Some of Solomon

What do three points make? A tri-something. I was an English major, dammit. What do three books make? In this case, a chronicle of the changes a young, intelligent, dashing ruler goes through before he dies.

In Proverbs, one I cannot help but see the hand of the clever politician. Two things conspire to create the impression:

• A peripatetic inconsistency to take one example, compare 16:28 "a whisperer separates close friends" with 18:8 "the words of a whisperer are delicious morsels." Or my favorite example, 26:4 "Do not answer fools according to their folly, or you will be a fool yourself" with the very next verse, 26:5 "Answer fools according to their folly, or they will be wise in their own eyes." If I were still a witness, I would be inclined to make excuses, to come to some literary reconciliation of these and many other inconsistencies, but as a free thinker, I am inclined to see Solomon as one who says whatever sounds right at the time. This is especially so in light of item number dos:
• Solomon can't keep his tongue quiet about the virtues of kings. "The mind of kings is unsearchable" (25:3). "Loyalty and faithfulness preserve the king, and his throne is upheld by righteousness" (20:28). "In the light of a king';s face, there is life" (16:15). One needn't look far to find more examples. Every page has one (literary license), and some of them are downright nauseating bits of demagoguery.

Put the two together, and you have a politician, born and bred. For all his bluster about wisdom, it is clear what was really important to the young king.

As he matured, however, Solomon seems to have developed a different opinion. "Wisdom? Meh." He appears to say in Ecclesiastes. "What advantage have the wise over fools?" he asks, and rightly so (6:7). His advice? "Do not be too righteous, and do not act too wise. Why should you destroy yourself?" (7:16). What a change from the author who wrote in Proverbs, "Happy are those who find wisdom, and those who get understanding, for her income is better than silver" (3:13).

If wisdom is overrated, what then should be pursued? As a Witness, I would immediately have drawn attention to the closing verse: "The end of the matter, all has been heard. Fear God,and keep his commandments; for that is the whole duty of everyone" (12:13). As a free thinker, however, I take this as a liberation, not a constraint. Do no harm, he seems to say. As for everything else, hey! There's a time for it. A time to laugh, a time to seek, a time to fart, and a time to fuck. Take it easy, already! (3:1-8 . . . kinda).

With the understanding that the books may or may not have been written in this order, it is nonetheless telling that the final step of Solomon's evolution is pure poetry. The Song of Solomon is hard to follow, and, I suspect, open to critical dissection and multiple versions. Something about a girl and her channel, a boy and his jewels, and a king and his spear. "His speech is most sweet," One of them says, "and he is altogether desirable. this is my beloved, and this is my friend" (5:16) This is the most beautiful verse I have ever read (that I can think of now), and Oh, Robert, I love you, and I have loved you, and I can think of nothing else. It looks as though poor Solomon and I have come to the same pass at the same time. And what he says is true: "Do not stir up or awaken love until it is ready!" (2:7).

The Book of Psalms

Among the many childish religious misconceptions that have been dissolved by an honest reading of the Bible is the idea that the Book of Psalms makes any sense.

That is to say, it is not really one book. Of course, David is the most notable--and enjoyable; more on that later--author, but there is also more than a peppering of unattributed or unremarkable Psalms, the whole of which does not come close to congealing.

When David speaks, however, my heart listens. At his worst, which is to say, his whiniest, he is reminiscent of Job, and there is a fraternity between the two protagonists that bears further analysis. Like Job, David wonders, "My God, why have you forsaken me?" The relatively righteous David and the thoroughly righteous Job both wonder why they suffer. "What have we done?" they wail to the heavens. Of course, David ceases to ask that question later in his career, knowing full well what he has done, but the first section of Psalms, especially Psalms 18-25ish, might well have come from Job's own mouth.

This is especially revealing, as I mentioned in my discussion of Job, when David resolves the question. He comes to the same conclusion as Job--that the heavens, the whirlwind, so to speak, are giving the answer. "Ascribe to JEHOVAH the glory of his name . . . The voice of JEHOVAH is over the waters; the God of glory thunders . . . the voice of JEHOVAH . . . the voice of JEHOVAH" etc. etc. (Psl 29).

But at his best, David passes Job. He becomes more relaxed, Zen even. You desire truth in the inward being;" he sings, "therefore teach me wisdom in my secret heart" (51:6). When David stops whining, He displays an almost Buddhist perspective. In fact, when David speaks of the the swallow who finds "a nest for herself, where she may lay her young," he echoes the Buddha's description of sati, present-moment awareness in the samyuttanikayo 5.47 (84:3,4). In this light, David's constant craving for "steadfastness", "the rock", "the mountain","the bulwark" and permanence of every type becomes a search for that which never changes, a description that could easily be applied to the Buddha. "I have calmed and quieted my soul," he finally realizes, "my soul is like the weaned child within me" (131:2). How I envy him.

Three Little Maids

The Best American Essays: 2007

I like to pick at least one of the Best American series each year, and every year I mistakenly believe from the title that I will be delighted. Everybody, including the editors and guest editors of the series, has his or her own definition of "best", and in most cases I disagree.

This is one of those cases. I found only two or three truly interesting essays in this collection of twenty or so, and most of them were not only uninteresting but also irritatingly written. Guest editor David Foster Wallace gives a clue to the reason when he writes of himself in the introduction, "As someone who has a lot of trouble being clear, concise and/or cogent, I tend to be allergic to academic writing . . ." This lack of clarity, concision and cogency, despite his professed efforts in the other direction, are reflected everywhere in his selections. It is as though he is not only incapable of writing clearly, but also of recognizing clarity in others and confusing it for lumpy rambling. This was compounded by his promise in the intro of a "brutal little treat" of an essay, hidden somewhere among the selections. That turn of phrase lulled me into an excited search for its referent, and up to the last essay, I hoped, "Maybe this is it . . ." It turned out to be either a sly editorial trick, or another misjudgment on Wallace's part.

The two exceptions to my irritation touched on confluent themes: Phillip Robertson's "In the Mosque of Imam Ali" and "Rules of Engagement" by Elaine Scarry. The former is a first-hand, though journalistic, account of the author's experience in and around Najaf during a siege by American troops and Moqtada Al Sadr's rather effective demagoguery. The latter is a riveting, though academic, iteration of the treachery of the United States government and military, even by its own standards. A pity that these were the main bright, though dark, spots in an otherwise unremarkable collection.

William Trevor: The Love Department

"'All this wretched love thing,' said Edward, 'Is it the cause of everything?'"(158). So questions Trevor throughout this remarkable novel. This early work of his accomplishes its goal far more effectively than his later, Death in Summer, a fact which leads me to prefer reading the similarly early The Children of Dynmouth for my next selection. In The Love Department, Trevor finds that Holy Grail of novelists, an inventive and curious conceit strong enough to carry an entire novel. The eponymous department is a Dear Abby-style service that takes the additional step of hunting down and thwarting the enemies of marital--and only marital--love. The chief offender is one Septimus Tuam, an itinerant gigolo who is responsible, not so much for the destruction of marriages, but for the wives' unhappinesses. The protagonist Edward, unhappy in his own right, is set upon this offender as a hapless agent of the department.

Through a series of well-constructed plot developments and whilst in the company of many memorable and believable characters, Edward comes to the realization that, as his boss had said, "We all set up a department of a kind". Indeed, the department develops into more than a literary device; it becomes an allegory of love itself. Everyone comes to his or her own amorous epiphanies, with the possible exception of Edward himself, a reminder that the messengers of love may not be meant for it themselves.

Apuleius: The Golden Ass

By means of Ward's Lifetime of Reading ( http://www.interleaves.org/~rteeter/grtward.html ) I have stumbled upon some lovable, profound works that I would never have read on my own. Never mind that Ward managed to get my to buckle down and read the Bible for real, or to chew my way through Tacitus, things about which I am less than humble. I am more grateful that he introduced me to the likes of Vaclav Havel, Maxim Gorky and Ondra Lysohorsky--none of which I would have been likely to read unsupervised. I add Apuleius to this list.

I expected something more along the lines of Ovid when I picked The Golden Ass (or Metamorphoses). I grinned heartily to find that it is a closer to a second century Harlequin Romance. Apuleius works his way progressively through the sexual vices, starting with normal--if animalistic--straight vaginal sex, through straight anal sex, gay anal sex, and ending with nothing short of bestiality. Along the way, he does that which I always say distinguishes mind-blowing literature from merely good books: he writes in such a way that the form of the book reflects the content. The "Back-and-forth fretwork of Fate", as the narrator puts it, is reflected in the back-and-forth narrative. It is no real trick that Apuleius takes the reader--roundaboutly--through stories within tales within narratives, including an account of Cupid and Psyche that is clearly the foundation for the story of Cinderella--the real one, not the Disney one. The translator does an admirable job of preserving Apuleius tricks of alliteration, cute word couplings, and other sly references to his meaning. I can't quite bring myself to label The Golden Ass MBL, but I give Apuleius just due for writing something trashy that still has wink of literariness.