Story as dog-training

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Interesting that Phil should link to an article about the structure of story today, because I want to talk about the same thing. Only I’d like to concentrate on just one element. I’ve blogged before on how the basic elements of plot mirror the essential truths of human life, and even of theology. Today I want to examine an aspect of human nature that makes classic story form, I think, inevitable and necessary. This is my thesis—that our emotions are like animals. More particularly, like dogs.

This idea was prompted by a discussion I’ve been involved in, in a Facebook group. I wanted to explain my own thinking on the question, “Why is it so hard to change habitual responses, even when we know they’re wrongheaded and counterproductive?” I responded that we have reason, and we have feelings. Reason is, well, reasonable. It can be argued with, and sometimes convinced.

Feelings, on the other hand, aren’t reasonable. They don’t listen to argument. Feelings are trained like dogs, and like dogs you can’t appeal to their good sense. Continue reading Story as dog-training

Unhappy

Here’s a snicker for you, photos of unhappy people in very nice modern living areas (I can’t say houses, because some may be flats, apartments, or such as that). I can’t decide on a favorite. It could be this poor child trying to escape a life like Eustace Clarence Scrubb’s. Or this one which is thankful for the silence. Or this one: “Even in your company, I feel so alone.”

Fiction Friday, R.I.P. Ralph McInerny

The Culture Alliance’s (subscribers’ only) Friday Fiction e-newsletter focused on me today—very flatteringly, and I’m grateful. You can read most of it yourself here at S. T. Karnick’s The American Culture blog.



With all due regard
to the passing of J. D. Salinger, my own reading universe has been far more powerfully impacted today by the death of Ralph McInerny, who passed away this morning. (Thanks to Southern Appeal for the heads up.)

McInerny was a noted Catholic religious scholar and University of Notre Dame institution, as well as being a highly successful mystery writer. His Father Dowling mysteries (not—I repeat, not—to be confused with the awful television series starring Tom Bosley which purported to be based on them), along with his Roger and Philip Knight books, set at Notre Dame, formed only the tip of his fictional iceberg, much of which consisted of books written under pseudonyms.

Although I am far from being a Catholic, I always found McInerny an author whose faith and principles I could identify with. I don’t think anyone would call his books sentimental or naïve in their depiction of the real world, but they breathed out an atmosphere of spiritual peace and rationality that must have been generated by a rare spirit. I wish I’d had the chance to meet him.

Winter Day Games

It’s snowy in Chattanooga, the perfect excuse for some of us to stay inside and do what we normally do. I drove home carefully a couple hours ago. I’m glad I did not pass any cars in the ditch, though I did see some parked at the entrance to hilly neighborhoods.

If you are looking for a way to pass your time today, you might try these Shakespeare Games from Bantam. If you want to prepare for future snow days or family nights or the Bar’s Out of Beer nights, you might try one of these games, including the Shakespeare’s Quips, Cusses, and Curses Quiz Deck, hours of fun for you and anyone within the sound of your voice.

A Golden Ticket

About two years ago, author and critic Jeffrey Overstreet wrote about how his very good fantasy novel Auralia’s Colors was accepted for publication. “In short: Somebody dropped out of the sky and gave me a golden ticket.” It was an answer to prayer.

The state of the groundhog

Punxsutawney Phil Makes His Prediction

(Not from the movie)

It probably won’t surprise you much when I inform you that I passed up the opportunity to listen to my president’s State of the Union address last night.

Instead I popped my DVD of Groundhog Day into the player, and watched it for the eleventy-second time. It was almost shorter than the president’s speech, and definitely less repetitious, from what I’ve read.

And it’s the right time of year.

I think Groundhog Day is my It’s a Wonderful Life. As I’ve mentioned before, IaWL just depresses me. The only message I get from it is “George Bailey has a wonderful life, BUT YOU’RE NOT GEORGE BAILEY!”

Groundhog Day, on the other hand, presents a lesson I can agree with—“If I had the chance to do my life over about a million times, I might eventually figure something out.”

I understand the original script was written by a Buddhist, and that the filmmakers cut out some of the more explicitly Buddhist elements. I suppose, to be consistent with myself, I ought to reject the film for the merest taint of Buddhism.

But what kind of theology does It’s a Wonderful Life present? Salvation by good works and self-esteem. “You may think you’re a miserable sinner, George Bailey, but they think very highly of you in heaven!” Not exactly Christian law and gospel.

What I like about Groundhog Day is the non-theological material—the simple moral journey of a man who does actually come to realize that he’s a sinner, and then works to become somebody whose life contributes. It’s not a saving knowledge, but it’s a good thing for the people who have to live with him.

To a large degree, it’s about humility. I could name some prominent people who seem to think that humility is for their country, but not for them as individuals. Such people need to wake up and see their own shadows.

(Crossposted at Mere Comments)

J.D. Salinger, 91, Is Dead

The author of The Catcher in the Rye is dead. Obit Magazine has yet to post their take, but the journalist Hillel Italie gives us a bit of nastiness in his AP story.

Salinger’s alleged adoration of children apparently did not extend to his own. In 2000, daughter Margaret Salinger’s “Dreamcatcher” portrayed the writer as an unpleasant recluse who drank his own urine and spoke in tongues.

Ms. Salinger said she wrote the book because she was “absolutely determined not to repeat with my son what had been done with me.”

Have mercy.

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