Steve Jobs and the American Dream

Ben Domenech describes how Steve Jobs embodies the American Dream.

The essence of American optimism is founded in a belief that the world we pass on can exceed the one we inherited. We are not prisoners of an all-encompassing destiny, and neither are our children. This is not a uniquely American inclination, mind you, but a human one – but not all cultures acknowledge or honor it. It was here in America where such an experience was uniquely understood from our inception in our creed. We create, as we were created, and know all who are created have worth. So they have an equal claim to life, to liberty, and to the pursuit.

Redcoat, by David Crookes

Here’s another book I uploaded to my Kindle for nothing, and it was well worth the price. Not a great novel, Redcoat was certainly entertaining, and it held my interest.

The time is the 1870s. The hero is Jeffrey Guest, a young British officer in South Africa. The son of a poor Cornish farmer who sacrificed to purchase a commission for him, Jeffrey encounters the condescension of a senior officer, the sadistic Spencer Shackerly. When Shackerly is paralyzed and left comatose by a mine cave-in, Jeffrey, also injured, is sent home, where he proposes to his sweetheart.

But Shackerly regains consciousness, and blames Jeffrey for causing the accident. When soldiers come to arrest him, Jeffrey flees, first to America, then to Canada (where he joins the Mounties), and then to Australia. Wherever Jeffrey goes, Shackerly’s agents, sometimes assisted by the Pinkerton Detective Agency, are dogging him.

The story is acted out on a broad stage, and there’s plenty of action. Unfortunately, the author, David Crookes, doesn’t develop his hero as a hero deserves. Again and again, the really decisive actions are taken by Jeffrey’s friends and family, while his uniform response (until the very end) is merely to run away. He’s likeable, but he’s one of the least interesting personalities in the book.

Crookes also shows great weaknesses as a stylist. He falls back on clichés again and again (“mind like a steel trap,” “scarcer than hen’s teeth”), and his prose can be highly infelicitous:

“Angered and hurt, Lucy glowered contemptibly at her daughter.” (The word he wants is “contemptuously,” and “glowered” by itself would have been even better.)

“French showed his rash impatience once again….”

“…a lengthy article exulting the new force of brave young men who were to bring law and order to the untamed Canadian west.” (The word he wants is “exalting.”)

“The most contributing factor to their malaise was the rapidly dwindling supply of food….”

That’s just lazy writing. Such a thing is not uncommon among self-published writers, and Crookes is one of those.

Still, the story moved along and delivered plenty of spectacle and action. I recommend it as an entertainment for readers with a tolerance for mediocre prose. Profanity and adult themes are minimal.

A Poem by Debora Greger

“Theory of the leisure class”

Gold leaf, ground sapphire:

in the English book of hours,

the longest day of the year turns a page

in the season of spending

no sumptuary law can curb—

but today’s meditation has been interrupted

by a panicked feathery clatter:

a wood pigeon, ungainly in rosy waistcoat,

distracted on the way to Ascot

by an ornamental cherry at my window.

Continue reading at The New Criterion

Coming to TV: The Adjustment Bureau Series

The SyFy Channel has announced its intentions to adapt the movie The Adjustment Bureau into a series. The movie was based on Philip K. Dick’s “Adjustment Team”, which was more nihilistic than the movie, and I hope the series doesn’t return to the author’s original intent either. It could gain more attention and viewership by holding their adjustment team members and their chairman to an inscrutable nobility, never doing anything outright evil, but acting in ways the characters misread, even worry that they are good for them.

Stretching, Breaking a Genre

Loren reviews Falling Glass: “Tropes are simultaneously the biggest strength and weakness of genre fiction… Crime writer Adrian McKinty has regularly folded stream-of-consciousness into his hardboiled thrillers, adding a literary tang to bad-men-with-guns tales.”

"The Whisperer In Darkness" trailer

Courtesy of Furious D, here’s a little film trailer for a low-budget production of H. P. Lovecraft’s “The Whisperer In Darkness.”

Honestly, isn’t that a great trailer? Aren’t you interested in seeing this movie?

I know I am, and–here’s the thing–I hate H. P. Lovecraft’s body of work. All that nihilism, and the whole the-universe-is-more-horrifying-than-you-can-imagine Cthulhu Mythos, is to me not only depressing and demoralizing, but full-out blasphemous.

But this trailer is irresistable. The people who made it (and, we assume, the film) are having so much fun, first in telling a story they enjoy, and then in re-creating the whole atmosphere of a 1930s horror film, that all their love shines through (which is ironic when you’re dealing with Lovecraft material).

Bravo.

Excerpt from 'Injustice' Exposé

J. Christian Adams, formerly of the Department of Justice, has a book on his experience there, arguing that the current administration has refused to enforce laws they do not agree with. Injustice: Exposing the Racial Agenda of the Obama Justice Department claims there are fraudulent voter records known to the DOJ, which they have no plans to clean up because they would benefit from them. Adams claims racial politics is overriding justice, and no, it hasn’t been that way for decades. Big Government has an excerpt from his book, which was released yesterday.

Minot summation: Face gaunt, eyes blurred, shirt soaked with sweat

And so the 2011 Norsk Høstfest is over. I got home yesterday night, exhausted as usual, though this one was actually less strenuous than most. Crowds were noticeably smaller, though the attendees had money to spend and the venders did fine. Personally, smaller crowds don’t bother me a bit.

No pictures, I’m afraid. Brought my camera, but never used it.

Much of the relative easiness was because we had two teenage boys to help with the sword fighting, so I only had to do a couple fights per show. Gradually I got used enough to the battle axe to do some crowd-pleasing shield hewing, but my victory tally stands at one. (I think I’d have won more if one of my teenage opponents had understood what constitutes a “hit” in axe fighting. We do not allow chopping at bodies with axes. That would be… irresponsible.)

Had an interesting encounter the last day. A young man came to me and asked if I knew much about Norwegian folklore. I said I probably knew as much as anybody in the group. Then he asked me about an idea about trolls that had been expressed to him by one of the festival vendors. I said I didn’t know where that person had gotten such an idea. I’d never encountered it, either in the myths or the folk tales.

The young man’s response was odd. He asked me if there were anybody else in the group who would know. I found this irritating. It sounded as if he was just looking for someone to reinforce his opinion. I referred him to Ragnar, who (oddly enough) referred him back to me to buy my books. He bought all three that I had for sale—or rather his mother, who seemed to be attending him, bought them for him.

Then I figured out what the problem was—or at least made my guess. I suspect the young man has Asperger’s, and I just wasn’t speaking his language. When I said I didn’t know where the idea came from, he took me to mean I knew nothing about the subject.

I fear he won’t make much of my books if that’s his problem.

Which makes me feel a little guilty, though when I think about it, it’s not my job to tell people whether they qualify to buy my books or not. (Except for small children. I generally don’t sell them to children.)

Final observation—I don’t much like Country music, but I never get tired of “Ghost Riders In the Sky.”

Lowell's "The Shepherd of King Admetus"

Here are few verses to sooth your soul this afternoon. Put down that third martini and read this from James Russell Lowell:

There came a youth upon the earth,

Some thousand years ago,

Whose slender hands were nothing worth,

Whether to plow, to reap, or sow.

Upon an empty tortoise-shell

He stretched some chords, and drew

Music that made men’s bosoms swell

Fearless, or brimmed their eyes with dew.

Then King Admetus, one who had

Pure taste by right divine,

Decreed his singing not too bad

To hear between the cups of wine

And so, well-pleased with being soothed

Into a sweet half-sleep,

Three times his kingly beard he smoothed,

And made him viceroy o’er his sheep.

Continue