New Publication: Puppetry International

Just arrived in the mail! I have an essay in the latest issue of Puppetry International on medievalism in Russell Hoban's Riddley Walker. I look at the ritual of the Punch and Judy show in the novel's post-apocalyptic setting, and how Hoban uses the relics of Canterbury Cathedral and the legend of St. Eustace as rendered in a medieval wall painting in the cathedral.

The magazine itself is a fascinating collection of articles on puppetry (naturally), a medium that proves amazingly varied. It really expands the idea of what can be done with puppets. There is a two page spread of the grants awarded by the Jim Henson Foundation that is simply stunning in the variety of works, although I was particularly intrigued by the Hotel Obligato Physical Theater's production of Punch's Progress.



Insert your swazzle and repeat after me: "That's the way to do it!"

Complete Fiasco

Well, more or less -- my play Fiasco, that is. While not perhaps as newsworthy to the world as a lost Beckett play, I hope that I can drum up some interest in this black comedy about recent events on the third coast. The last part (that took so long to finish for some reason) is the "New School for Scandal" section that ends the revue. Ironically, I'm teaching Sheridan's play in my early British literature survey this week. Funny how the idea of manipulating public opinion with lies and innuendo never goes out of style.

As always, I am interested in feedback, so download a copy today and enjoy!

Kinky Boots

All right -- when you get a song stuck in your head, the best way to get it out is to pass it along to others, right? So, here I go. We've finally got around to watching Catterick (more goofy fun from Vic and Bob) and not only does the song "Kinky Boots" appear in the series, but it provides the theme for the main menu of the DVD so everytime we put it in, we'd hear the song again. It's real brain taffy! Just try to dislodge it.

According to Avengers Forever, the song came about like this:

The Cathy Gale-era of the show spawned a novelty record called "Kinky Boots," performed by Patrick Macnee and Honor Blackman. Patrick was so petrified about singing (or, in particular, being unable to sing) that after several failed takes, he was escorted to a local pub, lubricated with brandy, and returned to the recording studio. Even after that, a sound engineer had to stand next to him and tap him on the shoulder whenever he was supposed to sing. When the single was re-issued in 1990, it hit the charts, selling over 40,000 copies!

And did you know:

The name of the famous rock band "The Kinks" actually comes from the song "Kinky Boots." In a 1995 interview with Kinks lead singer Ray Davies, he related how the band acquired its name... "Dave and Pete wore these capes and boots... Kinky Boots I think was a single that a program called The Avengers had out -- a TV show. And this drunk guy at the bar looked over and said, 'You blokes should call yourselves the Kinks because you look like one.' And Larry page, who became one of our managers, said, 'He's got a point there!'"

Amazing what you can learn from a pop song!

Why Do They Vex Me?

I had a discussion with a student about a paper returned to him with comments and a grade (sophomore lit, for those keeping score). He took issue with my coments, oddly enough. The assignment was to compare the themes in an historical document to those in a play (Elizabethan, early colonialism -- you know, that whole "let's put literature in an historical context" idea). In his paper, he discussed one text, then talked about the other. About midpoint, there was a sort of thesis which was not (to my eyes) actually carried out in the discussion.

The student informed me that he "didn't think it necessary" to discuss the two texts together, which I suggested made comparison rather difficult. He also instructed me that in all his classes in high school and two years of college, he had never heard of the idea that a thesis ought to be near the beginning of a paper. Clearly I was being unreasonable. It certainly did not help our discussion that the entire time his eyes were on my chest.

Ewww.

I don't know if that was a deliberate attempt to make me feel uncomfortable or an unconscious one. Well, it did make me feel uncomfortable; it is rude and disgusting. But it was not enough to make me change my mind. I polled the following class, not all of whom are stellar students by any means. Nonetheless, they unanimously declared (without prompting) that the proper place for a thesis was the beginning of the paper -- in fact, some were even more specific, suggesting it ought to be the last sentence of the first paragraph. Good; even though not all their papers followed that rule, it must be said.

It's par for the course, unfortunately. The complaining student is in the "soul sucker" class of this semester, the kind of group that sucks the energy right out of you when you enter the room. There are a couple of terrific students in the class, but by this point they too have been sucked of all energy. I find it hard to maintain my usual level of enthusiasm -- sometimes I even (gasp!) sit down while leading that class. Group dynamics -- it's a tricky thing.

I'm grateful that they're not the class with whom I end the day. After them I go to a class which has a more equitably energy flow. Yesterday I thanked them for it. They're not necessarily better students on the whole, gradewise. But I'd much sooner spend my time with them, as human beings as well as students.

Medieval Weblogs & Wombats in the News

I didn't realize I was linked on this list of medieval weblogs. There's a meeting at Kalamazoo this year on medieval bloggers; naturally, I am chairing a panel at the same time. But pal Scott Nokes will be there, so I'm sure he'll pass along the news. There's also a meet-up for anonymous medieval bloggers put together by the author of Ancrene Wiseass. Although I am not anonymous, I am thinking of attending (dependent always on other various social engagements).

And without transition, I almost forgot to mention the full page ad in the NYT Sunday from a large international coffee seller that listed among the wonderful things on the earth (you guessed it) wombats! Of course, we agree. While cute and cuddly, one should also remember that "these animals are not to be taken lightly and should be treated with a great deal of respect."

Back from PopCulture

Somehow blogging seems more attractive than the mass of grading I have to do at present, so I'm taking a break after getting the immediate emergencies done. PCA was wonderful as always -- our papers went well and we had fun seeing all our friends like "Sailor" Wendy Goldberg (and her family -- we had a terrific passover seder with all the clan); Mark "Captain Hook" Rogers (he's not this Mark or this one) and new wife (well, new to us) Jessica ("The Counselor"); Amy "Hold the Presses" Kiste Nyberg; John "All Asian Media" Lent and wife Ying (and a big box of IJOCA) -- not to mention our fun colleagues from UHD, Stephanie and Antonio. What could be better than kicking off our visit to Atlanta by dining with Phil and Anya -- the voices of Atlanta culture! My medieval popular culture section, while still small, went very well with some excellent papers and good discussion.

Back in Houston where the weather as usual is "scorchio" and enthusiasm, as the end of the semester approaches, less so.

Goin' to Atlanta

[Yes, it does sound a lot like the Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black] We're off to PCA as usual about this time of year. We always look forward to PCA, a big conference with lot of friends. And while Atlanta is no New Orleans, neither is NO these days...

Profiled!

For the near future anyway, I am profiled at the UHD College of Humanities and Social Sciences new webpage (below the student profile). A little free publicity!

Sisu! Sisu!

Gene just called: a letter arrived at home telling me I have won a Finlandia Foundation grant! Whoo hoo! This means I'M GOING TO FINLAND!



I applied for the grant as part of my ongoing work on Unikirja which I hope to complete this summer. I didn't really feel I could finish, however, without seeing, touching and even smelling! ancient Finland. The best place for that, it seemed to me, would be to visit the rock paintings by hiking through Finland's countryside. I am so excited to know I'll really be there and not have to just imagine it.

Paljon kiitos, Finlandia Foundation! Now I really have to work on my Finnish!

(Not so) New Publication

I finally got my copy of the three volume encyclopedia co-edited by S.T. Joshi and Stefan Dziemianowicz for which I wrote entries on Clive Barker (80-84) and on his Books of Blood (138-139). It's quite an honor to be among so many stellar writers and scholars. Primarily designed as a reference books for public libraries, high schools and universities, I'm certainly not expecting folks to pick up individual copies for themselves! However, couldn't YOUR local library use a copy?





And yes, as always, I am sure high school students are plagiarizing entries as we speak!

Easter Witches

My good pal Diane Saarinen has a piece in the Living in Season Newsletter about the wonderful Easter Witch tradition in Finland and Sweden. It includes some lovely vintage Easter Witch postcards, so be sure to check it out. Diane writes for numerous newsletters and magazines -- we have often appeared together in the pages of both The Beltane Papers and New World Finn.

Inspiration

And who doesn't need some? Particularly for folks near enough the end of the semester to feel the fatigue, but not quite near enough to begin to feel the surge of adrenaline that fuels that last sprint to the deadline.

It's an essay by Paul Graham called "How To Do What You Love" -- something we all aim to do, but few of us find our way there. Here's a snippet:

That's what leads people to try to write novels, for example. They like reading novels. They notice that people who write them win Nobel prizes. What could be more wonderful, they think, than to be a novelist? But liking the idea of being a novelist is not enough; you have to like the actual work of novel-writing if you're going to be good at it; you have to like making up elaborate lies.

Oh yeah! And here's a bit that drew my attention:

Prestige is especially dangerous to the ambitious. If you want to make ambitious people waste their time on errands, the way to do it is to bait the hook with prestige. That's the recipe for getting people to give talks, write forewords, serve on committees, be department heads, and so on. It might be a good rule simply to avoid any prestigious task. If it didn't suck, they wouldn't have had to make it prestigious.

Sound familiar? He does however tip his hand as a science geek who can see no use in the liberal arts:

Math would happen without math departments, but it is the existence of English majors, and therefore jobs teaching them, that calls into being all those thousands of dreary papers about gender and identity in the novels of Conrad. No one does that kind of thing for fun.

He doesn't understand that the same drive to understand fuels literary analysis, too, "dreary" papers or no (says the literary geek). But personal prejudices aside, the general points are still valid.

A Grading Gem

While reading a student essay I encountered the following phonetic rendering of a common aphorism: "despite times call for despite measures." I suspect it has to do with the local accent making desperate sound somewhat similar. Not quite as bad as the innumerable comments in the past few years about the "doggy dog world" in which we live...

Tempest in the Classroom

The master, the swabber, the boatswain and I,
The gunner and his mate
Loved Mall, Meg and Marian and Margery,
But none of us cared for Kate;
For she had a tongue with a tang,
Would cry to a sailor, Go hang!
She loved not the savour of tar nor of pitch,
Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch:
Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang!

I'm teaching The Tempest as I usually do about this time. Students always complain about how hard it is to read plays, although they like Shakespeare a lot better than Marlowe. I'm not sure why -- yes, I do realize the stature Shakespeare holds in the world, but I so love Marlowe's audacity and sheer exuberance. But my students find him more challenging -- or as they would say, "too hard."

Tis magic, magic that hath ravished me...

Marlowe has all the beauty of Shakespeare; what he lacked, perhaps, was the thought of the audience -- or not awareness so much as concern for their reaction. Shakespeare can be equally devastating, but he seemed to always have been aware of the paying audience. Perhaps it is the difference of being an actor as well as a writer. I expect that would make it impossible to forget the eyes upon you, not to desire their approval, just as Prospero (like Puck in A Midsummer Night's Dream) exhorts the audience to applaud at the end of the play. The Tempest does contain my all time favorite Shakespearean line:

I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed monster.

Why? I don't know. Humor is a difficult thing to analyze. Not that it stops us from trying. I am still immersed in my British comedy at present, reading Harry Thompson's biography of Peter Cook which was recommended by folks at the Establishment. Although I didn't get much reading done this weekend as I was trying to finish up my draft of an essay on The Sorcerer for S.T. Joshi's icons of horror and fantasy anthology. I tried not to get carried away talking about Faustus and Prospero, but I couldn't resist a bit of a digression on them. That's magic for you --

Where the bee sucks. there suck I:
In a cowslip's bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat's back I do fly
After summer merrily.
Merrily, merrily shall I live now
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

April Fool!

For a good chuckle, run on over to the American Blogress for a group of cartoons sponsored by BTPBHTP (Back the President Because He Is The President). Organized by Connecticut cartoonist Elena Steier, the display begs for your support of the poor, beleaguered President.

Cracklin' Rose

It's finally time to let slip the news: I will have a new position this fall at The College of St. Rose in Albany, NY -- Go, Golden Knights! It's a small liberal arts college in an urban setting. The English department seems welcoming and flexible. I'll have many more opportunities to teach courses in medieval literature and culture than I do at present (and to smaller classes!) We're very excited about the opportunity to be back in the Northeast (and near family and friends), but it's hard not to be a little sad to leave the many friends we have made in Houston (not to mention the plethora of restaurants!). I will miss my UHD students, but not the weather or the 4/4 load. We'll probably be heading back across country in June or July at the latest, so be prepared for that knock on the door!

"Go, You Blues!"

Congratulations to pal Susan Emfinger, development officer and erstwhile actor [yes, she was one of the stars of Un Amor Peligroso or The Wombat's World, my student film that gave its name to my old zine and this blog]. Susan, who currently serves as Major Gifts Officer for the College of Science and Liberal Arts at Wayne State University will be moving to the University of Huddersfield in Yorkshire!

Check out the welcome message from their Chancellor! What a lovely location -- yes, I am biased because she's already offered an invitation for us to visit. We haven't been to Yorkshire since that lovely trip to Whitby. And it's not like we need much of an excuse to visit Britain!

Best of luck with the move across the pond -- and congratulations again!

ICFA

Well, like the man who was turned into a newt, it got better. There was, of course, ample opportunity to ogle the art of Charles Vess, including the slide show that offered many of the artists he admires as well as the drawing of the fountain (!) that will be in a local green space -- oh my! It is impossible to describe, although if you know his work you can imagine: Titania, Puck, a tortoise and hare...just beautiful!

There was a terrific panel on Theorizing of Alterity and Performativity which provided a lively discussion. Tom Inge's lunchtime talk on Mad and the roots of post-war satire in the US was also entertaining. The panel I was on proved to be much fun: Sarah E. Thompson from the Museum of Fine Arts showed us an amazing range of 19th century Japanese prints with fantastic images, while Irma Hirsjärvi from Jyväskylä University (the official gradnmother of Finnish SF fandom, we found out) talked about "SF and Fantasy in the Discourses of Canon and Fandom" in Finland. She even talked about Johanna Sinisalo, the author I was also speaking on. I felt nervous talking about a Finnish author with a Finn there to critique my analysis, but Irma was very positive and interested. Oh, and at the book launch for Polder, the tribute to John and Judith Clute, they took a picture for Locus, so look for me behind Ellen Datlow and in front of Peter Straub.

The comics panels were a bit disappointing on the whole (no knowledge of previous scholarship!) and there were a surprising number of no-shows at panels. We finally broke down and bought tickets to the Saturday night banquet and were glad we did in the end. Especially since everyone sang "Happy Birthday" to Tom and Charles gave him the original panels of Snow White that Tom had been trying to buy from him all week (they were in the art show). He was really surprised and touched. What a wonderful gesture!

So, I'm of two minds about the conference. We did end up having fun, but it's also an inconvenient loction and an expensive conference. Hmmm -- maybe if we fly to Miami and take a shuttle it wouldn't be as expensive. We'll see...

Oh! And coming soon (with an essay by me!) I found out by running into editor Joe Sanders:

Wyndham Ft. Lauderdale: Bad Hotel or the WORST Hotel

Put together rudeness, incompetence and crumbling infrastructure and you've got a fine advertisement for the Sheraton across the highway. We arrived late Tuesday night and used the courtesy phone to call for the shuttle. The hotel is only about a mile from the airport, so how long could it take?

HA HA!

Well, after fifteen minutes we called again and were assured that the driver had just taken off and would be there soon. Another fifteen or twenty minutes later we called and asked whether it was really coming or shoudl we just call a cab. Well, the shuttle finally came --- and drove right past us. The hotel hadn't told us that the shuttle couldn't stop at the terminal. So the dozen or so of us who had been waiting for the past hour had to high-tail it down the steamy asphalt to the place where it could stop. We finally got to the hotel where we were checked in by the curt night staff. We got to our room -- and surprise! It wasn't the right room -- two small beds instead of one big one. Another call to the surly staff and they assured us someone would arrive with keys to take us to the right room.

They came surprsingly soon. They brought us to a kind of room I recognized -- the two peepholes, one about halfway down the door should have been the tip off. It's the room kept in reserve for handicapped visitors. More's the pity. It's set up to have an accessible shower -- the result is that the shower water streams into a drain in the middle of the bathroom making the whole floor very slippery. Then there's the towel rack in an inconvenient place that obviously has come down many times either from knocking people on the head or being desperately grabbed by someone falling. The wall is drilled with numerous holes from re-attachment efforts and the rack hangs precariously. I won't even bother to mention the strategic position behind the ice machine or the toilet that never stops running...

But the most obvious issue is the surly staff. They must really be badly paid. Our waiter actually sighed aloud when we weren't ready to give the orders he obviously wanted to take. Everything seems to be a trial. And there's nothing nearby (except for the equally expensive Sheraton's restaurant) so we have limited choices for eating. We ate in the bar tonight and despite being incredibly busy, the bartender was very cheerful, so we may go back there.

On the plus side: talking with Tom Inge, who is always a lot of fun, and catching up briefly with Faye Ringel (hopefully we can do dinner tomorrow, too). Best panel by far: outsider art (everyone from Dadd to Darger) with folks like Charles Vess, Elizabeth Hand and Peter Straub. Best story (from another panel with GOH Vess): Vess told about going to the Bodleian Library with the Rackham Society and seeing a wonderful nineteenth-century book of Cinderella which had sort of paper dolls and a pop-up coach. You put a dress on Cin when she goes to the ball, and pop off her head to put her in the window of the carriage. Now, I can see kids coming up with alternative narratives with that removable head! Apparently the books were colored by child labour to speed the process of mass production. Vess's art show is wonderful (of course!) -- amazing work.

Gene's paper was on the first panel and went well despite some technical glitches at the beginning. Lots of folks were eager to comment on it. I don't give my presentation until the last sessions on Saturday, so I'm still waiting. We're taking it easy tonight -- a rare treat!

Off to ICFA

We head out to Ft. Lauderdale tonight. Sure, it sounds like a spring break getaway, but we're really not going to the beach. Even our hotel is right at the airport, so we probably won't see much of the town at all. I'm giving a talk on Johanna Sinisalo's Troll: A Love Story and Gene is giving a presentation on Dr. Strange. We'll see Tom Inge there, who'll be celebrating a birthday, so that will be fun. See the whole guest list at the link below ("Where I Plan to Be"). At least I won't be grading any papers!

Hello from Sedona

Hey folks -- get me! I'm actually relaxing. We'll see how long it takes me to get used to the idea. Haven't been here in thirty years (what I chiefly remember from that childhood trip is Sliding Rock). The beautiful red rocks are visible just out my window:

[Yes, I know they're not in focus, but they were too bright at mid-day and better at twilight, if a little shaky.] Oh, and at night? A galaxy of stars -- beautiful!

Farewell, Octavia Butler

I was terribly saddened to hear that the writer Octavia Butler died unexpectedly this weekend. There were so many books I was looking forward to read, so many stories she had yet to spin. I've used her book Kindred for my composition courses many times; I used her Parable of the Sower for my speculative fiction course last spring.

The latter book rings particularly loudly in my mind at this minute: the young narrator, Lauren, creates her own religion based on the horrors of the world unfolding around her. She sums up the epiphanies in short verses that become her manifesto, "Earthseed." The first of these is perhaps the most direct:

All that you touch
You Change.

All that you Change
Changes you.

The only lasting truth
is Change.

God
Is Change.

Revisions

I just opened a box with the new edition of Volume 1 of the Longman Anthology of British Literature. Flipping through it to look for changes, I came across a photo from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. It actually has a passage from the film script, too (Arthur and the Peasants).

And people actually ask me why I don't use a Norton Anthology! No comparison.

New Publication

I'm happy to report that I will have a publication forthcoming in an unusual outlet: Puppetry International Magazine. It brings together a variety of skills and readings which is always fun. The essay is "Future Medieval Space: Performing 'Punch' in Riddley Walker." I have been really fascinated with Punch of late, and this is one of the payoffs. I know I've mentioned Riddley Walker before (and recently reviewed the latest book by Russell Hoban), but the part that Punch plays in the novel continues to fascinate me, as does Hoban's use of the legend of St. Eustace (and the wall painting based on it in Canterbury Cathedral. Perhaps the fractured language that Hoban uses to evoke the stunted world after nuclear holocaust intrigues me most of all. Naturally, I have made sure to include this favorite book in my course about Canterbury that I'm teaching as part of the London trip this spring.

Finn-zapoppin'!

Well, you may recall my recent post about Finn friend Ulla Suokko, musician, storyteller and now, actor appearing on Conan O'Brien's show as part of his growing fascination with Tarja Halonen (thanks to Diane for that link).

Now another Finn friend has got into the act. Conan is going to Finland to meet with Halonen (who did successfully win re-election) and he's taking with him a kantele made by friend and extraordinary kantele-maker Gerry Henkel. Specially made for the television host, the "Konantele" has an image of Conan right on it:



You can read the whole story here!

Beowulf, Again

From Ain't it Cool:

"According to Avary, he and Neil Gaiman went to the original epic poem and did as literal a translation as possible, with the only liberties filling in holes in the story, either gaps in time or something left unexplained...In this instance, they realized that Grendel was the son of the demon and The King, which would be the reason he's tormenting his father, as well as dragging living men off to his mother."

Uh, sure. And the gold bikini on Angelina Jolie (AKA Grendel's mom) -- what's the Old English for that? Se gylden brydbosm?

Trimulierate

Three women of incredible stature passed from this earth recently:

Betty Friedan, whose monumental Feminine Mystique changed a generation and gave a name to a problem that many women experienced but could not articulate. The 1950s was the first time women were expected to be happy doing nothing but childcare and housekeeping. It was the first time there was that luxury. But it is not enough to keep the mind engaged. Shiny floors do not fulfill any human being -- children need parents who are full participants in the world -- not half-beings who derive all their fulfillment through other people.

Coretta Scott King, who was a devoted peace worker and concert singer before she joined hands with her more celebrated husband. She was never less than a partner, although the media commentators of the 1960s (and, regretfully, beyond) saw her only as a helpmate to her spouse. Her determination never flagged and she has shaped a legacy that makes this country a better place than it could have been without her.

Wendy Wasserstein, who explored the changes these two women helped foment. Some breakthroughs are so profound they are barely recognized later; the mainstream success of a play with all female characters in 1977 surprised playgoers and critics. Wasserstein's low key humorous approach to the problems that plagued a generation adjusting to the freedom and responsibilities of second wave feminism demonstrated the struggle without evoking the usual hostility aimed at anything "feminist." Perhaps her most lasting legacy comes upon the wave of memories of her not just as the successful playwright, but as the friend and mentor who was always willing to go the extra mile for those she could help. To be acclaimed for your work is wonderful: to be acclaimed universally as a person who brought much good to the world, well -- can there be much better?

Who will step into their shoes to lead a new generation?

Review: Linger Awhile

In a rare opportunity (provided by a trans-Atlantic flight), I actually read a brand new book -- Russell Hoban's Linger Awhile. I love Hoban's novel Riddley Walker, which I found an excuse to teach again this semester, so I was looking forward to reading this new one. It has a fun premise, smashing together Frankenstein, Dracula, DNA, cloning and classic Westerns. It's a bit slight, but entertaining -- if a little too flavored by an old man's sexual nostalgia (Hoban's 82 now). There's a lot sly word play, and you'll never look at frogs the same way again. While it's not up to his best, it is definitely fun and kept me entertained, sometimes laughing out loud.

Review: Looking for Comedy in the Muslim World

We were looking forward to seeing this; Brooks' usually reliable self-deprecating humor seemed to be a good risk for our movie dollars to take a break during the first hectic week of classes. It didn't help that just before the film started the otherwise empty theatre suddenly livened up with, as it turned out, a guy who laughed uproariously at everything Brooks said for the first part of the film and a couple who left behind a huge pile of detritus from their loud snacking during the film, clearly banking on the fact that someone else would clean up after them. Pigs.

The film starts out with a funny scene, Brooks meeting with a clearly unimpressed Penny Marshall to audition for the Stewart role in a remake of Harvey. A discouraged Brooks returns home to find his eBay-addicted wife greeting him with a letter from the State Department -- after some initial fears about what it might be, of course it turns out to be an invitation to spearhead a foray into India and Pakistan to, well, you can guess from the title. Brooks' nebbish (ironically named Albert Brooks, too) initially dreads the very idea -- particularly the 500 page report -- but gets persuaded by the thoughts of a Freedom medal ("the good one").

Of course, the aim of this is to show the self-involved ego-centrism of Americans with regard to the Muslim world. There is a lot of humor in Brooks' misadventures as he finds the cushy life to which he is accustomed harder to obtain and himself at sea among the plethora of languages and cultures of India. Unfortunately, he and the film never get beyond that. When one of his State Dept adjuncts reminds him of Lenny Bruce's edict, "Know your audience," you hope -- as Gene noted -- that the film will finally turn around, but it doesn't.

The film makes all the same errors that Brooks' clueless comedian does: using the beauty of India as a kind of colorful backdrop, but showing no interest beyond the superficial decoration. Just as Brooks' character missed the Taj Mahal because he's too busy obsessing about his own impending failure (the running joke about progress on the 500 pages report provides a slim but chuckle-worthy touchstone), the film fails to engage with the South Asian world in any significant way. The voice of India is reduced to the local assistant, Maya, who seems to have been chosen in large part because of her European looks and Keane eyes. The tantalising implications of her name (and her relationship with her Iranian boyfriend) never develop. Similarly, the end credits don't even cite the performers of the Indian music, only the two or three Western songs. Just as Brooks' character returns home no wiser (although perhaps leaving an international incident in his wake), the film too seems to shrug its metaphorical shoulders and leave the question unknowable and the people, presumably, inscrutable. In the end, I'm not sure what Brooks thought the film would do -- but I do know it didn't do it, unless he really did intend to leave the audience with a vague sense of disappointment and dissatisfaction. It is possible...

First Week of Classes

Overheard outside my office as I sipped my soup: "That was my Brit Lit professor from last semester. She was crazy good." I think it was a compliment...

Wandering Around London

All right, one more post to cover the England trip -- I should be working on things for the first day of classes tomorrow. But of course it's more fun to write:

Tuesdey ended up being book shopping day. I figured I needed to check out the other branch of Quinto (half price sale!) but when I got to Leicester Square I found they were closed until 2pm. However, I always have a back-up plan, so I went to Watkins and found a good book on English mythological roots. It's funny too that in two of the books I ended up buying by the end of the day, characters retraced a lot of the same footsteps I made, including one in Russell Hoban's new book who looks in the windows of Watkins.

Wandering idly, I decided on a whim (and with the need for a bathroom break) to go to the Portrait Gallery and enjoyed looking around. I didn't realize Clive Barker had work hanging in such a venerable institute until I ran across his portrait of Peter Blake. There's a new photo of Kate Bush, too, and recent Nobel prize winner Harold Pinter has an interesting portrait, right next to Jonathan Miller's.

When I left the gallery, Quinto was open -- and crowded! You pretty much had to crawl across bodies to get to the back, but that ended up being fortunate, because squashed up against the shelves as a couple tried to work their way forward, I saw a copy of Stenton's Anglo Saxon England for 5 pounds (then half off, yay!). After extricating myself from the press, I hit a couple more stores on my way back up Charing Cross Road. Once I hit Tottenham Court Road, I took the tube back out to Nottinghill Gate to the always wonderful Book & Comic Exchange, then it was back to Brad & Liz's to enjoy all my purchases.

My last day was spent enjoyably lunching with Roger Sabin in Clapham Common (thanks!) and then joining UConn pal John Sexton at Blackfriars Pub for a few Guinesses. Good thing Ealing Broadway has a restroom -- it's a long ride back to the westside after a couple pints!

What a wonderful dinner Liz made for my last evening in London -- mmmmm! And how unbelievably kind to get up so early and drive me to Gatwick in the cold morning frost and fog (which was lovely, even if it did delay the flight a little). But there isn't much that makes a ten hour flight enjoyable -- and then there was the whole lost luggage... So it was even better to see Gene's smiling face when at last I got out of the endless lines for customs and luggage. And nice to be asleep that night in my own bed with Gene beside me and Kipper curled up by my feet (refusing to move). I think Maggie even came in once during the night, but I may have only dreamed it.

Sequential Adventures

I was lucky enough to stay in London with our friends Brad & Liz and their daughter Sophie. So much nicer to be in a home rather than a sterile, generic hotel room. Besides, it offers me a chance to indoctrinate Sophie into the ways of Sanrio and share a lot of laughs with her parents. I got a good night's sleep and took my time going out in the morning after rush hour was over (love that Oyster card!). My only real work was to renew my British Library card. That done, I considered doing some work in the library, but then remembered I was supposed to be on vacation.

So, I said hello to the Beowulf manuscript and took a peek at the Nobel exhibit which featured artifacts and films. I saw some interesting things like a film on Rabindranath Tagore and Selma Lagerlöf's shoes. Afterward I wandered with the vague idea of checking out the hotel we'll be using for the UHD London program in May -- it's very conveniently located between Tavistock Square and Russell Square.

Once I was in Russell Square, how could I pass up a visit to Quinto Books? Particularly once I saw the HALF PRICE banners in the windows. Pity I could only find one book to buy. Made a quick stop in Atlantis, but only bought one book there, too. Then I wandered down to the National Gallery to see the medieval paintings (and see whether "their eyes followed me around the room"). But I also checked out a new exhibit by Tom Hunter called "Living in Hell" which featured his photos mixing Hackney, tabloid headlines and old Masters' works. Very compelling. Then it was back on the train to the west side for dinner and more relaxing.

I should really be finishing that last syllabus, so more later...

And did those feet in recent time...

Back from Britain with a cough, a limp, and -- as of a few minutes ago -- my luggage at last. Things were much better going than returning, which is always the case I suppose. It is much more fun to be going on a trip than coming back to work (and the semester starts Tuesday). The trip didn't seem propitious at first; step one was having the buckle come off my only pair of shoes as I went through security. Good thing for that travel sewing kit. I'm not much with a needle, but it was enough to keep it on for the rest of the journey. After my tailoring in the departure lounge, I decided I needed a drink (in hopes it would make me sleepy, too) so I had a martini before going to the gate. When I got to the gate, they said "you've had a seat change" which annoyed me because I had an aisle seat and didn't want to change. One of the staff took me aside in the jetway and said in a low voice "oh, we've been trying to find you" and suddenly I thought of what horrible news they might have for me, but it was only to tell me that I was being moved up to business first and that they'd appreciate my not mentioning it to my seat mates, "some of who paid three or four thousand dollars for their seats." Well -- I can say I did really enjoy my free champagne, duck dinner, and wide seat that opened up nearly flat for sleeping. Least jet lag ever!

Into Gatwick in the morning, onto a Thameslink to King's Cross and then the train to Cambridge. The countryside was still green and as we left London, a light snow began to fall and it was quite lovely. Once in town, there was just a short bus ride to the center of town and Emmanuel College at Cambridge University. I checked in at the porter's cottage and made my way across the quad to my room near the library (in the US such a dorm room would have at least four students). I tried to nap for an hour or so but was too jangly to sleep. Then I went off to explore and had some dinner at Nando's. I slept well the first night, which turned out to be an anomaly.

The conference started in the morning with a full English breakfast (yum) and jumped right into sessions. As a small conference, it was possible to see everything (no overlapping panels). I didn't give my paper until the second day; it seemed to go over well and I got some nice compliments and a request for a copy. It was nice to wander around the university in between meetings although I hardly remembered to take pictures (most of the time). The best, though, was Sunday morning when we got a special tour of King's College Chapel. It has quite an impressive setting. We got detailed information about the glass and architecture and a chance to go behind the velvet ropes and sit in the fellows' seats. Then we were told one of the the fellows, William Burgwinkle, (who was also a plenary speaker at the conference) would take those of us who were willing up on the roof. He emphasized that it was entirely our own choice (and risk).

As many of you know, I am terrified of heights, but when would an opportunity like this come my way again?

So I joined the group which hung around for a few minutes while they tried to locate the guy who had the key to the little door at the back of the chapel (he had gone to lunch). He came back and handed over the most wonderful big skeleton key and an assortment of torches (flashlights) as there were no lights on the stairs. It was an old stone stairwell, steps worn to curves with a rope to hang onto as we went round and round, up and up. When we finally got up to the top of the ceiling and took a little break to walk along the stones which form the gothic arches of the top of the chapel. There were a couple of holes to peek through and see the floor of the building a looooong way down. I took a picture from the narrow walkway around the ceiling level.

Then it was up to the roof -- quite a view! It was cloudy and overcast, and yet the view was magnificent. I can only imagine what it would have been like on a clear summer day. You can see what care was taken with the building -- there is a green man on the back of the spire which is really only visible from the roof. I wasn't brave enough to climb all the way to the apex but I did go up the ladder and take this picture.

Then it was time to pack up and leave (a few hours later than I planned). It was an exhausting weekend (for some reason I couldn't sleep very well, waking up at three or four each morning) and I was eager to get to London and collapse at Brad & Liz's house. More on that (and more adventures) tomorrow.

Cambridge

Yes, barely back a few days -- just long enough to shake off this cold -- and I am on my way again. This time I'm off to Cambridge and London (always a favorite destination). This will be my first visit to Cambridge, so I am excited.

I'll be attending the Gender & Medieval Studies Conference to give a paper on the Anglo-Saxon poem Juliana. I'll be staying in college too, which ought to be interesting. You'll find some lovely pictures of Emmanuel College here [look for the "Gallery" link]. And certainly there are plenty of things to see if they are open during the break. While I was disappointed to find that the Footlights Club does not have a physical location at Cambridge anymore, there's still a venerable history to soak up in the environs.

Well, back to work --

MLA

I am off to the Modern Language Association Conference tomorrow. At present, my paper on Njal's sagais still a page too long, but my PowerPoint presentation is just about ready.

While in DC, I'll be staying at the pop art Hotel Helix which, Mike Rhode tells me, is quite new, part of the dressing up of downtown. It's probably good to be a little way away from the main conference hotels--there is no anxiety quite like the job hunt anxieties at MLA. Think of it: thousands of people competing for hundreds of jobs, all trying to shine as brightly as they can for days on end. Having been on both sides of the table, I know it's an exhausting process for everyone.

Say, isn't there a good used bookstore in DuPont Circle...?

Yuletide

Today is the shortest day of the year. Is it any wonder that in these darkest days cultures around the world celebrate festivals of light? We all need reassurance that the light will return and with it hope. My best hopes for you all this season; may the coming year bring much joy and many useful challenges.

Medieval Traditions

We had our largest ever graduation at UHD. It's funny to see everyone in these costumes that haven't changed all that much from the twelfth century or so. Many other things have changed, however, when the medieval universities were explicitly Christian and almost exclusively male. I had to read out the names of the graduates of the College of Humanities and Social Sciences, so I had an anxious time preparing to read monikers which come from all over the globe and show the wonderful diversity of our campus life. I'm just glad I didn't know I was going to end up on TV, too! Yikes -- our departmental administrative assistant, Ruby Brown-Hogan, told me she saw me on the news. Am I destined only to be photographed in funny hats?

Thanks!

Thanks to all my pals for remembering my natal day. I suppose I wasn't surprised to see a big Sanrio bag on the table this morning :-) and I've already been out for breakfast. Tonight is the medieval music concert with Collegium Mysterium and then dinner at Collina's. Here's a faboo card from my pal, the fabulously talented Elena Steier:

Can You Read This?

If so you may be in a minority!

A new study published by the Department of Education reports (and reported in the New York Times and other newspapers) that literacy has fallen significantly for recent college graduates, as well as alarmingly amongst Latinos. Working at an open admissions university, I have seen this trend first hand. It is one of the challenges of working here to balance a classroom with a wide array of student preparedness.

What the study highlights is not this problem, one educators know well, but the overall impact of the failure of education in this country. The study reports that only 13% of the population achieves the level designated "Proficient." This is the top level of measurement, mere proficiency, which they define as:

• reading lengthy, complex, abstract prose texts as well as synthesizing information and making complex inferences

• integrating, synthesizing, and analyzing multiple pieces of information located in complex documents

• locating more abstract quantitative information and using it to solve multistep problems when the arithmetic operations are not easily inferred and the problems are more complex

Only 13% of the population? What percentage of the population graduates from some college? Surely more than 13%! Yet so many are apparently incapable of the skills required to pass my Freshman Composition course. Clearly, we are falling down on the job. It's easy to see why: education has no value, but it has prestige. As John Gardner wrote,

We must learn to honor excellence in every socially accepted human activity, however humble the activity, and to scorn shoddiness, however exalted the activity. An excellent plumber is infinitely more admirable than an incompetent philosopher. The society that scorns excellence in plumbing because plumbing is a humble activity and tolerates shoddiness in philosophy because it is an exalted activity will have neither good plumbing nor good philosophy. Neither its pipes nor its theories will hold water.

Here's to honoring excellence!

Kong is King

We went by the theater early and saw no line, so we went off to dinner. When we got back the line had formed. A guy went up and down the line as it lengthened warning folks to get rid of any cell phones with cameras as they would not be allowed in. Gene was without his Treo and felt naked, but we complied. They frisked purses and gave us all a going over with the wand (ahhh, should I rephrase that?), plus had staff with night goggles checking out the audience for surreptitious filming. Very serious.

From the very first frames, Jackson cues us that this is loving tribute to the original, from the art deco credits to the loving evocation of 1930s New York (as reconstructed in New Zealand). Yet he gives the film an edge of modern sensibilities in reconfiguring the characters and the arc of the story. Over all that may be the biggest problem, the uncomfortable mismatch between 1930s sensibilities and those of the 21st century, especially when it comes to problematic things like racial portrayals and what you might call moments of "movie magic," i.e. things that happen because they need to do so. However, that's really a quibble for post-viewing discussion over drinks with friends (and in large part due to Jackson's faithfulness to the original story). And occasionally he lingers just a little too long on the faces of Watts and Kong; the film could be cut without major sacrifice, but --

In short, it was a fantastic ride and I loved it.

Naomi Watts is luminously filmed and made up so she glows like a vintage Hollywood star. She brings a surprising new sensibility to the role (including her comic work) that makes her more appealing to modern temperaments without discarding the traditional feel of the part. Jack Black is reined in somewhat from his bombast, although he is supposed to be a bit of a hustler and manages to make the director who will get his film done at any cost both sympathetic and eventually, suspect (one can't help seeing a little self-criticism from Jackson). While the on-board fate of the writer played by Brody may be a little too on the nose, he does admirable work in making us believe his role, as does the more comic turn by the "hero" Kyle Chandler. Terrific supporting cast including Andy Serkis, Thomas Kreschmann as the captain and Evan Parke as Hayes. A good number of in-jokes (most horror related) sprinkle the opening half hour, at which Gene and I were about the only ones laughing.

Oh, wait -- you want to know about the ape, right? Well, I've never been big on monkeys and apes (apart from Hanuman and Gene, the monkey man whom I love for reasons unexplained), but I may have been won over. Looks good. Which is to say, believable, moving, real -- scarred, emotive, authentic. An animal, not a human in monkey skin -- one of the most affecting things is that his non-human (but intelligent) nature comes through. The island and all its amazing creatures look good -- and terrifying in most cases. Jackson does a terrific job of giving the audience stunning moments of awe, then jerking you painfully into terror (one of the most beautiful and sweet versions of this comes near the end).

If you want to know nothing at all before you see the film, stop here. If you don't mind knowing the arc of the story (which is much the same as the original) without any important spoilers, continue:






You know Kong fights a dinosaur. You have NO idea. Absolutely amazing.

You know there are big bugs. You have NO idea. I was squirming in my seat.

Joey: the bats! You will love them.

You know we end up on the Empire State Building. I have a terrible fear of heights and vertigo. I was near collapse by the end and sweat was pouring off my hands as my knees went weak. One of the interesting choices was all the long shots of Kong atop the building, making him look so tiny in the big city, so lost.

In resisting the desire to completely anthropomorphize Kong, the ending seems even more bitterly cruel. Watts is our conduit to Kong throughout and the face of our grief, our empathy, and she does an incredible job of conveying thoughts and emotions without any words -- as does the face of Kong, both familiar and alien. Like us, but not us.

In the end, it's a movie about a giant ape. Some might find that silly. It is silly. But it works -- it is spectacle. And Jackson's humor and thoughtfulness make it work. Unexpected turns keep the action lively (and yeah, sometimes quite funny), and the familiar story takes on new resonance. It may be a touch of nostalgia, but it delivers. I laughed, I cried -- I was totally absorbed. It was really cathartic.

Twenty Five Years

That night I was driving back from my late night shift at Toys R Us, pleased to hear cuts from Double Fantasy on the radio, until I heard the announcement that cut so sharply.

I don't like to dwell on death days: I'd rather remember the beginnings, the creations, the wonder. I turn away from television programs that glorify the fifteen minutes of fame awarded a mentally-deranged gun nut because he killed someone famous. And as always, I turn to funny things to make me laugh.

Of late, there's the appearance of John Lennon on "Not Only...But Also..." which recently came my way. It's got John playing a men's room attendant and also performing in one of the In His Own Write pieces. The great book of the Beatles' connection to British humor has yet to be written. Think of it: George with the Pythons and Rutles (and pre-Python Rutland Weekend Television, singing the Pirate song and playing "Pirate Bob") or all the Beatles on Morecambe and Wise (which at least we have audio now on the Anthology). What made them a success from the start? Their charm -- a large part of which was due to their shared sense of humor and the absurd. It was always there -- sometimes hidden away in the fan club Christmas messages, sometimes more directly in the songs and in the films.

Today, let us always remember that "It's a laugh a line with Lennon!"

Ritual and Response

I attended a meeting today for graduation. I will be a marshal (yet, I get no badge -- how is that fair?), so there are additional duties I needed to know about. Graduation is already a step back in time to the medieval universities and their rituals and robes. Now I have additional complex steps within the ritual. Some marshals are banner-bearers, some student-herders; I will be a name-caller. The unpleasant scrutiny that "fame" brings (in this case, a faculty award is all the fame it needed), also carries extra duties and responsibilities. I will be visible in a public ritual, something I have usually sought to avoid. Middle child syndrome: always hungering for the spotlight, but inevitably uncomfortable in it.

I was struck by the gravity of the ritual, and yet the reluctant recognition that it could not be controlled. "Try to get the students to stay" was the theme, whether it was to get them in line for the procession or in their seats after the walk across the platform. And then there's the arena itself--keep off the grass! Minute Maid Park has to be maintained in game shape. What to do when rituals collide? No victory laps for the graduates; decorum must be maintained!

Plethora

I have been immersing myself since this summer in British comedy, mostly vintage, but not exclusively. Some of it has come via trips to England, some via Ebay, some via friends (thanks Brad! and James). It's odd how much of this is resurrected from my teens. Why is that someone raised in Mid-Michigan was exposed to so much British comedy? Curious, eh?

I can't recall for sure the exact order of things. I know that around the same time our local PBS channel at MSU was showing Monty Python, their sister NPR station was playing not only the Goon Show but also I'm Sorry I'll Read That Again. Just about the time I had got hooked on the shows, they also began to broadcast The Goodies. Then there was finding A Poke in the Eye with a Sharp Stick (probably in Wazoo Records or FBC in East Lansing), the first of many Amnesty International comedy benefits. This introduced me at last to the genius that is Peter Cook.

Well, I think that was the chain. It all seemed to happen at once. Maybe I actually found the Beyond the Fringe LPs before that. I can't really tell anymore. As Gene has noted recently, when I get obsessed with something (or re-obsessed in this case), I go all out. Between the long awaited release of many of these shows on DVD and the wonders of the internet in making available recordings no longer available (thank to things like the BBC wiping tapes -- ayiiii!), I am reveling once more in this terrific comedy. Things I never thought I'd see, like At Last the 1948 Show and Do Not Adjust Your Set have actually been released here (and yes, I have them).

Best of all? The humor stands the test of time. While the occasional timely joke falls flat, most of the humor remains fairly timeless. Unfortunately, there will always be pompous idiots, craven politicians, misguided wars and hypocrites. And perhaps, too, there will always be some kind of C. P. Snow, ravens who must be taught to swim and, somewhere warm, four Yorkshiremen who reflect on life as it used to be.

Phi Kappa Phi

I was delighted to be invited to join the honor society Phi Kappa Phi. There will be an induction ceremony on Friday night. However, I received a second surprise yesterday: they had two speakers in a row cancel on them, so one of the organizers asked me whether I'd like to read one of my short stories in lieu of actually delivering an academic presentation. Given the short notice, I certainly wasn't ready to give a scholarly talk! But I am more than willing to read a story. Considering the proximity of the source, I think I'll read "On Buffalo Bayou," which recently appeared in the New Texas Literary Journal. I hope they like it.

Buy Nothing Day

Fighting against the tide of gaudy sales circulars and blaring advertisements, many are joining in a worldwide phenomenon, Buy Nothing Day. The advantage to this particular organization is that it costs you nothing -- and frees you from consuming for at least one day. While other people are lined up outside Wal-Mart at 4 am, you can be snuggled in your warm bed. While other people come to blows in mall parking lots, you can be relaxing by reading a book. While other people swarm to buy gifts they don't really need for people they don't really like, you can be sorting through your belongings to decide what you can give away. It's a win-win situation!

Expanded Interview

The expanded version of the interview I did with Diane Saarinen is available for download in PDF format from New World Finn and falls on about page 23. You can also get the much easier to manage paper version by subscribing. In the interview I talk about writing and my work on Unikirja. Thanks again are due to Diane, who first interviewed me for Quiet Mountain Essays.

Review: Walk the Line

We had free passes to see this last night and dutifully made our way outsde the loop to a megaplex we'd never seen before. The night was hosted by the Houston Chronicle (source of our free passes) and some local country radio station (Gene always argues that since their call letters are KILT that they should be playing Scottish music, but I digress). Ironic of course, considering how little support country music stations gave Cash over the years. But nice freebie posters (we grabbed a handful, so let us know if you'd like one).

From the very first frames Phoenix's Cash is sweating profusely -- he seems to burn all the way through the film. It's a flame that powers his inspiration -- and his danger. It kind of helps that I already know a lot of the story, although this is not really so much a biography of Cash and Carter, as the account of their inevitable collision. From the first moment when little J.R. hears 10 year old June on the radio (a moment, Gene pointed out, that would seem totally over the top if it weren't true), it seems they are careening toward one another as much as they try to hold back.

The flame that is Cash crashes through life unable to shake off the shadow of his brother's untimely death, unable to knuckle under to the "realities" of life his wife Vivian tries to get him to reconcile himself to absorbing. But he's unable to ignore the siren song of music, of fame, of Carter's good girl charm. While Vivian tries to bank the flames, Witherspoon's Carter feels its draw but resists surrendering to it. It's wonderful to watch these two inhabit their roles. Phoenix becomes Cash, growing into the voice of the battered penitent, while Witherspoon brings out the amazing strength beneath the polished professional exterior. There's a wonderful scene where a Southern woman puritannically rips her apart with matter-of-fact cruelty, and she responds with conciliatory words of apology that show both her well-trained persona and the depths of her pain. While her life is sketched even more lightly than Cash's, there are many moments of delight, such as when she and her folks chase off Cash's would-be drug dealer. If only her legs weren't so skinny! It's inhuman.

Phoenix will undoubtedly receive the bulk of the acclaim, but they both do terrific jobs appropriating this story of a love that burns and nearly consumes them both.

The Libertine

Well, I got all excited hearing this long-awaited film would finally be released, but of course that proved premature (it still doesn't have a rating). While it will be released in New York and Los Angeles, it won't hit the sticks (including the fourth largest city in the nation) until January. In the meantime, we can all visit the official website and view the trailer.

The film covers the life of 17th century poet, dramatist and, of course, libertine John Wilmot, the Earl of Rochester, who had a master's degree by 14 and died by the age of 33. He wrote love poems, dramas and scorn:

Were I - who to my cost already am
One of those strange, prodigious creatures, man -
A spirit free to choose for my own share
What sort of flesh and blood I pleased to wear,
I'd be a dog, a monkey, or a bear,
Or anything but that vain animal,
Who is so proud of being rational...

And then suddenly --

I died! I'm just glad there are tentacles. It's all in chapter eight, part two, of Richard Crawford's Fred, Again. Here's another passage showing the true life of the college prof:

Hurriedly, she grabbed her satchel and thrust the ancient book, as well as a few reference materials, into it. This made the satchel extremely heavy and bulky, but as a liberal arts professor she was used to that. Almost as an afterthought she grabbed the thirty student essays that she was supposed to be grading and put them into the satchel as well...

Ha ha -- Painful accuracy there! Sounds like most days for me.

Dancing into Death

Who knew it? That I secretly teach swing dancing in my off hours?

Well, that's according to the novel in progress by my Horror cohort Richard Crawford. Here's a sample:

“Right. Okay.” Fred cleared his throat. “Do you have any contact information for this Doctor Nefario? Any way of getting in touch with him should, say, a class be canceled for any reason?”

Joe nodded. “Yep. In fact, we may have to use it tonight if Doctor Laity doesn’t show up to teach. Where is that woman?”

Fred nodded sympathetically and said, “I understand. We’ve got a few slackers down at the precinct.”

“You don’t understand,” Joe said. “This is totally unlike Doctor Laity. She’s a professor of literature or medieval studies or something at the University. You don’t get to be a professor like that if you’ve got sloppy work habits and can’t come to work on time. She’s never late. Never even called in sick. I have to say,” he added, “I’m a bit worried about her.”

This is all part of NaNoWriMo, the write a novel in a month project that unfurls talent every November. It's a great kick to get going if you've ever thought about writing a novel. Try it! And stop by to see how I get killed in Richard's novel...

Lights! Cameras!...Inaction?

Robert forwarded me the link that allows folks outisde the Bard world see the camera set up in his office to look down at the construction of the Gabrielle H. Reem and Herbert J. Kayden Center for Science and Computation at Bard. So far, it's less than riveting. Yes, we are trying to get Robert to turn the camera around so we can see the clown painting, or else to find some way to get puppets in front of the lens so it will look as if monsters are attacking the building site.

Review: Mirrormask

We were really looking forward to this film designed by Dave McKean and written by Neil Gaiman. It was only playing at one theater in town, so we finally hied ourselves over to catch it before it disappeared. At the matinee showing, it appeared that we would have a private screening, until just after the film started a woman came in and sat right behind us in the otherwise empty theater. Sigh.

Reviews of the film have been mixed (or just negative) and it's easy to see why. While visually stunning and inventive, the story drags. It's a simplistic tale of good v. evil writ upon the life of a (pre?) teen girl, but that in itself is not a problem -- how many great narratives have begun with just that frame? No, the problem is that movement from one point to the next is not propelled by story but by what seems to be the desire to create another stunning tableau. And they are stunning whether gorgeous or menacing, but that's not very engaging. Because of the lack of engagement, the Neil moments stand out a little more nakedly: funny, sure, but unconnected (I still think Neil needs an Anthony Blanche to warn him away from the dangers of charm). While the actors manage to round out the characters, they are forced by the plot to become little more than chess pieces, moved by the need to get to the next tableau rather than by the need to accomplish something.

There is a fun cameo by Stephen Fry.

The visuals are amazing, melding live action and special effects seamlessly for the most part, creating incredible creatures and wonderful buildings. But the film, in the end, is a big picture book with the rudiments of story. The pictures are amazing. When one character appears without the omnipresent mask, it's a bit of a let down. I immediately thought of Garbo's response to the revelation of Jean Marais at the end of Cocteau's La Belle et la Bete: "Give me back my beautiful beast!" Why settle for anything less than the extraordinary?

Happy Halloween!

Where ever you may be, hope the tricks and treats are great -- eat lots of chocolate!

UPDATE: here's why we miss our good friends so much this time of the year -- here's the Joey Zone and Perilous Cheryl as Papa Legba and Marie Laveau at Ralph's Diner in Worcester, MA, photo courtesy of Sasquatch and the Sick-a-Billys drummer, Miss Natalie.

That Feeling of Accomplishment

Halloween cards are in the mail! I was despairing of actually getting a card out this year, but the right conflation of events finally coaxed it out of me. What were those events? Well, first a meeting that I needed to attend but didn't need to hear everything at, so I could scribble in the back of the room the ideas I had had for the card (as well as get some grading done). The original idea didn't pan out, but I had a new (simpler) inspiration which seemed much more fruitful. Then it was off to teach the third class of the day and finally make it home (after a stop at Star Pizza -- yum!), where I realized I had left the piece of paper with my notes on it in my office. Perhaps, I thought, it just wasn't going to happen.

Then there was waking up at quarter to four; it was difficult to get back to sleep and so my thoughts turned to what I had been trying to write earlier. I knew I would likely forget all I had thought, so I got up and wrote down the new version, and it seemed better (of course, it was the middle of the night). I had to try not to trip over the cats ("what are you doing up? this is our time" "I'm going to follow her" "No, I am!") on my way to my office and back, but I finally got back in bed and eventually fell asleep,

Convinced I had dreamed it, I got up this morning and sure enough, there were the new scribbles on a pad next to the computer, so I typed it up and fixed the layout and started printing. I went off to my class in the Woodlands and then came back to finish printing. Then Gene and I sat to fold, sign, envelope (ow! paper cuts -- some lucky people are getting a little blood with their cards) and stamp the cards, before I ran out to the post office to send them off.

It may seem a little silly just for Halloween cards, but getting something done -- having tangible results -- is always a great feeling. Now it's time to get back to work on projects with less immediate feelings of accomplishment.

"Fiasco" no fiasco

Thanks to some of my generous colleagues (and friend Peter!) we had a reading of my new play Fiasco last night. It seemed to go all right; that is to say, people laughed (it is meant to be a comedy). I was able to see errors and typos, as well as judge where it might need to be expanded or cut. It does make such a difference to actually hear the words out loud. It was a bit embarrassing that I was laughing more than anybody, but you do have to write to please yourself. At least I wasn't the only one laughing, so that was all right. Some folks were reading it cold, so the laughs came unexpectedly. I had actually forgotten parts that I had written -- is that odd? Not for me. Once I've written something, I tend to forget it. It is almost as if someone else wrote it; I kid about channeling Peter Cook as I wrote this play, ha ha. But it is wonderful how creativity just pours out of your head surreally (when it does), and depressing when it doesn't. The sad truth is that sometimes the flow just dries up. Usually it means that it is time to feed your head. Go out for a walk, read a good book, see some engaging art, or even watch a film. Dive into conversation with interesting people -- it fills the well once more.

The Rise and Rise of Michael Rimmer (1970)

I took advantage of a bad cold to finally relax and watch this film. An oddity from 1970, this film takes a cynical look at advertising, politics and the often thin line between them. Co-written by Peter Cook, John Cleese, Graham Chapman and director Kevin Billington, it's no surprise the satire bites. The film is also stocked with terrific mainstays of British acting including Arthur Lowe and Denholm Elliott; and that's not even mentioning the role played by recent Nobel prize winner, Harold Pinter. As the superb review at IMDB says:

"... it is a truly wonderful thing to behold Peter Cook, Denholm Elliot and the great Harold Pinter (as an fantastically smarmy TV talk-show host) appearing in the same frame trying to out-smarm each other. It's a three way draw. Brilliant."

But the reviewer is also correct that the overall effect is unsuccessful. While Peter Cook is unsettling and surreally charming as Rimmer, there's also a remoteness that keeps the characters from ever becoming engaging, although Denholm Elliott very nearly succeeds in making the too-easily-corrupted Peter Niss, if not sympathetic, at least believable. Given the current climate of bald-faced media manipulation by politicians, this film seems far ahead of its time. The ease with which the sociopathic climber Rimmer succeeds, moving from deceit to dissembling to outright murder (and perhaps more chillingly, from ad exec to eventual dictator), hits a little too close to home to be very funny anymore.

A Star is Born: Finnish Style

Multi-talented Finnish musician/storyteller/performer Ulla Suokko just added one more line to her resume: TV personality. I was alerted by intrepid Finnish-American reporter Diane Saarinen that she had heard (by way of Gerry Henkel) that Ulla had appeared on Conan O'Brien's Late Night show. I was aghast to have missed Ulla's television debut, but fortunately, I am married to a very clever man and within minutes, Gene had located a clip on the internet.

Apparently this all came about because Conan's show is now broadcast in Finland, and Finnish fans have started showing up at the tapings in NYC, which delighted Conan -- even more so when he decided that he had a more than passing resemblence to Finland's President Tarja Halonen (note that Finland's president has no qualms about posting her resume on line). He has decided to help in her re-election effort for that very reason (although as an extremely popular president she doesn't really need much help).

So, they prepared a "campaign advertisement" for Finnish television, with Conan and Ulla portraying a couple at the dinner table. Ulla did most of the talking, since the ad was in Finnish (much of it very silly but positive things about Halonen's presidency, like "now we have more carp!"), but Conan repeated the final lines about voting for her "because she looks like me!" in Finnish. Very funny.

Undoubtedly, after this performance Ulla will be much in demand for television roles -- and who knows? Are movies next? I wouldn't be at all surprised. [In the interest of full disclosure, I should note that not only am I a friend of Ulla, but I also worked with Conan's dad at Harvard Medical School.]

TEMA

It is probably a good thing to give your paper in the first panel of the first day of a conference. Not being much of a morning person, I had given my paper and answered questions before I even had a cup of tea (I foolishly assumed there'd be coffee service at registration). Consequently, I was barely awake. Things went well nonetheless, so perhaps I should consider such a thing more often. I spoke about Old English charms, in particular about a charm to return fertility to a field that (I argue) treats the body of the earth much like the body of a human, in particular much like the body of a woman.

The conference was at the M. D. Anderson library at the UH campus across town. They're also hosting a lovely little exhibit of medieval manuscripts which will be a fine extra credit opportunity for my students, I think. There were some beautiful examples of manuscripts, and they were matched with a nice display of the tools and techniques of manuscript production, as well as recreated pieces of manuscript art produced by some Fine Arts students.

Departure (Delayed)

I’m writing this as I wait to find out whether my flight will be leaving four hours later as I have just been told or whether the weather will make that unlikely. They aren’t very forthcoming with information. They try to avoid saying anything and don’t like to put up on the board that the flight is delayed.

Well, the conference ended better than it started. It helped a lot that Rod and Elena came up to hang out for the afternoon (thanks again, I really appreciated it!) We went to the Witch History Museum which was a hoot. All these tableaux with Sears mannequins dressed as Pilgrims. It was clear 1) how old they were (Elena pointed out the authentic cob webs) and 2) how much our knowledge of the history has diverged from the original narrative the mannequins tell. So there was a clear split between the rhetoric of word and of image. We got out just in time to go over to the Boys & Girls Club for my talk. To my surprise there was a pretty good crowd (I expected a half dozen at most, including me, Rod and Elena. There were forty or fifty people there, I think, and fairly enthusiastic. At least they seemed to laugh in the right places (“oh dear, I’ve got a huge lump on my arm! What do you suppose caused that?”) and asked a few questions, asked for my card at the end, and best of all, bought the books I brought with me. Yay! It was a fun talk – one I’ll have to repeat. Of course I tried to cram way too much into the time, but hey, I do that.

We had a great dinner out on the Pickering Wharf at the Captain’s and then Rod and Elena had to head back to Connecticut. I ran inside in time to catch Sharyn November’s storytelling hour. She’s the editor of Firebird, the YA imprint of Penguin, and a really lively individual and a straight shooter. Although the picture she painted of the editing world was far less glamorous than some audience members hoped, she clearly loves her work and gets a serious charge out of it. It was clear from the way she quizzed audience members on their current reading and recommended writers they might not have heard of yet. Besides, she folded an origami crane while she was talking.

It was an easy transition to Charles de Lint’s story hour, since he’s one of the those writers she edits, and anyway, he was already sitting in the audience. He started off reading his story from the forthcoming Firebird anthology (Firebirds are Go! just kidding), which Sharyn has convinced him to expand to a novel. It was both funny and touching. Then it was coffee hour time. Charles and MaryAnn explained that they liked to have more informal sessions to allow fans to ask questions and eat -- they brought chips and salsa. Sharyn stayed to kibbutz and had people laughing out loud often, especially when the two Canadians kidded her about her fascination with their Canadianism. Eventually Charles and MaryAnn got back to making music, stopping in between songs as usual to tell stories and explain connections. I finally couldn’t resist asking if Sam were there, and sure enough, he was along for the ride -- and we were also introduced to MaryAnn’s little bear Ted who travels with Sam, but seldom gets the spotlight. Charles was aghast to hear one young woman suggest that Sam the Monkey was really an ape, but said it didn’t really matter anyway. “His name is Sam the Monkey,” he said, which didn’t necessarily mean he had to be a monkey. “My name’s Charles de Lint but it doesn't mean I'm made of lint.”

A lot of songs, mostly different from the night before, except for ending on “Cherokee Girl” (which has continued in my head all day -- when will they finish their CD?). They sang Charles’ crow girls song, “Bad Girls,” which he described as a sort of Tom Waits/Ennio Morricone/Pink inspired tune. MaryAnn (or should I say, “Blind Citrus Harris” as she was introduced) even played harmonica on one song rather than her usual turns on mandolin and shaker. At the end, Charles signed books and we reluctantly left, to await the (last!) yellow school bus back to the Sheraton.

And now is only the waiting -- I should do work, but somehow I don’t much feel like it. At least I have plenty to read…and a computer!

[Written: 10/10/05 3.45 pm -- the plane was delayed about four hours, so I finally got back to the house about 11.45pm]

Charles de Lint & MaryAnn Harris

Last night I was delighted to have another opportunity to see these two perform. Unfortunately, it was at the conference-who-shall-no-longer-be-named, so that meant it was held in the gym at the Salem Boys & Girls Club (according to the grafitti in the girls' locker room, "the YMCA is much better") which was a nice echoey cinderblock-walled cavern. There was sound equipment but no sound technician, so none of it was working. They finally gave up and just pushed the equipment aside, asked everybody to pull up close and performed an intimate acoustic set. Meanwhile conference staff chatted amongst themselves, laughed and talked loudly, people came in and out shouting, leaving the door open so that the noisy hallway ruckus competed with the singing. They actually had to stop singing at one point to ask someone to close the door. It was disrespectful and unprofessional of the conference staff.

Those problems aside, it was a delightful show nonetheless. And no, not just because they played my request "Crow Girls" right away, or what would have been my second request (the song about the dog that Karen Shaffer [who is not coincidentally Charles Vess' wife, and who co-curated the Mythic Journeys art show last year]) without my requesting it. Everybody sang along with the chorus of "Cherokee Girl," the song Charles wrote for Terri Windling, which he hoped would help send healing thoughts her way as she was suffering from a cold. The two of them told stories, finished -- or corrected -- one another's sentences. "We're married," MaryAnn added superfluously with a smile. The stories were always fun and gave little snapshots of their lives and adventures. As usual, they performed some Fred Eaglesmith songs, including one called "Good Dog" which brought tears to a few eyes. There was a tribute to author and conservationist Edward Abbey, and a Dave Alvin song about a painter who worked long enough to get money, went out into the desert to paint, returned only to sell paintings and get supplies. One time he just never came back. The chorus was something like "they never found your body, never understood your mind." Very moving, but they also had plenty of upbeat songs, like their paen to Highway 105, the route they take to their school-bus cottage on the lake.

It was a bit dark and the PDA takes only so-so pictures, but here's a blurry one (that too speedy shutter):

Fiasco

No, not talking about the conference (yet), but a play that I have been working on. I have Act I done (I think) and I'd love to hear feedback. As I don't have to worry about it being "published" as I would with a story (you can't generally get plays published anyway, until they have been produced), I will make it available here for download. I should let you know it's about 50pp long, so you don't just download and start printing. It is of course a comedy -- or rather, I suppose, a satire. Naturally, it has been heavily influenced by my immersion in British comedy of late (thanks to all who contributed to that, especially Brad--those CDs have been wonderful!), but I hope still sounds like me and not as if I am channeling Peter Cook (though it felt like that at times).

Out my window it's a beautiful fall day, a little drizzly with the leaves only beginning to turn. But I can see miles and miles of trees and it makes such a difference. Yesterday when one of the bus drivers took us along the shoreline, I realized just how much I miss the water, too. Bayous just aren't the same. They are either nigh invisible trickles or raging floods. It's good to be in New England, if only for a visit.

Off to Pottermania! (I just realized that my blog still maintains central time, so I added the hour.)

Haunting Salem

What is it? A lunar landscape?

Nope -- just the patched over ceiling of my hotel room. But did you see the gorgeous crescent moon last night? And two planets clearly visible nearby -- Venus? Mars?

Well, after a 45 minute wait I finally got on a shuttle bus (you know this conference is going well, right?) for the 40 minute ride to the other hotel, but I did manage to do a little touristing and shopping. What's Salem without a visit to the cemetery?

Here's the last known resting place of both Nathaniel and Jon Archer. And of course, I couldn't resist swinging by the Pirate Museum.

Tires, me and OAPs

Early in the morning I was on my way, off to Intercontinental for my flight to Boston. Everything was going smoothly—I even got a seat in a row all by myself, so I could go back to sleep—until I realized we were not moving. I was behind a big tour group of elderly folks with matching bags and IDs, the women with big Texas hair (some of it synthetic, some natural; well, when I say “natural” I do mean it grew out of their heads. What was done to it after that had nothing to do with nature.) who were chatting merrily so no one seemed too concerned.

I thought maybe they were waiting on a vet to sedate the dog that we could hear barking madly, but no. The captain comes on the intercom to say that we needed a new tire and it would take 45 minutes to an hour to accomplish that. After a little more time, they decided we needed to get off the plane, but told us not to go too far. I barely had time to call Robert and annoy him at work when they called us to reboard. We were all set to go when they realized that two people were missing from the tour group. Their friends tried phoning them, but they had left their cell phones off. One of the tour leaders loudly proclaimed that she would not depart without them, and in her firm resolve I imagined the story of another tour who had left one behind, disappearing into the jaws of an itinerant crocodile. But they arrived at last, out of breath, deeply embarrassed and greeted with applause.

After that things went smoothly, and I stretched out across my empty row and slept most of the flight (not used to those early hours!). Before I knew it, we were descending into Boston. I weaved my way among the retirees on the jet way and walked out the door of Logan to find an Avis bus just pulling up, and hopped on it to go get my Ford Focus. There’s always a lot of traffic north of Boston, but two rotaries (and a pass nearby Malden, Adrean!) later I was approaching Danvers and the Sheraton. I got in all right and they had a registration desk for the conference too, but not my registration stuff (forgot to send my last owl). Then I get to my room and find there is not, in fact, internet access because the wireless network cannot be found in my room. Nice eh? So I’m writing this in Word in my room, and if the free wireless does work in the lobby as the front desk now says (after three calls and no answer!) then I’ll put it up. If not, I’ll be entering these when I return.

Well -- the free wireless in the lobby isn't working, but I finally found a spot in the room where I can get the wireless signal: between the room door and the bathroom door. Lovely -- welcome to the Fawlty Towers of the North Shore.

Witching Hour

I'm off in the morning to The Witching Hour: The Harry Potter Symposium where I'll be talking about Anglo-Saxon magic and charms. It should be a lot of fun. It will be interesting to see what academics have written about Rowling's books. Best of all it's in Salem, MA. This means October in New England, "foilage" and friends, if all goes well. If nothing else, it means a tiny break in a very busy semester. Yes, I did have the hurricane days, which did help, but I have had far too many deadlines to meet in the first six weeks of the semester. Why do I do this to myself? (well, in the hopes of getting more than a few days off.) But the fellowship applications went off Monday (ten copies! for one of them), so there's just this weekend and next (TEMA) and then I can draw a little breath.

Then there's only MLA... (eek). But I should have plenty of time to get that paper polished before the last week in December. Right?

Beowulfzapoppin

Courtesy of ANSAX, I have links to the Irish Repertory Theatre's musical production of Beowulf complete with "Celtic harp"(!), as well as a review of the new Icelandic film, Beowulf and Grendel which ANSAXer Murray McGillivray describes as "a fine job of depicting the period imagined by our poet" if still a "a 'modern riff' on the Beowulf story." Some wag also forwarded a link to some McSweeney's writer's riff on the story. With both Benjamin Bagby and Julie Taymor's works in the new year, it promises to be a real golden year for Anglo-Saxon scholars.

New Publication

I just got an email from editor Suzanne at Quiet Mountain Essays that my short non-fiction essay "Picking up the Chalk Again" is up with the rest of the new issue. As always, there is an interesting mix of feminist points of view: I am paired with Helene Kylen's biographical essay about "midlescence," the term she coined for a rebirth of adolescent enthusiasm in midlife. She ends the account of her ups and downs with the positive reflection, “Never let the presence of the thorn stop you from enjoying the rose.” Wise words indeed.