Apparently, the subject of The Bookseller of Kabul doesn’t like the story as written, saying it has fabricated stories and recorded private conversations.
Imagine There Are No Readers
“What are the consequences if America becomes ‘a nation in which reading is a minority activity?‘” National Endowment for the Arts Chair Dana Gioia asks this question out of a concern that our country is discouraging reader among teenagers and young adults. He says,
We are doing a better job of teaching kids to read in elementary school. But once they enter adolescence, they fall victim to a general culture which does not encourage or reinforce reading. Because these people then read less, they read less well. Because they read less well, they do more poorly in school, in the job market and in civic life.
The Hartford Courant reports: “‘Is this a cultural apocalypse? No,’ Gioia said, but noted a paradox — while the number of books published is increasing annually, reading for pleasure is declining.”
The report appears to be weak on data for online reading, and some publishers are critical of it for that reason. If people are reading a good bit online, it may offset the study’s results. I’m interested in hearing how much we all read online too, but I don’t think that point of data would change the answer to the survey question asking how much time you spend reading anything for fun. The report claims “15-to-24-year-olds spent just 7 to 10 minutes a day voluntarily reading anything at all” in 2006, according to the Washington Post. That ain’t too good. How much texting did they do?
Movie Review: Beowulf
One line review: I didn’t hate it.
Long, long ago, when I was a small, unpromising child, my brother Moloch and I were given the gift of a ViewMaster for Christmas. If you’re one of our younger readers, you may never have seen a ViewMaster. It was a device for viewing stereoscopic images; pictures in 3-D. The pictures came on cardboard disks, and my favorite set of disks was the one portraying the story of Snow White.
This wasn’t the Disney version. Somebody had gone to great pains to carve and paint a number of posed character figures, and then to place them in dioramas and photograph them. Whoever did the job had a tremendous sense of composition and color, and I found the scenes fascinating and beautiful.
In a way, Beowulf is a lot like those ViewMaster scenes, with the added element of motion. I’ll confess right off the bat that I have a “gee-whiz,” little kid’s response to the novelty of watching a 3-D movie. Even when the effects take you out of the story (which, I must confess, they often do), I enjoy the ride.
The capture motion animation, in my opinion, is less successful. I think the response you’ll get from most people who come out of the film will be, “It was kind of weird.” I liked that the digital painting of the characters made them resemble the figures in my ViewMaster Snow White. And sometimes, particularly in the action scenes, I thought the animation was very effective.
But in the quieter scenes, especially, the ones that involved people interacting with each other, things were strangely off. Hands, facial expressions and body movements often seemed stilted, deformed or awkward, which is odd. If Disney was able to create elegant, naturalistic motions using drawings alone, how is it possible to make figures look less natural when you’re drawing right on top of actual filmed images?
I predict that this kind of animation will continue to be done, and will rapidly improve. Which means that Beowulf will not age well.
How did they treat the story? That’s also kind of weird, though it was far from reaching the low-end benchmark of the recent Canadian/Icelandic Beowulf and Grendel, which I reviewed here a while ago. That movie made the story a parable of European racism and imperialism, painting Grendel as the spotless hero and Beowulf as a Nazi, redeemed only by his profound self-doubts.
Beowulf treats the story with much more respect than that. The script, by Neil Gaiman and Roger Avary, follows the original poem in its general plot points, with the added bonus of including Beowulf’s last battle with the dragon, which most moviemakers would have omitted. In order to unify the theme, they make some major changes in the plot, though, mostly involving the character of Grendel’s mother, played (you must be aware by now) by Angelina Jolie without no clothes on. (I didn’t find this, actually, more pornographic, done in this kind of animation, than the skin-tight female uniforms so popular on recent versions of Star Trek. On top of that, Angelina J. has never been my idea of an appealing female. Unlike a dragon, she has not the least spot of vulnerability about her. Which, in a way, makes her perfect for the role. The stiletto heels, however, were a little too much; even if they were presumed to grow out of her feet.)
What intrigues me about the changes made in the story is that the authors have taken a Germanic heroic saga (in which the hero is bigger than life and essentially without fault, dying in the end merely because his fate-allotted time has run out) and changed it into a tragedy on the Greek model. The Greek tragedy centered on a hero with a fatal flaw—some weakness or appetite that compelled him to bring his own doom down upon himself. This plot pattern was eagerly taken up by Christian poets and playwrights, who recognized it as an ideal vehicle for expressing the Christian view of original sin.
This means that, in spite of the fact that most of the references to Christianity in the movie (anachronistic, by the way, as Christianity was hardly heard of in Denmark until at least a couple centuries later) are dismissive, and although the primary Christian spokesman in the movie is pictured as extremely brutal to his slaves, the writers have (probably without meaning to) essentially forced a Christian form and sensibility onto the pre-Christian story.
From a historical point of view, the costumes and sets were better than those in The Thirteenth Warrior (also based on “Beowulf,” and all in all a better film, but much debased by ridiculous, anachronistic armor), but not as good as those in Beowulf and Grendel (which tried to redeem its ruthless trashing of the whole saga by punctilious authenticity in its look). I saw some details, in helmets and swords and such things, that pleased me. But the designers, apparently, felt some compulsion to make a lot of the armor look sort of Greek or Roman (perhaps a subliminal nod to the Greek tragedy drift of the script).
I’ve never cared for bare-legged warriors. Real Vikings wear trousers (which leaves completely to one side Beowulf’s totally naked fight with Grendel).
Well, I could go on, but it all works out to the same thing. Beowulf is a bold and ambitious treatment of a classic epic. It’s entertaining and worth seeing (Leave the kids at home, though. It should have gotten a more restricted rating than PG-13).
If you’re not interested in this sort of thing, don’t bother. If you are, see it now before it becomes something we all look back at and laugh.
Better to Speak the Language of “Once Upon a Time”
The Jollyblogger talks about the power of story in connection with Pullman’s Golden Compass.
Christian apologists have spent years and years attempting to show the reasonableness of Christianity, and have claimed many victories. Yet the religious landscape around us suggests that whether or not we have persuaded many heads, we continue to lose ground in capturing hearts – so let me join the chorus of those who are saying that we need to learn better to speak the language of “once upon a time.”
The 50% solution
I nearly hit a deer tonight, while driving home from work.
It should be noted that my commute is not a rural one. It’s not even outer-ring suburb country, with lots of big, wooded lots. I drive from one inner-ring suburb to another inner-ring suburb, with one or two inner-ring suburbs in between. This deer jumped from behind a wooden fence at the edge of a tiny little park along 42nd Ave. in New Hope. Fortunately, my tiger-like reflexes allowed me to jam on the brakes before I hit it, and the driver behind me’s tiger-like reflexes allowed him to avoid rear-ending me.
I think maybe we need to re-think this whole business about restricting deer hunting to a limited season. I say we’ve got plenty of deer, and people who need cheap protein should be able to shoot ‘em any time they like.
I hasten to add that I don’t think we should be allowed to take our hunting rifles to urban deer, such as the one who touched my life this afternoon. Those stray bullets are made of a toxic substance, you know, and might be bad for the environment.
We might give bowhunters a shot, at them, though.
Speaking of mayhem (and that’s an unusually labored transition, even for me) I have a thought about mysteries and solutions tonight.
I’ve gotten into the habit of watching CBS’s “48 Hours Mystery,” which runs on Saturday nights, often after a re-run of “CSI.” The juxtaposition of the two shows intrigues me, mostly because of the differences between the fictional mysteries and the real ones.
What strikes me about the real mysteries covered on “48 Hours Mystery” is that they generally lack a really satisfactory resolution. In a fictional mystery, you almost always end with a solid solution to the problem. The detective brings out his damning evidence, and the accused can do nothing but hang his head and say, “Yes, I did it and I’m glad. She made my life a living heck” (or something equivalent).
But in real life, to judge from “48 Hours,” that scene almost never happens. The detectives gather evidence that they consider conclusive, and they arrest the suspect, who generally says nothing except to ask to call his lawyer. As the court proceedings go on, every piece of evidence is contested by the defense, and plausible explanations are put forward. The evidence against the accused may be strong, but it’s almost never absolutely, 100% definitive.
So in the end, the jury is left with a judgment call. Has the prosecution proven guilt beyond a reasonable doubt? In real life, it seems there’s always some room for doubt. Often it comes down in part to a subjective impression—“I just didn’t trust him.” “He gave me the creeps.” And you’re always left with a nagging doubt. “Maybe we condemned an innocent man.” Or, “Maybe we let a guilty man loose to kill again.”
You know what? That’s life. It’s very, very rare that you get to make a choice where you have absolute, 100% proof of the right way to go. (If you did, would it really be a choice?)
I think that goes for matters of faith too. Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t think truth is relative, or that the Bible isn’t God’s revealed truth.
But those who look for 100% certainty—an argument that will answer all objections and silence all doubts—will hover forever at the crossroads.
Choices—including the choice to believe—ultimately come down to a conviction in one’s soul; “the testimony of the Holy Spirit.” Perhaps that’s another name for what’s theologically called Election.
And even then, don’t expect all doubts to disappear. They won’t.
We see through a glass, darkly.
Small minds talk about people. Teeny-weeny minds talk about themselves.
Sent a new column to The American Spectator Online last night. I’d thought the piece a lost effort, an orphan, but it was saved, oddly enough, by a prominent Democrat.
I’d written this timely column in response to a news story with Christian implications which raised a fair stink last month. But by the time I got it into something resembling a publishable form, the editor (and with him the world) had moved on to new and better things.
That’s why I don’t generally do topical columns. I have the greatest respect for those people who can watch a new story developing on CNN, do quick research on the net, and have a polished opinion ready the following morning.
Me, I generally don’t even know what I think for the first couple days. And if I come up with some kind of encephalogram worth transcribing, I’ve got to
A) Compose a first draft.
B) Revise and cut.
C) Revise and cut some more.
D) Put the thing away for a month to get some emotional distance on it.
E) Forget all about it.
F) Discover it while looking for something else on my hard drive.
G) Read it over, appreciating once again how really bush league my prose is.
H) Give it another revision.
I) Put it away again.
J) Remember it once more, when I notice how low my checkbook balance has fallen.
K) Revise it again. Realize it’s hopeless.
L) Send it off anyway, on the assumption that, since I thought it was good in the first place, I must be no judge of quality.
M) Wait for publication, or rejection, whichever comes first.
N) Overeat.
That’s why I prefer to do leisurely, trivial columns on subjects like “Why the End of Analog TV Portends the Demise of Civilization as We Know It.”
In any case, the Democrat (who I’m not going to name here, since I want it to be a surprise when and if the thing gets published) raised the same issue (or an issue close enough to enable me to add it in, like an Almost-Invisible Hair Weave) the other day. I re-wrote the article and sent it off.
Now, time to overeat.
Nordic news for you
It happened today. The Devil’s Confetti. The Pillow Fight Aftermath From H*ll.
It snowed.
Not much. Just for a few minutes. But I looked out the window and the white stuff was whirling in a vortex of low pressure in the parking lot. If this were a zombie movie, this would be the scene where the chicken is found nailed to the door, sending the symbolic message, “We know where you live, and your feeble science has no power to save you from our malice.”
Every year that passes, the summer seems shorter.
Fortunately, the winters seem shorter too.
But not as short as the summers.
Thanks to Phil for forwarding the news to me: The Chicago Viking Ship, for which I agitated in this space a while back, has won a preservation grant, thanks in part to your votes. The site is a little vague as to exactly how much money will be forked over, but the ship project is in the top tier.
I don’t often see good news from Denmark, but I’m happy to report that a center-right coalition won the parliamentary elections there Tuesday. “Center-right” doesn’t mean quite the same thing in Denmark as it does in America, but it’s still good news, from my slanted perspective.
I’ve largely written off Europe. I’ve come to terms with the fact that the old Europe, the one we loved from the movies, is gone forever. But perhaps a few things can be saved. Perhaps it won’t become an Islamic continent. Perhaps the Europeans are beginning to notice that the wonderful new world they’ve been promised doesn’t match the reality developing around them. “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” after all, is a Danish story.
What they really need, in my opinion, is a return to Christ. But, as the Lord Himself noted, it’s harder for a camel to go through a needle’s eye than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom. Prosperity, it seems to me, is Europe’s big problem.
America’s too.
Mother’s Milk Cuts Out Food Allergies
All nutrition news must be taken with a grain of salt. Some reports don’t appear to reveal anything at all, but many just come across too strongly, that is, the headlines come across too strongly. The p-u-b-l-i-c mind should know better by now. Stand guard against reports that confirm your current beliefs, and watch for reports which may be just displays of a few researchers previously held beliefs.
Since I linked to research (not nutrition related) yesterday which I automatically rejected based on my biases, I will link to a report I can accept without question. “Breast-feeding in the first three months of life appears to help shield children from developing food allergies,” according to a presentation at the American College of Allergy, Asthma and Immunology. Sure, it does. Never doubted it.
Where’s my grain of salt?
The C.M.E.P.
I enjoyed trashing Steve Thayer’s novel, The Wheat Field, so much last night that I thought I’d kick it a little more tonight.
One thing I started wondering as I re-read my review was, “How come Thayer didn’t finish the job?” There was one obvious conservative stereotype he could have included, but for some reason he left it out. Hard to understand, when he used all the others.
I can imagine him having lunch with his publisher. In between the salad and the entrée, the publisher says, “Look, Steve. We need to talk about the obvious omission in this manuscript.”
“Omission? What did I leave out?”
“The C.M.E.P., of course.”
“C.M.E.P.?”
“Yes. The Child-Molesting Evangelical Pastor. Every other novel set in the Midwest that we’ve published this year has included a C.M.E.P. Our readers expect a C.M.E.P. They’re going to be pretty disappointed if you don’t give them a C.M.E.P.”
“Well, gee. I’m not sure how I could make it germane to the plot…”
“Germane, shmermane. You threw in that subplot about the recluse couple. That didn’t have anything to do with the rest of the story.”
“Well, I felt like I needed to include at least two characters with a drop of recognizable humanity in them.”
“Recognizable humanity? What are you talking about? You’re writing about the Midwest. There’s no recognizable humanity in the Midwest. All those two-parent homes, people going to church. Gives me the willies. You’ve got to put something in there to show how oppressive traditional families are.”
“On top of the C.M.E.P.?”
“Put ‘em together. Make the abusive father a preacher. Our readers’ll eat it up.”
“You want a second irrelevant subplot? Isn’t the plot enough of a mess already?”
“OK. Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll let it go for this book, but in the next one you’ve got to give us at least two C.M.E.P.s. Think you can do that?”
“Yeah, I’m sure I can do that.”
“Put Bush in too. Figure out a way to blame it all on Bush.”
(Thayer mutters to himself) “Maybe I can blame Bush for my whole writing career.”
Reflecting on a Little Red Bench
Madeleine L’Engle inspires a bit of thought at A Circle of Quiet.