Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Big Foot
I haven't had much to say over here for a while, so, because I've been sorting through my photos, I thought I might post one occasionally. I took this back in 2002, in the courtyard of a museum atop the Capitoline Hill in Rome. I call it "Big Foot."
Saturday, March 16, 2013
On (Not) Watching Television
I've been following along recently with a number of discussions of the ending of Season 3 of Downton Abbey, mostly out of amusement at how passionately some people are reacting to what happened. I'm not a participant in these discussions, because I have never seen a single episode of Downton Abbey (which is apparently somewhat unusual for someone in my demographic, which can be loosely classified as "Over-Educated Intellectual Snob"). The last television series I watched with anything like regularity was The Practice, which was on ABC for 8 years (1997-2004). I actually didn't make it through the first year, because ABC moved it around, and I had trouble keeping up with what day and time it was on. And I didn't want to tape it (yes, it was long enough ago that people used VCRs to record shows they wanted to watch, not DVRs or streaming or on-demand...). Before that, I couldn't say what I watched with any regularity. Maybe the Mystery! Sherlock Holmes series with Jeremy Brett between 1984 and 1994? Since those programs, I have completely missed out on reality TV...and on everything else...although oddly enough we have expanded basic cable (basic is included in our HOA fee, and we buy the expanded tier so my wife can watch the Food Network and I can watch baseball...does baseball count as "reality TV"?).
I don't feel particularly "superior" to anyone because of this; I guess I would rather read, and rather not be tethered to a schedule (although on-demand makes that unnecessary). Just musing on how much of an outsider in on-going conversations I tend to be (and to feel), and it can often be awkward. (But not awkward enough to make me do anything about it.)
I don't feel particularly "superior" to anyone because of this; I guess I would rather read, and rather not be tethered to a schedule (although on-demand makes that unnecessary). Just musing on how much of an outsider in on-going conversations I tend to be (and to feel), and it can often be awkward. (But not awkward enough to make me do anything about it.)
Friday, February 22, 2013
Some Thoughts on Assignment in Brittany
Helen MacInnes's books have begun to be re-issued in print and in ebook formats by Titan Books (this is a wholly good and wonderful undertaking), and I have begun to re-read them. I started with the first one, Above Suspicion, published originally in 1941, and being a classic example of the amateur being caught up in an intelligence operation. When I first read it (in the early 1970s), I thought it was an excellent book, and having just finished re-reading it, I find my original opinion unchanged.
I remember having a similarly positive reaction to her second book (Assignment in Brittany, 1942). But as I have begun re-reading it, I have run into something that has given me pause. A British intelligence agent, Martin Hearne, is being sent into occuppied France because of his remarkable physical appearance to a French soldier (Bertrand Corlay) who is currently recuperating in an English hospital. Corlay is from the small town of Sainte-Deodat, unmarried, his father dead and his mother a semi-invalid. Hearne is supposed to take his place and to report on German actions in that part of Brittany.
Hearne is asked (well, ordered) to undertake this assignment because his superior (Matthews) saw Corlay and jumped to the conclusion that it was Hearne. The physical resemblance was that strong.
But we're expected to believe that anyone who gave this scheme a moment's thought could possibly have concluded it would work. Matthews saw Corlay on a stretcher (broken hip), bandaged. Yet he was sure enough of the resemblance that he formulated this plan. Could the resemblance possibly extend to such things as physical mannerisms (which Hearne will not, in any event, have time to learn--he leaves in only a couple of weeks, and Corlay is hospitalized, and in bed)? Voice (could a native speaker of English actually speak French well enough to impersonate someone well-known to his neighbors?)? Could Hearne possibly learn enough to deceive the people of Sante-Deodat (including Corlay's mother), regardless of how well he has been coached? Corlay is engaged to a young woman in Sainte-Deodat, with the engagement described by Corlay to Hearne as an arrangement, not a love match. Even so, Hearne's ability to lead her to think he is really Corlay seems questionable. And even if most of the villagers are willing to go along with the game, it only takes one to cause the whole scheme to implode.
And this is not a case of someone who's been away from the village for years (e.g., The Return of Martin Guerre or Brat Farrar), but someone who has been gone for (at most) a few months.
I'm having a little difficulty accepting that anyone would have approved this plan. (And, of course, it doesn't turn out as planned.) But without approval, of a clearly hopeless undertaking, there is no book.
I remember having a similarly positive reaction to her second book (Assignment in Brittany, 1942). But as I have begun re-reading it, I have run into something that has given me pause. A British intelligence agent, Martin Hearne, is being sent into occuppied France because of his remarkable physical appearance to a French soldier (Bertrand Corlay) who is currently recuperating in an English hospital. Corlay is from the small town of Sainte-Deodat, unmarried, his father dead and his mother a semi-invalid. Hearne is supposed to take his place and to report on German actions in that part of Brittany.
Hearne is asked (well, ordered) to undertake this assignment because his superior (Matthews) saw Corlay and jumped to the conclusion that it was Hearne. The physical resemblance was that strong.
But we're expected to believe that anyone who gave this scheme a moment's thought could possibly have concluded it would work. Matthews saw Corlay on a stretcher (broken hip), bandaged. Yet he was sure enough of the resemblance that he formulated this plan. Could the resemblance possibly extend to such things as physical mannerisms (which Hearne will not, in any event, have time to learn--he leaves in only a couple of weeks, and Corlay is hospitalized, and in bed)? Voice (could a native speaker of English actually speak French well enough to impersonate someone well-known to his neighbors?)? Could Hearne possibly learn enough to deceive the people of Sante-Deodat (including Corlay's mother), regardless of how well he has been coached? Corlay is engaged to a young woman in Sainte-Deodat, with the engagement described by Corlay to Hearne as an arrangement, not a love match. Even so, Hearne's ability to lead her to think he is really Corlay seems questionable. And even if most of the villagers are willing to go along with the game, it only takes one to cause the whole scheme to implode.
And this is not a case of someone who's been away from the village for years (e.g., The Return of Martin Guerre or Brat Farrar), but someone who has been gone for (at most) a few months.
I'm having a little difficulty accepting that anyone would have approved this plan. (And, of course, it doesn't turn out as planned.) But without approval, of a clearly hopeless undertaking, there is no book.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Levon Helm has left us
Levon Helm has left us, at the age of 71. I want to remember him with some words from Bob Dylan:
When you’re sad and when you’re lonely
And you haven’t got a friend
Just remember that death is not the end
And all that you’ve held sacred
Falls down and does not mend
Just remember that death is not the end
Not the end, not the end
Just remember that death is not the end
When you’re standing at the crossroads
That you cannot comprehend
Just remember that death is not the end
And all your dreams have vanished
And you don’t know what’s up the bend
Just remember that death is not the end
Not the end, not the end
Just remember that death is not the end
When the storm clouds gather ’round you
And heavy rains descend
Just remember that death is not the end
And there’s no one there to comfort you
With a helpin’ hand to lend
Just remember that death is not the end
Not the end, not the end
Just remember that death is not the end
Oh, the tree of life is growing
Where the spirit never dies
And the bright light of salvation shines
In dark and empty skies
When the cities are on fire
With the burning flesh of men
Just remember that death is not the end
And you search in vain to find
Just one law-abiding citizen
Just remember that death is not the end
Not the end, not the end
Just remember that death is not the end
And you haven’t got a friend
Just remember that death is not the end
And all that you’ve held sacred
Falls down and does not mend
Just remember that death is not the end
Not the end, not the end
Just remember that death is not the end
When you’re standing at the crossroads
That you cannot comprehend
Just remember that death is not the end
And all your dreams have vanished
And you don’t know what’s up the bend
Just remember that death is not the end
Not the end, not the end
Just remember that death is not the end
When the storm clouds gather ’round you
And heavy rains descend
Just remember that death is not the end
And there’s no one there to comfort you
With a helpin’ hand to lend
Just remember that death is not the end
Not the end, not the end
Just remember that death is not the end
Oh, the tree of life is growing
Where the spirit never dies
And the bright light of salvation shines
In dark and empty skies
When the cities are on fire
With the burning flesh of men
Just remember that death is not the end
And you search in vain to find
Just one law-abiding citizen
Just remember that death is not the end
Not the end, not the end
Just remember that death is not the end
Copyright © 1988 by Special Rider Music
The Weight (The Band with the Stables Singers)
http://youtu.be/sjCw3-YTffo
The Weight (with John Hiatt)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MPIdTchEd00
Ophelia
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pcgxuGiI7wU
An interview
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4cnAfSsk2wc&feature=fvst
Friday, January 20, 2012
Eilis Dillon's Death in the Quadrangle and Rue Morgue Press
This is another of those times when I thank whatever gods there may be for Tom and Enid Shantz and Rue Morgue Press. The world is a better place, particularly for lovers of mystery fiction, because of them, and a lesser place now with Enid no longer with us.
In the large batch of books I recently got from Rue Morgue were all three mystery novels by Eilis Dillon, an Irish author and academic, who, among her 50+ books wrote three mysteries,, in chronological order, Death at Crane's Court, Sent to His Account, and Death in the Quadrangle. The recurring characters are Professor John Daly, retired from King's University, Dublin, and Mike Kenny, Inspector in the Guardia. The first is set in a retirement home in Galway, the second in County Wicklow, and the third at King's University; it is one of the finest academic mysteries I have ever read.
Academic mysteries can be a problem. Too often, the authors don't seem to know quite enough about how universities work to make the settings believable. When they do work [as in Carolyn Heilbrun/Amanda Cross's work, or as in Dorothy Sayers' Gaudy Night (also here)], however, they can be (especially for those of us who are academics) especially fulfilling. Death in the Quadrangle begins with Prof. Daly being asked back to King's to deliver a series of scholarly lectures; in reality, however, the University's President, Professor Bradley [whose first name, oddly enough, we never learn...but, for that matter, Daly's first name comes up almost in passing, and the first names of the other male faculty are also lacking (we do learn Professor O'Leary's first name--Mary)...they are referred to solely by their last names] wishes Daly to look into threatening letters he has received. And without involving the police. Of course, the first thing Daly does is to bring Inspector Kenny in (incognito).
While Dublin itself is just a place, and not even particularly convincingly evoked--much as Oxford and Cambridge, both large manufacturing towns, often seem to be quaint villages--, the University is alive (although you really don't get much sense of the size of the place; only 7 of the faculty get mentioned, and the students are just props). The relationships among the faculty do not seem contrived, either. And if the conclusion is somewhat forced, and perhaps somewhat too easily foreseen, the narrative swept me along. I think that Dillon kept the length about right--about 160 pages. Had it been longer, the additional length would have been padding.
If you can't tell, despite some reservations I have voiced here, I found Death in the Quadrangle absorbing. I wish she had found to desire to write more mysteries. But the three we have are worth our time and attention.
In the large batch of books I recently got from Rue Morgue were all three mystery novels by Eilis Dillon, an Irish author and academic, who, among her 50+ books wrote three mysteries,, in chronological order, Death at Crane's Court, Sent to His Account, and Death in the Quadrangle. The recurring characters are Professor John Daly, retired from King's University, Dublin, and Mike Kenny, Inspector in the Guardia. The first is set in a retirement home in Galway, the second in County Wicklow, and the third at King's University; it is one of the finest academic mysteries I have ever read.
Academic mysteries can be a problem. Too often, the authors don't seem to know quite enough about how universities work to make the settings believable. When they do work [as in Carolyn Heilbrun/Amanda Cross's work, or as in Dorothy Sayers' Gaudy Night (also here)], however, they can be (especially for those of us who are academics) especially fulfilling. Death in the Quadrangle begins with Prof. Daly being asked back to King's to deliver a series of scholarly lectures; in reality, however, the University's President, Professor Bradley [whose first name, oddly enough, we never learn...but, for that matter, Daly's first name comes up almost in passing, and the first names of the other male faculty are also lacking (we do learn Professor O'Leary's first name--Mary)...they are referred to solely by their last names] wishes Daly to look into threatening letters he has received. And without involving the police. Of course, the first thing Daly does is to bring Inspector Kenny in (incognito).
While Dublin itself is just a place, and not even particularly convincingly evoked--much as Oxford and Cambridge, both large manufacturing towns, often seem to be quaint villages--, the University is alive (although you really don't get much sense of the size of the place; only 7 of the faculty get mentioned, and the students are just props). The relationships among the faculty do not seem contrived, either. And if the conclusion is somewhat forced, and perhaps somewhat too easily foreseen, the narrative swept me along. I think that Dillon kept the length about right--about 160 pages. Had it been longer, the additional length would have been padding.
If you can't tell, despite some reservations I have voiced here, I found Death in the Quadrangle absorbing. I wish she had found to desire to write more mysteries. But the three we have are worth our time and attention.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Quote, unquote
"What d'you remember most about the sixties?"
Haynes didn't reply for several seconds. "The music," he said. "And, in retrospect, the innocence."
--------------------------------
As memories, and sentiments, go, that's just about perfect.
(Ross Thomas, Twilight At Mac's Place, 1990, p. 53)
Haynes didn't reply for several seconds. "The music," he said. "And, in retrospect, the innocence."
--------------------------------
As memories, and sentiments, go, that's just about perfect.
(Ross Thomas, Twilight At Mac's Place, 1990, p. 53)
Monday, April 25, 2011
Janis Ian
I have been a fan since her first album (Janis Ian, 1967), which I bought, oddly enough, on the same day I got Blues Project Live at Town Hall (also 1967).[1] [Links from album titles are to the CD store on Ian's web site.] The song on that first album, of course, is "Society's Child," but, for me, it's maybe the fourth or fifth best song. "Hair of Spun Gold," "Tangles of My Mind," and "Janey's Blues" are all more memorable, better musically and lyrically. [Links to individual song titles are to video/audio recordings online.]
But beginning in 1974, and running through 1979, she released six albums in six years which make up one of the best sustained sets of music I have ever heard.
Stars, the first of the six, is bloody brilliant. The opening track ("Stars") opens : "I was never much for singing/what I really feel/But tonight I'm bringing/everything I know that's real..." And the chorus leaves me breathless: "Stars they come and go/They come fast or slow/They go like the last light/of the sun, all in a blaze/and all you see is glory." The real trick is that the album gets better from there. "Jesse" is probably the best known (and most-frequently covered--by Roberta Flack and Joan Baez, among many others), but "Dance With Me" ("I'm leaving by night/I'm leaving alone/I'm leaving it lie/When you waken I'll be gone/I would not beg for me/As I would not beg for you/Though I'd Like to be the one/To see you through") and "Applause" are also wonderful.
In 1975, we got Between the Lines, with (by my estimation) eight beautiful songs, starting with "When the Party's Over," followed by "At Seventeen," and running through the closer, "Lover's Lullaby." "At Seventeen" almost has to move anyone who was, in high school, far from being an insider, and remains young enough to remember it (and in 1975 I was only 10 years out). "Bright Lights and Promises" is a song about feeling lost, lonely, and somewhat shopworn by it all, but still manages an air of defiance. "Between the Lines" is the song on the album I remember most strongly ("So strike another match/We'll have another cup of wine/And dance until the evening's dead/Of too much song and too much time/There's never much to speak about/Or read between the lines/Of what we dream about/When we're apart/And no one's looking on/To say you're mine"). This is not a joyful set of music, but it is stunning.
Aftertones, in 1976, is not my favorite of these six albums (that's coming shortly), but it's still remarkable. "Love Is Blind" still blows me away, with an opening (and closing) so strong and so poignant ("Love is blind/love is only sorrow/love is no tomorrow/since you went away/Love is blind/how well I remember/in the heat of summer pleasure/winter fades"), the song so clearly written in the mind's winter. "Aftertones," which opens the album, with its reference to T.S. Eliot ("and measure out the time in coffee spoons") and its oddly uplifting chorus ("'Til all that's left are aftertones/I take them home/We live alone/But I remember chains of melody/It pleases me - this song's for free").
I love the title track on Miracle Row (1977). The lyrics, admittedly, aren't all that great, but, musically, the song is just about perfect, propelling you through the story with barely time to breathe. "Let Me Be Lonely," another song song about a strong person, moves me: "Ooo, let me be lonely/I'd rather be by myself/Than with you acting holy/I want to be the one/I want to be/or else I want to be free/Ooo, let me be lonely..." Maybe the best song, though, is "I'll Cry Tonight," which ends: "One day the rains will come/and wash away the years/Sunlight will fade the tears/Midnight comes too fast/and I don't want/the night to last..."
Then we get my personal favorite, from "That Grand Illusion," which opens the album, and from which I can't quote a line or two, it's all of nothing (and here are the lyrics), to the elegant, haunting closer, "Hopper Painting" ("I'm the one in the photograph/you painted yesterday'A high relief reflection/of your promises and pain/See me disappearing/like a shadow at high noon/I will follow when you want me to"), and everything in between. "Tonight Will Last Forever" may not read like a love song, but it sure sings like one, and I guess that's all that counts. "Streetlife Serenaders" is a hymn of praise to cities ("And I want to go back to the city, back to the city/Back to the city again..."); of course, "The Bridge" is, too ("I want to get back to the city/where the neon lights shine pretty/all day long..."). And the last words on the album are "Believe in me/before you throw it all away/Believe in me...I know the way." And that, my friends, is one of the greatest albums of all time, Janis Ian II.
Finally, in 1979, Night Rains. Clarence Clemmons shows up on a couple of tracks ("The Other Side of the Sun" and "Have Mercy Love), Ron Carter, the World's Greatest Bass Player (TM), plays on "Photographs," and Chick Corea and Janis play pianos on "Jenny (Iowa Sunrise)." "Night Rains" has, I think, the strongest lyric ("I have seen the starlight fading/into echoes on the floor/And I dreamed the star's parading/like tin soldiers on the shore/The city casts no shadow now/At midnight, and the whores/come out and dance with darkness/and the night rains pour"), and "Jenny" has the strongest music.
God, what a run.
There's much great music later. God and the FBI is a brilliant album, with a half a dozen or more wonderful songs; I'm particularly fond of "Murdering Stravinsky" and "The Last Comeback," and "Boots Like Emmy Lou's" always makes me smile. Breaking Silence and Revenge both give me chills (if you don't believe that, listen to "Take no Prisoners" on Revenge). And Billie's Bones is not exactly chopped liver.
But for sheer sustained brilliance, I'll take the six year run of Stars, Between the Lines, Aftertones, Miracle Row, Janis Ian II, and Night Rains. Do yourself a favor. Listen.
[1] If you are not familiar with Blues Project, well, you should be. But that's another post, not this one.
But beginning in 1974, and running through 1979, she released six albums in six years which make up one of the best sustained sets of music I have ever heard.
Stars, the first of the six, is bloody brilliant. The opening track ("Stars") opens : "I was never much for singing/what I really feel/But tonight I'm bringing/everything I know that's real..." And the chorus leaves me breathless: "Stars they come and go/They come fast or slow/They go like the last light/of the sun, all in a blaze/and all you see is glory." The real trick is that the album gets better from there. "Jesse" is probably the best known (and most-frequently covered--by Roberta Flack and Joan Baez, among many others), but "Dance With Me" ("I'm leaving by night/I'm leaving alone/I'm leaving it lie/When you waken I'll be gone/I would not beg for me/As I would not beg for you/Though I'd Like to be the one/To see you through") and "Applause" are also wonderful.
In 1975, we got Between the Lines, with (by my estimation) eight beautiful songs, starting with "When the Party's Over," followed by "At Seventeen," and running through the closer, "Lover's Lullaby." "At Seventeen" almost has to move anyone who was, in high school, far from being an insider, and remains young enough to remember it (and in 1975 I was only 10 years out). "Bright Lights and Promises" is a song about feeling lost, lonely, and somewhat shopworn by it all, but still manages an air of defiance. "Between the Lines" is the song on the album I remember most strongly ("So strike another match/We'll have another cup of wine/And dance until the evening's dead/Of too much song and too much time/There's never much to speak about/Or read between the lines/Of what we dream about/When we're apart/And no one's looking on/To say you're mine"). This is not a joyful set of music, but it is stunning.
Aftertones, in 1976, is not my favorite of these six albums (that's coming shortly), but it's still remarkable. "Love Is Blind" still blows me away, with an opening (and closing) so strong and so poignant ("Love is blind/love is only sorrow/love is no tomorrow/since you went away/Love is blind/how well I remember/in the heat of summer pleasure/winter fades"), the song so clearly written in the mind's winter. "Aftertones," which opens the album, with its reference to T.S. Eliot ("and measure out the time in coffee spoons") and its oddly uplifting chorus ("'Til all that's left are aftertones/I take them home/We live alone/But I remember chains of melody/It pleases me - this song's for free").
I love the title track on Miracle Row (1977). The lyrics, admittedly, aren't all that great, but, musically, the song is just about perfect, propelling you through the story with barely time to breathe. "Let Me Be Lonely," another song song about a strong person, moves me: "Ooo, let me be lonely/I'd rather be by myself/Than with you acting holy/I want to be the one/I want to be/or else I want to be free/Ooo, let me be lonely..." Maybe the best song, though, is "I'll Cry Tonight," which ends: "One day the rains will come/and wash away the years/Sunlight will fade the tears/Midnight comes too fast/and I don't want/the night to last..."
Then we get my personal favorite, from "That Grand Illusion," which opens the album, and from which I can't quote a line or two, it's all of nothing (and here are the lyrics), to the elegant, haunting closer, "Hopper Painting" ("I'm the one in the photograph/you painted yesterday'A high relief reflection/of your promises and pain/See me disappearing/like a shadow at high noon/I will follow when you want me to"), and everything in between. "Tonight Will Last Forever" may not read like a love song, but it sure sings like one, and I guess that's all that counts. "Streetlife Serenaders" is a hymn of praise to cities ("And I want to go back to the city, back to the city/Back to the city again..."); of course, "The Bridge" is, too ("I want to get back to the city/where the neon lights shine pretty/all day long..."). And the last words on the album are "Believe in me/before you throw it all away/Believe in me...I know the way." And that, my friends, is one of the greatest albums of all time, Janis Ian II.
Finally, in 1979, Night Rains. Clarence Clemmons shows up on a couple of tracks ("The Other Side of the Sun" and "Have Mercy Love), Ron Carter, the World's Greatest Bass Player (TM), plays on "Photographs," and Chick Corea and Janis play pianos on "Jenny (Iowa Sunrise)." "Night Rains" has, I think, the strongest lyric ("I have seen the starlight fading/into echoes on the floor/And I dreamed the star's parading/like tin soldiers on the shore/The city casts no shadow now/At midnight, and the whores/come out and dance with darkness/and the night rains pour"), and "Jenny" has the strongest music.
God, what a run.
There's much great music later. God and the FBI is a brilliant album, with a half a dozen or more wonderful songs; I'm particularly fond of "Murdering Stravinsky" and "The Last Comeback," and "Boots Like Emmy Lou's" always makes me smile. Breaking Silence and Revenge both give me chills (if you don't believe that, listen to "Take no Prisoners" on Revenge). And Billie's Bones is not exactly chopped liver.
But for sheer sustained brilliance, I'll take the six year run of Stars, Between the Lines, Aftertones, Miracle Row, Janis Ian II, and Night Rains. Do yourself a favor. Listen.
[1] If you are not familiar with Blues Project, well, you should be. But that's another post, not this one.
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