond it. My world is restricted, partly because I have chosen a way of life that is often cloistered, and although my walls are not living jet, they yet circumscribe but little, and the doors within them are small. It becomes easy to forget what lies outside them when sight or sound of that outside rarely penetrates them. I and others will do well to remember better.
Saturday, May 10, 2014
20140510.1100
The first order of business today, as I get started writing quite late in it, is to wish my mother a happy birthday. How old she is...is enough. She is old enough. And that should be all there is to the matter.
The next order of business is to continue reporting from the International Congress on Medieval Studies. I spent much of yesterday engaged in the business of the Tales after Tolkien Society, of which I am a member. The Society is dedicated to the study of medeivalism in genre, not only in writing but in all media, not only from a scholarly perspective but from a creative--and we are looking to cement ourselves as part of the academic and general communities. To that end, we need more members, so if you have or someone you know has an interest in looking at how genre appropriates the medieval--and even how it defines what it is to be medieval--join the conversation; join the Society.
Present plans include an expansion of our online presence; a blog and several social media ventures are in development, and I will doubtlessly be posting more about them here once they get underway in anything approaching earnest. Each will invite people to examine and reflect upon various materials too frequently underexamined and to be in contact with scholars and artist in a way that we anticipate will advance mutual understandings of how parts of the past are continually made present. I hope you and yours will join us in making Tales after Tolkien a continuing success.
The Society will also be proposing sessions for the 50th Congress, likely a traditional paper session or two, a roundtable, and a business meeting. There are plans to have the Society propose sessions at other conferences, as well, beginning with those which current active members of the Society attend. (Since I am one of those, expect that there will be more information about the endeavor posted to this webspace, as well, once things get going.) We also continue to work to get our first collected volume into production, and other academic and creative projects are forthcoming.
I also had the great honor of presiding over the Middle English Arthuriana general session yesterday, which consisted of three excellent papers. The idea of reading the Arthurian chivalric ethic as a refiguration of Stoic virtues is intriguing (and serves to validate the examination of current work for its refigurings, since the medievals being refigured were themselves refigurers), as is work on the purpose of digression in romance and the way in which it queers narrative time. Similarly interesting is the notion that gravesites colonize--and the concomitant idea that the lack of grave markers bespeaks subjugation and Othering. I will be looking for further developments from the scholars whose work I was privileged to hear--and who made me look like I knew what I was doing as a session presider.
Today will be a bit more relaxing a day for me; my formal, official duties are done for the conference, although I have some other activities that I will be doing. Tomorrow, I will again be a bit delayed in making my comments to this webspace (the computer labs only open so early), but there will be things to discuss, I am certain.
The next order of business is to continue reporting from the International Congress on Medieval Studies. I spent much of yesterday engaged in the business of the Tales after Tolkien Society, of which I am a member. The Society is dedicated to the study of medeivalism in genre, not only in writing but in all media, not only from a scholarly perspective but from a creative--and we are looking to cement ourselves as part of the academic and general communities. To that end, we need more members, so if you have or someone you know has an interest in looking at how genre appropriates the medieval--and even how it defines what it is to be medieval--join the conversation; join the Society.
Present plans include an expansion of our online presence; a blog and several social media ventures are in development, and I will doubtlessly be posting more about them here once they get underway in anything approaching earnest. Each will invite people to examine and reflect upon various materials too frequently underexamined and to be in contact with scholars and artist in a way that we anticipate will advance mutual understandings of how parts of the past are continually made present. I hope you and yours will join us in making Tales after Tolkien a continuing success.
The Society will also be proposing sessions for the 50th Congress, likely a traditional paper session or two, a roundtable, and a business meeting. There are plans to have the Society propose sessions at other conferences, as well, beginning with those which current active members of the Society attend. (Since I am one of those, expect that there will be more information about the endeavor posted to this webspace, as well, once things get going.) We also continue to work to get our first collected volume into production, and other academic and creative projects are forthcoming.
I also had the great honor of presiding over the Middle English Arthuriana general session yesterday, which consisted of three excellent papers. The idea of reading the Arthurian chivalric ethic as a refiguration of Stoic virtues is intriguing (and serves to validate the examination of current work for its refigurings, since the medievals being refigured were themselves refigurers), as is work on the purpose of digression in romance and the way in which it queers narrative time. Similarly interesting is the notion that gravesites colonize--and the concomitant idea that the lack of grave markers bespeaks subjugation and Othering. I will be looking for further developments from the scholars whose work I was privileged to hear--and who made me look like I knew what I was doing as a session presider.
Today will be a bit more relaxing a day for me; my formal, official duties are done for the conference, although I have some other activities that I will be doing. Tomorrow, I will again be a bit delayed in making my comments to this webspace (the computer labs only open so early), but there will be things to discuss, I am certain.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
20130919.2140
I received a bit of good news, thanks to one of my international colleagues of renown, Helen Young: I will be returning to Kalamazoo, Michigan, in May 2014, so that I may present a paper on the Tales after Tolkien session of the International Congress on Medieval Studies. It will be my fourth paper at the conference and my second with Tales after Tolkien. I am excited to be partaking of a decades-long tradition and working to develop a new one.
I will not discuss the paper overly much here, at least not yet. If nothing else, it needs a lot of work, so that it is not ready to be put on display. But I will say that it is one that does work directly to address some of the interactions between the cultures represented in fantasy literatures and the medieval Western Europe from which the overwhelming majority take their form--and in some of the most prominent features of the medieval.
The ability of such a paper as I conceive to be speaks to one of the reasons that I study what I study, why I spend my time in and among the older works of English literature instead of immersing myself wholly in entrepreneurship or in whatever is on TV right now (I got internet and phone service hooked up today, but I think I will not get television; I really do not need it). We are still doing the things that were done in the medieval period, still telling the stories our centuries-distant cultural ancestors told (and if you speak English as a native language, they are your cultural forebears if not your genetic ones)--and not only in fantasy fiction, which is still enjoying a rare amount of social cachet due to the efforts of Peter Jackson and Blizzard. The (romanticized) idea of the cowboy ethic, one prevalent in Texas and in Stillwater, Oklahoma (in some measure, at least), is very much medieval in many ways, as is the increasingly caste-bound corporate system, with its overreliance on "just in time" labor practices. Because these things are parallel, it is possible--or even likely--that what we know of then can inform our understanding of now, that how matters were resolved then can offer models for how to fix things now.
And there are always the jokes to consider...
I will not discuss the paper overly much here, at least not yet. If nothing else, it needs a lot of work, so that it is not ready to be put on display. But I will say that it is one that does work directly to address some of the interactions between the cultures represented in fantasy literatures and the medieval Western Europe from which the overwhelming majority take their form--and in some of the most prominent features of the medieval.
The ability of such a paper as I conceive to be speaks to one of the reasons that I study what I study, why I spend my time in and among the older works of English literature instead of immersing myself wholly in entrepreneurship or in whatever is on TV right now (I got internet and phone service hooked up today, but I think I will not get television; I really do not need it). We are still doing the things that were done in the medieval period, still telling the stories our centuries-distant cultural ancestors told (and if you speak English as a native language, they are your cultural forebears if not your genetic ones)--and not only in fantasy fiction, which is still enjoying a rare amount of social cachet due to the efforts of Peter Jackson and Blizzard. The (romanticized) idea of the cowboy ethic, one prevalent in Texas and in Stillwater, Oklahoma (in some measure, at least), is very much medieval in many ways, as is the increasingly caste-bound corporate system, with its overreliance on "just in time" labor practices. Because these things are parallel, it is possible--or even likely--that what we know of then can inform our understanding of now, that how matters were resolved then can offer models for how to fix things now.
And there are always the jokes to consider...
Saturday, May 16, 2015
20150516.1039
I am still at the 50th International Congress on Medieval Studies in Kalamazoo, Michigan, and I have been busy. It has been a good trip so far, and I have been able to get a fair bit from the sessions I have attended. My notes are still in draft, and I am not going to duplicate comments between this webspace and the Tales after Tolkien Society blog, Travels in Genre and Medievalism, so reading both will be needed (and contributions to the latter are still very much welcome). But I will be offering some comments about my experiences here after I make my return to Sherwood Cottage and have a chance to digest those experiences a bit more. I am still busy, after all...
One thing that was brought to my attention, though, and which was quite the welcome surprise is this comment from the publisher of the Tales after Tolkien volumes, in which I have a chapter. It is markedly flattering to be quoted (even if one of the comments is not entirely correctly attributed) and cited as something of a celebrity. I do not know that I am entirely ready for the attention, although I welcome it. Perhaps it will help in the ongoing pursuit of a permanent position...
More later.
One thing that was brought to my attention, though, and which was quite the welcome surprise is this comment from the publisher of the Tales after Tolkien volumes, in which I have a chapter. It is markedly flattering to be quoted (even if one of the comments is not entirely correctly attributed) and cited as something of a celebrity. I do not know that I am entirely ready for the attention, although I welcome it. Perhaps it will help in the ongoing pursuit of a permanent position...
More later.
Wednesday, May 18, 2016
20160518.0656
Work continues, as ever it must.
I have wrapped up a bit more of the paperwork stemming from my recent trip to Michigan and the International Congress on Medieval Studies. The idea that the Tales after Tolkien Society should keep some record of the papers presented in its name has long seemed to me to be a good one, and although I do not think it will be possible to go back and get most of the abstracts from the first years of presentations, there is no reason we cannot be better about keeping track of them moving forward. Doing so for the 2016 Congress is a first step in that line, and one well worth taking; I am glad to have taken it, with the record appearing on the Tales after Tolkien Society blog, here.
Packing for the relocation to the Texas Hill Country also continues. I have been breaking down my desk so that it can move over, and I have gotten a fair bit of work done to that end. There is a fair bit more to do, however, and so I will be pressing ahead with it in the next few days as I am able to do so. I cannot completely take it down yet, however, since work does continue, and some of it even pays in the short term (as the Society work does not and the time spent attending to this webspace cannot). Since bills continue to come in, it is good that I have things to do--and as long as I have them to do, I have to have space and equipment with which to do them. Hence the desk remains for now.
A freelance order came in yesterday. I have bought the text and begun my reading; I was somewhat distracted by other things (paperwork, laundry, vacuuming, dishwashing), so I have not finished the text yet. But I expect it will not be long until I get the reading done, and the writing should proceed relatively quickly thereafter; I should be able to bring in the usual fee from the work in short order. It will help the family as we move forward, and that is the thing towards which I work. And I suppose I ought to get back to work...
I have wrapped up a bit more of the paperwork stemming from my recent trip to Michigan and the International Congress on Medieval Studies. The idea that the Tales after Tolkien Society should keep some record of the papers presented in its name has long seemed to me to be a good one, and although I do not think it will be possible to go back and get most of the abstracts from the first years of presentations, there is no reason we cannot be better about keeping track of them moving forward. Doing so for the 2016 Congress is a first step in that line, and one well worth taking; I am glad to have taken it, with the record appearing on the Tales after Tolkien Society blog, here.
Packing for the relocation to the Texas Hill Country also continues. I have been breaking down my desk so that it can move over, and I have gotten a fair bit of work done to that end. There is a fair bit more to do, however, and so I will be pressing ahead with it in the next few days as I am able to do so. I cannot completely take it down yet, however, since work does continue, and some of it even pays in the short term (as the Society work does not and the time spent attending to this webspace cannot). Since bills continue to come in, it is good that I have things to do--and as long as I have them to do, I have to have space and equipment with which to do them. Hence the desk remains for now.
A freelance order came in yesterday. I have bought the text and begun my reading; I was somewhat distracted by other things (paperwork, laundry, vacuuming, dishwashing), so I have not finished the text yet. But I expect it will not be long until I get the reading done, and the writing should proceed relatively quickly thereafter; I should be able to bring in the usual fee from the work in short order. It will help the family as we move forward, and that is the thing towards which I work. And I suppose I ought to get back to work...
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
20140507.0600
Today, I am on my way to Kalamazoo, Michigan, to take part in the 49th International Congress on Medieval Studies. It will be the fourth time I have attended the conference, and I am eager to return; I have had a good time every time I have gone so far, and I expect that I will be able to do so once again this time. I have the assurance of steady employment in the coming year, which will improve my outlook going into the event, and I have already been in touch with people I know from past years' meetings, so I am assured also of meeting up with old friends. (Not that I am saying any of them are old, per se, only that I have known them for some time. Please don't hurt me.)
While at the conference, I will be presiding over a regular session, Middle English Arthuriana, as well as presenting a paper in the Tales after Tolkien Society sponsored session and attending its business meeting. I was part of the initial sessions of the Society at the Congress, so I am eager to return to it. Too, the Society is still in its infancy, and I hope to be able to work with others to develop it into an ongoing concern. The Society is concerned with the place of medievalism in genre--and not just in fantasy literature (although certainly within it); there is much more work for it to do, and I would not be averse to taking on some of it. Indeed, it is that willingness that led me to submit to the Tales after Tolkien collected volume forthcoming from Cambria Press. (And I know I need to work on that. Guess what the first project after I get back from the conference is, as well as the reading I have decided to take with me to the conference.)
I will have computer access while I am at the Congress; Western Michigan University is generous in making resources available to conference attendees. I will still have some things to do from work; exams are not yet done, and the deadline for grade submission approaches. I expect, though, that I will be able to make a few odd comments in this webspace while I am at the great gathering of medievalists, even if they are not quite on my normal schedule. It is quite the event, and I hope to be able to convey some of the joy I feel at attending it, at being among other scholars in my field as I do not get to be as often as I would prefer, sharing ideas and partaking in some small ways of the things that we study for months and years at a time. I cannot do so as well in days-later retrospect as I can when I write daily, and so I will strive to keep up with what I post here. But I cannot make any promises...
While at the conference, I will be presiding over a regular session, Middle English Arthuriana, as well as presenting a paper in the Tales after Tolkien Society sponsored session and attending its business meeting. I was part of the initial sessions of the Society at the Congress, so I am eager to return to it. Too, the Society is still in its infancy, and I hope to be able to work with others to develop it into an ongoing concern. The Society is concerned with the place of medievalism in genre--and not just in fantasy literature (although certainly within it); there is much more work for it to do, and I would not be averse to taking on some of it. Indeed, it is that willingness that led me to submit to the Tales after Tolkien collected volume forthcoming from Cambria Press. (And I know I need to work on that. Guess what the first project after I get back from the conference is, as well as the reading I have decided to take with me to the conference.)
I will have computer access while I am at the Congress; Western Michigan University is generous in making resources available to conference attendees. I will still have some things to do from work; exams are not yet done, and the deadline for grade submission approaches. I expect, though, that I will be able to make a few odd comments in this webspace while I am at the great gathering of medievalists, even if they are not quite on my normal schedule. It is quite the event, and I hope to be able to convey some of the joy I feel at attending it, at being among other scholars in my field as I do not get to be as often as I would prefer, sharing ideas and partaking in some small ways of the things that we study for months and years at a time. I cannot do so as well in days-later retrospect as I can when I write daily, and so I will strive to keep up with what I post here. But I cannot make any promises...
Monday, October 21, 2013
20131021.0626
I have mentioned some few times my reading of and work with the published writings of JRR Tolkien--both scholarly writings and fiction. In the main line of his fiction, the Middle-earth corpus, Tolkien expresses a preference for moonlight over sunlight. The first of the Two Trees is the tree from which the moon arises, and the moon precedes the sun in being created. Moonlight factors into his stories as plot devices (the moon-runes in The Hobbit, for example, and on the gate of Moria in Lord of the Rings), and far more often and importantly than the sun. That Middle-earth privileges moonlight over sunshine is obvious, then, and it is a privileging with which I agree.
One of the things that The City strips away is the ability to see the play of moonlight over the landscape. That people must act in the nighttime hours means that they must make light with which to see, and the lights made for and by so many people crowd out the gentle silver of the moon's reflected radiance in the gleam of mercury vapor tortured by electricity. There is a certain ambience that the lighting promotes, particularly in The City where it accompanies labyrinthine ribbons of roadway constrained between towers of concrete, glass, and steel, but that atmosphere is as choking as the minotaur's domain could easily be--and I have spoken to the bovine overtones of life in such a place.
Sherwood Cottage gets to see some of the moonlight, especially on such nights as several of the last few have been--the skies have been more or less clear (except for one rainy evening), and the moon has been full or nearly so. Even the quotidian domestic work of taking out the trash, leaving it beside the curb for pickup the next day, is made the more wondrous by being coated in celestial silver. And even in the chilly air of autumn's reminder that winter is not so far away, it is worth standing on the front porch--and I have one here!--and looking out at the world as it sits, quietly and subtly argent in the as much of the full glory of night as it can maintain.
But even at Sherwood Cottage, sitting on a fairly dark street in what is not so large a city, only gets so much. There are street lights whose not-quite-orange radiance nibbles at the edges of the jeweled Ouranian cloak--they are moths flitting against the long life of the heavens, but they do not spare the warp and weave therefore. And even out away from town, in what even the locals call the countryside (and that from a place those in The City would think unbearably rustic and provincial--but what do they know?), there are places where that cloak is threadbare. The occasional lights of hearth and home offer a useful counterpoint, copper to make the silver shine the brighter. The other lights, oil rigs dotting the fields, are rather cheap sequins amidst diamonds, making the whole more tawdry through their presence.
I am aware of the benefits that accrue to the people here (including me) that they have adorned The Mother with such costume jewelry, children exulting in small works that they give to their parents. And, like many parents, The Mother wears what her children offer (at least for a time), however bad it might look. But that such things are suffered out of love does not make them lovely, leaving me in a context I do not yet know how to parse, whether in five paragraphs or five hundred.
One of the things that The City strips away is the ability to see the play of moonlight over the landscape. That people must act in the nighttime hours means that they must make light with which to see, and the lights made for and by so many people crowd out the gentle silver of the moon's reflected radiance in the gleam of mercury vapor tortured by electricity. There is a certain ambience that the lighting promotes, particularly in The City where it accompanies labyrinthine ribbons of roadway constrained between towers of concrete, glass, and steel, but that atmosphere is as choking as the minotaur's domain could easily be--and I have spoken to the bovine overtones of life in such a place.
Sherwood Cottage gets to see some of the moonlight, especially on such nights as several of the last few have been--the skies have been more or less clear (except for one rainy evening), and the moon has been full or nearly so. Even the quotidian domestic work of taking out the trash, leaving it beside the curb for pickup the next day, is made the more wondrous by being coated in celestial silver. And even in the chilly air of autumn's reminder that winter is not so far away, it is worth standing on the front porch--and I have one here!--and looking out at the world as it sits, quietly and subtly argent in the as much of the full glory of night as it can maintain.
But even at Sherwood Cottage, sitting on a fairly dark street in what is not so large a city, only gets so much. There are street lights whose not-quite-orange radiance nibbles at the edges of the jeweled Ouranian cloak--they are moths flitting against the long life of the heavens, but they do not spare the warp and weave therefore. And even out away from town, in what even the locals call the countryside (and that from a place those in The City would think unbearably rustic and provincial--but what do they know?), there are places where that cloak is threadbare. The occasional lights of hearth and home offer a useful counterpoint, copper to make the silver shine the brighter. The other lights, oil rigs dotting the fields, are rather cheap sequins amidst diamonds, making the whole more tawdry through their presence.
I am aware of the benefits that accrue to the people here (including me) that they have adorned The Mother with such costume jewelry, children exulting in small works that they give to their parents. And, like many parents, The Mother wears what her children offer (at least for a time), however bad it might look. But that such things are suffered out of love does not make them lovely, leaving me in a context I do not yet know how to parse, whether in five paragraphs or five hundred.
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