Paul Harrison: Elements of Pantheism

 I really wanted to get on board with this.  Something about me is tired of the search, and just wants a label to hang my hat on.  I've tried everything, as is clear, and will continue to.  But pantheism, at least as described here, just isn't it.  Perhaps Harrison's term "panentheism" is close, but still not right.  The word that occurs to me is "toothless".  This approach to the divine is almost meaningless, if technically accurate.  I don't want to give up and simply exist, although there are definite arguments to be made for that.  I want my interaction with whatever is bigger than me to be reciprocal.  I don't merely want to know about it, I want to interact with it in a meaningful way.  And so I continue to search for the path that leads me there.  Perhaps that search is the only meaningful interaticion that is possible.  Perhaps not. 

Eça de Queirós: The Relic

 My expectations were low for this book after reading the editor's less than glowing introduction.  According to her, this is a middling book in which the author's genius can be glimpsed, but not seen in full.  Expecting a disjointed, slapdash story, however, I was pleasantly surprised by both the concept and the style.  The idea of a religious triptych is charming, and the effect is successful. Combining the realist style with the supernatural vision was perfectly effective, and the rogueish narrator is more relatable than similar characters in Stendahl etc al.  His disdain for the church is no doubt reflective of the author's own, and possibly his carnal nature too. There is an underlying admission that there is something to it all, however, and it is that which takes the book to each of its interesting waypoints.  Perhaps most interesting--and eerily prescient--of these moments is a dialogue the narrator has with Lucifer in which he says, "Don't bemoan the holocausts of Moloch.  There will be holocausts of Jews someday" (87).  in 1887.  Brrr.

Yes, religion is a farce.  And yet what other account can be given of the visions that we receive, and the moments of fate that bring us to equilibirum?  As the devil says in response to the above description of religious rises and falls, "What do I can one way or the other, Raposo? They are transient.  I am not."

Davis, Jenkins, and Hunt: The Pact

 It's no wonder that my students' reaction to this book was overwhelmingly positive.  It has "accessible" written all over it: writing style, structure, content, and relevance.  I can think of dozens of young men in my classes this year alone who would benefit from reading the story of coming of age among economic and other difficulties, overcoming, and paying it forward.  Even those things that a critic might consider flaws--some narrative cohesion is lacking, and the gentlemen in question are not exactly poets--contribute to its teachability and charm.  No notes; would and will teach again.

 

Mutiny on the Bounty

It is no wonder that this story has multiple adaptations.  It has everything: epic scope, human drama, the  battle between good and evil, and the ultimate triumph of the former.  I would even go so far to say that it is not yet milked for all its value; the story of Pitcairn island only began with this story, and I would love to know more about what happened thereafter.  

Silly me, I assumed that the better movie version would be the more modern, ambitious, and Brandoed of the two.  It is clear that his power and emotions ran away with him during filming, though.  Focusing so much on the romance, and the resulting blow to pacing and narrative, was clearly his fault.  And there are character choices that make his version of Fletcher Christian suffer in comparison to Gable's: a certain foppery and affectation that reduce the stakes of his choices among them.  

But overall I think the credit for the earlier version's ultimate superiority can be given to the editors, rather than the performers.  Even if Laughton's version of Bligh descends into caricature rather too often, the tight pacing and streamlined script of the 1930s version are what ultimately make it the better of the two.

But was it great?  I can't bring myself to go that far.  Surely the cinematography is a marvel (in both versions), and one struggles to imagine how the filming of either was even possible with existing techniques and technologies.  However, I maintain that a movie can only ever rise to the level of its concept, and in both cases the intention was just to tell a story, not to reflect a larger truth.  Good, but Great was never going to be in reach.

Ian Fleming: Casino Royale

 My brother-in-law's assertion that this book is better than the movies based upon it cannot be evaluated here, insofar as I have never seen the movies in question.  What seems certain, however, is that it is wildly different from any spy movie I have ever seen--the Bond movies included.  In the cinematic versions, the hero prevails through almost inhuman skill and cunning.  He is aware at all times of his surroundings, and knows from experience and instinct the best way to succeed.  He then applies his perfect marksmanship, well-honed body, and sexual prowess to ensure that outcome.  He is the alpha male ideal of mastery, in and out of bed.

The Bond in this book is nothing of the sort.  His only talent seems to be a high threshhold for pain, and he is consistently taken by surprise, caught flat-footed, and the victim of higher machinations.  In fact, were it not for consistent intervention by his more competent team and, ultimately, a deus ex machina, he would not have made  it past the first chapter.  This is, of course, a more realistic picture of life.  The only thing we can hope for is that our iron will can get us through the perils of existence.  It is not, however, edifying.  The endorphins released by the alpha male fantasy remain unreleased, and one is left only with the accurate, but unsatisfying realization that neither we nor any other man are golden, and ultimately all that awaits us is pain and betrayal.

Robert J. Sternberg, Ph. D.: Love is a Story

 This model of relationships, to the extent such things can be analyzed, is as good as any.  Humans are story machines; we exist to narrate, to make sense of things and find a map through what is in reality a cloud of atoms.  Sternberg's model acknowledges this humanity, and applies it first at the macro level, proposing a story about stories that one can use to illustrate and reflect one's own experiences.  Each of his proposed models is rather like a tarot card that one can turn up and see as an answer to the mystery of our connections.

His deck, however, the taxonomy of approaches to relationships, is flawed in its cisheteronormativity, but the approach is sound.  Begin by asking, "What have experience and society, combined with my won innate nature, led me to believe about--and seek from--relationships?"  There are certain of his models that come close to describing my own beliefs and experiences.  Even if I limit myself to what he offers, it is useful to notice that part of my own dissatisfaction and frustration with love comes from the conflict between what I believe (something adjacent to his "garden" story) and what I end  up with (something more like his "sacrifice" story).  But this realization is the booby prize, in a way.  Knowing that what I have found is not what I want is small solace.  Knowing why I have attracted or pursued stories that do not align with what would make me happy would be a much more useful bit of information.

And so I add my own version to his list.  Love is a Brotherhood.  It is a battle, but not between the parties.  Rather it is a combination of forces against the encroaching void for mutual protection and advancement.  Whether this story is healthy or not is open to debate (my therapist thinks not).  But it at least gives me a concrete framework to lay over my own choices, and reflect.

Ultiimately, however, Love is a Story is itself a story: another layer of narrative on top of reality that can be useful or not, depending on whether one sees it as a map or a mirror.

Joan Bauer: Rules of the Road

 What a charming and inspiring book.  I wish that I had read it as a teenager, finding my place in the world, and searching for the strength to do for myself what should have been done for me.  How sad for me that no mentor has yet appeared to lend me strength and wisdom, but such fairy godmothers only ever appear in stories.  

Nonetheless, perhaps teaching this book to my students will give them something of what I needed at their age.  And may I continue to be that person for them, to the best of my ability.

I Ching

 This book has long held a fascination for me, not so much for its power, but for its approach.  The natural cycle of things, observable in every aspect of existence, follows definite patterns.  To perceive these patterns, and move with them, is as close to virtue as I know.  It is, of course, not a book to be read, per se.  Rather I prefer to let it read me.  Accordingly, this written response is not a typical reaction.  I may never read the entire book, and do not intend to keep strict track of which hexagrams have come up for me as though it was a collection of baseball cards.  The commentary and explication in this edition by Hua-Ching Ni were invaluable, and offered a depth that will no doubt continue to yield insight.  But for now, I simply record the books response to my inquiry:

"What is the most important principle for me to apply at this point in my spiritual awakening?"

As ever, the answer does not disappoint:

Hexagram 21: Shih Ho, Biting through hardship.  The task ahead is difficult, and must be met with two forces, brought together to meet in the middle.  The task is, of course, that of existence and awakening.  The forces are that from above, the Yang, and that from below, the Yin.  As with the jaws, the above is resolute, immobile, unchanging; the below is fluid, adaptable.  Bringing them together will bring in order: pain, poison, gold, and finally success.

The challenge of facing my existence, ceasing to avoid it, and embracing the challenge of maintaining equilibrium--especially in the classroom--is no small task.  But it can be accomplished, and will bring about the result:

Hexagram 40: Hsieh, dissolution of the problem.  Ni here reference a story from Chuang Tzu that I have long held dear: the butcher's knife does not dull, because in his mind the joint are already separated.  My confidence in the eventual outcome, the true nature of reality as a whole and in my part individually, is justified.  All is unity, abundance, and perfection, and so shall it be revealed.

Yusuf

 The unnumbered Bismillah introduction feels like one of the only things worth uncovering in the entire book.

1: And its related enigma, the الٓر ۚ, here ironically paired with an invocation to clarity.

2-3: The audience here is explicitly of one, both by language and by invitation.

4-6: A strikingly different version than that in Genesis 37, on several points: in that Joseph told his father the dream, not his brothers, and that he recognized it as a sign, rather than rebuking him.

7-9: And no mention of the coat, which would be enough to drive anyone to jealousy.

10-15: And several other slight differences, which give this account the flavor of originating from an entirely different source.  It is not the omissions, but rather the insignificant differences that make one wonder if the oral recounting of the story diverged at some earlier point,rather than both versions coming from more or less the same text.

16-19: The differences have the general effect so far of painting Joseph in quite a positive light, and removing redeeming qualities from certain of the brothers: Judah and Reuben.

20-21: Perhaps the idea of Potiphar (here unnamed)'s affection for Joseph may come from this source, or some Jewish tradition.  In Genesis, it is all business.

22-25: Slightly different framing here:Joseph is specifically prevented from sin by his رَبِّهِۦۚ, a troublesome fly in the larger ointment of free will and predestination.

26-31: A delightful and fascinating embellishment to the story.  It makes one want to create a new version fusing the two.It makes one wonder how Joseph's exoneration will affect the rest of the story though.

32-35: This dovetails with the Genesis story, and makes the two accounts reconcilable.

36: Again, avoiding identifying the Egyptians in questions, unlike GOnly minor devi     enesis.

37-40: Joseph gives a better summary of his theology than we have received elsewhere: don't divide the indivisible, and be grateful.

41-42: Pretty parallel to the Genesis account, though missing the details of the interpretation.

43: fairly offputting to avoid transitions, but that's the consistent style.

44-49: Only minor deviations here, such as the addition of the year of plenty after the drought.

50-52: This might be my favorite additional detail: the comeuppance of the women.  Also, it is clear that Hulusi's interpretation of رَبِّكَ has more credence than I originally thought.

53-56: Hulusi's translation of نَفۡسِيۖ as "special friend" makes certain extrapolations irresistible.

57: None of the translations I'm considering agree on the best rendition of يَتَّقُونَ  translating it as protecting themselves (Hulusi),  pious, mindful, and god-fearing.

58-66: For the most part the accounts are reconcilable.  I did not remember, however, that it was Simeon who remained behind.  One wonders about his treatment while in Egypt alone.  

67-68: Jacob/Israel comes across rather better in this account again.

69-70: And cluing Benjamin in on the trick is a nice touch.  One is touched by the brotherly love in this and in the Genesis account.

71-77: Again the brothers come off rather worse in this account.

78: Evidently ٱلۡعَزِيزُ was not Potiphar's name, but a title.  He (and the brothers) remain unnamed.

79-80: Reuben is slightly less terrible here, but again unnamed.

82-86: And Jacob is quite a model of patience and submission here.  He always came across as flat and vague in the Genesis account.

87-90: Joseph and Benjamin must have been cracking up during all of this, though rather a cruel trick to play on their father.

91-93: Clearly he knew his father well.

94-98: A small moment, but I love it.

99: His mother too, evidently.  I don't recall Rachel being mentioned much in Genesis.

100-101: A lovely prayer from Joseph, and one that focuses on what is presumably the focus of the whole volume: مُسۡلِمٗا, submission.

102-107: This alternate account is attributed to direct revelation, though it still has the flavor of an oral tradition.

108-111: And the summary/application is . . . tenuous.  I would rather say the point of the story is that all things are revealed, and have their timely purpose--even what seems to be evil at first.

 

Marina Galletti and Alastair Brochte (eds): The Sacred Conspiracy

 Though the author listed on the binding of this volume is Georges Bataille, he deserves very little credit for the work within.  For one thing, he is only the author of a fraction of the texts.  For another, it is really the work of the editors that gives it any meaning at all.  The texts themselves, for the most part and especially those penned by Bataille, are just the bleatings of untethered, if powerful, minds in the maelstrom of Fascist Europe.  All of the ideas have the flavor of desperate clinging to an unserviceable metaphor, of men with too much time on their hands.

But placed side by side in context, they become something much more useful.  The ideas themselves are occasionally interesting, but never to the level of those ideas whence they came: De Sade, Nietzsche, et al.  They fail to develop those greater ideas into anything new or rooted, and as such can safely be ignored.  Seen chronologically, however, they reveal a narrative.  The story of a group of smart, but idle and egotistical men aiming to achieve something great, but ultimately doing nothing but quibble, is familiar and nearly farcical in its clarity.  The observer, and the editors, can see so clearly that Bataille's ego kept these thoughts from maturing into a philosophy--let alone an action--that it becomes a cautionary tale, rather than a treatise.

Luis Vaz de Camões: The Lusiads

 I can say confidently that Camões accomplished that which he set out to do here, and also that what he set out to do was not what one would think.  On the surface, the poet saw a need for a National epic, something suitable to the glory and vigor of his tiny nation.  Of course he succeeded on this front, delivering something that is only slightly beneath Homer or Virgil in scope, skill, and sense.

    It is clear from certain moments, however, that Camões set out to glorify more than Portugal with this epic.  He wanted to make sure, of course, that the many heroes of her history got their due place in the world's memory.  But it is not only the warriors and explorers who he set out to memorialize.  Speaking of Homer and Virgil, those other, if I may be permitted, epic-ureans, he offers the comparison:

However they polish and decorate

With metaphor such empty fables,

My own tale in its naked purity

Outdoes all boasting and hyperbole (V.89)

Yes, it is the artists of the age, and himself in particular, that he gives a place beside the conquerors.  Nor does this come across as vanity, but rather as a simple statement of fact.  Those who do deserve their place, but so do those who sing of those deeds: 

Those rewards which encourage genius

My country ignores (X.145)

Consciousness of his own part in the history of his nation is never far from his lips, but this is only his secondary, not his final, goal.

    The task of creating a national epic in the style and scope of Homer without descending into heresy was no doubt a delicate task.  He signals his intent early to create parallels between the literary pagan gods and the contemporary Catholic ones: Aphrodite for Mary, Dionysos for Satan, and so on.  The analogy is superficial throughout, and its ultimate unsustainability is evident.  One admires the cleverness, rather than the truth of it.  It is not until the final canto that Camões reveals his own awareness of the artifice, and its purpose:

He who with his very essence

Hedges this polished and perfect globe

Is God; but who God is none comprehends

For human wit cannot attain such ends (X.80).

The allegory of the Greek deities is admittedly insufficient to capture the realities of the divine, but so is the Catholic understanding.   God is none of these things and all of them.  He is the epic deed, and the epic poem all in one, Da Gama and Camões, the hero and the artist.  Only the two together can even point at Him.

Judith Guest: Ordinary People

 The most astonishing thing to me is how accurately and deeply the author has captioned the subtleties of male pain.  It is no doubt a socially conditioned --and inaccurate--thought of mine that female pain is larger, deeper, and crueler than anything I will experience in life.  I am in fact finishing a cross stitch of the famous Rukeyser quote to that effect for my sister's Christmas gift.  Even if it were just the tyranny of biology, the bloody cycle of pain and turmoil every month, the bittersweet holding and incubating of life, a woman's life would be sharp enough that no male should ever have the gall to look her in the eye.  And yet on top of that body is layered sheet after sheet of societal pain and daily indignity.  How could a man dare to imagine?

And yet men do, especially authors. The nature of women's pain makes it especially tempting, I'm sure, to try and capture a theatrical version of it.  I can't resist attempting it myself, even.  And men do sometimes capture the flavor of a woman, in the same way that a seltzer water tastes vaguely like the fruit displayed on its label.  I am certain, however, that any woman, reading or watching a member of her gender written by a man, must smirk at the flimsy, if well-intentioned, result.  "Good effort," they must think.  "But if they only knew."

Men's pain, in my experience, is generally more subtle.  It is difficult to capture even the hint of it in words, and such efforts often feel forced and cloying, even by men themselves.  At best they feel clinical, sterile, like trying to bottle the the wind.  At worst, they are justifications, disingenuous attempts to compare that which has no corollary.  

In this book, Guest has accomplished that which I have never seen a man do.  She has distilled that pain down to its essence, lain it bare, and presented it for the reader in a way that may in fact succeed in giving men words for their pain, and women at least a window.

Ramón Gómez de la Serna: Las Proximas Greguerías hasta 1000

 901.El apuntador es el eco antes que la palabra.
The pointer is the echo before the word.

902.La Naturaleza es triste. ¿Ha visto alguien reirse a un árbol?
Nature is sad.  Have you ever seen someone laugh at a tree?

903.Es espantapájaros semeja en espía fusilado.
The scarecrow looks like a spy who has been shot.

904.El ascensor es más peligroso que el avión, porque si se desgracia no será posible salvarse ni con paracaídas.
The elevator is more dangerous than the airplane, because in case of an accident it’s impossible to save yourself, even with a parachute.

905.Si hay una miga en la cama, el sueño estará lleno de promontorios y peñascos.
If there’s a crumb in your bed, your dreams will be filled with hills and crag.

906.Lo malo de los diccionarios enciclopédicos es que están llenos de grabados de bacilo.
The worst part of encyclopedic dictionaries is that they are filled with engravings of bacteria.

907.El mapamundi nos sirve el mundo como un par de huevos fritos.
The world map serves us up the world like a pair of fried eggs.

908.Los ojos de los gatos están mirando por el ojo iluminado de la cerradura de la alcoba del misterio.
The eyes of cats look through the lit keyhole of the alcove of mystery.

909.La X es la silla de tijera del alfabeto.
The X is the folding chair of the alphabet.
910.Bibliómano es una especie de cleptómano de los libros.
A bibliomaniac is a type of kleptomaniac that specializes in books.

911.En las máquinas de escribir sonríe la dentadura postiza del alfabeto.
The dentures of the aplhabet smile in the typewriter.

912.La gaita canta por la nariz.
Bagpipes sing through the nose.

913.El zodíaco as algo así como la lista o menú del restaurante de los dioses.
The zodiac is something like the billof fare at the restaurant of the gods.

914.La L parece largar un puntapié a la letra que lleva al lado.
The L seems to be giving a swift kick to the letter at its side.

915.Lo más terrible de nuestro libro de direcciones es que sacarán de él las señas de nuestros amigos para enviarles nuestra propia esquela de defunción.
The most terrible thing about our address book is taking the addresses of our friends out of it to send them the notice of our death.

916.No se sabe cuándo los bomberos vuelvan o van.  Debían poner una señal aclaratoria en sus carros de asalto para neustra tranquilidad.
We don’t know when the firemen come or go.  They have to put a siren on their engines for our peace of mind.

917.La W es la M haciendo la plancha.
The W is an M floating on its back.

918.El colchón está lleno de ombligos.
The mattress is full of bellybuttons.

919.Los días de lluvia, el Metro se convierte en submarino.
On rainy days, the subway becomes a submarine.

920.Un foco de automóvil proyectándose sobre nosotros nos convierte en película.
The car’s headlights turn us into a movie.

921.La belleza con lunares es una belleza certificada.
Beauty with moles is beauty that has been certified.

922.En la pequeñez de la violeta se esconde el proyecto de un gran amor.
In the smallness of the violet is hidden the project of a grand love.

923.Si los gatos se subiesen unos sobre otros, llegarían a la luna.
If cats piled on top of each other, they would reach the moon.

924.El alfabeto es un nido de pajaros del que proceden bandadas y bandadas de palabras.
The alphabet is a nest from which come flocks and flocks of birds.

925.La mariposa vuela en la muerte clavada en su alfiler.
The butterfly flies even in death, stuck with its pin.

926.Cuando el niño corre detrás de la resaca se cree que el mar huye de él.
When boys run after a hangover, they believe that the sea runs away from them.

927.Hay pianistas violentos que tienen la locura de pisarle los callos al piano.
There are violent pianists who are crazy enough  to step on the corns of the piano (an expression meaning to inconvenience).
928.No os fiéis nunca de las mujeres que al besar se cuelgan del cuello y levantan una piernecita burlonamente.
We never trust women who hang on the neck when kissing and lift one leg coquetteishly.

929.El ruiseñor es el Hamlet de los pájaros.
The nightingale is the Hamlet of the birds.

930.Abrimos la puerta del piso como ladrones y entramos como detectives.
We open the trap door like burglars, and enter like detectives.

931.El 4 tiene la nariz griega.
The 4 has a greek nose.

932.Las teclas negras son el luto que guarda el piano por los pianistas muertos.
The black keys of the piano are its mourning, to protect it from dead pianists.

933.La h es una letra tan transparente y tan muda, que no es raro que a veces no nos demos cuenta de que no está en la palabra en que deberia estar.
The h is a letter so clear and silent that it’s not unusual for us to sometimes not realize that it’s not in a word where it should be.

934.El ventilador debía dar aire caliente en invierno.
The fan should blow hot air in the winter.

935.Hay unos finales de concierto en que parece que se ha vuelto loco el músico más sensato.
There are musical finales where it seems that the most sensible musician has gone crazy.

936.Contar la velocidad en nudos me parece un sistema retardatario.
Measuring speed in knots seems to me a rather stupid system.
937.La mosca es la sortija de pobre.
The fly is the ring of the poor.

938.Al sordo hay que gritarle, pero con naturalidad, como si se le hablase en voz baja.
One must yell at the deaf, but naturally, as though speaking in a low voice.

939.El dispéptico llega a tener diálogos teatrales en la barriga.
The dyspeptic comes to have theatrical dialogues in his stomach.

940.La amnistía es la amnesia del delito.
Amnesty is the amnesia of crime.

941.--He escrito un opúscolo.
       --¡Tan joven!
“I’ve written a leaflet.”
“How youthful!”

942.Eran tan elegantes y tan aburridos, que cuando se reunían pedian una botella de spleen.
They were so elegant and boring, that when they meet they order a bottle of spleen.

943.El peluquero nos habla meintras nos sirve como loquero sensato a un loco momentáneo.
The hairdresser talks while serving us, like a sensible therapist to a temporary madman.

944.La mosca nos trae un murmullo de los confesionarios de la muerte.
The fly brings us a murmur from the confessionals of death.

945.El marido ideal es el que dice: «Mi mujer es un ecónoma.»
The ideal husband is the one who says, “My wife is the trustee.”
946.Los que meriendan en el campo llevan un perrito para que se coma los huesos.  Pero ¿por qué no llevan otro para que se coma los papeles?
Those who snack in the countryside bring a little dog to eat the bones.  But why not bring another to eat the wrappers?

947.Lo mejor de la aurora es que no sabe nada del día anterior.
The best thing about the dawn is that it knows nothing of the previous day.

948.El rebuzno es un suspiro frenético.
The bray is a frantic sigh.

949.Sólo la mujer da cuerda a los corazones.
Only the woman can wind a heart.

950.El que nos pide que le demos «un golpe de teléfono» es un masoquista.
He who asks to be hit up by telephone must be a masochist.

951.El avión matará los celos, pues ella, que se ha estado con uno en Nueva York o Santiago de Chile anteayer, puede estar pasado mañana con otro en Madrid.
The airplane is the death of jealousy, since she who was with someone in New York or Santiago the day before yesterday, can be with another in Madrid the day after tomorrow.

952.El violín puede ser stradivarius; pero el arco y el brazo que lo tocan son de otra época peor.
The violin may be a Stradivarius, but the bow and the arm that play it are from a worse period.

953.El 5 us un número que baila.
The 5 is a number that dances.

954.Al arco de violín tiene el pelo blanco de la experienceia.
The violin bow has the white hair of experience.

955.La luna y el sol no tienen más que una sola cama para descansar y por eso la una trabaja cuando el otro dureme.
The moon and the sun have but one bed between them, so while one works the other sleeps.

956.Lo más caro de la Naturaleza es el rocío, que sólo se expende con cuentagotas.
The most expensive thing in nature is the dew, for it is only given out with an eyedropper.

957.Anónimo es un superviviente de todas las épocas que siempre es el mismo.
Anonymous is a survivor of every age that is always the same.

958.No hay nadie que saboree el agua como el pájaro.
Nobody savors water like a bird.

959.Nuestra sombra debía de servirnos de paraguas los días de lluvia.
Our shadow should serve as an umbrella on rainy days.

960.Odian a los negros y se pasan las horas enteras al sol para ver si se ponen negros.
They hate black people, and spend whole hours in the sun to see if they become one.

961.El Japón vive en pleno bazar.
Japan lives in the middle of a festival.

962.El gusano se arrastra resignadaments porque tiene prometido un viaje en avión cuando sea mariposa.
The caterpillar drags itself along resignedly, for it has been promised an airplane flight when it becomes a butterfly.

963.La jirafa es la escalera contra incendios de los animales.
The giraffe is the fire escape of the animals.

964.La luna es la exclamación de sorpresa de la noche, so «¡oh!» luminoso.
The moon is the surprised exclamation of the night, its luminous “Oh!”

965.El mono usa guantes en los pies.
The monkey wears gloves on its feet.

966.Tenía triste la voz como si le saliese del esqueleto.
The voice was sad, as though coming out of a skeleton.

967.La sonrisa de la Gioconda está hecha para durar siglos.
The Mona Lisa’s smile is made to endure the ages.

968.Frase artística: la alegoría de la gloria.
An artistic phrase: the allegory of the glory.

969.La perlas se forma nada más que con las escondidas illusiones de la ostra.
Pearls make themselves our of nothing but the hidden illusions of oysters.


970.El humo es la oración del hogar.
Smoke is the prayer of the hearth.

971.El elefante no es un animal, es una asociación.
The elephant is not an animal; it is a collective.

972.En las pelequerías nos visten de fantasmas.
In the movie theater, we dress ourselves in fantasies.

973.En la ola está el espejo de los abismos.
The mirror of the abyss is in the waves.

974.El crepúsculo es el apertivo de la noche.
Dusk is the appetizer of night.

975.El antropófago es el consumidor que se come al consumidor.
The cannibal is a consumer of consumers.

976.El escritor antiguo compraba una gallina para comérsela y tener además plumas con que escribir.
The ancient writers would buy a chicken for dinner, and quills as well.

977.Con lo de «conejo a la cazadora» se disimula que es conejo de corral.
They call it “Welsh Rarebit” to hide the fact that there is no meat. (Huge liberty taken.  Literally: “They use “Huntress’ Rabbit” to hide the fact that it was raised in a hutch.”)

978.Lo más misterioso del bosque es cuando se oye en su gran silencio el quebrarse de una ramita.
The most mysterious thing in the forest is to hear a snapping branch in the middle of a great silence.

979.Sobre el hombre que se sienta en el sillón ultrapeluqueril de los dentistas oscilan todas las luces de una gran metrópoli y se es como víctima de un shock nervioso en una calle de Nueva York al la hora de más tráfico y de más bombaje eléctrico.
Over the head of the man reclining in the dentist’s chair, all the lights of a grand city shine, and he feels like the vistim of a nervous shock laying in the street of New York during rush hour.

980.El tranvía aprovecha las curvas para quejarse de la empresa.
The streetcar takes advantage of the curves to compain about its load.

981.Al entrar en las puertas giratorias miramos hacia atrás por si viene Charlot queriéndonos empujar.
When we enter revolving doors, we look behind us to see if Charlie Chaplin is coming to push us.

982.Medicinas y coñac para dormir: insomnia con tos.
Medicine and Cognac for sleep: insomnia with vomit.

983.El pez no aguantaría la pecera si no se hiciese la ilusión de que viaja por los maresde China.

984.La luna es el espejo de la experiencia de los siglos.
The moon is the mirror of the centuries’ experience.

985.La Biblia es un libro en el que todos estamos aludidos.
The Bible is a book in which we have all been predicted.

986.El calvo parece que puede ver las estrellas sin levantar los ojos al cielo.
The bald man seems to be able to see the stars without lifting his eyes.

987.Los ángeles del cine son ángeles negros.
The angels of the cinema are dark angels.

988.Hay días grises que son días medievales, con tejado de pizarra.
Some days are so gray the become medieval, with slate roofs.

989.El cacto es el churro monstruoso y vegetal.
The cactus is a monstrous and vegetable churro.

990.El queso Gruyére nos está diciendo: «¡Hay que tener mucho ojo!»
Gruyere cheese is telling us, “You need to have good eyes!”

991.Hay dos tipos humanos diametralmente opuestos: los que piden sopa siempre y los que no la toman nunca.
There are two types of people, those who always eat soup, and those who never do.

992.La patata es el vegetal minero.
The potato is a vegetal miner.

993.Amasador de masas: panadero político.
Kneader of dough: politic baker.

994.Los telegramas debían tener un distintivo exterior que señalase si son felices, tristes o catastróficos.
Telegrams should come with some indication of whether they are happy, sad, or catastrophic.

995.Quiso unir la alegría con el dolor y estalló el laboratorio.
He wanted to combine joy with pain, and blew up the laboratory.

996.El matrimonio es la carta de amor certificada.
Marriage is a love letter that has been certified.

997.El bacilo es el gigante más pequeño y más feroz.
The bacterium is the smallest and fiercest of giants.

998.La Historia es un pretexto para seguir equivocando a la Humanidad.
History is an excuse for humanity to keep making mistakes.

999.El caballo de circo es las mesa de plancha de la amazona.
The circus horse is the amazon’s ironing board.

1000.El paracaidista es un muñeco ahorcado que se salva.
The paratrooper is an escaped hanging doll.

Alice Munro: Vintage Munro

 It is always a marvel to me when I happen to read a book just as its relevance is at its height--either in my own life, or in that of the greater discourse.  Munro's death coincided suspiciously with my reading of this collection, along with a renewed discussion of her problematic history.  It all adds up, though.  The stories are filled with women in search of something, without ever finding it, and especially in love.  Unlike in life, however, the women in her stories don't seem to hurt anyone but themselves.

Cicero: On Obligations

 In my town, which is in no way mine yet, there is a building that always captivates me.  It is a fairly typical Romanesque building from the turn of the century, but with a black, Gothic tower jutting out from one corner.  My friend Rose hates it.  She says it doesn't match, that it can't decide what it is.  The sinister darkness that protrudes from the edge and becomes the dominating feature is out of place.  I can relate.

Whence comes this darkness, the edges, the spires, the ominous black face that belies the careful and respectable whole?  I often look for its source, and for the roots of my intense goodness as well, in my family history.  On a recent trip to Topeka, I met my third cousin for the first time, and hit it off with her  immediately.  She showed me a portrait of our common ancestor, my great-great-grandfather, handsome and focused, and wearing a mysterious pin.  It was nothing I had seen before, not Masonic, or Rotarian.  I asked her what orders he might have belonged to, and she told me he was a member of the Knights of Pythias.  

That building, the one that speaks to me?  It's name: The Pythian Castle.  Headquarters of the same organization that my ancestor belonged to.  

I read this book because it was said to contain the story of Pythias, only to find out that it was barely a paragraph of mention.  Cicero is not concerned with such stories except as they relate to his true passion: the Roman State.  He iterates the types of virtue at length, thinking he has proven his point, but without really having done so.  There is nothing new in this book, nor is it put in a particularly convincing or engaging way.  Justice, Temperance, Wisdom, and Greatness of Spirit are certainly excellent virtues.  There is another, though, that he nearly ignores.  It is that which I have been searching for as long as I can recall, and also that to which the Knights of Pythias happened to be dedicated.  I flatter myself that I also have it in abundance, though without any proper outlet.  I am a Pythian without a Damon, a Knight without a banner.  Oh where is Enkidu, Jonathon, Caphisodorus?  That we may form an altar to Friendship, and raise its banner over all?

Pedro Bandeira: O Melhor Presente

 I expected this to be a light and fluffy children's book, and to have little to say about it other than congratulating myself on finishing a book in Portuguese.  I should have known, based on the author's reputation and the depth of the fellow who recommended him to me, that there would be more.  A typical children's book, in the Western canon at least, would have ended the story with a satisfactory conclusion that left all the characters feeling good and having learned an important lesson.  Usually the characters and situations are simply tools in the author's box, and are put neatly back after having had their adventure.  

 Bandeira, however, seems to care little about the characters.  They are fictional, and their growth is meaningless.  He takes aim directly at the reader, and delivers lesson to them so stern and bleak that one wonders if he meant for children to read this book at all.  Children are, after all, only marginally capable of internalizing and making meaningful changes in the way they consume.  Adults, however, can easily imagine the possibility of Earth becoming a garbage dump filled with trash, and could even  take steps to prevent it.

The Zend Avesta

My father's family is fucked up in a very American way.  His father was emotionally distant and oblivious, and naturally adhered closely to the expectations of a society that was designed to favor him.  His wife, obsessed with others' perception of her and her family, devoted herself to the keeping up and putting in of appearances, which allowed no room to think about or heal the cruelty she endured at his hands.  Naturally, she became a huge bitch, which had the expected effects on the next generation.  Less information is available about the ways they were treated by their parents, although everything that is told lines up nicely with the throughline of American Trauma that one sees in movies and television.  Very sad, but not very unusual.

My mother's family, however, is a whole new, twisted kind of fucked up.  It really should be turned into a book.  The strange thing is that everyone is a victim in it.  Even the abusers and assholes are/were just displaying very understandable reactions to their horrible traumae.  It's a Rube Goldberg device of emotional suffering that one can follow from what I hope will be it's final victim, me, back up through the strings and pulleys to the man that seems to have pulled the first lever:  my great grandfather, who bears all the hallmarks of a hedonistic sociopath.  Tracing the trauma back upstream has helped me quite a bit in the process of healing my own programming, forgiving those who programmed me,and making sure it stops with me.

Which is all to the point of saying that I think I have also found the source of Western Civilization's trauma.  I originally thought that I was going to find something deep and profound in this book, the progenitor of all Judeo-Islamic-Christian belief systems.  At the least, I hoped to find meaningful, or at least interesting, stories, symbols, and characters.  Instead, I found a truly ghoulish mishmash of impossible and burdensome procedures and proscriptions.  If this is our great grandfather, it's no wonder that our family is this fucked up.