I’m still not making much progress on the book I’m reading, so I have another non-review post tonight.
The video above is just a brief introduction to my favorite Norwegian artist, Theodor Kittelsen (1857-1914). Among his famous accomplishments was illustrating Asbjørnsen & Moe’s collection of Norwegian fairy tales, along with Erik Werenskiold. Werenskiold did some excellent work, but I always felt Kittelsen possessed that little extra spark of creative genius. In some ways he was ahead of his time, graphically.
He is generally considered the man who crystalized the Norwegian conception of the troll. As you’ll see in the video.
A 1,300 sq. foot mosaic floor has been uncovered in Syria, depicting figures from the Trojan War–“Remarkably intact artwork that was created 1,600 years ago shows colorful images of Ancient Greek soldiers and Amazons who fought in the epic battle.” They’ve only uncovered 65 feet of it so far.
Herminia was a refined, intelligent, sensitive woman but that was no defense against self-deception. Miss Prim had a theory about self-deception: the female sex seemed particularly and cruelly vulnerable to it.
I read this 2014 novel with friends over the past month. It inspired moderate complaint and, after a bit of reflection, delivered a welcome finish. The Awakening of Miss Prim was originally written in Spanish in 2011, so we read the English translation by Sonia Soto.
The story takes place in the fictional Spanish village of San Ireneo de Arnois, an idyllic community of independent folk making their living by doing what they love. It’s implied that everyone here lives humbly, but you can’t tell from the wealth of flowers, cozy homes, tea cakes, fresh bread, and hot chocolate flowing every other page. Village business is bustling, but shops are only open for as long as they want to be, because people have healthier priorities than making as much money as they can in a day.
Miss Prim comes to San Ireneo to inquire into a job opening as a private librarian to one of the most important men in town. The advertisement states those with many credentials need not apply, and Prim has many credentials, but when asked about that and the possibility that she may be trying to escape a former life, she bristles and almost turns the job down–never mind that she implies she is seeking a refuge.
She accepts the job of organizing the library for six months, and in that time meets the wonderful village folk, the curious children folk, and seems to be unable to have a conversation without being offended. She frequently tells herself how proper and level-headed she is and frequently catches someone’s choice or opinion that clashes with her own. The quote above comes late in the book and it couldn’t be clearer that she’s talking about herself.
But after talking over the whole book in a group, I put my initial complaints aside. It’s possible this novel leans into the idea that beauty is truth and will save the world. Prim awakens to the idea that slowing down, breathing fresh air, meditating on old poetry, rejecting a narcissistic view of everyone around her, and particularly dwelling on the Gregorian chant coming from the crypt at St. Benedict’s is real living. One friend suggested this as a specifically Christian theme. It isn’t explicit in the book, but a few lines point to it.
From this perspective, the novel is worth reading. It can easily come across as the story of a young feminist longing for something better in the world while undermining every effort to take her there. Maybe instead it’s a gentle story of a woman who needs and finds Christ.
I have nothing to review today. That leaves me with no alternative to writing about stuff I’ve been thinking about – and that, as you know, can get weird.
Tonight’s subject, to take an example at random, is “broken rhyme.” You can find several examples of broken rhyme in the song, “Mountain Greenery,” by Rodgers and Hart, embedded above (the song was debuted on Broadway by the actor Sterling Holloway, who would live long enough to be the original voice of Winnie the Pooh in the Disney cartoons). A meme is going around Basefook where somebody asks to quote the greatest line from any song, ever. I haven’t responded to it yet, but when I do it’ll be:
We could get no keener re-
ception in a beanery
Bless our mountain greenery home!
That, my friends, is broken rhyme. At first I thought it was “enjambment,” and I prepared a long disquisition on that subject for this post, but then I found out enjambment is something else, so I cut that part. All in all, probably for the best.
Lorenz Hart was known for using broken rhyme in his songs. Cole Porter employs it in his song, “I Get a Kick Out of You,” where you have the lines (in the original, unexpurgated version):
Some get a kick from cocaine I'm sure that if I took even one sniff That would bore me terrif- Ically, too Yet, I get a kick out of you
I’ve always been fascinated by broken rhyme. Love those word tricks in verse. It’s one of the reasons contemporary popular music leaves me cold. Today’s lyrics are generally simplistic, intended to be yelled. That’s why I like the old songs. There’s a station in St. Cloud, Minnesota (Uptown 1010, Ring-a-Ding Radio) that I make a point of listening to, every time I drive north on I-94. All oldies, with an emphasis on Sinatra and the crooners. Songs with lyrics worth paying attention to.
I could move on to the subject of Contemporary Christian Worship Music, but I think you can guess my opinion on that.
Four cars were parked in a line, with two side-by-side overhead doors: a gunmetal gray Lexus SUV, a red Ferrari, a black Mercedes SUV, and a reddish-orange Porsche Carrera Turbo. A group of cops were discussing whether the Ferrari and the Porsche should be seized as evidence, and if so, who’d get to drive them to the impound lot.
I’ve been a big fan of John Sandford’s exciting and amusing “Prey” series for a good percentage of its long history (the hero, Lucas Davenport, would be retired and out of action long ago in real life, but fiction permits active employment for the life of the author [at least]). Today, hero Lucas Davenport, long with the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension, is sort of a freelance US Marshal. He gets to work on only the jobs that interest him, due to his immense personal wealth and Washington connections. In Righteous Prey, he teams up (again) with his buddy Virgil Flowers, who’s still in the BCA, to deal with a domestic murder ring.
One thing I’ve always appreciated in the series is the author’s ability to set aside his personal politics (which I’m pretty sure must be far to the left of mine) and present fairly balanced pictures of conservatives and liberals. And he’s generally avoided controversial subjects.
This book is less evenhanded, though I’m sure he made an effort.
What’s happening here is that a group of anonymous individuals, all of them Bitcoin billionaires, have formed a group called “the Five.” Their purpose is to kill “a**holes” (hereinafter to be called “targets” in this review). People they consider evil, who do only harm to the world, and who are personally hateful. Each of them will kill one of the five targets, after which they will distribute a news release, and then make a generous donation to some charitable organization whose work counteracts whatever harm they think the target has done.
When one target is murdered in Minneapolis, Lucas and Virgil get involved. They’ll be traveling around the country playing catch-up with these billionaire killers, and it will all culminate in a running fight in Long Island, New York.
Generally, Sandford is as evenhanded as usual. He does one thing that’s uncharacteristic, though, if my recollection of the previous books is correct. He throws in a message this time – the evils of bump stocks.
Now, I’ll confess I’m pretty ignorant about bump stocks. No personal experience. The sources I’ve read have generally defended them, saying they really don’t translate into anything drastically new and lethal. But the way Sandford describes them, they turn an AR rifle into the equivalent of a tommy gun, spraying death all around, turning a lone gunman into a one-man commando team against whom the police are helpless.
I don’t know. I’m skeptical.
Other points of interest – Virgil is now writing a novel, and he complains that he “only” expects an advance of $2,500.00 or so. This proves John Sandford lives in a different universe than the one I’m in.
I believe I read he no longer lives in Minneapolis. One piece of evidence for that development is that he thinks the Bakers Square in Highland Park is still open. Sadly, it closed down forever, early in the Lockdown.
There’s a vile conservative talk show host in the story, who may be very loosely based on the late Rush Limbaugh. However, he’s such a caricature that I found it hard take offense. Liberals, no doubt, will think the portrait spot on.
On the plus side, there’s a Travis McGee reference.
Recommended, except that strong gun rights activists probably won’t like it. Cautions for foul language and violence.
I picked up another Dave Barry book, offered at a bargain price. Short review: I enjoyed Dave Barry Is Not Taking This Sitting Down. I had a suspicion it would be funny, and it was. (The title, by the way, refers to a couple essays on modern, low-flow toilets.)
It was odd that, though this book only came out around the turn of the millennium (which doesn’t seem that long ago to me at my age), it describes a palpably different world. This was before 9/11. Before Covid-19 and the Lockdown. Many of the everyday annoyances that Barry jokes about here seem to come from a long-ago, golden age when you could be annoyed when little things went sour, because they usually went okay. Most of the time.
Memories, memories.
Here’s a few excerpts:
So your school is having a science fair! Great! The science fair has long been a favorite educational tool in the American school system, and for a good reason: Your teachers hate you.
**
The reason Congress did not get around to ordering an audit any sooner is that it has been extremely busy with its primary functions, which are (1) spending money; (2) declaring National Cottage Cheese Appreciation Week, and (3) authorizing the IRS to hammer taxpayers for inadequate record-keeping.
**
Q. When should I arrive at the airport?
A. You should arrive two hours before your scheduled departure time, so that you will be among the first to know that your flight has been delayed due to mechanical problems.
**
The most stressful part [of registering for a baby shower] is picking out the stroller. Today’s baby stroller is an extremely high-tech piece of equipment, comparable in complexity to the B-1 bomber, but more expensive.
“Come, Christians, join to sing” sung by a congregation at St. Olaf’s College for the graduate conducting recital of Michael Devine
This classic hymn was written by English Moravian minister Christian H. Bateman (1813-1889) and is sung to a traditional Spanish melody, arranged by American Benjamin Carr. Carr studied music under Charles Wesley and Samuel Arnold.
1 Come, Christians, join to sing Alleluia! Amen! loud praise to Christ our King; Alleluia! Amen! let all, with heart and voice, before his throne rejoice; praise is his gracious choice: Alleluia! Amen!
2 Come, lift your hearts on high, Alleluia! Amen! let praises fill the sky; Alleluia! Amen! he is our guide and friend, to us he’ll condescend; his love shall never end: Alleluia! Amen!
3 Praise yet our Christ again; Alleluia! Amen! life shall not end the strain; Alleluia! Amen! on heaven’s blissful shore, his goodness we’ll adore, singing forevermore, “Alleluia! Amen!”
Reading:Where do you like to read? A hammock, a couch, an overstuffed chair? At a desk, on a bench, or while walking somewhere? The chair in the photo above would suit me well for firmness and lighting.
I feel I can’t read in half of my house without falling asleep, and while it would be easy to blame my age now, I don’t think that has been the reason for my fatigue or maybe mental laziness before now. I am a poor, distracted, uncompelled reader for the most part. No one will learn of my literary habits in the coming years and find in them a pattern to follow.
Historic Novels: Some books are not comfort reads. Gina Dalfonzo says she had trouble sleeping after reading The Marriage Portrait by Maggie O’Farrell. It’s a novel about Lucrezia de’ Medici, the wife of Alfonso II d’Este, Duke of Ferrara, who died at age 16, and is remembered mainly as the subject of Robert Browning’s, “My Last Duchess.”
That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf’s hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Saith the Duke with every indication that he suspected his Duchess of infidelity or perhaps, more vaguely, unworthiness.
The Future Library. Photo credit: traveldailymedia.com
I read every issue of “Viking,” the magazine of the Sons of Norway fraternal organization, of which I’ve been a humble member for longer than I care to contemplate. Often it contains interesting articles. Occasionally there’s even a picture of me, standing on the edge of some SON lodge activity, oblivious. And sometimes it gives me reason to laugh – though rarely on purpose.
The current, October, issue of “Viking” gave me a chuckle. Its cover article is called “Norway’s Secret Library,” and it describes a project called “The Future Library” (Framtidsbiblioteket) in Oslo.
The whole operation is complex and grandiose, but I’ll try to get the gist of it down here – if I can grasp it myself. It started with a Scottish artist named Katie Paterson. She came up with the idea for a library that would contain books by prominent writers that neither she nor anybody alive would ever live to read… for some reason.
A grove of 1,000 spruce trees were planted in a forest in Oslo in 2014. In 2114, those trees will be cut down and turned into paper, on which will be printed books written specially for the project by famous contemporary authors who participate by invitation. (Margaret Atwood got the first invitation. Imagine my surprise.) The Future Library itself has (if I understand the article correctly) been built from the trees initially felled to clear the area for this project. And I guess the building is going to just sit there for the next century, waiting like a time capsule.
You realize what’s happening here, don’t you? Mortality is catching up with my generation. Boomers. And they’re remembering how they treated the authors of the past. How they called for all the classics to be thrown out and burned, to make way for the Now, the With It, the Relevant. (“Hey hey, ho ho, Western Civ has got to go!”)
And they’re terrified future generations will treat them the way they treated the classics.
So they’re building themselves a pyramid. “I am Ozymandias, king of kings. Look on my works ye mighty, and despair.” (Shelley wrote that, as you’ll know if you were educated before the Revolution.)
If these authors truly believed they’d produced literature for the ages, they’d trust posterity to recognize their achievement.
The Victorians admired Lord Bulwyer-Lytton, and considered Arthur Conan Doyle an insignificant scribbler of low-brow popular fiction. Today we laugh at Bulwer-Lytton, and scholarly works are devoted to Doyle.
That’s what I’m counting on for my own books. Posthumous posterity.
As I read John D. MacDonald’s A Deadly Shade of Gold, which I reviewed yesterday, I was reminded of the 1970 film production of another Travis McGee book, Darker Than Amber. I found that it was on YouTube (in a somewhat muddy recording), and figured I’d watch it. I’d seen it before, on television sometime in the ‘70s, I think. I remembered I liked it. I wondered how it held up.
The answer is, not very well. In my opinion, it should have been called Darker Than Camembert, because there’s a whole lot of cheese goin’ on here.
The movie plot follows the book fairly closely, I’ll give it that. Travis McGee (played by Rod Taylor) is fishing with his friend Meyer (Theodore Bickel) when a girl (Suzy Kendall) drops off a nearby bridge with a weight tied to her ankles (if I recall right, it was a concrete block in the book; here it’s a bodybuilder’s weight). This is the sort of thing that happens to McGee all the time, of course, and he is quickly overboard, diving to free the girl and bring her back to the surface alive. She turns out to be named Vangie, and she’s pretty messed up. She ignores Travis’ safety warnings, and is soon in trouble again. Which puts McGee on a collision course with Terry (the great heavy William Smith in his best paranoid mode), a bodybuilder (probably on too many steroids) who has been working a badger game with Vangie. The film culminates in a brutal fight between McGee and Terry on a cruise ship. (According to Smith’s own statement, Taylor hit him in earnest and he hit back, so the fight you see is genuine. Taylor broke three of Smith’s ribs, while Smith broke Taylor’s nose. Or so the story goes. I can’t imagine hitting William Smith at all, let alone hard enough for him to notice.)
John D. MacDonald hated this movie, and never tired of saying so. He felt that its emphasis was on violence rather than human beings and feelings.
What didn’t I like? For one thing, Rod Taylor wasn’t the right physical type for McGee (Robert Culp, who was also considered for the role, would have been closer to MacDonald’s descriptions). And we see little of the thoughtful McGee in this script, which concentrates on action. Miss Agnes, McGee’s Rolls Royce pickup, is here approximated by an RR with a sort of camper rear-end, clearly built over an intact vehicle.
But the worst part was the whole aesthetic of the thing, I think. 1960s styles, colors, camera angles, music. And to top it all, a particular makeup appliance worn by Smith at the end just looks silly.
Still, if you’d like to see a Travis McGee story on film, you can find it on YouTube. The only other attempt was a TV pilot called Travis McGee, which couldn’t be saved even by the deathless Sam Elliot in the lead. Among its sins – McGee wears a mustache, his houseboat has become a sailboat, and the whole setting has been moved to California.
I didn’t embed the film in this post, because I suspect there may be copyright problems and the whole thing’s likely to be pulled any day now. Cautions for violence and brief nudity.
