“Huck only mentions what strikes him as necessary, but the details are well-chosen and invariably come up in the course of action. If nothing else, this opening demonstrates how getting one thing very right — voice — can lead to everything else falling into place.” — J. Mark Bertrand at his “Notes on Craft” blog
When Is a Town Beautiful?
My sister pointed out this sentence so I want to ask you what you think. How does sentence, published in a novel, strike you: “The beauty of [the town] was evident even in the autumn twilight.”
The paragraph goes on to describe the beauty of the town, especially in autumn with its tree lined streets . . .its hair with a luster as Fall hits the air. . . . I know you in Autumn, and I must be there. I’m sorry. I lost myself in another thought for a moment.
Anyway, what do you think of that sentence?
More on Judging Christy Awards
Mark Bertrand has continued his comments on judging the Christy Awards. Here he discusses the mystery/suspense category he was invited to judge. Here he talks about judging for a literary award. (links defunct)
Perhaps It Was a Dream
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet,
Are of imagination all compact:
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold,
That is, the madman; the lover, all as frantic,
Sees Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt:
The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And, as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.
Such tricks hath strong imagination,
That, if it would but apprehend some joy,
It comprehends some bringer of that joy;
Or in the night, imagining some fear,
How easy is a bush suppos’d a bear!
My wife and I drove down to Atlanta last night to see A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Atlanta’s New American Shakespeare Tavern. Almost too much fun. I was weary of laughing by the end.
The play seemed to end before it truly ended. In fact since Act V is mostly a poorly written tragedy performed by buffons who have “never labour’d in their minds till now,” it’s appropriate to have only a weak connection to the rest of the story. In that act, the silliness wore on me–well done and the crowd was roaring, but my laughter softened a bit. Maybe it was the lateness of the night.
It was a great play, though. I’ll see it again sometime.
A Classic
Mark Twain said a classic is “a book which people praise but don’t read.” How true is that for you?
Fuzzy-minded Friday
What will I do? I have nowhere to go this weekend. No Viking events. No battles. No family reunions. Just me and the house maintenance I’ve been putting off. It’s a pathetic man who has to make out his own Honey-do list.
I’m at loose ends. Here are a couple random links for you to study while I mutter and paw through my junk drawer in search of… I forget what.
Aitchmark, apparently having forgiven me for my anti-feline hate speech yesterday, sent me this amusing page from Merriam-Webster, with a list of favorite unofficial words.
Gene Edward Veith posted a link to this article about three new movies and an opera, all about Beowulf. No doubt they’ll all bomb, convincing publishers that no one’s interested in matters Norse, and assuring that I’ll never find another publisher.
Am I just sensitive, or isn’t it a form of racism to be unable to do a movie about an ancient Scandinavian without making the hero half black?
But I like Angelina Jolie for Grendel’s mother. I’ve always seen her as a kind of a monster. This is a woman whose appeal escapes me entirely.
To quote Oscar Levant, speaking of Madame Nu (at the time First Lady of South Vietnam): “She has all the wistfulness of an iron foundry.”
Reading Lists
Best Sex? Decadence and Debauchery? Adultery? Subversion and Rebellion? What is all this? Just a list of Sherry’s posts at Semicolon. I for one am shocked, shocked–a little interested, but mostly shocked!!
The other shoe drops
Or “another shoe.” There’ll doubtless be more.
While we were putting up my rain gutters, my brother Baal noticed that my shingles didn’t look good.
I consulted the documentation on the last roofing job. It was done in 1996. Twenty-five year warranty.
But that’s only on materials.
I called my real estate agent. He recommended a roofer who attends our church to come out and look at the situation. The guy came out today.
All bad news.
The problem is not the material. The shingles were improperly installed. By a company that’s out of business, so I can’t pursue them with fire and sword.
I’m smack out of luck. I’ll have to spring for new shingles.
I really need to find a publisher again.
By way of Mirabilis (again), I offer this story purely for the purpose of aggravating Aitchmark.
Could it be that the escalating wussification of our culture doesn’t come from bad education and effete entertainment, but from a cat parasite we’ve picked up?
Read and decide for yourselves.
Then go down to the river and drown your cat.
(I’m a Roofing Victim. You were expecting sweetness and light?)
My inner demons remain repressed
Two young women came to my door and rang the bell a few minutes ago. One’s left arm had been amputated at the elbow, and she wore a nose ring. The other didn’t make much of an impression on me, other than that she wore her hair cut short.
“Hi! I’m So-and-so, and this is my bodyguard Such-and-such,” the memorable one said. “We’re organizing the neighborhood for NARAL.” She tried to hand me a packet of literature.
“I’m pro-life,” I said.
“OK,” she said with a smile. They walked away and I closed the door.
Doubtless they heaved a sigh of relief that they’d once again escaped the inherent violence of all Christianist oppressors.
Of course, it’s true that I do have a sword in my house. More than one, in fact.
Today was Conspiracy Day on Michael Medved’s show. Always the best entertainment of the month.
I’d like to make it perfectly clear that there is no truth at all to the rumor that the world is secretly run, not by the Masonic Lodge, but by the Sons of Norway. There is even less truth to the rumor that the Viking Age Club and Society of the SON is the super-secret Inner Council of that world-wide conspiracy.
Just so you know.
I mentioned the Blue Crab Boulevard blog the other day. I only discovered it recently, but it’s rapidly becoming one of my favorites. It’s almost perfect. Some serious information. Some whimsy. Some screamingly funny satire. And he updates several times a day.
Does his boss know what he’s doing on company time? Is he independently wealthy?
Well, he should be. He does a great blog.
You Laughing at Me? You Laughing at Me?
Frank Wilson points out a call for humor suggestions by Scott Stein. “What’s So Funny?” is the title of a course Mr. Stein will be teaching this fall at University of Pennsylvania. He says, “I would welcome suggestions about what to include on the reading list. . . . No choice is too obvious. After all, somehow I never got around to reading P.G. Wodehouse until this year.”
I don’t see James Thurber on the list yet. I think his grammar guide is hilarious, and I’ve been meaning to read Is Sex Necessary? or, Why You Feel The Way You Do for a while.