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‘A beautiful and ingenious machine’

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Italian engineer Agostino Ramelli created a book back in 1588, humbly entitled, The various and ingenious machines of Captain Agostino Ramelli. Maybe someone titled it for him. The Smithonian praises it, pointing out its influence on later engineers.

Of a reading machine design, Ramelli said, “This is a beautiful and ingenious machine, very useful and convenient for anyone who takes pleasure in study, especially those who are indisposed and tormented by gout. . . . Moveover, it has another fine convenience in that it occupies very little space in the place where it is set.”

Perhaps these words inspired students at Rochester Institute of Technology to build a couple of these book wheels using European beech and white oak and hand-cut gears.

“The actual construction may not have been worth the time with 16th-century techniques,” Ian Kurtz said, “I think Agostino was more so showing his understanding of how gear systems worked.” (via Atlas Obscura)

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Bertie’s cat crisis

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Busy, busy today — and it’s a good time to be busy, to keep one’s mind off… things. Translation, big job, deadline, you know the drill.

So, in lieu of my comforting prose, I offer a moment of Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry as Jeeves and Wooster, from way back in 1990. Bertie Wooster, it appears, has imprudently allowed himself to stumble into engagement with Honoria Glossop, daughter of the eminent lunacy expert, Sir Roderick Glossop. Bertie has invited Sir and Madame Glossop to dine in his flat. But Jeeves, in his wisdom, knows the match is unsuitable, and so finds a subtle way to put a boot up the pipe. (I have no idea what that means, but it sounds about right.)

Nobody’s ever done Jeeves and Wooster better, even though Hugh Laurie took the coward’s way out and didn’t work with a monocle.

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Quarantine journal

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The book I’m reading now is taking a while, so what shall I say to you tonight? Went out for a walk this morning and exchanged a few words with a neighbor I barely know. That counts as a major social event these days. Alert the Society columnists!

Went out for lunch (the daily deal at Red Lobster), and then stopped on the way home to do my civic duty and get my flu shot.

Consumer report: I preferred the nanorobots they included in last year’s vaccine. Those gave me dreams of the University of Timbuktu, and produced a compulsion to vote for the Green Party, though it was an election off-year. So far this year’s nanorobots have only turned my toenails teal, and I think I detect the beginnings of a vestigial tail, for which I can think of no good practical use.

I streamed an old movie, “In a Lonely Place,” with Humphrey Bogart and Gloria Grahame. It’s about a screenwriter with homicidal inclinations, who may or may not be preparing to kill his fiancée at the end. I can’t say that it matches my own experience in the film industry, but my participation has been limited so far. Once I start doing power lunches with producers, I may see more action.

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Just like Roald Amundsen

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It occurred to me more than once over the last few days (but never at a useful time) that I misled you last week. I told you I’d be gone Thursday and Friday, to do a lecture at a church school in Iowa. Then you doubtless came to this page in breathless anticipation of my absence, and there I was, reviewing as usual. Without so much as an apology.

I apologize.

What happened was the weather, something of which we have no lack in Minnesota. When I got up on Thursday morning, prepared to pack and go, I learned that several inches of icy snow were predicted that day. I didn’t like the sound of that – offhand, I can only remember one instance in my life when I actually spun out on a highway and ended up in the ditch, but I’m sure there must have been more. It’s a distressing feeling, like somebody inside one of those YouTube disaster clips, where you watch one idiot after another sliding their cars into one another on a slick, downhill street.

So I called the school and asked if we could reschedule. The pastor was amenable, and we moved it to Monday (today, in case you’re not certain after months in lockdown). Then I looked at the weather forecast, identified Saturday as a likely driving day, and moved my trip to then.

What happened subsequently in Iowa is that an almost identical storm blew up on Sunday night. So when I got up this morning, I learned that my car would have to be scraped off, and the highways were slick. Better leave early to compensate for slow travel.

I left about an hour and a half before showtime (the trip should have taken about 40 minutes), and drove like an old man (a clever ruse on my part). Road surfaces varied, but I opted for caution at all points. I still got to the school in plenty of time.

The lecture went well. The students pretended to be interested as I talked about the conversion of the Vikings in Norway, and even asked questions. Lots of questions.

My personal favorite question was, “Would you stop talking so we can look at your stuff?”

I smiled kindly and ignored the young man. The questions went on for some time, but finally they ended, and the students got a chance to examine my “stuff”: I had brought my helmet, sword and shield for them to peruse. Nobody, I am happy to report, attempted to kill anybody else with them.

Then back to where I was staying. It was past noon by now, and the sun had kissed the road surfaces, improving their general disposition. I drove home to Minnesota at normal speeds, and stopped off in Kenyon, my boyhood home, to examine the family cemetery plot for personal reasons. The grass was covered with about an inch of snow, but the stuff had melted off the granite marker stones so that they could be read. In case I’d forgotten who they were. Which I hadn’t. Grandpa and Grandma, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Marcene whom I never knew, and Aunt Jean whom I knew very well indeed.

I stopped at the gas station where my dad used to buy most of his gas, and ran into an old high school friend. This gave me a chance to brag about “Atlantic Crossing” (I may not have mentioned it before, but I helped translate this excellent miniseries, coming to PBS Masterpiece this spring).

Now I’m home. It was nice to take a Viking trip of any kind at least once this summer. Thanks to Scarville Lutheran School for their hospitality. Also to my brother and his wife, for the bed and meals variety. Now all I need to do is unpack, which may take several days unless I work up some energy. I’ve taken road trips two weekends in a row now, and I’m not sure I can handle the wear and tear.

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When You Feel You’re Always Wrong

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I’ve answered several political surveys this year. My state has three contested congressional races on top of the presidential election, so pollsters want to know what we’re thinking. My ‘favorite’ line of questions sound like an exercise in sowing deception. They give you statements you’re asked to assume to be true in order to predict whether you would be more or less likely to vote for the dirt-bag candidate who hates children or the saint who is sponsoring this poll. I told one pollster after he had read a glowingly positive statement about a candidate, “If you put it that way, how could I not vote for him?”

I’d like to know what Americans (or even people throughout North America) believe about normal life. For instance, how many of us would agree that life is conflict? Thinking of Jurassic Park, perhaps more of us would accept life as change or growth, but both change and growth involve straining against the current state and that’s a type of conflict. It may be man against nature or against himself.

I wonder how many of us see conflict as a natural part of communication. I can’t say I do. Minor conflicts jar me too much. It can be embarrassing to step on someone’s toes because your responsibilities overlap with theirs. Or you’re in someone’s home and they do something you think is unnecessary, and you say what you think. Those are the negligible conflicts that inspire people like me to worry. They can feed a lingering suspicion that we are always wrong and should avoid speaking up in any situation, just because someone doesn’t see it our way or know the same things we know.

And if we did do something wrong, that only multiplies our bad feelings. Of course, we don’t really believe we’re always wrong. If we did, we’d never get the mail. But our suspicion has that absolute quality to it. That slip-up we made, we believe, illustrates everything notable about our lives.

If we were to see conflict as a natural part of life, then we should expect to disagree without incurring a moral problem. No one has to have sinned during the commission of this disagreement/conversation. We were just talking. And talking entails conflict (or change or growth).

The Lord said he would fill every valley and lower every hill; he would beat smooth every rough path. That’s going to be difficult, but the Lord hasn’t called us into it to handle on our own. He is our king, master, and ruler. Even in this, his burden is light.

Regardless our feelings, when we rest in Christ we are not wrong.

Photo by Matthew Henry on Unsplash

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‘Masterpiece’ achieves its full potential at last

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I’ll write about something other than the (brilliant) Norwegian miniseries, Atlantic Crossing (on which I did translation work – not sure I’ve mentioned that), one of these days. But that will only be when there isn’t amazing news to tell about it. And today is not that day.

It was just announced – and I just got word – that Atlantic Crossing will be part of the Spring 2021 lineup on the prestigious PBS “Masterpiece” series (which most of us still call “Masterpiece Theater”) this spring (scroll down to the Spring listing).

I need hardly mention that I’m over the moon about this. While I was working on the series, I thought more than once that this was perfect material for “Masterpiece.” But I had the idea they only broadcast British stuff.

In point of fact, this will be the first time a Norwegian series has ever been broadcast on “Masterpiece.”

I humbly take personal responsibility for all this success.

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Not quite a star on Hollywood Boulevard

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“Vanity, vanity,” said the author of Ecclesiastes, “all is vanity.” Most modern people, on hearing that verse in the King James version, assume it refers to an attitude of arrogant self-centeredness.

In fact, though (as I’m sure all our readers know), the meaning of “vanity” has changed over time. Nowadays, a better translation would be, “meaninglessness” or “futility.”

I think I’m guilty of both.

I learned that translators are not customarily listed in production credits in movies and TV. This began to nag at me, because I expect someone, someday, to challenge me on whether I participated in Atlantic Crossing (and other fine productions, I hope). I won’t be able to say, “Pause the credits on the DVD. My name’s right there.”

So I joined IMDb Pro today. I hesitated, because membership isn’t pocket change. But finally I went ahead and did it, and attached my name to the Atlantic Crossing IMDb page. I’m not sure how much non-members can see, but I can now be found under “Series Additional Crew.” At the very bottom, until such time as the Master of the Feast shall call me up unto a higher place.

This action plunged me immediately into confusion and distress.

Was this hubris? Where did I get off, trying to pass myself off as an entertainment professional?

On the continuum between self-abasement and self-aggrandizement, I never know where the sweet spot is. All I know is, I’m usually at one extreme or another, and mistaken about it. I have two great regrets in my life – not putting myself forward enough, and ever putting myself forward at all.

The great thing is that I’m pretty sure nobody will ever notice.

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Watching ‘Atlantic Crossing’

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Crown Princess Martha (Sofia Helin) and Crown Prince Olav (Tobias Santelmann) with the Roosevelts in “Atlantic Crossing.”

Now and then I write about things that I’ve seen or read, which you can’t enjoy because I read Norwegian and you don’t (nya nya nya). But this is about Atlantic Crossing, which I and some of you had the opportunity to enjoy (first 2 episodes only) yesterday, thanks to a special feed from the Cannes Film Festival. (The Cannes people and I are like that, and we often do favors for one another.)

My gloating is mitigated this time because we can all hope to see the full series in this country soon, perhaps early next year. This article from Yahoo! News says that AC is being eagerly snapped up by markets in various countries:

Sales have been struck with Italy’s RAI and Deutsche Telekom’s Magenta TV for Germany and Austria, as well as with France’ Chérie 25. The series was produced by leading Norwegian banner Cinenord for public broadcaster NRK, and was co-produced by Beta Film, SVT and DR.

“Atlantic Crossing” was also snatched up for Russia (more.tv), the Australian public broadcaster SBS, Greece and
Cyprus (Forthnet) and across Eastern Europe, including Lithuania (LRT). The event series is competing at Canneseries and will bow on NRK on Oct. 26.

Nothing there about US sales, but I find this in an article from the Malay Mail (of all places):

The eight-hour show has been sold throughout Europe and a US deal is in final negotiations, distributor Beta Film said.

So I look forward to seeing the whole thing soon. And I truly mean that. When I watched the preview yesterday, it amazed me.

I’m prejudiced, of course. I put in a lot of work on this project. Linda May Kallestein, who you’ll see listed as co-writer, was the woman who originally got me into script translation, and I still work for her often (due to her forgiving nature). I got the Cannes Festival video link from her.

But I don’t think I’m talking with blinders on when I tell you this is an astonishing production.

The photography is gorgeous (Norway has rarely looked so beautiful on film). The actors’ performances are uniformly excellent. The dramatic pace is relentless – sometimes as tense as a superior thriller.

I know this script (at least the first four episodes) better than almost anybody in the world outside the writers, because I worked (though not alone) through several revisions, and did the final proofing (again, of the first four episodes) before shooting began. And yet I was constantly surprised as I watched. When I’d visualized it in my head, it wasn’t as compelling as this. It’s all in the execution. Original direction, creative cinematography, and fine acting bring it all to life in ways that took my breath away. There wasn’t a false note from the titles to the credits.

And the final scene of Episode 2, when Märtha and her children have to leave Norway for an uncertain future, had me in tears like a little girl.

I told Linda May, in an email today, “I think you might be stuck with a classic on your hands.”

I think Atlantic Crossing may set a new benchmark for quality in miniseries.

Catch it when you get the chance. I’ll be sure to let you know.

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‘Atlantic Crossing’ Preview

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This offer is good today only.

I’ve been boring you for some time, talking about the big miniseries, Atlantic Crossing (trailer above), on which I did a whole lot of translation work (often when I say I worked on a project, I mean an episode or two. On this one I helped translate several episodes, and I proofread the entire first half, four episodes). Right now, it’s being judged at the Cannes Film Festival. If you sign in with your email address (or so I’m told; I haven’t tried it yet) you can view Episodes 1 and 2 right here. But the showing only lasts 24 hours, which means you’ve got to get to it before sometime around early afternoon tomorrow, my time (Central), Tuesday (if my reckoning is right. Which is not something to bet your life on).

I’m authorized to give you that link, by the way. I’ve messed such things up in the past, but I have this on good authority.

I like that trailer. Very moving, it seems to me. I hope it gets lots of awards at Cannes, so I can brag about my association even more. I’m an old man. I covet the gratifications I can still get.

“Well, our first event of the year kind of sucked,” said one of my friends in the Viking Age Club on Saturday. Some of us had gathered in another town for the funeral of one of our older members. (Cancer, not Covid. I know you were wondering.)

What a year it’s been. But, as Thanksgiving approaches (and Happy Canadian Thanksgiving, to any Good Neighbors to the North who happen to be reading this), I have to say I have much to be thankful for. Aside from my continued good health, I’ve gotten enough translating work (just about exactly enough; it’s kind of like manna) to sustain me through the year.

The funeral day came equipped with beautiful weather; today is about the same. Almost enough to make me an Autumn fan. Autumn days can be delightful; but I’m too much of a worrier to ever forget that Fall is the door through which Winter enters (with horns in a minor key, like Darth Vader).

But, day by day. That’s what I need to remind myself.

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Leif Erikson Day

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Leif Erikson discovers America, by Christian Krogh, who liked his heroes stout. I saw the original of this painting once, when it was on loan at Epcot.

In the honored tradition of this blog, or at least in the honorable tradition of my own posts, I shall announce a holiday at the point when it’s mostly over.

Today is Leif Erikson Day. A legal holiday in some states, though not the kind you get off work for.

Leif Erikson (I prefer to spell it Eriksson, with two s’s), of course, was the Norse discoverer of North America. Other Europeans may have done it before him, but they don’t have proof and we do. As I mentioned on Facebook, it’s OK to celebrate Vinland, because the colony was unsuccessful. If it had prospered, it would be another egregious example of European imperialism.

Leif himself is something of a mystery. He’s not one of those saga heroes who jump off the page as a full-blown personality. The sagas that tell of his exploits are fairly laconic. He seems to have been a man of boldness, sense, and good luck. Unlike most saga heroes, we have no evidence he ever killed anybody. And he was a convert to Christianity.

I feature him in two of my novels, The Year of the Warrior and West Oversea. There’s every reason to believe he probably knew Erling Skjalgsson. Erling had family and business ties in Iceland, and Leif’s father, Erik the Red, came from a farm in Jaeren, Erling’s bailiwick. As the chief of the Greenland colony, dependent on Norwegian markets, Leif probably did business with Erling.

A Norwegian bachelor buddy of mine texted me and asked, “How shall we celebrate Leif Erikson Day?” After considerable deliberation, we decided to clean out my gutters. It was an amazing day, above 80 degrees in August.

Party people we are not. But we did have pizza.