Wednesday, November 18, 2009

e.e. cummings

in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman

whistles.........far.........and wee

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer
old balloonman whistles
far.........and.........wee
and bettyandisablel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's spring
and
.......the

.............goat-footed

balloonMan.........whistles
far
and
wee

(Thank you e.e. cummings, I needed that. It is not spring, but for ten seconds in my brain, it could be. Also, "mud-luscious" and "puddle-wonderful"? Perfect.)

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Brain Explosion


I shouldn't be blogging.

I should be writing a paper. I'm just excited because I've officially reached Grad School Critical Mass Level 1. I'm not going to kid myself and pretend that this is real critical mass because I don't have a job and I'm not working on my thesis or my oral exam yet, but I do "finally" have not just buckets and buckets of reading, but like super-human amounts of writing, reading, presenting, and things I'm supposed to be attending on top of this bizarre cold that won't get worse or better, but just sits on my chest and face like a troll.

Why is this exciting? I have no idea. I'm weird. It's not like I'm accomplishing anything. When I have tons of reading, I can read for seven hours a day; I'm fairly certain I'm the only person in my class who actually reads every word. Now, however, I've entered the procrastination zone, which mostly just entails stacking and restacking my piles of articles and books like a fortress around my laptop. Maybe while I'm making lunch the words will seep from the books into the laptop and my paper will magically assemble itself.

Most likely not. Most likely I'll bring lunch to my desk, get cream cheese all over my fortress, and have to start from scratch.

Tuesday, November 03, 2009

The Book(s) of the Dead

I meant to post my special Halloween Edition Book Review on Halloween, but oddly, had a lot of things to do that day what with all the candy, and the costumes, and the candy, and the Halloween. If, like me, you're not quite over it yet (really, does Thanksgiving offer all that much to look forward to instead? They should reverse the order, put Thanksgiving in August so there's a nice steady build up through the end of the year...), then this might offer you something to hold on to. If you're sick of it, save this for next year and move on.

Anyway, this year I went for the Classics, Frankenstein and Dracula; and then a little search for lost souls on the side.

Frankenstein, or, The Modern Prometheus
by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

I must first admit that the decision to read this book was not wholly mine, and that it was required for one of my classes. I tried to read Tim's untouched copy about two years ago and didn't make it through the introduction. That shouldn't color whether or not you decide to read this book though, it should only make you think carefully about which edition you buy. Mary Shelley made a number of changes to the text in her life, up to the point when she sold the copyright (for something insane like $37) and neither she nor anyone in her estate ever made another penny off of the book again. A good edition, like the Chicago edition (pictured above), shows the changes that she made, which are sometimes fairly significant. The nice thing about it though, is that if you're reading for enjoyment, you can largely ignore the little editorial bits, but the occasional footnotes actually help.

It seems as though everyone knows the story of Frankenstein, the monster made from human body parts who throws little blond girls down wells and is afraid of fire, etc. etc. However, as with anything usurped by Hollywood, what's been churned through the machine is only a shadow of the original work. You probably know that Frankenstein is not the monster, but the man who creates him (the monster has no name), but did you know that the Monster reads Paradise Lost, and Plutarch? That there is no Igor? That Victor Frankenstein begins to make a female monster, but realizes the monsters might have baby monsters and rips her body up and throws her into the sea?

Suffice to say that the book is not old hat. The story is nothing like what you've probably heard. And if, at the end, you don't want to throw Victor Frankenstein into the sea, I would be surprised. (Also, and I know this will thrill you nerds out there, the book is entirely epistolary. BAM! Now you have to read it.)

Who I would recommend this book to: my Dad, and Tim if he ever finishes The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao.

Dracula
By Bram Stoker

"Sometimes I think we must all be mad and that we shall wake to sanity in straight-waistcoats." -Dr. Seward's Diary

Imagine, if you will, spending seven years researching Eastern Europe, vampire folklore, and madness, and then sitting down at a typewritter and spending three more years writing the 600 page classic that is Dracula. Again, if you've ever seen a movie about "Dracula," even Bram Stoker's Dracula, you can pretty much just throw that out the window. Again, the novel is written in the epistolary style, with letters, diary entries, news articles and other scraps and documents thrown in here and there. Here though, Dracula is pretty much exactly the bad news you think he is.

The brilliance of Dracula, the demon and the book, is his absence--how rarely one sees his face after the first few pages, and yet the effects of his evil are felt on every page as sickness and insanity spread like wildfire. Dracula is, in a lot of ways, an adventure story, an almost epic quest to rid the world of supreme evil, undertaken by a motley (and luckily very wealthy) crew of five men and at the center of it, one woman, whose chief virtue is that she "has the brain of a man." Whether or not you consider that a compliment, consider what Dr. Van Helsing says: that evil men can be conquered because, despite their cleverness, they have the minds of children.

Who I would recommend this book to: pretty much anyone. Really, I loved it. Also, it's a classic.

Spook, Science Tackles the Afterlife
By Mary Roach

About a year ago I reviewed Mary Roach's book, Stiff, which stuck in my mind not only because it's all about dead bodies and all of the weird things that people do and have done with them, but because while I was reading it in the GW Hospital Emergency room (don't ask), I read about how one of the founders of the GW Hospital was a convicted body snatcher who used to rob graves and do all sorts of unsavory things with the corpses. (How's that for a long sentence?)

Spook looks at all of the ways (wholesome and not-so-wholesome) which people have tried to use science to prove the existence of a soul, it's weight, color, texture, smell, shape, and whether or not their is badminton in the afterlife. It's a quick read for two reasons: 1) Roach's subjects and infinitely fascinating and 2) she's adept at seeing the just the right level of humor in situations where people either take themselves too seriously, or are dismissed outright (at a school where people learn how to be Mediums, for example). Roach gets to the bottom of all sorts of things you didn't know you wanted to know about, like the "21 grams" theory (21 grams being the supposed weight of a human soul), and children who remember their past lives.

For all the times when there is some kernel of real science hidden in these phenomena that makes you wonder, "what if?", there are 10 other times when it's just fun to laugh at crazy people.

Who I would recommend this book to: Jared, J-Darnutz (yes, I just called you that on my blog), and my mom.