Frankenstein – Mary Shelley – May 2013

Mary S. takes a stab at channeling Bill S.

 

She does an interesting beginning; then realizes she’s bitten off more than she can chew as she slows in the middle; and then tires, to wrap this up kinda lamely, exposing her true purpose with all of this, rather than keeping it all magical {which was nice.}

It’s a monumental undertaking, writing a Greek tragedy; it’s bold and audacious.  This remains after two hundred years, as a significant milestone in English language storytelling.

Is the author trying to say that this evil lies within us?

n  That this is a Christian tenent

and that the monster was Dr. Victor Frankenstein’s alter-ego;

That this was an internal struggle between the good and evil

that lies within all of us

n  Or is she documenting a real belief that evil lies without and can be fought, with knife and bludgeon?, religious faith and a wooden cross?

Lots of deaths accentuated the whole point, whatever the point was; just like in MacBeth.

Man is ignoble; possibly a lessor creature to the “Monster”; man is nonetheless, unable to acknowledge the “Monster” as a viable member of the species.  Was this prescience on M.S.’s, part of the Third Reich? or maybe of Asimov’s robotics?; or even an awesome foreseeing of genetic re-engineering, and the creation of a “master race”?

The relevance of this in modern times is scary.  Did she foresee this as a result of our penchant for scientific exploration and discovery?  The A-Bomb and H-bomb.!  Are they the Frankensteins.  We have forgotten them this past twenty years, along with poison gas {and God forbid, the next generation of these sorts of things: proliferation of genetic toxins}], since the fall of the “Evil Empire” [or was that us?].  We are only reminded periodically by events like the Boston Marathon [I am horrified that I first wrote Boston, then realized that I needed to add Marathon, or next year, nobody would know what I was talking about.]

Another, simpler thought, would be: she thought as would a butterfly, or a fawn: friend or enemy; love or hate. In my experience, I am loved by wasps and bees, rats and raccoons, and birds of all sorts.  I like to dwell on that thought.  Also, let’s give Mary credit for maybe spanning the range of human interactions, as well as time and philosophic thought.  Does Good versus Evil work any differently today than it did two hundred years ago?  I don’t think so, not one wit.  I’m currently addicted to catching up on “West Wing” on Netflix, and watching themes from ten years ago: still N. Korea & Iranian nukes.  Short term – nothing changes:  Long Term: Good & Evil; just like the Crusades, a millennia ago.

Is there take-away for our generation?

“You betcha kemo sabe.!”

At the lowest levels:

      There are those who think like us – the good guys

      And those who don’t – the bad guys

At higher levels:

      There are those who think like us – the good guys

      And those who don’t – the bad guys

 

At the end, running out of space and energy, she paraphrases my {all men’s} favorite warrior speech

 

KING HENRY V   Act 4: Scene 3

What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more, methinks, would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,

Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.

This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,

And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

 

 

 

 

 

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot

 

This is subject matter that deserves being publically aired and is worth our time, 20-30 hours this month, as library bibliophiles.  Besides a valuable topic or topical value, it’s well-written.  The author has taken a topic that could easily have run out of steam in a magazine short story, and kept the reader’s spark of interest throughout the whole book.  My only knock on the writing was that an editor would have cut about 100 pages, eliminating many repetitious retellings of the same story.  I can understand though, that the author probably had two strong reasons not to turn her manuscript over to a publisher’s editor:

1.     She is a journalist with a great story – or maybe a scientist who wants to make sure that accuracy is foremost

2.     The Lacks family might have said no way.

 

I had heard much about this book back in 2010 when Rebecca was on the book tour circuit.  Ten to thirty minutes on NPR or KGO, however, is not sufficient to do this book justice.  The book represents a great effort at journalistic research.  This is a model effort for those striving at really digging up a story that wants to stay hidden.  Perseverance! That’s what Rebecca personifies.

I’m glad I read this book and would recommend it, especially to younger people, who might take a pathway down the road of writing stories.

It is unfortunate, when recounting true biography, that events don’t always fit to a convenient timeline, nor have proper precedents and antecedents.  The flow of this story was dictated by the author’s research efforts and this made the pacing of the book understandably erratic.

Rebecca Skloot, however, demonstrated prowess as an author by creating a loveable character with Henrietta, imbued with spunk and quotable lines:

 

“You Don’t Mess With Henrietta”.!!!

 

Give Back Tuesday for Save The Rio and The Big Read

THE POCKET EMILY DICKINSON by Margaret McLaren

I ambled complacently into the library to pick up my copy of “The Pocket Emily Dickinson”, wondering idly why I had never actually read a single poem of hers, and knew practically nothing about her life.  “I don’t get her,” a friend had recently commented.  “Emily Dickinson,” said another, “Wasn’t she . . . ummm . . . “  

 

So on the way back to my car, I opened the little book, entirely at random, and on page 91, I read:

 

“There is a pain – so utter –

It swallows substance up –

Then covers the Abyss with Trance –

So memory can step

Around – across – upon it –

As one within a Swoon –

Goes safely – where an open eye –

Would drop Him – Bone by Bone”

 

I found myself sobbing uncontrollably by the middle of the second line, there in the parking lot of the Guerneville library, and knocked flat by the time I reached the end of the poem.  Please understand, I am not a woman who cries, but it took me a good hour, and a very long walk in Armstrong Woods, to get myself together again.

 

Suffice it to say I am not likely to ever forget the day I read my first Emily Dickinson poem, and I am determined, once I can read page 91 with equanimity, to attempt another one.  

 

I think it is safe to say that I now “get” Emily Dickinson.

Half-Blood Blues by Esi Edugyan

This is a wonderfully well-balanced book.  The writing is excellent, with an interesting theme and research that is impressive without being dominating.  The time transitions are especially smooth and effortless for the reader.  I was never at a loss to know what was going on, but always tantalized about what was to come next.  Edugyan’s plot development is a model example of taking the reader right to the edge of suspension of disbelief.

We care about these men and women.  They are flawed but likeable characters when they are youngsters in their 20’s.  We love the remaining men when they are old and callous; still flawed, but humbled by their experiences.

There was a rich field of as yet untapped plot-line themes that make up this book: African-American jazz musicians and other sorts of entertainers traveling in Nazi Germany; the anomaly of racial purity as a political doctrine that can dominate a nation; the whole dangerous mystique of moving around in Nazi-held territory [She steals the departing Paris train scene from “Casablanca” where Rick and Ilsa don’t meet up as planned, {but why not – it was a great scene} ].

 

An unusual twist, for us Americans, was that, through Edugyan’s research, we learn that African-Americans were respected and welcomed into the dinner tables of Deutschland.  However, through parental-indiscretion, Hiero, is an African-German and considered a racial outcast.  That’s just the tip of the iceberg of what rich, fascinating information this book contains

The author examines the mischling situation from all angles, not just African mixtures, but Jewish as well.  She seemingly writes herself into the book as Delilah, the only real female character: mysterious and all-knowing, she dominates the action until the book shifts completely to the present.

This book appears to be the complete opposite treatment of the effects of racially-mixed blood lines as last year’s “Cane River”, which was such an intellectual treatise on the subject.  However, they both stimulated deep thoughts about this subject area

The Art of Fielding by Chad Harbach

I did make it through this book, but it became increasingly boring as we crept to the 512^th page.  For those who didn’t make it, I’ll end the suspense by saying, Henry got his mojo back [last line of the book]. 

It was boring to me even though:

-     I’m a male

-     I’m a bachelor

-     and I like baseball.

I can only imagine the sheer reading torture this was for those who are:

-     female

-     aren’t into frat-house gross jokes

or lives focused around pizzas and beer.

-     and aren’t into training regimens of athletes.

 

Where did this book go wrong?: let me count the ways.  The boredom started a third of the way through the book as the reader became aware that the cast of characters and their dysfunctional foibles had been typeset in lead and scenes from that point forward were only going to be repetitious variations of what had gone on before.  After halfway through the book, disillusionment set in as the reader realized that there would be no steamy sex scenes, no great moments in baseball history, actually nothing interesting at all.  Maybe we’ve become too jaded or inured living around Guerneville, but all of the sex lives of these characters were pitifully abysmal.  All this, “Will he, won’t she, will she, won’t he, will they join the dance?”

A tortuous read – 1 out of 10 for this elitist, wannabe author, whose only praise comes from the NY Times {see below}.

 

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

n+1 began in the Fall of 2004, the project of Keith Gessen, Benjamin Kunkel, Mark Greif, Chad Harbach, and Marco Roth. The magazine, described by Gessen as "like Partisan Review, except not dead," was launched out of a feeling of dissatisfaction with the current intellectual scene in the United States, with the editors often citing Lingua Franca and the early years of Partisan Review as models for their magazine. Both of those magazines embodied the age where the little magazine was a veritable institution and a major centre of innovation in arts and politics.

Their outlook is most frequently summed up by the last lines of their first issue where Gessen proclaimed, "it is time to say what you mean.  " Yet in the Third Issue, critic James Wood responded to criticism of his negative criticism and, singling out this quote by Gessen, stated, "The Editors had unwittingly proved the gravamen of their own critique: that it is easier to criticize than to propose."

The magazine has received mixed criticism to date. Generally, n+1's detractors are irked by the editors' youth and perceived elitism. As the magazine is purportedly an effort to engage a generation in a struggle against the current literary landscape, such seeming elitism seems counterintuitive to the ideals upon which the magazine was founded. The New Criterion critically asked, "is your journal really necessary?" and accused them of exaggerating their own importance. The Times Literary Supplement wryly satirized Kunkel's quote, "We're angrier than Dave Eggers and his crowd," and compared that quote against their Third Issue's unsigned article about and titled Dating.

Others have appreciated these very qualities, writing favorably of the boldness of the project itself and the sincerity and enthusiasm of its contributors. New York Times critic A.O. Scott commented on this in a feature article on the new wave of young, intellectual publications in a September 2005 issue of the New York Times Magazine, saying that n+1 was trying to "organize a generational struggle against laziness and cynicism, to raise once again the banners of creative enthusiasm and intellectual engagement" and that it had a feel that was "decidedly youthful, not only in [its] characteristic generational concerns — the habit of nonchalantly blending pop culture, literary esoterica and academic theory, for instance, or the unnerving ability to appear at once mocking and sincere — but also in the sense of bravado and grievance that ripples through their pages."

 

A Most Wanted Man by John Le Carré

I guess the library restocked this, and put it on the “new books” shelf because there is a movie adaptation being filmed as I type.  I am happy all this occurred.  The book came out in 2008 and I was wrapped up that time almost exclusively with the radio station, KGGV. 

Le Carré is one of my favorites; my taste for him taken to an extreme when I found myself working in England for close to a decade.  Now it is nostalgia for me, those OxBridge men with their funny quirks who populate the management of British corporations and other positions of power. 

For a lover of Carré, this is an exquisite book, a spell-binding read that will make a great movie.  The author is aging, as I am.  The author pulls into the story lots of characters, and scenes that have been his trademark stable of ideas over half a century of writing.  There are bits of stories retold, like the Russia House escape from the inescapable grasp of the spook community; the interview methodology of George Smiley along with his deeply thought out strategies to entrap his enemies.  As always the spies are conflicted: conflicting with other spies, some home team, some visitors. 

Le Carré is a masterful story-teller.  The best.  This tale is riveting.  It’s freshly updated with Chechens, Turks, and Arabs, but with generational back-looks to Russians, Germans, and Brits.  Interestingly, the Americans are still a powerful force, but only introduced at the last minute, despised by all, and really not that relevant to the entire story other than as an ultimate bad guy to take on a lot of the blame for a situation gone wrong.

The characterizations are compelling.  I’m sorry that the BBC didn’t get the rights to do this film.  “Tinker Tailor” and “Smiley’s People” each were 6-hour adaptations of Le Carré’s works and show-cased the author’s ability at personality characterization.  That will be missing in the American movie.  Culture and ethnicity are such important factors in these sorts of novel’s dramatizations.  American film-makers tend to blend all foreigners into the “all Asians look alike to me” mindset.  In the smallish world of the EuroZone, French, Italian, Greek, and German national and cultural traits are extremely important and subtly recognized by other members of the European community. 

Because of the thoughtful interweaving of old plotlines with new, older generation characters with younger ones, I think this story will survive as one of Le Carré’s best.  It captures the hint of what our elders told us was the evil, bad old days of the cold war, with the reality of today’s jihad.

A captivating read – 10 out of 10 for this, still interesting author.