April 23rd, 2012

heh, my new favourite toy

Google translate

I entered this sentence: In the beginning there was the void; the god waved the teapot lid and steam issued forth.

I translated it into Latin and played the resulting text. In principio…

Totally hooked.

Of course there are problems. Like “teapot lid” stays “teapot lid” in the translation because I mean I guess it doesn’t get teapot jokes but, oh it is so cool to have my computer speak Latin to me.  I mean who knew “teapot” could sound that way?

Here it is in German: Am Anfang war das Nichts, das Gott winkte die Teekanne Deckelund Dampf ausgestellt weiter.

Hey peardg…how does that sound?

So OK I get that there are no such thing as ghosts, but just go with it for a minute.

Here’s what I want to know (in the comments or email me at mary@tailfeather.ca).

What does it mean to be an unlucky ghost?

Examples? Stories?

March 25th, 2012

space into place, part 2

When Egeria is speaking about the “city of Rameses” and how it is now a level site, part of what catches me about the passage (quoted in part 1 of this post) is the rarity of such description in the part of her letter that still exists. This, I think, is intentional. In other parts of the text you’ll find the burning bush still living even though biologically that is highly unlikely. That is the point. The “actual” bush is a message from Egeria’s god – what god wants stays. And since the city of Ramses, an apparently hugely powerful empire, is just a ruin, this is a direct visual message saying something about the “true” god.

In this reading of the environment Egeria shows that place for her is space made meaningful by direct reference to a historical state matching biblical reference. It also seems to show she reads land as text, which is what supports the allegorical structuring of her travels. She isn’t a tourist in the way we think of tourism, but she’s moving through a materialized bible. Hence, everything that isn’t directly part of the biblical narrative is either “empty space” or its ruins proves god’s power.

I find such life-by-narrative interesting. I get the joy and power she finds in the “proof” she sees everywhere of her religion’s “correct” reading of reality, but I also am blown away by the work that must go into “vanishing” all evidence of its incorrectness. I know Egeria is unlikely to have heard of Hathor, and her link to the sycamore, but even if she had, the reference would have been turned to something Christian, as the “tree of truth” moment shows.

So much wonder gets missed when we do that to history.

Anyway, reading the land as materialized text is a powerful way to convert space into place but it is also a powerful way to temporalize. That is, this textual reading of space and time, refuses time and tries to keep things in the historical moment when meaning is at its origin. A bit like creating a snow globe but with real land.

I can’t help but think that it’s one thing to do this with someplace like Disneyland but a whole other thing to do it with people actually living there. I mean what? Going to pretend they aren’t really there? Good way to get into war. Oh. The Crusades! (Face Palm)

March 24th, 2012

space into place, part 1

I’ve recently reread Egeria’s Travels (Peregrinatio Etheriae). (The version I have is Wilkinson (1971) and so doesn’t exactly match the online translation linked.)

Here’s the section I found myself captured by – been thinking about it for about a week now.

Four miles from the City of Arabia is Rameses, and on our way to stay in “Arabia” we travelled right through it. The city Rameses is now a level site without a single dwelling, but it is still visible, and once it had many buildings and covered a huge area. Even through it is ruined, its remains are still vast. The only thing there now is a great Theban stone, a single piece out of which rise two huge statues. They are said to represent holy men, Moses and Aaron, and the people tell you that the children of Israel set them up in their honour. There is also a sycamore tree there, which is said to have been planted by the patriarchs. Though it is now extremely old, and thus small, it still bears fruit, and people who have something wrong with them pick its twigs, which do them good. We learned this from the holy Bishop of Arabia, and it was he who told us that the Greek name for this tree is Dendros Aletheias or, in our language, “The Tree of Truth”. This holy bishop was kind enough to meet us at Rameses. He is now a man of some age, of a godly life since the time he became a monk, and an approachable man, who is very good at welcoming pilgrims and also very knowledgeable about God’s Scriptures. He very kindly took the trouble to meet us there, showed us everything, and told us about the statues of which I have told you, and the sycamore tree. And this holy bishop told us that, when Pharaoh saw that the children of Israel had deserted him, he went to Rameses and burned it all down before he set out in pursuit.

There are still marginal notes on the printed text. In pencil they represent my reaction to the passage the first time I read it. There are bits like “magic held in life/plant”  and lines linking “sycamore” with “Tree of Truth” and my text saying “re legend of Materia and holy family and earlier legend of Hathor” and finally “is this any different than seeing land as spiritually healing / renewing?”

That’s the question that caught my attention this time around as well, although now I have a different answer. The notion that the story behind the story of why Zacchaeus climbed the sycamore in Jericho references Hathor’s after-life nourishment and the easing of souls into the next world no longer compels me as it did those decades ago. I take it as a certainty of meme-life that such stories simple adapt to new cultural environments and move between “hosts” rather like virus do.

The thing that catches me now is the notion of “place” that Egeria constructs out of the space which is “Rameses”. And it’s this that makes me answer my own question differently.

Let me just define things a bit before I move on. “Space” in this context is the environment we live in without overt narrative structure giving it meaning. (There is always covert structure of course, but that’s for another time.)  Space is the landscape you travel through without really seeing it, without remembering it, saying later “there was nothing there.” Of course that’s not true, but for you nothing “caught” on the horns of your narrative impulse. Further, whatever it was you were looking to find (probably unconsciously), that space did not have it, so it never became a “place” for you.

Home sites are always places. They may not be wanted places but they are filled with the narratives of memory and value. That’s what makes space place. Those narratives are tied deeply with our emotions and habits. For Egeria, the space that is Rameses only takes on reality (i.e. place-ness) in the spots where the land is invested with Biblical locus. So travelling with Egeria is not like travelling with Bruce Chatwin when he goes to Patagonia, but like watching the biblical narrative actualize on the planet.

I was reading an article from 1917 that appeared in The Journal of Heredity. I got to the end of the pdf and was met with the title of the next item: “Miscegenation in Hawaii.” Oooooh.

After that there is “Eugenics as the Basis of Sociology”.

So two text bits for you:

“Dr. Frederick L. Hoffman, who publishes these figures in a pamphlet on The Sanitary Progress and Vital Statistics of Hawaii, says all observations show that the intermixture of native women with full-blood Chinese has produced a physically and morally superior type.”

Nice of him to so assess.

Then ..

“As an introduction to the study of sociology, Prof. Kelsey has complied what is practically a text-book of eugenics. He has usually followed good authorities and (excepting the weak chapter on racial differences) his biology is on the whole sound. One wishes that Prof. Kelsey had used his sociological knowledge to make an original contribution to the applied eugenics: perhaps he will do so in a future volume.”

Note on Kelsey: He wrote a book called The Negro Farmer apparently without actually going into any Negro person’s house, although he did spend time in the south while he researched what was originally his PhD dissertation. The book in question above is The Physical Basis of Society. The racial differences chapter is a hoot.

For example:

  • “The Amerindian peoples are mainly descended from an early branch of Mongolic mixed with Proto-Caucasian”
  • “The proud peoples of Western and Southern Europe and of North Africa, of Syria, Arabia and Persia, are principally composed of Caucasian tinged very slightly or considerably with ancient or modern Negro, or Australoid (Dravidian) blood”
  • “the war-like tribes of Northeast Africa are half Caucasian, half Negro.”
  • “The very Negro himself is scarcely of unmixed subspecific rank, except in his extreme Bushman-Hottentot, Pigmy and West-African Forest types.”

 

Imagine for a moment that you are a black person and this guy’s student. R. R. Wright Jr was in 1905 and 1906.

Ouch.

January 31st, 2012

more on hope

Speaking about Hesiod’s defamation of Pandora to a friend yesterday, I made the suggestion that Hesiod would have been better off if he gave up the “hope” of attracting a woman so much younger than he and tried, himself, to grow up enough to attract a woman his own age.

As funny (awful) as such misogyny and its solutions can be (Hesiod’s story of Pandora in Works and Days being his solution to the woman “crisis”), there is something there that had me thinking about it all night. I do rather think that hope is a problem for human kind. I know there is all that rhetoric about how hope keeps us going along when things are awful, but I suspect that such a sentiment is tripe. And not the edible kind.

It’s not that hope got hung up on the lip of that (alabaster) jar that is the problem – that Hope didn’t fly out into the wide world like her miserable siblings – the problem is more that we hang onto hope like it is something fragrant that one might find clinging to the lip of an alabastron, when in fact it is often the reason we don’t face up to how things really are. When in hope of a just resurrection one tolerates the humiliation of being used and discarded – as an example.

Then this wonderful thing happened this morning.

I was on twitter and @harvestbird posted a link taking me to Letters of Note. Ooooooh.

So I’m reading and I come across this paragraph:

You ask me, in brief, what satisfaction I get out of life, and why I go on working. I go on working for the same reason that a hen goes on laying eggs. There is in every living creature an obscure but powerful impulse to active functioning. Life demands to be lived. Inaction, save as a measure of recuperation between bursts of activity, is painful and dangerous to the healthy organism—in fact, it is almost impossible. Only the dying can be really idle.

Heh! for the same reason that a hen goes on laying eggs… and with Hope’s her flightless wings nowhere in sight.

We can call it what we choose I suppose, but really we keep on going because we are animals, and that is what animals, on the whole, do. But if we gave up our rhetoric of how the future will be better and ignore the bad shit happening, then maybe we’d actually have a chance to attend to the bad shit and do something about it. Sort of like Hesiod…maybe if he’d actually looked when preening, he’d have left the poor girl alone and he’d have been able to write a more truthful version of Pandora’s emergence.

January 30th, 2012

hope and that idiot Hesiod

If I could sue Hesiod for dragging Pandora’s name through the mud of misogyny I would. Have you read that story of his? Gawd.
Pandora is (like Eve) to blame for everything.

I mean Hesiod had her made by Zeus as an act of revenge against the transgressions of Prometheus in giving man gods’ fire.

So he ordered. And they obeyed the lord Zeus the son of Cronos. Forthwith the famous Lame God moulded clay in the likeness of a modest maid, as the son of Cronos purposed. And the goddess bright-eyed Athene girded and clothed her, and the divine Graces and queenly Persuasion put necklaces of gold upon her, and the rich-haired Hours crowned her head with spring flowers. And Pallas Athene bedecked her form with all manners of finery. Also the Guide, the Slayer of Argus, contrived within her lies and crafty words and a deceitful nature at the will of loud thundering Zeus, and the Herald of the gods put speech in her. And he called this woman Pandora, because all they who dwelt on Olympus gave each a gift, a plague to men who eat bread.

This lying, crafty, deceitful woman – can’t you just hear the echo of Hesiod’s wail when the 16-year-old hottie old-man-Hesiod thought should love him forever turned him down flat?

And this is the genesis of all the ills in the world for man to stumble upon? No wonder hope got left behind trapped by the lid of that jar. Do you think it was alabaster?

The myths are bleeding together in my head.

January 1st, 2012

here we are at last

2012 – date of note December 21

I love prophecy. It’s such a very human thing to do. I delight in the bad ones and, to be honest, don’t come across the accurate ones. Are there many?

Someone emailed me recently about our human need to read and speak about the future and it had me thinking about Frank Kermode’s wonderful book The Sense of An Ending. Then this morning I came cross “Apocalypse Soon” by Daniel Baird in Walrus Magazine.

In the article he initially argues that the reason why so many of our prophesies (whether religious or secular) look alike is that they are all based on the writings associated with Western monotheistic literature (wml).

The ever-expanding cadre of bestselling science, strategic, political, and business writers who make a living prophesying the less-than-happy human future would not ally themselves with literal readings of Isaiah or the Revelation of St. John, much less with eccentrics like Harold Camping, but the stories they propose seem remarkably similar. Although they appear secular, they are Biblical tales of the pillaging of the earth by human greed and vice and the inevitable reckoning. Redemption will come, if it does, through contrition, humility, and moral soundness.

While I agree that wml is likely the source of much of the particular imagery and obsession with particular doomsday sufferings, I doubt very much that wml is the source of the desire to know the ending. Wml is, after all, just another set of those failed prophecies, albeit more carefully constructed since, unlike most of today’s prophets, they didn’t give a firm date by which they could be proved wrong.

It does need to be said that wml is not the first source of those fears either. Flood stories long pre-dated Judeo forms, for example. Narrative itself—having a narrative module to the mind and the thing it does to us—seems a more likely suspect to our continued obsession with knowing the ending.  That’s where Kermode goes, anyway.

The real problem with the future is that it doesn’t yet exist, and the forces that bring it into existence are too complicated, too subtle and volatile and fractal, for us to know in advance — or ever.

And yet we continue to try. Why? Because we need to have a sense that we control our fates, even if all that means is that we know our fates. And because we need to believe we are part of a story with a larger meaning, that vice is rewarded with punishment, that redemption is possible, that history is not random and empty, that a higher power (whether Isaiah’s wrathful God or simply the natural world) exacts the final judgment.

That’s where Baird goes with his article, which after a somewhat unpromising beginning seems much more full of promise.

My question is where in us, in our biology and our social natures, does that need for punishment and redemption come – that tendency which led to the writing of wml as well as many of the secular prophecies of today.

I have my own ideas of course, but I’d really rather hear yours. You can leave a comment here or email me / mary (at) tailfeather (dot) ca.

Oh, and welcome to the new year and all the wonderful, terrible and simply mundane unknowns it will bring.

I came across the announcement that Christa Wolf died recently.

I read her book Cassandra and think it one of the best recountings of that story that has ever been written. Certainly the exchange between the story of Cassandra and the various narratives about the genesis of Wolf’s version of the story that end the volume illuminates the contemporary difficulty we have in assessing what is happening to us politically, socially and ethically.

Cassandra lived in a complex, bitter, dangerous and rapidly changing world. As do we. As did Wolf.

Although widely praised for her contributions to German literature, Wolf’s public image was damaged for not being critical enough of the former communist regime. It took another hit in the early 1990s when it was revealed that, for a period of nearly three years during the 1950s and 1960s, she had served as an informant to East Germany’s feared secret police, the Stasi.

Oh so easy to criticize in hindsight.

Wolf released this information herself, by the way. Was this a mistake? Was working for the Stasi a mistake? Was it a mistake to become a target of theirs in return? I’m not sure how helpful such questions are really. All they do is dice up a person’s life into convenient morsels for the later hawking up of blind judgement.

Speaking to SPIEGEL in June 2010, Wolf said, “what bothered me, and actually made me angry, was that people focused on this single point and that they didn’t see my development and that they didn’t even think it necessary to find out what other files there were.”

What she wanted was to “create a truly democratic society.” That was a consistent thread in all her political activities. She believed in East Germany and in the people there. Surely this was not a mistake – to believe in her world, her people?

I think this blame game outrages me so partly because it is so ridiculous. What person could withstand the assessment of hindsight? What human being should be judged by another’s piecemeal approach, and deeply unexamined, complex history?

I mean, I’ve given to Salvation Army in the past. Now that I know about their tendency to anti-gay thinking, I’ll not give again. Which of those two actions is the mistake? Bah….

Stupid way to think about a living history.

December 25th, 2011

a new way of looking at books

as design space – literally.

peardg sent me a link to Colossal Art & Design – an article called “Carved Book Landscapes by Guy Laramee“.

 

Awesome. Makes me wonder what he would do with the corpus of Gothic Romanticism produced in the late 19th century by British women – not to dis Horace Walpole.

Here’s his website.