Life is fast but I don't wanna live past you, cuz you are my only roots
I was the king of the drug booze thing now I've worn out the soles of my party boots
So call me shit faced Master of Disgrace, I don't care cuz my outer skin
Is thick like crust, and a liver that's rusted out, not I'm on a list (for a better one)
Everybody wants to give a shit outta me, I won't give it but I'll give ambivalence
I gotta memory box cuz my memory blocks me from remembering weeks
all the blacked out nights into white out mornings, into grey matter damagings
So call me Fat Fuck, geriatric punk rock, give it straight cuz I deserve
a verbal beating from an audience bleating (not bleeding), and a melee with no concern
Everybody wants to give a shit outta me, I won't give it but I'll give irresponsiveness
Everybody wants to drag me up again, I wanna go, but the price keeps goin up
Goin down is simple and practical, laying low but keeping it cynical
I'm on the wagon and it's such a drag, without a key kick, shot and a drag
Evidently no one likes a quitter or an old punk's bitterness
so I'm waitin for the tap on my shoulder cuz we're all getting older not better
the laughs are no longer with us
So call me fat fuck geriatric punk, shit faced Master of Disgrace
~NOFX - "Wore Out the Soles of My Party Boots"
Monday, February 28, 2005
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Some Thoughts on Traffic School
So yesterday I went to traffic school. It was one of the most mind-numbing, grueling experiences I've ever faced. There was nothing wrong with the instructor--he was a kindly old man who tried to tell as many jokes and make the class as interesting as possible, but it was to no avail. His curriculum was too much governed by the state, and to ensure that he obeyed the prescribed lesson plan, the Department of Motor Vehicles had sent an agent mid-way through the course to verify his license and make sure we were on track. Despite the school feeding us (pizza), and the breaks (the breaks were really nice: traffic school was at a Best Western in Del Mar ["The Stratford Inn"], so we were right on the beach!), there were 400 minutes of (Miss) misery. But it is over, and all I must do now is send the certificate of completion to the court, and I will be free.
Of course, a silly event like traffic school would get someone like me to think about education, the state, and--not so much brain-washing, but--punishment. Traffic school is a punishment, anyone that has been there before can attest to that. It questions a person's intelligence, it discusses things that are not applicable (we spent an hour and a half discussing drinking and driving [not to mention the video on it], and you cannot get traffic school with a DUI), and it is longer than any class is, state-run or otherwise. But why would the state use school as a punishment? Of course, traffic school is a "reminder" for the Motor Vehicle Code--something that a driver should already know. But it seems more like the state is, in a way, making you follow their rules so you can avoid the inconvenience of traffic school. Traffic school is a form of mild torture, so the entire experience is a form of mild brain-washing. Behaviorism at its best (western). The irony is that if school is a punishment, why do they force children to go to twelve years of it when (usually) the children have not broken any laws? It's a question worth thinking about. Children don't need a reminder for anything: they don't know anything in the first place, and it's obvious that trying to teach someone against their will is a waste of time. The only thing that I can see is that the state must get something out of subjecting millions of children to mild torture. And, even though high school is not as grueling as traffic school (though it may feel like it after years and years), it still is a very annoying and time-wasting experience. It is a milder torture, but more enduring, and its effects are also longer lasting. Students actually leave high school believing that they need government, as much government as possible. It takes quite a bit of convincing to get people to see otherwise after twelve years of public school.
That's my spiel on traffic school and public school-- they're pretty much the same, if you come to think of it.
Of course, a silly event like traffic school would get someone like me to think about education, the state, and--not so much brain-washing, but--punishment. Traffic school is a punishment, anyone that has been there before can attest to that. It questions a person's intelligence, it discusses things that are not applicable (we spent an hour and a half discussing drinking and driving [not to mention the video on it], and you cannot get traffic school with a DUI), and it is longer than any class is, state-run or otherwise. But why would the state use school as a punishment? Of course, traffic school is a "reminder" for the Motor Vehicle Code--something that a driver should already know. But it seems more like the state is, in a way, making you follow their rules so you can avoid the inconvenience of traffic school. Traffic school is a form of mild torture, so the entire experience is a form of mild brain-washing. Behaviorism at its best (western). The irony is that if school is a punishment, why do they force children to go to twelve years of it when (usually) the children have not broken any laws? It's a question worth thinking about. Children don't need a reminder for anything: they don't know anything in the first place, and it's obvious that trying to teach someone against their will is a waste of time. The only thing that I can see is that the state must get something out of subjecting millions of children to mild torture. And, even though high school is not as grueling as traffic school (though it may feel like it after years and years), it still is a very annoying and time-wasting experience. It is a milder torture, but more enduring, and its effects are also longer lasting. Students actually leave high school believing that they need government, as much government as possible. It takes quite a bit of convincing to get people to see otherwise after twelve years of public school.
That's my spiel on traffic school and public school-- they're pretty much the same, if you come to think of it.
Friday, February 18, 2005
An Assay on an Essay
It's going to be a while before I post again, what with me heading off to Irvine for the entire President's Day weekend (a paradox?), then my GRE Prep course starting and traffic school, so I might as well take the opportunity to post something about Orwell now. Be fore-warned, this is in not very organized (as if anything I've published thus far is organized), and it may be boring, trivial, and redundant. I suppose those are the risks one takes when reading my blog. But, I said it was coming, so here it is.
I just finished reading Shooting an Elephant-- probably one of Orwell's more interesting essays. I find it interesting because, out of all the essays I have read so far in "George Orwell: A Collection of Essays" (A Harvest Book, 1981), it is the only essay that is written most like a short story. Of course there is Such, Such Were the Joys, but, while that is written in narrative fashion, it is not about a single incident, like Shooting an Elephant is. This is probably why Shooting An Elephant appeals to me, because I desperately want to be able to write good short fiction.
On another level, and probably a more significant one, Shooting an Elephant is about empire--empire from the "oppressor's" standpoint. (I place oppressor under quotes because Orwell mentions in the essay that, "[t]heoretically--and secretly, of course--I was all for the Burmese and all against their oppressors, the British." So Orwell, being British, is at once an oppressor and is against the oppressors. This brings up another point that I will discuss a bit later.) Empire and imperialism are relevant for our situation, for (if you are unaware) there is a situation in the East where the West must struggle to maintain control. And, being a part of the "West" entails that we, like Orwell, are the oppressors. So it is beneficial in a way to get the opinion of a man struggling with being a part of the empire, and hating the empire at the same time.
The only way to elaborate on this is to describe--albeit quickly--what happens in Orwell's essay. The young Orwell gets a call from across town reporting that an Elephant has ravaged a bazaar. By the time Orwell gets to that part of town, the elephant is gone and no one can really tell him what happened. Orwell then finds a dead coolie in the mud, orders a rifle from an ordlerly, and heads off to where some Burmese had told him the elephant went. As he heads towards the elephant, a crowd of Burmese follow him; the crowd gets bigger and bigger as he approaches the spot where the elephant is. When Orwell sees the elephant, he does not want to shoot it, but ends up shooting the elephant because the crowd that had followed him expected to see a shooting. The only problem is, the elephant does not die after five shots, and Orwell ends up leaving the scene because he could not take it (he hears later that it took the elephant a half an hour to die). Orwell admits that he killed the elephant only because he wanted to "avoid looking a fool."
If one takes this essay as a parable for empire, one can see the struggle that the oppressor must undergo. Orwell had to shoot the elephant-- he even admits it in the essay: "And suddenly I realized that I should have to shoot the elephant after all. The people expected it of me and I had got to do it; I could feel their two thousand wills pressing me forward, irresistibly." Shooting the elephant has been expected of Orwell, and being in power, he had to cave to the will of the Burmese. One can transfer this to the situation in Iraq. Once the US has established some sort of presence, and is seen as protector and enforcer, it must respond to the will of the oppressed. It has to, simply to "avoid looking a fool." Once we realize this, it is easy to draw a similar conclusion to Orwell's: "I perceived that in this moment that when the white man turns tyrant it is his own freedom that he destroys." Thus, in "liberating" the Iraqis, we are giving up our own freedom.
It is also interesting to note that Orwell does not succeed in killing the elephant, despite repeated attempts. He shoots the elephant a total of five times, and it still does not die. Orwell does not even see the elephant die: he has to walk off, and only hears later that it died. In effect, this fact makes the oppressor ineffectual, even at solving a relatively simple problem. An easy thing (like an election) can become extremely difficult and unresolvable to those in charge.
The last point I wanted to make in regards to Shooting an Elephant, is the inherent contradictions that are common in Orwellian essays. Anyone familiar with 1984 knows the concept of "doublethink," where a person holds two contradictory views at the same time. This is obviously a major theme in Orwell's essays, for, in nearly every essay I have read from him so far, Orwell has some contradictory element that he discusses. In Orwell's essay on Rudyard Kipling, Orwell calls Kipling " a good bad poet." In Such, Such Were the Joys, Orwell's attitude towards Bingo is somewhat contradictory: he at once hates her and wants to impress her. This hating-yet-trying-to-impress contradiction is also in Shooting an Elephant. As I have quoted earlier, Orwell is for the Burmese and against the British, which means he is essentially against himself. He, however, is also against the Burmese, sort of: "All I knew was that I was stuck between my hatred of the empire I served and my rage against the evil-spirited little beasts who tried to make my job impossible." Orwell continues, "With one part of my mind I thought of the British Raj as an unbreakable tyranny, as something clamped down, in saecula saeculorum, upon the will of prostrate peoples; with another part I thought that the greatest joy in the world would be to drive a bayonet into a Buddhist priest's guts." This contradiction is probably the most captivating thing about Orwell. How could it be that Orwell was against the British and against the Burmese? Orwell fortunately provides the answer: "Feelings like these are the normal by-products of imperialism; ask any Anglo-Indian official, if you can catch him off duty." So imperialism is more detrimental than it seems: it causes man to hold contradictory beliefs, as well as takes away his own freedom.
So there it was. There's much more that can be said of Shooting an Elephant, as well as the other essays from Orwell, but I do not have time. Plus, I think I wrote enough as it is. It is also kind of Derridian of me to write an essay on an essay. It's like trying to justify the unjustifiable. Anyway, have a nice weekend all.
I just finished reading Shooting an Elephant-- probably one of Orwell's more interesting essays. I find it interesting because, out of all the essays I have read so far in "George Orwell: A Collection of Essays" (A Harvest Book, 1981), it is the only essay that is written most like a short story. Of course there is Such, Such Were the Joys, but, while that is written in narrative fashion, it is not about a single incident, like Shooting an Elephant is. This is probably why Shooting An Elephant appeals to me, because I desperately want to be able to write good short fiction.
On another level, and probably a more significant one, Shooting an Elephant is about empire--empire from the "oppressor's" standpoint. (I place oppressor under quotes because Orwell mentions in the essay that, "[t]heoretically--and secretly, of course--I was all for the Burmese and all against their oppressors, the British." So Orwell, being British, is at once an oppressor and is against the oppressors. This brings up another point that I will discuss a bit later.) Empire and imperialism are relevant for our situation, for (if you are unaware) there is a situation in the East where the West must struggle to maintain control. And, being a part of the "West" entails that we, like Orwell, are the oppressors. So it is beneficial in a way to get the opinion of a man struggling with being a part of the empire, and hating the empire at the same time.
The only way to elaborate on this is to describe--albeit quickly--what happens in Orwell's essay. The young Orwell gets a call from across town reporting that an Elephant has ravaged a bazaar. By the time Orwell gets to that part of town, the elephant is gone and no one can really tell him what happened. Orwell then finds a dead coolie in the mud, orders a rifle from an ordlerly, and heads off to where some Burmese had told him the elephant went. As he heads towards the elephant, a crowd of Burmese follow him; the crowd gets bigger and bigger as he approaches the spot where the elephant is. When Orwell sees the elephant, he does not want to shoot it, but ends up shooting the elephant because the crowd that had followed him expected to see a shooting. The only problem is, the elephant does not die after five shots, and Orwell ends up leaving the scene because he could not take it (he hears later that it took the elephant a half an hour to die). Orwell admits that he killed the elephant only because he wanted to "avoid looking a fool."
If one takes this essay as a parable for empire, one can see the struggle that the oppressor must undergo. Orwell had to shoot the elephant-- he even admits it in the essay: "And suddenly I realized that I should have to shoot the elephant after all. The people expected it of me and I had got to do it; I could feel their two thousand wills pressing me forward, irresistibly." Shooting the elephant has been expected of Orwell, and being in power, he had to cave to the will of the Burmese. One can transfer this to the situation in Iraq. Once the US has established some sort of presence, and is seen as protector and enforcer, it must respond to the will of the oppressed. It has to, simply to "avoid looking a fool." Once we realize this, it is easy to draw a similar conclusion to Orwell's: "I perceived that in this moment that when the white man turns tyrant it is his own freedom that he destroys." Thus, in "liberating" the Iraqis, we are giving up our own freedom.
It is also interesting to note that Orwell does not succeed in killing the elephant, despite repeated attempts. He shoots the elephant a total of five times, and it still does not die. Orwell does not even see the elephant die: he has to walk off, and only hears later that it died. In effect, this fact makes the oppressor ineffectual, even at solving a relatively simple problem. An easy thing (like an election) can become extremely difficult and unresolvable to those in charge.
The last point I wanted to make in regards to Shooting an Elephant, is the inherent contradictions that are common in Orwellian essays. Anyone familiar with 1984 knows the concept of "doublethink," where a person holds two contradictory views at the same time. This is obviously a major theme in Orwell's essays, for, in nearly every essay I have read from him so far, Orwell has some contradictory element that he discusses. In Orwell's essay on Rudyard Kipling, Orwell calls Kipling " a good bad poet." In Such, Such Were the Joys, Orwell's attitude towards Bingo is somewhat contradictory: he at once hates her and wants to impress her. This hating-yet-trying-to-impress contradiction is also in Shooting an Elephant. As I have quoted earlier, Orwell is for the Burmese and against the British, which means he is essentially against himself. He, however, is also against the Burmese, sort of: "All I knew was that I was stuck between my hatred of the empire I served and my rage against the evil-spirited little beasts who tried to make my job impossible." Orwell continues, "With one part of my mind I thought of the British Raj as an unbreakable tyranny, as something clamped down, in saecula saeculorum, upon the will of prostrate peoples; with another part I thought that the greatest joy in the world would be to drive a bayonet into a Buddhist priest's guts." This contradiction is probably the most captivating thing about Orwell. How could it be that Orwell was against the British and against the Burmese? Orwell fortunately provides the answer: "Feelings like these are the normal by-products of imperialism; ask any Anglo-Indian official, if you can catch him off duty." So imperialism is more detrimental than it seems: it causes man to hold contradictory beliefs, as well as takes away his own freedom.
So there it was. There's much more that can be said of Shooting an Elephant, as well as the other essays from Orwell, but I do not have time. Plus, I think I wrote enough as it is. It is also kind of Derridian of me to write an essay on an essay. It's like trying to justify the unjustifiable. Anyway, have a nice weekend all.
Friday, February 11, 2005
On Holiday
Tomorrow is Lincoln's Birthday, if anyone cares. Today is Lincoln's Birthday (observed). It's observed by the San Diego County Superior Court System, so I technically get the day off today. I say "technically" because I do not have to go to work, but people will be at the office anyway, working. Federal Courts, Post Offices, ktl. do not get the day off, as Lincoln's birthday has been combined with Washington's to form the ambiguous "President's Day." I also get President's Day off.
I did not take the day off out of any respect for-- or admiration of--Lincoln, but simply because I would rather not go to work. I get paid anyway (court holidays are paid holidays), so there is no real incentive for me to go and actually do something when I can sit at home.
I planned to go on a tirade about Lincoln, holidays, and government, but a fellow Indian has written a vastly superior article on Lew Rockwell's website. You can read her article here. This leaves me little else to write about.
I posted some new links today.
Expect a post concerning George Orwell and any one of his essays soon.
It is time for me to enjoy my day off.
I did not take the day off out of any respect for-- or admiration of--Lincoln, but simply because I would rather not go to work. I get paid anyway (court holidays are paid holidays), so there is no real incentive for me to go and actually do something when I can sit at home.
I planned to go on a tirade about Lincoln, holidays, and government, but a fellow Indian has written a vastly superior article on Lew Rockwell's website. You can read her article here. This leaves me little else to write about.
I posted some new links today.
Expect a post concerning George Orwell and any one of his essays soon.
It is time for me to enjoy my day off.
Friday, February 04, 2005
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
17. Omit needless words
I am reading The Elements of Style by William Strunk Jr. and E.B. White. I hope my writing improves after having read it. We shall see. I don't think I have ever enjoyed reading a book on grammar so much. Though if I remember correctly, Kingsley Amis's The King's English is probably just as good, if not better.
Here is a funny clip my brother found while perusing a video game website.
Here is a funny clip my brother found while perusing a video game website.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Be A Good Robot
The gap between man and machine is narrowing, as evinced by AARON, a program that is capable of painting. AARON is produced by Kurzweil Cyberart Technologies which also has a program that writes poetry. Apparently the program "reads" a selection of poetry and then tries to imitate (mimesis?) the poetry from the selection it has read. What the "Cybernetic Poet" comes up with is terrible, but it just about equates with modern poetry. Here are some of the poems that a machine has "written":
LONG YEARS HAVE PASSED
(A poem written by Ray Kurzweil's Cybernetic Poet after reading poems by Randi and Kathryn Lynn.)
Long years have passed.
I think of goodbye.
Locked tight in the night
I think of passion;
Drawn to for blue, the night
During the page
My shattered pieces of life
watching the joy
shattered pieces of love
My shattered pieces of love
gone stale.
Aside from the poem being nonsensical, it's hard to believe that a program would have "shattered pieces of love" that have "gone stale." But the frightening thing is I could imagine some human poet writing some similar crap and publishing it as poetry. It's disturbing in its insanity.
The Cybernetic Poet also attempted Haikus, but the meter is wrong:
MOON CHILD
(A haiku written by Ray Kurzweil's Cybernetic Poet after reading poems by Kathleen Frances Wheeler.)
Crazy moon child
Hide from your coffin
To spite your doom.
SANDALS
(A haiku written by Ray Kurzweil's Cybernetic Poet after reading poems by Kimberly McLauchlin and Ray Kurzweil.)
Scattered sandals
a call back to myself,
so hollow I would echo.
Apparently, one of the major differences between man and machine is man's ability to discern meter. None of the haikus that the Cybernetic Poet had written has the 5-7-5 meter of a traditional Japanese haiku. And modern poets think blank verse is acceptable-- meter is what makes us human!
My absolute favorite of the techno-poems is this one:
WONDERED
(A poem written by Ray Kurzweil's Cybernetic Poet after reading poems by Dave Gitomer.)
today i wondered
if i mused
today i saw you
i learned
in awe and you
if i wondered
if i mused
today i had one wish
if i saw you
if i saw you
if i had one wish
Though these are horrible poems, it is not hard to believe that a person might have wrote them. I have also seen some of the paintings done by AARON, but unfortunately I could not reproduce them on my blog. The website will show you the wonderful art that programs can produce.
Of course, as technology advances, it will only get harder and harder to tell what a human wrote and what a program wrote (I imagine that programmers will teach machines how to determine meter), but for now, these poems are really funny. I will leave you now with one more poem:
IMAGINE NOW AND SING
(A poem written by Ray Kurzweil's Cybernetic Poet after reading poems by Wendy Dennis and Ray Kurzweil and love poems by various authors.)
Imagine now and sing,
creating myths
forming jewels from the falling snow.
LONG YEARS HAVE PASSED
(A poem written by Ray Kurzweil's Cybernetic Poet after reading poems by Randi and Kathryn Lynn.)
Long years have passed.
I think of goodbye.
Locked tight in the night
I think of passion;
Drawn to for blue, the night
During the page
My shattered pieces of life
watching the joy
shattered pieces of love
My shattered pieces of love
gone stale.
Aside from the poem being nonsensical, it's hard to believe that a program would have "shattered pieces of love" that have "gone stale." But the frightening thing is I could imagine some human poet writing some similar crap and publishing it as poetry. It's disturbing in its insanity.
The Cybernetic Poet also attempted Haikus, but the meter is wrong:
MOON CHILD
(A haiku written by Ray Kurzweil's Cybernetic Poet after reading poems by Kathleen Frances Wheeler.)
Crazy moon child
Hide from your coffin
To spite your doom.
SANDALS
(A haiku written by Ray Kurzweil's Cybernetic Poet after reading poems by Kimberly McLauchlin and Ray Kurzweil.)
Scattered sandals
a call back to myself,
so hollow I would echo.
Apparently, one of the major differences between man and machine is man's ability to discern meter. None of the haikus that the Cybernetic Poet had written has the 5-7-5 meter of a traditional Japanese haiku. And modern poets think blank verse is acceptable-- meter is what makes us human!
My absolute favorite of the techno-poems is this one:
WONDERED
(A poem written by Ray Kurzweil's Cybernetic Poet after reading poems by Dave Gitomer.)
today i wondered
if i mused
today i saw you
i learned
in awe and you
if i wondered
if i mused
today i had one wish
if i saw you
if i saw you
if i had one wish
Though these are horrible poems, it is not hard to believe that a person might have wrote them. I have also seen some of the paintings done by AARON, but unfortunately I could not reproduce them on my blog. The website will show you the wonderful art that programs can produce.
Of course, as technology advances, it will only get harder and harder to tell what a human wrote and what a program wrote (I imagine that programmers will teach machines how to determine meter), but for now, these poems are really funny. I will leave you now with one more poem:
IMAGINE NOW AND SING
(A poem written by Ray Kurzweil's Cybernetic Poet after reading poems by Wendy Dennis and Ray Kurzweil and love poems by various authors.)
Imagine now and sing,
creating myths
forming jewels from the falling snow.
Saturday, January 08, 2005
Words, words, words.
Well, I already started reading the next book on my long list of books to read, but, before it is way too late, I think I should post my review of Nothing Like the Sun.
First of all, Burgess is a genius. If anyone saw my post for December 3, 2004, that would provide a little taste of what the book is like. Anthony Burgess' forte is language-- the English language (and possibly Russian, for those that have read A Clockwork Orange). And so, one comes to expect that a book about Shakespeare would be littered with equivocations, double entrendes, and puns. That is exactly what Burgess provides in the novel. In fact, the very title, "Nothing Like the Sun," is at once a direct reference to Shakespeare's "Sonnet CXXX" and a fair description of the novel. But there is also another dynamic to the language in the novel-- Burgess stays pretty close to Elizabethan English. "An" replaces "if," "thou" and "you" are used properly ("thou" being the vulgar form for "you"), etc., not only in the dialogue of the characters, but also within the narrative itself. Anyone who knows a little of Shakespeare and the kind of language Shakespeare used would enjoy this book.
Of course, I cannot simply stop at the language aspect. There is the historical element to the story as well. The novel is divided into two parts: the first part is labelled 157?-1587, and the second part, 1592-1599. Not knowing nearly enough of Shakespeare's history, I imagine that the subject matter within these two sections follows pretty closely to Shakespeare's life. This might be the only problem with the novel: for all the events that go on, the reader is left wondering whether what he read was historical, or just Burgess using his "artistic license." There were certain things that I remember from High School English about Shakespeare: his marriage to Anne, his relocation to London to work, his children (Judith and Hamnet and Susanna), and the death of Hamnet. I also remember the playhouse, the Globe, and a few other things (I know Ben Jonson was a contemporary, but was Christopher Marlowe?), but everything else outside of those few things were new to me. Did Anne ever sleep with Richard, WS' brother? Did Shakespeare contract a venereal disease? Does Shakespeare's crest really say "NON SANZ DROICT" (and is that really Norman French?)? However, despite all these historical questions (and there are plenty more), the history doesn't really detract from the story and the way it is told.
On top of all the history and the language, there are also the themes and theories of the novel. Shakespeare is in search of a "goddess" throughout the novel, and-- at least at first-- he thinks that he can find that goddess in sex. And so young Shakespeare becomes a promiscuous womanizer in search of that goddess. As Shakespeare matures, that drive for women becomes one for boys. Then the search for the goddess turns to poetry and play writing, and then circles back to a woman, but a black woman. Burgess suggests that this sexual drive is the same drive that leads to Shakespeare's profound poetry and play writing. This is an interesting theory, and it leads to one of the major themes of the work: that there is an element of the ordinary in everything extraordinary. These diametrically opposed images are almost always in conjunction in the novel. For instance, on pages 97-98, Shakespeare writes a dedicatory epistle to Henry Wriothesly while walking through London:
'I know not how I shall offend...' Spring waking in London, crude crosses still on the doors, but the wind blowing in the smell of grass and the ram-bell's tinkle. Piemen and flower-sellers cried. '...in dedicating my lines, no, my unpolished lines, to your lordship...' From a barber-shop came the tuning of a lute and then the aching sweetness of treble song. '...nor how the world will rebuke, no, censure me for choosing so strong a pop...' There were manacled corpses in the Thames, that three tides had washed. '...to support so weak a burden...' A kite overhead dropped a gobbet of human flesh. '...only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised...' In a smoky tavern a bawdy catch was flung at the foul air. '...and vow to take advantage of all idle hours...' Pickpurses strolled among the gawping country cousins. '...till I have honoured you with some grave labour...' A limping child with a pig's head leered out from an alleyway. '...But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed...' A couple of Paul's men swaggered by, going haw haw haw. '...I shall be sorry it had so noble a god-father...' Stale herrings smelled to heaven in a fishman's basket. '...and never after ear so barren a land...' A cart lurched, rounding a corner; wood splintered against stone. '...for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest...' The sun, in sudden great glory, illumined white towers. '...I leave it to your honourable survey...' A thin girl in rags begged, whining. '...and your honour to your heart's content...' An old soldier with one eye munched bread in a dark passage. '...which I wish may always answer your own wish...' Skulls on Temple Bar. '...and the world's hopeful expectation.' A distant consort of brass - cornets and sackbuts. 'Your honour's in all duty...' A drayhorse farted. '...WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.'
The imagery of the passage exemplifies the noble going hand in hand with the base. Even Shakespeare's epistle (if you can read it through the interruptions) shows this. And from this position, Shakespeare's history and his art--everything-- makes sense. The entire book flows together to make Shakespeare seem like he's nothing like the sun.
This review is long, and it doesn't do much justice to the book, since there is a plethera of issues I couldn't get to. Burgessian novels are complex like that. All in all, I liked the book very much, with my only qualm (if you can call it a qualm) being the history-fiction breach. I would recommend this book to anyone, it's that good.
First of all, Burgess is a genius. If anyone saw my post for December 3, 2004, that would provide a little taste of what the book is like. Anthony Burgess' forte is language-- the English language (and possibly Russian, for those that have read A Clockwork Orange). And so, one comes to expect that a book about Shakespeare would be littered with equivocations, double entrendes, and puns. That is exactly what Burgess provides in the novel. In fact, the very title, "Nothing Like the Sun," is at once a direct reference to Shakespeare's "Sonnet CXXX" and a fair description of the novel. But there is also another dynamic to the language in the novel-- Burgess stays pretty close to Elizabethan English. "An" replaces "if," "thou" and "you" are used properly ("thou" being the vulgar form for "you"), etc., not only in the dialogue of the characters, but also within the narrative itself. Anyone who knows a little of Shakespeare and the kind of language Shakespeare used would enjoy this book.
Of course, I cannot simply stop at the language aspect. There is the historical element to the story as well. The novel is divided into two parts: the first part is labelled 157?-1587, and the second part, 1592-1599. Not knowing nearly enough of Shakespeare's history, I imagine that the subject matter within these two sections follows pretty closely to Shakespeare's life. This might be the only problem with the novel: for all the events that go on, the reader is left wondering whether what he read was historical, or just Burgess using his "artistic license." There were certain things that I remember from High School English about Shakespeare: his marriage to Anne, his relocation to London to work, his children (Judith and Hamnet and Susanna), and the death of Hamnet. I also remember the playhouse, the Globe, and a few other things (I know Ben Jonson was a contemporary, but was Christopher Marlowe?), but everything else outside of those few things were new to me. Did Anne ever sleep with Richard, WS' brother? Did Shakespeare contract a venereal disease? Does Shakespeare's crest really say "NON SANZ DROICT" (and is that really Norman French?)? However, despite all these historical questions (and there are plenty more), the history doesn't really detract from the story and the way it is told.
On top of all the history and the language, there are also the themes and theories of the novel. Shakespeare is in search of a "goddess" throughout the novel, and-- at least at first-- he thinks that he can find that goddess in sex. And so young Shakespeare becomes a promiscuous womanizer in search of that goddess. As Shakespeare matures, that drive for women becomes one for boys. Then the search for the goddess turns to poetry and play writing, and then circles back to a woman, but a black woman. Burgess suggests that this sexual drive is the same drive that leads to Shakespeare's profound poetry and play writing. This is an interesting theory, and it leads to one of the major themes of the work: that there is an element of the ordinary in everything extraordinary. These diametrically opposed images are almost always in conjunction in the novel. For instance, on pages 97-98, Shakespeare writes a dedicatory epistle to Henry Wriothesly while walking through London:
'I know not how I shall offend...' Spring waking in London, crude crosses still on the doors, but the wind blowing in the smell of grass and the ram-bell's tinkle. Piemen and flower-sellers cried. '...in dedicating my lines, no, my unpolished lines, to your lordship...' From a barber-shop came the tuning of a lute and then the aching sweetness of treble song. '...nor how the world will rebuke, no, censure me for choosing so strong a pop...' There were manacled corpses in the Thames, that three tides had washed. '...to support so weak a burden...' A kite overhead dropped a gobbet of human flesh. '...only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised...' In a smoky tavern a bawdy catch was flung at the foul air. '...and vow to take advantage of all idle hours...' Pickpurses strolled among the gawping country cousins. '...till I have honoured you with some grave labour...' A limping child with a pig's head leered out from an alleyway. '...But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed...' A couple of Paul's men swaggered by, going haw haw haw. '...I shall be sorry it had so noble a god-father...' Stale herrings smelled to heaven in a fishman's basket. '...and never after ear so barren a land...' A cart lurched, rounding a corner; wood splintered against stone. '...for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest...' The sun, in sudden great glory, illumined white towers. '...I leave it to your honourable survey...' A thin girl in rags begged, whining. '...and your honour to your heart's content...' An old soldier with one eye munched bread in a dark passage. '...which I wish may always answer your own wish...' Skulls on Temple Bar. '...and the world's hopeful expectation.' A distant consort of brass - cornets and sackbuts. 'Your honour's in all duty...' A drayhorse farted. '...WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.'
The imagery of the passage exemplifies the noble going hand in hand with the base. Even Shakespeare's epistle (if you can read it through the interruptions) shows this. And from this position, Shakespeare's history and his art--everything-- makes sense. The entire book flows together to make Shakespeare seem like he's nothing like the sun.
This review is long, and it doesn't do much justice to the book, since there is a plethera of issues I couldn't get to. Burgessian novels are complex like that. All in all, I liked the book very much, with my only qualm (if you can call it a qualm) being the history-fiction breach. I would recommend this book to anyone, it's that good.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
Monday, December 20, 2004
I Can't Bear It
Sunday, December 19, 2004
Problems with Democracy
I came across an interesting article whilst searching for things on the recent Ukranian debacle. I intended to do a little internet research to write an article for the upcoming Irvine Regressive, (a tentative name, perhaps) a paper John and company are starting. The article that I came across might actually impact what I write for the Regressive, but, since I have not blogged in ages, I thought I should post it here first.
The article is from the BBC website, and it concerns Turkmenistan's recent election. Apparently, the Turkmen government conducted a poll and found that 80% of the population took part in a parliamentary election where there was no opposing party. The article reads, "... all 131 candidates offered support to President Niyazov, known as Turkmenbashi or Leader of Turkmens." This "Turkmenbashi" certainly has bashed all opposition in Turkmenistan, a country used to the ways of dictatorship.
But, if there was no opposing party to vote for, what's the point of voting? Indeed, the article admits that the election was a "hollow process," and the poll was a "sham," and was quick to say that Turkmenistan was becoming an "ever-more authoritarian state." However, it gave the ultimate reason why 80% of the population cast their ballots for the only party running: "To most, going to vote is an expression of conformity. To stay away could mean reprisals, our correspondent says."
Interesting...
"Democracy" has blended, at least in Turkmenistan, with the authoritarian or totalitarian state. The president controls minor details in his constituent's lives, like the smoking habits of airline pilots, or the exportation of sheep (which leads to banishment, according to the article). And, while it is easy for the BBC, and nearly any person, to view Turkmenistan as authoritarian, exactly how different is Turkmenistan's government from the United States'? I admit that the differences between the Republican and Democratic parties are few and minor, and that the state has an ever-increasing role in the minor details of everyone's lives. And, with television stations such as MTV encouraging voting, it seems there is a desperate attempt to make voting a norm; to have people conform individual values into either one of the major parties. So what makes Turkmenistan an authoritarian state and the United States a democracy?
I will not (and cannot) answer that question, at least for now. I might toy around with the idea and see what comes up for the first issue of the Regressive.
The article is from the BBC website, and it concerns Turkmenistan's recent election. Apparently, the Turkmen government conducted a poll and found that 80% of the population took part in a parliamentary election where there was no opposing party. The article reads, "... all 131 candidates offered support to President Niyazov, known as Turkmenbashi or Leader of Turkmens." This "Turkmenbashi" certainly has bashed all opposition in Turkmenistan, a country used to the ways of dictatorship.
But, if there was no opposing party to vote for, what's the point of voting? Indeed, the article admits that the election was a "hollow process," and the poll was a "sham," and was quick to say that Turkmenistan was becoming an "ever-more authoritarian state." However, it gave the ultimate reason why 80% of the population cast their ballots for the only party running: "To most, going to vote is an expression of conformity. To stay away could mean reprisals, our correspondent says."
Interesting...
"Democracy" has blended, at least in Turkmenistan, with the authoritarian or totalitarian state. The president controls minor details in his constituent's lives, like the smoking habits of airline pilots, or the exportation of sheep (which leads to banishment, according to the article). And, while it is easy for the BBC, and nearly any person, to view Turkmenistan as authoritarian, exactly how different is Turkmenistan's government from the United States'? I admit that the differences between the Republican and Democratic parties are few and minor, and that the state has an ever-increasing role in the minor details of everyone's lives. And, with television stations such as MTV encouraging voting, it seems there is a desperate attempt to make voting a norm; to have people conform individual values into either one of the major parties. So what makes Turkmenistan an authoritarian state and the United States a democracy?
I will not (and cannot) answer that question, at least for now. I might toy around with the idea and see what comes up for the first issue of the Regressive.
Friday, December 03, 2004
Burgess' Burgeoning Genial Genius
" 'Life,' so went Quedgeley on, 'is in a sense all lies. We watch ourselves act every day. Philip drunk and Philip sober. One is inside the other watching the other. And so I am John Quedgeley and Jack Quedgeley and Jockey Quedgeley and Master Quedgeley, Justice of Peace, and all. It is all acting.' And WS saw that this was true, revolving it in the murk of the bottom of his cider-tankard. Had he not himself watched WS and WS watched Will? Where was truth, where did a man's true nature lie? There was, as it were, an essence and there was also an existence. It was, this essence, at the bottom of a well, of a Will."
~Anthony Burgess. Nothing Like the Sun. p.51
~Anthony Burgess. Nothing Like the Sun. p.51
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Atlanta Started Writing...
I dropped my parents off at the airport this morning; they're heading off to Atlanta. I'm not exactly sure why they're going, but we do have family there. My father also mentioned going to some conference. It's all a big mystery-- I didn't find about it until two days ago.
So it is going to be me, my younger sister, my younger brother, and my grandfather at the Thanksgiving meal. We're probably going to have spaghetti (didn't Massasoit or Squanto teach the pilgrims how to make spaghetti?). I do not care all that much, because I found an article by Martha Brockenbrough on-line that gives me reason to care not for this tradition.
Now, she does lie to us at the outset of the article, but the part I'm interested in comes after the line: "So without further fibbing (I promise!), here's the truth about three widely heldThanksgiving myths." That just screams of honesty.
And then Martha tells us under Myth #2 that "George Washington declared a Thanksgiving in 1789 after the United States first established a government, but Thanksgiving didn't go national until the mid-19th century. This was largely the work of magazine editor Sarah Josepha Hale, who conducted a letter-writing campaign calling for Thanksgiving to be declared a national holiday. President Lincoln [italics mine] responded, issuing a Thanksgiving proclamation that set aside the last Thursday in November of 1863 for gratitude.
In 1939 President Franklin D. Roosevelt [my italics again] touched off a two-year squabble when he moved the holiday to the third Thursday to give store owners a leg up on holiday shopping. Detractors dubbed the relocated holiday 'Franksgiving,' and in 1941 Congress finally made the fourth Thursday in November the official day. So, in truth, it took 320 years to make Thanksgiving stick."
Lincoln and Roosevelt's mandates are reason enough to be nothing more than apathetic about the Holiday. At least Washington let us choose when we wanted to be thankful. Roosevelt even had the sinister undertone of changing the holiday for shopping. Ugh.
But towards the end of the article I find the clincher of why Thanksgiving isn't such a big deal: "...Lincoln's Thanksgiving proclamation expressed thanks that the Civil War had not destroyed the country." Ha. I would be thankful too if the Civil War had not destroyed the country.
The only other thing that I want to mention on this state mandated holiday is that I shaved my grandfather's head.
Happy Franksgiving everyone.
So it is going to be me, my younger sister, my younger brother, and my grandfather at the Thanksgiving meal. We're probably going to have spaghetti (didn't Massasoit or Squanto teach the pilgrims how to make spaghetti?). I do not care all that much, because I found an article by Martha Brockenbrough on-line that gives me reason to care not for this tradition.
Now, she does lie to us at the outset of the article, but the part I'm interested in comes after the line: "So without further fibbing (I promise!), here's the truth about three widely heldThanksgiving myths." That just screams of honesty.
And then Martha tells us under Myth #2 that "George Washington declared a Thanksgiving in 1789 after the United States first established a government, but Thanksgiving didn't go national until the mid-19th century. This was largely the work of magazine editor Sarah Josepha Hale, who conducted a letter-writing campaign calling for Thanksgiving to be declared a national holiday. President Lincoln [italics mine] responded, issuing a Thanksgiving proclamation that set aside the last Thursday in November of 1863 for gratitude.
In 1939 President Franklin D. Roosevelt [my italics again] touched off a two-year squabble when he moved the holiday to the third Thursday to give store owners a leg up on holiday shopping. Detractors dubbed the relocated holiday 'Franksgiving,' and in 1941 Congress finally made the fourth Thursday in November the official day. So, in truth, it took 320 years to make Thanksgiving stick."
Lincoln and Roosevelt's mandates are reason enough to be nothing more than apathetic about the Holiday. At least Washington let us choose when we wanted to be thankful. Roosevelt even had the sinister undertone of changing the holiday for shopping. Ugh.
But towards the end of the article I find the clincher of why Thanksgiving isn't such a big deal: "...Lincoln's Thanksgiving proclamation expressed thanks that the Civil War had not destroyed the country." Ha. I would be thankful too if the Civil War had not destroyed the country.
The only other thing that I want to mention on this state mandated holiday is that I shaved my grandfather's head.
Happy Franksgiving everyone.
Sunday, November 21, 2004
Here He Is...
I finally have a blog. What better day than on the eve of obtaining "Let's Talk About Feelings"? Well, maybe May 16th would be a better day. Anyway, I would post some more stuff, but "The Simpsons" are almost on. So enough is enough is enough.
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