As part of a spy-themed night, Turner Classic Movies is showing Our Man in Havana tonight in the US at 10pm EST. It’s based on the novel by Graham Greene (the author of The Quiet American). It’s not available on DVD in the US, so this is a rare opportunity to see it. (Link from Laurel’s TV Picks.)
these awesome mugs from Penguin. At about 40 dollars US apiece for mug and shipping, I will have to admire them from across the ocean. (Link from The Kitchn)
Foreign Policy has a photo essay on the continued presence of American bombs in Laos. (Link from The Morning News.)
Joseph Epstein, at the Weekly Standard, is concerned about what he sees as a shift to a child-centered society (link from Art and Letters Daily):
Children have gone from background to foreground figures in domestic life, with more and more attention centered on them, their upbringing, their small accomplishments, their right relationship with parents and grandparents. For the past 30 years at least, we have been lavishing vast expense and anxiety on our children in ways that are unprecedented in American and in perhaps any other national life. Such has been the weight of all this concern about children that it has exercised a subtle but pervasive tyranny of its own. This is what I call Kindergarchy
Epstein argues that the centrality of children in a family does no favors to the parents, who become “indentured servants”, or the children, who become sheltered and need constant entertainment and gratification.
While there’s something of the “I walked to school ten miles in the driving snow when I was a kid,” about Epstein’s argument, I’ve been thinking a lot about this, since I stay home with my 2 and 4 year old sons. My house is dirty, my laundry piles up, and my yard is a weed mecca. This is because the boys are not only not helpful to the housekeeping, but actively detrimental. And out of guilt, or fatigue, I don’t always press my point. Yet why shouldn’t children facilitate and participate in the housekeeping? Cleaning, cooking, laundry and yardwork are good, honest work. And making a neat, orderly, presentable home is a fine ideal. They may seem less intellectual than a museum visit or a music class, but they provide ample opportunities for learning and exercise.
Added later: Mental Multivitamin wrote about the Kindergarchy piece, too.
I’ve heard the same thing over again by friends who saw Hellboy–it’s OK. Good not great. Yet Guillermo del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth made me want to check out his earlier movie for myself, since Hellboy II is out this summer. I’m glad I did. I think Hellboy may have been plagued by misplaced expectations. Hellboy is a monster movie. The villains are occult-obsessed Nazis (think Raiders of the Lost Ark). The antihero is a giant red demon who smokes, quips, and shaves his horns down. Oh, and he likes kittens. This is not a movie for deep analysis. This is a fun movie. A silly movie. The look is the thing, and it looks terrific. The characters are engaging and interesting, except perhaps for the newbie, observer character. The plot, such as it is, fizzles out at the end. But that’s compensated for by the cool effects of Selma Blair’s character’s pyrokineses.
In preparation for the dvd Apocalypse Now, which follows my recent reading on the Vietnam war, I sought out Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, booked with “The Secret Sharer”. I always find it weird to read a story I “know” but haven’t yet read. I had similar experiences with Dracula, Jane Eyre, and Frankenstein. The books were familiar in the famous details, but surprising in their complex wholes.
I was reminded of Henry James’ Turn of the Screw, which I read earlier this year. There is a detailed framing narrative, and much psychological detail about ugly aspects of human nature. HoD is narrated by Marlow, to a ship’s crew. Marlow was sent to Africa, where he encountered, mostly by hearsay, a man called Kurtz. The details of Kurtz’s behavior are deliberately vague, and thus more creepy. This also serves to put the characters’ psyches in sharper focus. The tale has many interpretations, among them the dichotomy between good and evil, or the characters as analogs to Freud’s concepts of id, ego and superego. What I noted, though, was Conrad’s penchant for emphasis by repetition. Marlow is described many times as a Buddha in the telling of his tale. I believe this implies an acceptance of all of human experience, not just the pleasant, socially accepted ones.
all that mysterious life of the wilderness that stirs in the forest, in the jungles, in the hearts of wild men. There’s no initiation either into such mysteries. He has to live in the midst of the incomprehensible, which is also detestable. And it has a fascination, too, that goes to work upon him. The fascination of the abomination–you know, imagine the growing regrets, the longing to escape, the powerless disgust, the surrender, the hate.
Heart of Darkness is a difficult read because of its racism, and its synonymous use of “dark” for “evil” and “primitive,” for example. But it’s a short tale worth reading for its examination of the nature of all people. “The Secret Sharer” is also worthwhile, a short story of a new skipper who takes on a stowaway wanted for murder. Through repetition and psychological details, the character of the skipper grows, both to himself and to the reader.
Added later: Heart of Darkness is in production as an opera. My favorite comment from a member of the test audience? “Too dark.”
My to-read list has suddenly gone kablooey. I have several recommendations from people I trust, plus Grapes of Wrath by Steinbeck to read for my book group. Those poor, neglected books on my shelf. They’re never going to get read.
World Made by Hand by James Kunstler and The Ten-Year Nap by Meg Wolitzer, recommended at Mental Multivitamin
Dispatches by Michael Herr, recommended by Carolyn and Kate because of my recent spate of Vietnam books. Carolyn also recommended A Rumor of War by Phil Caputo.
The Adoration of Jenna Fox by Mary Pearson, recommended by Dawn at Avenging Sybil
The Ghost Map by Steven Johnson, recommended by my bluegrass-babe, public-health friend RG
Grand Central Winter by Lee Stringer, recommended by my friend lxbean
Oscar and Lucinda recommended by SFP at Pages Turned
The Road by Cormac McCarthy, recommended by VT
The Fourth Bear by Jasper Fforde, recommended by Steph
Confessions of a Slacker Mom, recommended by Natasha of Maw Books, and Lazy Cow of Only Books All the Time
And these are just the recent recommendations. Sheesh!
This morning I scored a mother’s trifecta:
1. Uninterrupted night of sleep
2. Time to myself in the morning to read
3. Got to drink my coffee and eat my pastry while they were still hot
It was great, and I was grateful. Funny, the things I used to take for granted.
Last night at dinner:
Me: Drake, you didn’t eat your tater tots.
Drake: I DID! You gave me five. Now there are four. I ate ONE!
He’s on his way to algebra, as long as he can frame the problem with fried potatoes.
Justice League: The New Frontier is the direct-to-dvd adaptation of the DC Comics graphic novel collection of Darwyn Cooke’s excellent miniseries. Set at the dawn of comics’ Silver Age, the film visits each of the members of what would become the Justice League: Wonder Woman, Superman, Barry Allen (Flash), Martian Manhunter, Batman, and Hal Jordan (Green Lantern).
This is a standalone tale that introduces each main character so they are familiar to comic-book regulars, but also accessible to newcomers. This is not a movie for small children; it has several scenes of death and violence. The heroes come together when faced with the growing threat of something known only as The Center. As subtext, they also struggle to find themselves and their place in the postwar United States. There’s a good balance of humor and drama. The voice casting is excellent, particularly David Boreanaz as Hal Jordan. There’s also a well-done feature in the extras on the history of the Justice League and its characters. For older children, of all ages. (Heh.)
One element of the Three Bears story always bothered me–why were the bowls of porridge three different temperatures? Last week, during my umpteenth reading of some version, a few possibilities occurred to me.
Mother Bear’s porridge could be cold because she served herself first, and sat down to eat last. I find this the likeliest explanation, having experienced this scenario many times. Additionally, she could have been on a diet, and given herself a small portion compared to that of Papa Bear, whose large size would demand a large portion, which would take longer to cool. Perhaps the bears were very poor, and Mama Bear was sacrificing her own portion to feed her child and husband. In both the latter examples, Baby Bear would probably get the medium amount of porridge, which would then be cooler than Papa’s, and warmer than Mama’s.
I do wonder how my reading changes when this type of musing takes up part of my brain. Do the boys notice the difference between Mom being fully present reading a story, and Mom struggling to suss out the subtexts while still reading aloud?
Night Nurse, which is not nearly so tawdry as it sounds, was part of TCM’s feature, “Forbidden Hollywood,” about films that skirted the decency code of the time.
Barbara Stanwyck is a woman hoping to become a nurse. She inveigles her way into the nursing program and rooms with a saucy Joan Blondell. In the hospital, she must dodge leering interns and a stern head nurse. After graduation, she is assigned to the night shift for two children in their home. The children’s health is failing, and the nurse suspects foul play. There is a wild collection of characters: a gangster who wants to date her, a strict housekeeper, a drunk mother and her soused boyfriend, a doctor with suspicious motives, and, best of all, a very young Clark Gable as the shady chauffeur.
It’s a quick, entertaining film, especially for the glimpse into the early performances of Stanwyck and Gable. What I found most interesting, though, is that the movie was rated G for general audience on TCM, in spite of its history as a transgressive pre-Code film. Its naughty reputation was based on scenes of Stanwyck and Blondell undressing together (though they revealed little) and sharing a bed. There was sexual innuendo, a brief scene of violence, and several instances of drunkenness. It makes for an ironic look at the contrast between what was banned then, and now.
I took a brief detour from my reading on the Vietnam war to WWI with Hemingway in order to give some attention to my own bookshelves, instead of the library’s. Hemingway’s In Our Time was his American debut, a set of stories interspersed with thematically related vignettes. Based on his spare, evocative writing, Hemingway was called the voice of his “lost” generation.
At first Krebs…did not want to talk about the war at all. Later he felt the need to talk but no one wanted to hear about it. His town had heard too many atrocity stories to be thrilled by actualities. Krebs found that to be listened to at all he had to lie, and after he had done this twice he, too, had a reaction against the war and against talking about it. From “Soldier’s Home”
Note the similarity to the passage I quoted from Tim O’Brien’s Things They Carried. Hemingway’s collection, though, covers episodes before, during and after the war. Most of the “during” pieces are the vignettes, not the stories. The vignettes also deal with the blood and gore of bullfighting. Terse and well written, it’s a loosely connected collection that hints at larger, more painful truths of war.
Further evidence that a truly great book will wait for me; it won’t become dated or tired. Minnesotan author O’Brien’s linked story collection about Vietnam, The Things They Carried, was as good as readers had assured me. It was sometimes so funny that I laughed aloud, at one point so terribly sad I had to set it down. The stories and characters are so engaging that it took a while for me to realize and admire the skill with which the stories are crafted. The combination of O’Brien’s writing, structure, and story makes for a powerful soldier’s-eye view of the Vietnam war.
A true war story is never moral. It does not instruct, nor encourage virtue, nor suggest models of proper human behavior, nor restrain men from doing the things men have always done. If a story seems moral, do not believe it. If at the end of a war story you feel uplifted, or if you feel that some small bit of rectitude has been salvaged from the larger waste, then you have been made the victim of a very old and terrible lie. There is no rectitude whatsoever. There is no virtue. As a first rule of thumb, therefore, you can tell a true war story by its absolute and uncompromising allegiance to obscenity and evil.
Throughout, O’Brien subverts the desire of a reader to know what is “really” true. The stories are identified as fictions, but they don’t read as them, unless viewed through the lens of O’Brien’s above caution.
In the US, PBS’s Masterpiece recently ended its season with the 3-part Cranford, based on three novels by Elizabeth Gaskell; she’s best known as a friend and biographer of Charlotte Bronte. Mo Ryan recommended Cranford, but I found it disappointing. It featured some great performances, especially from Dame Judi Dench and Imelda Staunton, but this tale of a matriarchal town too often used its female denizens as butts of jokes, many of them cruel. The treatment of men was quite negative. Many were thoughtless or bad: a man who discouraged his daughter from marrying, a drunken poacher, a prank-playing friend, a prodigal son who broke his mother’s heart, a brother who deserted his sisters without explanation, and was welcomed back without it. Two especially kind, honorable men were killed off abruptly. One man took a self-imposed exile to India. In all, the tone shifts were extreme, and there seemed to be an underlying misanthropy about it that put me off. Only the removed observer, Mary, seemed immune to trouble.
Was anyone else aloof to the charm of Cranford, or am I a curmudgeon? I’ve recorded two other Masterpiece movies from earlier in the season, My Boy Jack and A Room with a View. Did anyone watch these, and what did you think? I’m hesitant to spend time on them after investing five hours in Cranford.
Our Silvia espresso maker is in the shop to see if she can be repaired. My husband, G. Grod, and I miss her terribly.
Our little family is still in the throes of last week’s nasty virus. Right now, I’m thankful for Jello, PBS kids shows, and magazines.
Invincible is a sports movie, with all the attendant cliches. It’s from Disney, so there’s even an extra layer of schmaltz, like the title. Maybe it’s because I married an Eagles fan, but I couldn’t help but enjoy the movie. Mark Wahlberg plays Vince Papale, a 30yo bartender from south Philly who walked onto the Eagles 1976 team from an open tryout held by then new-coach Dick Vermeil. There’s not an unpredictable moment in this film, yet Wahlberg is so likable, and his buddies and father so sympathetic, that the movie charms away most grumbles. The love interest, played ably enough by Elizabeth Banks, felt particularly shoehorned in.
It’s “based on a true story” and the extra feature on Papale is worth watching to get the commentary from Philly sports guys about some of the true stuff (see also the IMDB trivia of the movie), and the similarity of Papale to a fictional character from South Philly whose movie came out in 1976, the same year that Papale made the team. A little of the real Papale goes a long way, though, and something seemed very off about Merrill Reese’s face–his cheeks didn’t move.
A question for other Eagles fans: did Papale really call that audible at the end?
NPR talks to independent booksellers and gets their picks for summer reading (link from Morning News). I haven’t even _heard_ of many of the books, though I’ve read one of them, Vendela Vida’s Let the Northern Lights Erase Your Name, which I recommend.
Here are last year’s picks.
Graham Green’s Quiet American was mentioned several times in Denis Johnson’s Tree of Smoke, which I recently finished and admired. Green’s book is set earlier in time, during the French occupation of Vietnam. Fowler is a weary, middle-aged reporter covering the conflict. He’s built a comfortable life for himself in Saigon, with a beautiful mistress and an opium habit. All this is jeopardized with the arrival of Pyle, the well-intentioned quiet American of the title.
Captain Trouin insisted that night on being my host in the opium house….he watched me as I stretched out for my second pipe. ‘I envy you your means of escape.’
‘It’s not from the war. That’s no concern of mine. I’m not involved.’
‘You will all be. One day….you will take a side….We all get involved in a moment of emotion, and then we cannot get out.’
I saw the film a few years ago. I thought it was quite good, and now think it is a faithful adaptation of this spare, well-written novel.