A fine ode to benevolence

I'm now going to review A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.

My version of this timeless classic is Annotated, which I would certainly recommend as the ideal binding. There are a surprising number of "slang" terms of the time, and the footnotes can come in handy, I felt.

I won't summarise the story, since everyone ought to know it by now. But even if you know everything, and sneer at Tiny Tim as sentimental and the character transformation of Scrooge as implausible, I really would advise you to read the story before you condemn it. I was quite surprised by its enjoyability.

One doesn't think of Dickens and fantasy as going together, does one? But this story proves he had a fine, vivid imagination in that direction, and hence the supernatural is effortlessly crafted. Imagery for Marley and the Three Spirits is sublime, each one seeming to outdo the last.

The other key set of descriptions in this story is that of Dickens' London. A superb creation. The imagery of Christmas is beautifully evoked, what with mouth-watering descriptions of a streetmarket and economically elegant passages devoted to bleak coastal celebrations...

The prose isn't perfect, of course. Each chapter bulges with at least a few overactive details, and sometimes the wording is garbled and in need of editing. And in terms of plot and character, Dickens famed sentimentality does intrude from time to time - such as in the character of Belle (the Angel of the House) and during the Fezziwig ball scene.

Yet what does it matter? Despite these flaws, A Christmas Carol is marvelous. To begin with Scrooge and see it all happen with him, is in a way, to take part in that redemption as well. I found his transformation entirely plausible, and by the time I reached the final act, I shared his joy entirely. Happiness radiated from the pages, and I finally understood why this is considered such a timeless part of the Christmas tradition.

(By the way, has carolling and busking died out in the modern era? Sad if it has.)

Let's talk about Christmas...

Just for a minute.

When you take away the tree, presents, tunes and snow, what is left? It's all about peace on Earth and good will toward men, but I view it as a great deal more about festivities. You eat good food, invite your favorite relatives around, watch a classic film (more on them in a bit), delight the children with toys and treats, decorate the house and sing "Here Comes Santa Claus" alongside Elvis Presley. You're really happy and that puts you in a frame of mind to give good will toward men and all that.

People care about this holiday more than the rest. It's an icon of the whole year. But what I wonder is can you take all the trappings away and still keep Christmas? Does it work without tradition, family, merchandise and ornamentation? This is philosophy. If you don't celebrate a holiday, does it still exist? If you ignore or can't manage the extras, is it enough to cherish your family, have good will toward all, love thy neighbour and forgive those who have hurt you? Does that mean you have upheld the Christmas Spirit in your home? Does that mean, despite the lack of extras, you have had a good holiday?

I've seen four classic Christmas films now, and they all go in eerily similar directions.

The Bishop's Wife, in which an angel comes to remind the Bishop that he's mixed up his priorities, paying more attention to his job than his sad, neglected wife.

Miracle on 34th Street, in which a man who claims to be Santa Claus befriends a workohaulic mother and her jaded little girl and battles corporate greed.

A Christmas Carol (with Alastair Sim), in which a miserly old man is visited by ghosts who show him his wasted life, the sad state of affairs currently, and the tragic consequences that will follow if he doesn't mend his ways.

It's a Wonderful Life, in which a selfless, kind man in utter despair of his life is sent an angel to show him what the world would be like without him.

All four of these are wonderful films. Ah well. I can't solve this question right now. And I promised not to take up too much time, so.. Rant done. Maybe after Christmas, I'll have more evaluating, and even some conclusions...

A problem

I'm afraid everybody who reads my blogs (all one of you) are going to have a link for your next review. Blogger doesn't let me copy in a review writ elsewhere. You can see the font problems my last import had.

So, my review for Pudd'nhead Wilson will be found at LibraryThing. But unfortunately, I can't paste in a link either. So that's that. If you really want to read my review, you'll have to go to LibraryThing and look up the book there. My review is under the name Nymith.

Cheers.

Dracula notes

Since autumn of 2007 I have embarked upon the reading of classic novels... I'd read those typical of children before then, but with The Mayor of Casterbridge, I was gone and never looked back. I have since read War and Peace, a decent supply of Chekhov and O. Henry, The Master of Ballantrae by Robert Louis Stevenson, and I have the beginnings of a knowledge of poetry. I freely admit to meeting Waterloo with Henry James' The Ambassadors... I'm also in the process of reading my way through the Harvard Classics (which will give me a fine education, I'm sure) and have recently completed Benjamin Franklin's Autobiography.

This brings me up to date. My most recent conquest in this enjoyable campaign is Bram Stoker's Dracula.

When I picked this book up, I was expecting a rather dated Victorian potboiler. Trite, tame, tepid, turgid... I was pleasantly surprised to find it anything but.

Even if you've never read the book, and never seen even a clip from a film (which isn't very likely), chances are good you still know the Transylvanian Count. As a joke, if nothing else. He is simply iconic.

There is nothing deep about the novel. It's not a character-driven morality play, and it won't leave you with deep thoughts. It's meant as entertainment, and does its job very well. Told via journals (which Stoker does an admirable job of creating seperate voices for), it traces the story of Dracula as he moves to London and preys upon two virtuous, angelic young women - Lucy Westenra and her friend Mina Murray. A band of young men join forces to try and save the ladies, though it isn't until halfway through the book that they finally realise they're fighting vampires. This group consists of Jonathan Harker, Mina's fiance; Lord Godalming, the same for Lucy; Quincey Morris, an american; Dr. Seward, who runs an insane asylum; and the elderly Van Helsing, the shrewd professor with the broken english and cryptic advice...

This appealing cast is one of the most enjoyable things about the book, especially in regard to the movies. Whether it's Tod Browning or Hammer Horror, when adapted for the screen half the characters are ignored and the rest have their personalities all but removed. The films can't help themselves. They tamper with an excellent, very intricate plot; they simplify the narration; and those actions take away from the menace and dread Dracula should inspire. Truly I don't think I'll ever be able to watch another Dracula movie ever again.

The plot is the real draw. It can be divided into roughly four sections, and three of them are simply marvelous. For three quarters of the novel, there are so many small nuances (Renfield being the best example, and also the dead ship), so many tales within tales that the pages are turned frantically to see what's coming next. There's a surprising lack of the Count in these pages, and yet he permeates every occurence, a truly menacing, otherworldly villian.

Make no mistake, this is a gothic novel. At times it simply drips with atmosphere. Who would think the sight of the Count crawling out of a window could send a chill down your spine? The grotesque, the macabre, the bloodcurdling, the violent and the erotic all get their small moments in the spotlight.

Unfortunately, this isn't a perfect book. In the last quarter, Drac goes on the run, and much of the suspense that had been so excellently maintained is lost in this turn of events. Subtlety also dwindles, replaced by relentless melodrama, and the characters wax poetic about their internal agonies. There's a death scene - rendered a little trite by overwrought last words and Mina's inability to express the proper emotion toward this event. (The journalistic style does present a few problems like that. These people are all too handy at remembering very long speeches and they write in a way to heighten drama)

So perhaps the novel suffers a bit from the standards of the time. But even there, some differences are noticable. Mina adheres to the standard Angel of the House ideal, yet appears as the strong-willed heroine, resourceful and intelligent. Her high-flown wording taxes credulity a bit, but she reminds me of a better Rose Maylie (Oliver Twist).

Well, despite the ending, the journey there is well worth it. An appealing cast, an excellent style of narration, a very well crafted plot... The prose did get stuffy at points, but for the most part, it was definitely an asset. Not very realistic (my mother, a medical transcriptionist, tells me Lucy's blood transfusions were hopelessly inaccurate), but it makes for a wonderful entertainment. I'm glad to have made its acquaintance.


I'll be reading Mark Twain (Pudd'nhead Wilson) and Emily Dickinson next. Current Harvard is The Journal of John Woolman.

Extra experiments

I did very little writing this past summer. But among what I did create, I'm now going to put up for consideration two of the strangest things I have ever written. The first is a fake news article, all about the importance of banning H.P. Lovecraft from elementary schools. Yes, it's shameful how easily one can make fun of the writings of Mr. Lovecraft, but even so...

Banning Lovecraft: An article on damage done by slack librarians

Dear Mom,

We Have ALway a LAived in the Xastle. So beholded in us:

shke hresr vthule shksas ans mthtrod!!!!!

I AMM Joseph Curwen?

HYEs. So beholden upon us and aud ke!!!

This is proof of the damaging qualities of H.P. Lovecraft on young minds, and is one of over a hundred such examples. This letter, dated 12/12/94,was written by eleven year old Scotty Walker, born and raised in Philbrook, Pennsylvania, and a student in nearby McCarthy Elementary School.

According to Emma Sacher, one of the two school librarians, Scotty had checked out The Case of Charles Dexter Ward, by Howard Phillips Lovecraft, earlier during the school year. He then proceeded to read with great avarice such short stories as "The Call of Cthulu," "Winged Death," "The Thing on the Doorstep," and "The Nameless City."

His mother, former Trekkie Debra Walker, was quite enthusiastic at the time. "I thought the subject matter odd, but felt that as long as he was reading something it was a good thing. And I know what it's like to be a tremendous fan of one particular subject. I was certain he'd pass through it."

But Lovecraft proved to have a far more powerful hold on young Scotty than Kirk, Spock and the Enterprise had ever had on his mother. By mid-October, a distinct change had come over the impressionable boy.

"I found him lurking down in the cellars a coupla times," said school curate, Wyndham Ford. "Freaked me right out, he did. Should have been out with the other kids, as I rightly remember it was recess. Sent him up with a flea in his ear, that I did. T'ain't natural, being in basements on good days."

Even then, Scotty did not return to the other children, but spent recess in the library. Ms. Sachar saw him everyday, but he was well-known for being studious, so she thought little of it.

"To be honest, I liked the company. Sometimes I'd stop and chat with him. He was mostly quite friendly, though he never let me see what he was working on. Every now and again though, he would get awfully moody, cross with me for interrupting him. And sometimes I couldn't get his attention for the world. He'd stare into space rather than answer. That's when I decided to get Dr. Rumstead."

Rumstead, McCarthy Elementary's child psycaiatrist, prescribed an extended vacation longer than the usual Christmas break. Scotty obstinately refused to talk to him. But he did confide in his mother. Debra heard a great deal about Scotty's beliefs during the four weeks he spent home from school.

"He told me how afraid he was. That there are things in the world older than man, infinitely deadly elder gods of a sort. He claimed they seek to enslave us, and lurk in dark foul places... like crypts...

"I remember he mentioned a book. It was called the..the Necromonican, or something similar. He expressed frustration over being unable to get it through Friends of the Library. He called Lovecraft "my mentor," and said the man had actually been transcribing true accounts. A professor of the supernatural. And he insisted the Necro book was key to understanding, and taught how to summon and banish these elder gods. I was very worried about him."

Then on December 10th, Scotty vanished from his home, sometime between 11:00 and 4:00 at night.

"I turned in at ten-thirty," Debra recalls. "And when I went to the bathroom at four-ten, the door to his room was open. So was his window. I was so scared, and phoned the cops right away."

By noon the next morning, Scotty had been found, in the shrubbery by the banks of the Susquehanna River. Not one legible word was got out of him after that.

Until he wrote the note which opens this article, in a style so unlike him, Debra was amazed. "He was always exceptional at spelling and letters."

He then fled the house for a second time.

And Scotty Walker was never found.

As I said, this is one of too many cases where young people whose minds have not yet fully developed stumble upon the work of H.P. Lovecraft, and become obsessed. Adults do not seem to have this trouble, and certainly most pre-teens would find his archaic style off-putting. But there is always one exception, and it is to protect these impressionable girls and boys that there is now a great, country-wide movement to try and ban Lovecraft's work from elementary schools.

Says Lara Tall of Detroit "It's the saddest story I've ever heard."

Marian Henry of Bluefield, West Virginia claimed "we've got to protect the young until they're old enough to see sense. I never let my kids look sideways at a fantasy novel until they were in High School. 'Cause you never know when they could go investigate haunted houses looking for weird old ladies; stuff themselves in the back of old wardrobes, dig in sand on beaches in a fruitless search for little creatures, run into brick walls when at train stations. The list is endless..."

Ezekial Fielding of Aitken, Minnesota said "If my son came home spewing Scotty Walker's garbage, I'd beat the crap out of him. And when he was thirty, with a steady job, three kids, a house and a car with no down payments, he would thank me."

FINIS

There it all is, my light-hearted mockery of Lovecraft, Trekkies, and those who want to ban fantasy. I got the idea from an article I read on The Onion, about a teacher who went mad from the writings of that great cult author. I took the idea and ran with it.

I only ever read two Lovecraft stories, the novellas At the Mountains of Madness and The Case of Charles Dexter Ward. I preferred the former, as its setting was more interesting to me. Personally, I'd say Lovecraft was a terrible writer with a superb imagination. It seems to me that his sense of pacing was non-existent - I was left slogging through chapters of dry facts, with nothing but a slow menace to keep me reading. Luckily, with Lovecraft, there always was a payoff. He's a flawed gem of an author.

So, do you think I've a future writing for The Onion and other schlocky rags? Or perhaps I should turn my thoughts to crass advertising instead? (Drumroll...)

Unusual Advertising

The simple effort of good living makes none of the mistakes and has all of the virtues of fine dining, bourgeous cliches aside. It isn't so much a difficulty as difficult for healthy, uneducated minds to cultivate a true knowledge and understanding of such stuff. And now, creative minds around the globe have come up with a way for you too, to enjoy a good life, powered by optimism and good conduct. We have invented a Harvard Education in fine living! And we'll send you the secret FREE, if you order within the next twenty-four hours.

To get your copy of The Secrets of Good Living: Tools of the Genteel Trade, just call 1-800-234-0909. The magazine will give you unabridged, short, simple instructions on how to greet prominent people, what a salad fork actually is, twenty great anecdotes for the dinner table, how to speak in a detached yet personal way, where to get a good deal on genuine white calfskin gloves, and more! We repeat: just call 1-800-234-0909, or go to www.GoodLiving.com, and we'll give a crash course in how to be a member of the landed gentry. Order today!

I scarcely thought about what I was writing when I threw those two paragraphs together. I was rather surprised at the utter baseness of the above concoction, but I still feel it makes for an interesting curio, so there you have it. (The link isn't supposed to go anywhere, by the way. It just adds colour)

So should I spare you all in future, and focus on the plain old dignity of the short story? I probably will stick to that format, as I'm more comfortable with it, but I don't think that's a reason to box myself in...

By the way, I don't know what went wrong with the bloody font settings for this post... My apologies.

Sabrina and Sabrina

Alright, this time I'm on here for real, to post with regularity and talk/mutter/rant/complain and occasionally praise the world I'm in. I've been down and out, first without a use for this blog and no need to talk, and then too low to want to. But now I'm feeling stronger and am read to come out of my shell a bit.

This is going to be my new start. Take it as a late birthday resolution, or an early New Year's one.

And so it's Thanksgiving, and my mother and I watched Sabrina. The original with Audrey Hepburn, Humphrey Bogart (in a role wonderfully out of character for him), and William Holden. Earlier this autumn, we saw the remake with Julia Ormond and Harrison Ford. Both were what amount to fairytales, and now I'm having a fine time comparing them.

The focus in the remake was really more on Linus Larraby (who was excellently developed), and it also had more laughs. It also did a better job with the duckling to swan plot device, as Audrey Hepburn looked stunning right from the beginning, unlike Julia.

On the other hand... Julia's character had glasses... which she ditched. That's a real pet peeve of mine. Glasses don't have to be unattractive, you know...

In favor of the original, it was far more romantic, perhaps because it wasn't played for laughs. It also had gorgeous black-and-white cinematography, and a hard to pinpoint quality of understatement. Perhaps I did enjoy the original more, but I appreciate them both on their own terms.

Both films had perfect casting, and one of my favorite heroines of all time. Sabrina Fairchild is in every way an admirable person. She goes to Paris and finds not just poise and style, but herself and her inner strength. My favorite scene in both films is the confrontation with Linus. She reacts as a perfect lady, and if I could find half that grace in my own soul, I would be happy for all my days.

This set of films also made me a fan of the song La Vie En Rose. My favorite Edith Piaf song is always going to be La Foule, but Rose is also beautiful.

Sabrina (1954) *****
Sabrina (1995) ****1/2

Combining this with My Fair Lady, I now count Audrey Hepburn on my list of favorite actresses of all time. I'll keep an eye out for more of her movies. Bogart I've been a fan of for years, and I like Ormond a great deal. I've never seen Indiana Jones, so other than Sabrina '95 and Star Wars, I'm drawing a blank on Ford. (Oh! But he was in an episode of Kung Fu!)

Outsider Art

It seems a shame to me that some really phenomenal, mind-boggling, creative artists of the modern days are virtually unheard of by everybody. I found a nice array of them, and on a whim, have decided to post links to it all here. Anybody who peruses this blog can now look at some examples of what can be done with art, if you think outside the box.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/worldnews/article-1201398/Now-you-dont-The-artist-turns-Invisible-Man.html

This first one is the single most astonishing for me.

http://www.mailonsunday.co.uk/news/worldnews/article-1198381/Bizarre-spectacle-giant-crop-murals-covering-rice-fields-Japan.html

Aliens my foot! This is proof of what humans can do with agriculture when they put their minds to it.

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2009/06/20/BAK418AKS1.DTL

Then there is of course the argument that people doing this kind of stuff just have too much time on their hands...

There are two more I'd like to post up, but they're YouTube items, and that site appears to be malfunctioning on my computer so it'll have to wait.

I hope these articles prove that art is not dead. Just time-consuming and bizarre.