Lawler Literature: The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

Mick sat on the steps a long time. Miss Brown did not turn on her radio and there was nothing but the noises that people made. She thought a long time and kept hitting her thighs with her firsts. Her face felt like it was scattered in pieces and she could not keep it straight. The feeling was a whole lot worse than being hungry for any dinner, yet it was like that. I want--I want--I want--was all that she could think about--but just what this real want was she did not know. (The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, Carson McCullers. P 52)

Man, Carson McCullers really had an appreciation for what it's like to be in that chaotic intermediary place between childhood and teenagerdom. For that matter, she had an appreciation for what it's like to be an unfulfilled human being. And what human being isn't unfulfilled?

McCullers herself had a huge interest in Freud and psychoanalytic theories. Quite intentionally, I think, the above passage illustrates unconscious motivations and the youthful, barely bridled id.

It seems that each character in A Heart is a Lonely Hunter, adult and child alike, displays similarly Freudian characteristics, from the sexually frustrated diner owner to the orally-fixated deaf-mute locked up in the mental ward.

So, say what you will about Freud as a sexist, grandiose, unscientific theorist, but the guy's whacked out explanations for human behavior did improve literature. We otherwise might never have met Biff Brannon: a grown man in love with a preteen, an obsessive collector of old newspapers, whose soul ambition is to be a real mother to the lonely children of the world. Or, of course, John Singer, another deaf-mute, who suffers in silent psychic agony, though he is surrounded by admirers.

Reader Roundup

Berlin Library plans to return books that were stolen by the Nazis, including a copy of the Communist Manifesto that seems to have been owned by Friedrich Engels

Bookslut contributer Roxane Gay offers a very astute reading of Kathryn Stockett’s The Help, both the film and the book. The novel is in my to-read pile, and I’m looking forward to seeing how it squares with this essay. Also, Gay wrote a very moving piece about weight issues in fiction for Bookslut.

Meg Campbell, founder of Codman Academy Charter Public Academy made a list of her favorite libraries for the Huffington Post. Her list includes the National Library Service of Malawai, which also serves as an open to the public school, college, and university.

At The Millions, author Steve Himmer argues that no person, especially a child, should be barred from reading a book.

The British Columbia library will soon be lending out people, actual human beings, as well as books.

City Island in the Bronx, meanwhile, offers fresh produce aside its books.

And Saul Bellow’s the Adventures of Augie March has been selected by the Chicago Public Library system as this year’s One Book, One Chicago feature.

Reader Roundup

While the UK is cutting its funding for 400 libraries, South Korea is vowing to build an additional 180.

Meanwhile, Time has first-person coverage of the riots in Tottenham.

Al Jazeera posted photographs of the London streets during the chaos.

If you’re doing research online, you might be interested in signing up for Pubget, It collects a bunch of open-access pdfs in one spot, including the journals and documents you can get through library cards and university IDs.

NPR has polled its listeners in order to create a masterlist of the 100 best science fiction and fantasy books. If you trust NPR listeners and like sci-fi/fantasy, it is a very useful document.

I really enjoyed this LA Times piece from last week. It profiles a Holocaust survivor who was forced to give his infant daughter up to a Christian orphanage, only to be reunited with her years later.

At the New York Times, a psychologist explains how President Obama’s failure to tell the public a good story is holding him back. (You’ll have to sign in to read the article)

Lawler Literature: Little Women Revised

I’ll be honest. When I read Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women as a pre-teen, I gave very little thought to the patron of the March family. In fact, I gave very little thought to the Civil War that was supposedly raging around the borders of Alcott’s narrative. I was much more concerned with the Jo/Laure will-they-or-won’t-they plotline. The notable absence of the war, and of the father, was, it seems to me now, by design. This was not a novel that entwined the domestic and political spheres.

Little Women follows the adventures of the forthright, thrifty, hardworking March daughters as they come of age in Civil War-era Concord. Their father, a middle aged minister, had voluntarily joined the Union army. Meanwhile, the little women must survive their somewhat dire financial and social decline.

March, Geraldine Brooks’ Pulitizer Prize winning historical novel, is named for the March girls’ missing father. Here, in contrast to Alcott’s original text, we follow March through the broad sphere of the American Civil War, from battlefield to cotton plantation to veteran hospital. In the interim, it is revealed that the pure pluck and goodness that characterizes March’s daughters in Little Women becomes fanaticism in their father, a fanaticism enflamed by equal parts love, nobility, and guilt. Needless to say, by the end of his service, the convictions he instilled in his little women seem a trite naive.

Interestingly, rather than merely fill in the formless figure of Mr. March with pure guesswork, Brooks shadows her character after Louisa May Alcott’s father, Bronson Alcott, a real historical figure. Bronson was an abolitionist, an intellectual, a radical, an educator and an avid vegetarian. He was bosom friends with Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau. And he wrote extensive journals and diaries, currently housed at the Library of Congress. The fact that he is Louisa May’s actual parent is just icing on the proverbial cake. In Brooks’ telling, he is a bit of an intolerable moralist, but endearing nonetheless.

The closing hospital scenes in the novel are particularly amazing. Brooks drew them from a book Louisa May wrote before she published Little Women. Hospital Sketches was, in turn, based on Alcott’s experiences working in a Civil War veteran hospital.

Here, Brooks (from the perspective of Marmee) describes Blank Hospital, the hotel-turned-ward where Mr. March convalesces:

At the end of the hall two vast double doors gave on to an ornately corniced room, hung with chandeliers. A gilded sign above the entrance said BALL ROOM, and the name seemed a bleak joke, for inside, arrayed on the polished dance floor, lay the victims of the Minie ball, many of whom would not dance again. There were forty beds within, all handsome hotel beds with turned posts rather than humble hospital cots. Some beds were tenanted, some vacant. A muddy, bloodied group of gaunt new arrivals, slumped against the wall, awaited the surgeon’s attention. Their faces proclaimed defeat as plainly as any banner headline reporting wartime’s latest blunder. The black nurse approached a green-sahsed, silver-haired gentlemen and set down the instruments, taking up a metal bowl to receive the bloody shrapnel piece he plucked from his patient’s shoulder. She inclined her head to where I stood, hesitating, by the wide doorway, and said something to the surgeon in a low voice. Then she beckoned me forward. I came reluctantly, feeling I intruded on the injured man with his shoulder bared to the probe and his pain patent upon his face. (p. 217)

Like Brooks latest novel, Caleb’s Crossing, March was written as a first person historical account. Unlike her more recent foray into American history, March does eventually allow us a glimpse inside the mind of another charater: Mrs. Marmee March. Several of the last few chapters are told from her point-of-view, and it is here where Brooks reveals the raw pain of a woman left living on the homefront of a war. We finally get to witness the emotional honesty that Louisa May Alcott, through Marmee, stifled and ignored. Such revelations have the potential to muddy up the simplistic story of triumph as it was originally told.

As a kid, I had nothing but happy, warm feelings about Little Women. Now, I appreciate March, and, indeed, Louisa May Alcott herself, for very different reasons. The contemporary novel will not give you warm feelings. But it may yet make you happy, if only because it is a more honest accounting of a war-torn family.

Comic Encounters:Witch Doctor

Witch Doctor Vol. 1 No. 2, Brandon Seifert and Lukas Ketner: Dr. Vincent Morrow makes house calls. He wears a white coat, latex gloves, and has a doctor’s bag brimming with medical paraphernalia—including, apparently, a hypodermic needle the size of my forearm and a sword that glows red and cuts through anything.

If you’re wondering why a medical doctor brandishes a sword at his patients (in this issue, an eerily cherubic baby), then you clearly misunderstand Vincent’s job description. As a witch doctor, he cures ailments of the supernormal sort, well beyond the sniffles and tummy aches that are standard infant complaints. This baby needs to be stabbed. And when that doesn’t work, Dr. Morrow shakes the creepy little tyke—shakes it “like a polaroid picture—of an Etch-A-Skech—and some maracas!”

Only then does the “baby” reveal it’s true, nightmarish form: it’s a cuckoo faerie, a species that practices brood parasitism. The Mother Faerie replaces human babies with her young’uns, so unsuspecting families raise her mandible-faced alien children.

Witch Doctor is a medical procedural, and in the grand tradition of medical procedurals, Dr. Morrow uses his erudite knowledge, high tech tools, and a pinch of magic to eradicate nasty parasites. In this case, of course, the nasty parasites look like babies, with a pregnant woman to spawn them. When the humanoid, visibly pregnant Mother Cuckoo throws herself out of a hospital window to escape, Morrow laments his lost opportunity to kick her down the stairs.

The artist maintains that his final design of Mother Cuckoo was inspired by pictures of pregnant Barbie dolls. The resemblance is somewhat evident. I believe M. Cuckoo’s dead eyes, rosy cheeks, and shiny visage will be visiting me in my nightmares.

In lieu of a picture of the visceral Barbie horror, here’s Seifert’s description of the cuckoo faeries:

These are wildly alien creatures, creatures with an exoskeleton, that mimic humans the way some spiders mimic ants. They’ve got pretty much human-shaped bodies—only it’s an exoskeleton with segments visible at the joints. All the details, they just fill in with magic illusions and psychic mind-control.

When the offspring eventually reveals itself, it is a sickening, unholy combination of insect parts and plump baby extremities: ten fingers, ten toes, and a pair of dripping mandibles opened wide. Morrow and co. don’t need a pediatrician so much as they need an exterminator.

All together, it is a gory, luscious little episode. I like how Seifert and Ketner pull of a Lovecraftian marriage between scientific scholarship and unfathomable supernatural occurrences. (The story takes place in Arkham, Oregon. I’m guessing that’s their necessary pious nod to Lovecraft).

Ketner explains his approach to science and magic thusly:

It’s not replacing folklore with science as much as it is using the most interesting hooks from real life to rethink what something like a faerie could do and how they might have to go about it. They are, after all, from their own natural world. It might be a world that’s completely unlike our own science-based reality, but it’s always possible to find the right parallels.

Whatever it is, it works.

Read another review on this blog.

Reader Roundup

So, the other day I was reading and listening to music simultaneously—because recreational multitasking is the only kind of multitasking I do—and the strangest thing happened. The book was, as I’ve mentioned, Daniel O’Thunder. The music was Kaiser Chief’s 2007 album Yours Truly, Angry Mob. And then the book and the music aligned. I won’t get into spoilers, but fictional Victorian London erupts into…an angry mob, complete with outbursts of violence, property damage, and many a well-meaning idealist spiraling out of control.

As the Kaiser Chiefs describe such scenes:

You can try anything

And no-one would know apart from you and me

You can stop anything

It starts with just one and turns to two then three

And now I will forever associate that band with 18^th century London drubbings.

More recently, I started reading March by Geraldine Brooks. I was reading Caleb’s Crossing not so long ago, and I’ve read People of the Book, so this makes it a Brooks trifecta. I’m ecstatic to be own a postmodern version of Little Women. I read Louisa May Alcott’s novel repeatedly as a tween. March is obviously much darker, mostly because it explores the perspective of the March family patron as he witnesses the American Civil War. Of course, I still squeal like a 5^th grader on pixie sticks and pop-rocks every time he mentions his daughters.

I’ve also started Albert Hourani’s History of the Arab Peoples, which seems relevant, no? This one is textbook sized, so it will take me a while to get through it. My sister, an Air Force Reservist, is being deployed to Kuwait soon. I therefore think it’s important to get myself a bit more familiar with the culture.

Meanwhile, I would really like to see The Interrupters, a documentary about the former gang members involved in CeaseFire, an organization on a mission to end pervasive urban violence. From what I’ve read, the doc is no propaganda piece, unrealistically optimistic and thus totally inaccurate.

At the blog In the Library with the Lead Pipe, Gretchen Kolderup wrote about the experimental developments in Young Adult literature that have transformed the literary “category”. Indeed, such categorization should never be proscriptive. Right what you like, people. Especially if what you read deviates from the standard formula.

I also enjoyed this piece over on the Information Tyrannosaur blog about the Tao of Librarianship. It inadvertently reminded me of the Tao of Pooh by Benjamin Hoff. Literature and Taoism! Meant to be? Probably.

Finally, The Chronicle of Education informs us that many universities are trying to extend their broadband service to surrounding communities. That is so sweet.

Awesome Sauce for Chicagoans

The Midwest chapter of The Awesome Foundation has elected to give $1000 to a nonprofit called Little Free Library. As this WBEZ article explains, Chicago’s Awesome Foundation is a group of ten individuals who seek to better the city by collectively donate money to a single chosen organization.

Right now, they are supporting Little Free Library, a choice I fully endorse. The Wisconsin-based LFL funds an effort to create clusters of micro libraries all over the world. These “libraries” are actually rather small shelves (they look like custom dollhouses or bird cages). But they each contain an unlimited amount of information, for whenever a patron takes a book, they must leave one. That’s it. No registering for a library card, and no payment of any kind. What the libraries may lack in depth they make up for in convenience. Better yet, they have the potential to bring communities together to support literacy, no small thing in areas that lack functioning public libraries.

So far, Chicago locations include:

Langley Ave. Church of God

6159 South Langley Ave.

Lincoln Memorial Congregational United Church of Christ

6454 South Champlain Ave.

The Young Women’s Leadership Charter School

2641 South Calumet Ave.

Angelic Organics Urban Learning Center

6400 South Kimbark Ave.

Ian’s Pizza

3463 North Clark St.

Lawler Literature: Lucifer's Lit

I cannot write of what took place in that wetu, because I made a solemn oath, which I have never broken. Some would say it was a pact with the devil, and therefore I am not bound by it. But after that day I was no longer certain that Tequamuck was Satan’s servant. To be sure, father and every other minister in my lifetime has warned that Satan is guileful and adept at concealing his true purpose. But since that day I have come to believe that is not for us to know the subtle mind of God. It may be, as Caleb thought, that Satan is God’s angel still, and works in ways that are obscure to us, to do his will. (Caleb’s Crossing, p. 295)

I am not the devil. I need this to be understood from the outset. If you won’t accept it, then please stop reading. Set these pages aside, and go away. Go and judge someone else. God knows I am not an angel, either. I don’t even profess to be a very good man, for we are none of us good, not in the way that Heaven yearns for us to be. I am just a man. I have needs and desires, some of the lamentable, for like yours my nature is Fallen. I have from time to time indulged these desires, for like you I am weak. At moments indeed I have walked at the Devil’s side, and heard his sweet seductive whispers and perhaps even for the span of a heartbeat been his man—as you have—body and soul. (Daniel O’Thunder, p. 7)

There’s no denying history. For a long time, the average person from the Christianized West believed not just in God, but in the real, physical, non-metaphorical existence of Satan. Eerily enough, I’ve spent the last week reading the fictional accounts of people who believed that the Devil was among them.

The first was Geraldine Brooks’ novel Caleb’s Crossing. It is the first person narrative of Bethia Mayfield, a Puritan minister’s daughter in 17^th Century New England. Her father is a missionary, dedicated to converting the native Wopanaak natives to Christianity. As the above paragraph illustrates, the Puritans believed that native religious leaders were the embodiment of Satan. As Bethia learns the native language and befriends the locals, she slowly discovers that Tequamuck, the powerful pawaa, is merely dissimilar, not demonical, as she has been told.

The second excerpt comes from another era and another age, but not one so very different. Ian Weir’s Daniel O’Thunder tells the legendary tale of the titular Daniel O’Thunder from the perspective of the fawning multitude. Some might call the narrators Daniel’s disciples. Daniel, a boxer-turned-Evangelical preacher in mid-19^th Century London, wants to thrash Satan. Really thrash him. With his fists. The perpetually benevolent Daniel takes Satan literally.

The excerpted passage is from the primary narrator, Jack, who is more than a little bit like Judas (There also seems to be a Mary Magdalene equivalent). In any case, Jack gets nice and acquainted with a man who seems to be Satan himself. His claim that he is not Satan, therefore, are more than just a rhetorical flair.

So, in Caleb’s Crossing, in the small world of the Puritans, Satan is a foreigner, worshipping strange idols. Two hundred years later, he is a moneyed Lord, arrogant, but otherwise unremarkable. He melts into the London throng, just like everybody else.

Reader Roundup

Hi all!

I’ve spent the last week tirelessly investigating Spotify—an investigation that involved lots of Broken Social Scene, Bat for Lashes, The Hold Steady, and Iggy Pop. I suggest you jump on the bandwagon now, before the commercials get too long and irritating.

Aside from the fascinating Plagues and Pleasures on the Salton Beach, I finally got to see the James Franco- helmed film Howl, which came out in 2010. It does quite an innovative job of reconstructing Allen Ginsberg’s youthful discretions, writing process, and the obscenity trial of his poem. Lots of neat visuals. Great acting, of course, especially Franco’s recitation of “Howl”.

I loved Milton Glaser’s advice for creative types in this essay (via Longreads)

And here’s the 2007 Rolling Stone article on Amy Winehouse. Read it and be haunted.

On Thursday, I went to the Newberry Library Book Fair (Chicago)! There were so many awesome books. So many! More than my tiny muscles could carry, in fact, and I ended up leaving a few good soldiers behind.

Anyway, here’s what I did get:

March by Geraldine Brooks (I’m reading her latest, Caleb’s Crossing right now. More on that later. If you’re into historical fiction, as I am, you should pick up People of the Book. )

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, Carson McCullers (Last summer I read The Member of the Wedding, one of my favorites.)

In the Time of the Butterflies, Julie Alvarez

Zen in the Art of Writing, Ray Bradbury (Remember when I reread F41? Good times. As I was leaving the fair, some poor soul wistfully asked me if there were any other copies of ZAW. Alas, there was not.)

The Diary of Anais Nin 1931-1934, Anais Nin (I know almost nothing about her, except that her diary is one of those great works of literature. It’s rare that a diary gets that kind of status. I mean, besides Anne Frank.)

Remember Me, The Salton Sea

Plagues and Pleasures of the Salton Sea, a documentary narrated by the amazing John Waters, came out in 2006. The film takes viewers on a tour of the waning former resort towns near and about the eponymous Salton Sea.

Impovrished, polluted, swarmed by sick birds and even sicker fish, the people who live there yearn for the good old days of abundance, days of celebrity vacationers and slick, modern conveniences. Now, many people stave off hunger by eating the potentially hazardous fish. They live, almost exclusively, in mobile homes. And Hollywood starlets no longer go to Salton, or know it exists.

This National Geographic article by Joel Bourne Jr. was published a year before Plagues and Pleasures was released. You should read it. It's interesting.

For more recent information (since its been a few years), see the Salton Sea Authority website.

Plagues and Pleasures ( Directed by Chris Metzier and Jeff Springer) won 35 awards for best documentary. I like it because it is a blatant reminder that the land, the water, and the people are wholly dependent on one another, even in the U.S where we often get the privilege of ignoring dire environmental consequences.

Lawler Literature: The Civil Savagery of the Third Reich

Last night, I caught glimpses of a program that I presume was on the history channel. It broadcasted rare photographs of the Nazis who conducted, operated, and perpetrated the Holocaust. Many of the images were not of the soldiers committing atrocities, but rather, of them talking, laughing, hanging out with friends, and playing musical instruments. As one historian commented, the pictures were disturbing because they expose a truth no one wants to admit: these murderers weren’t soulless demons. They were humans. For large portions of their lives, they managed to ignore the blood on their hands, to smile, to be normal.

Coincidentally, that was the day I finished reading Erik Larson’s In the Garden of the Beasts. (It’s not really a coincidence. Turn on the TV. There’s probably a program about the Nazis and/or Hitler playing right now. These shows are ubiquitous.)

Larson delves into the story of American Ambassador William E. Dodd, an unassuming diplomat who took up his position in Germany just after Hitler became chancellor. He brings his family with him to Berlin, where they live near the Tiergarten, a park at the political heart of the city (Captain Rohm lives several blocks away, and Hitler’s chancellery is located in the vicinity.) His daughter, Martha, befriends and dates top-tier Nazi officials. But the idealistic Americans soon grow disillusioned by the severity of the party and by the mindless conformity of the German public. Here’s Larson:

Throughout that first year in Germany, Dodd had been struck again and again by the strange indifference to atrocity that had settled over the nation, the willingness of the populace and of the moderate elements in the government to accept each new oppressive decree, each new act of violence, without protest. It was as if he had entered the dark forest of a fairy tale where all the rules of right and wrong were upended. He wrote to his friend Roper, “I could not have imagined the outbreak against the Jews when everybody was suffering, one way or another, from declining commerce. Nor could on have imagined that such a terroristic performance as that of June 30 would have been permitted in modern times.” (p. 328)

Dodd is witnessing the German population’s slow ebb toward learned helplessness. Like the trained dogs in Seligman’s famous experiment, they accepted the supposed inevitability of cruelty and personal violation. Nothing to be done to stop it, they perhaps believed. The photographs of the ebullient Nazis at the death camps are the logical extension of this foundational acceptance. Don’t worry, be happy.

Thus, the civilians became as acclimated to terror as the soldiers. The fish-out-of-water Dodds were less accommodating to the dissipation of their privacy:

The lives of the Dodds underwent a subtle change. Where once they had felt free to say anything they wished within their own home, now they experienced a new and unfamiliar constraint. In this their lives reflected the broader miasma suffusing the city beyond their garden wall. A common story had begun to circulate: One man telephones another and in the course of their conversation happens to ask, “How is Uncle Adolf?” Soon afterward the secret police appear at his door and insist that he prove that he really does have an Uncle Adolf and that the question was not in fact a coded reference to Hitler. Germans grew reluctant to stay in communal ski lodges, fearing they might talk in their sleep. They postponed surgeries because of the lip-loosening effects of anesthetic.

The society of the Third Reich has a lot to teach us about how oppression can thrive. It ripens on a heady diet of intolerance, fear, and utter helplessness. Dodd lost his ambassadorship when the U.S government acquiesced to the Nazi demands that he be removed. He spent the last few years of his life warning the national and international community of Hitler’s plans for world domination. Few, if any, listened. They told themselves that everything was normal, and each small ethical transgression was permissible. That’s how these things always happen. That’s how men and women transform into beasts before our very eyes.

There's Nothing Left to Say But Goodbye

The shuttle program has officially ended, and we have pictures.

If there's one thing those NASA people know, besides rocket science, obvs, it is how to take a cool photograph.

So, explore the photographic history of the space shuttle here and here.

And take a closer look at the Atlantis mission here.

Also, it might be a little late for this, but here are some iphone apps related to the last launch. One of them compiles over 2000 images from NASA's digital collection.

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In other news of American institutions closing up, Border's sent me a bon voyage email to announce the failure of the bookstore to find a buyer.

"You Call it A Rental Fee. I Call it a Fine"

This just enrages me. Barry Greenfield, a “selectman” writing for the Atlantic, proposes that we initiate a “rental fee” for public libraries.

Gah! Just what Americans need: more barricades between citizens and decent educational pursuits. I am particularly galled by is repeated assertion that libraries haven’t changed since the 1900s. He even suggests that each library start up “a small café” to “earn revenue.” Clearly, he is confusing libraries (where the most disenfranchised among us can get reliable information and entertainment) with Starbucks (where you can spend your expendable income on an overpriced latte with whip cream). I suspect the author hasn’t stepped inside a real live public library since he was just old enough to rent from the adult section. He says he has, but I am, nonetheless, skeptical.

The chagrinned commentators, among them many actual librarians, make Greenfield’s article worth reading. They almost unanimously tear him a new one. Here are a couple of my favorites; they had me shouting, “A-DUUUUUH” at the computer screen and overclicking the “like” button.

Margiedee: Sure, let's screw the people who are trying to better themselves, improve their lot in life, or contribute to society by reading books, newspapers and magazines. Let's charge them to do so. You call it a rental fee. I call it a fine or tax. It makes no sense! The public library was created and is publcally funded so that all people would have the opportunity to learn and to improve their lot in life - not just those who could afford to buy or "rent" books. And where did you get the idea that the library hasn't changed in the past 100 years? Hello? Have you heard of computers and have you noticed them in the library? How about DVD rentals, ebooks, playaways? If you want to raise revenues in your town, find another way to do it. Increase the tax on cigarettes and liquor - they serve no purpose in bettering society, and raise all of our insurance premiums. Stay away from libraries!

Gwen Ryan: Speaking as a librarian, we get a lot of underprivileged patrons, especially ones looking to use the computers. Also, considering the recent economic downturn and the bursting of the credit bubble, there are a lot of people who are going through difficult financial times because they have a high debt-to-income ratio. Since food stamps are determined based on income without taking into account debt, these people would not qualify for food stamps and yet still not be in a position to pay for library services.

But even more than that, charging a fee for some users but not for others would violate one of the core values of libraries: "All information resources that are provided directly or indirectly by the library, regardless of technology, format, or methods of delivery, should be readily, equally, and equitably accessible to all library users." http://www.ala.org/ala/aboutal...

Books and Videos and Games, Oh My

No longer must a media consumer simply and singularly watch a television show, or read a book, or play a video game. Transmedia storytelling links a single narrative with every platform you can think of. George R.R Martin’s spectacularly popular Game of Thrones , for example, exists as a series of novels (first and foremost), a n HBO TV series, and as Maester’s Path: “a five part multi-sensory experience” online, complete with opportunities to delve more deeply into Martin’s universe.

You see, Game of Thrones is a thick, detailed story. Like life, it is too detailed to satisfyingly represent on a screen for one hour a week. Transmedia storytelling reflects reality, in that it is interactive, has no time limit, and no real boundaries.

Another series of novels, this one geared toward the YA set, engages readers in the plot by asking participants to solve mysteries on the website. Additionally, The Amanda Project involves young readers in the writing process. They can log on to the site, interact, and drive the story. Patrick Corman’s Skeleton Creek, on the other hand, employs several sequential videos meant to blur the lines between fact and fiction, book and film.

The TV show Numbers has an online puzzle for viewers to work through. Covert Affairs, on USA, has a “tweetcast,” in which players can make assists on a critical mission. Starbuck’s multi-media promotion involved QR code, a Lady Gaga clip, a Shazam app, a twitter feed, a twitpick, and, finally, a blog post.

In a more awesome future world, these innovations will somehow lead to my toaster gaining sentience and re-enacting the entirety of “The Brave Little Toaster” as I watch the animation on my PC. My desk lamp can have a supporting role, but I will freak the F out if my A/C unit starts clunking around of its own volition. FYI.

Also, Flannery O’Conner’s Wise Blood would make an awesome interactive docudrama thing.

Reader Roundup

Here are some things you should read/look at/listen to/smell/ or whatever:

First, visit the Old Bailey...online! Old Bailey is where London's Central Criminal Courts are located, and the online version archives reams of courtroom drama dating back to 1674. Example: Mistress Ann Petty, who was over sixty at the time of her conviction for "clipping money," was sentenced to "Be Drawn on a Hurdle or Sled to Smithfield (the usual place for such executions) and there to be burned to Death." The Old Bailey, it would seem, was pretty Old Testament.

Lea of LC's Adventures in Libraryland reviewed Scott Westerfeld's Leviathan, a book I dearly want to read but keep forgetting to pick up. Thank you, Lea, for the reminder.

Also, Miriam Halahmy's post on An Awfully Big Blog Adventure reminds me how intensely disturbed I felt as teenage girl reading Lord of the Flies for the first time.

James Gleick of the New York Times makes the argument for digitizing rare and special book collections.

I also finished the wildly informative This Book is Overdue by Marilyn Johnson. As you may have guessed, I'm now slightly obsessed with librarians and (even more obsessed) with books.

And yesterday, instead of seeing the Women's World Cup, I had a Japanese/American personal film festival: I saw Kurosawa's Seven Samurai, as well as the film's Western remake, The Magnificent Seven. I guess we can all agree that soccer is good, heroism is better, and bandits should be annihilated in a violent manner.

Correction: An earlier version of this post conflated the Central Criminal Courts with the Old Bailey (which is a road, not an institution). I apologize for the error. I'm afraid my ignorance is showing.

Zine Encounters: Anarchy in the A.B.C's

I looooove the Zine Library, you guys. It gives us folks on the interwebs access to a whole bunch of uploaded zines, many of them artistic, informative, and downright entertaining.

Also, much of the material is very, shall we say, 'political' in nature. If you have an unrequited interest in anarchism, feminism, socialism, or radicalism, the Zine Library is a great place to get a pro-bono education.

I went ahead and downloaded the ABCs of Anarchy by Brian Heagney (and no, he did not chaotically rearrange the staid, traditional order of the alphabet. 'A' is still at the top, lording it over the average K's and P's).

Heagney's illustrations are certainly a thing to be seen. Especially note "'B' is for Black Bloc.'" It is a graphic full of solemn faces and dark crosshatching. A Black Bloc, by the way, is meant to be a mass gathering representative of solidarity. Because when you think anarchist, you should think unity.

Other Letters:

K is for Kabouter (Dutch word for Gnome. Name of famous Dutch anarchists)

R is for Rewilding (Going back to nature)

S is for Squat

T is for Train-Hopping

U is for Un-School (Learning that is unsanctioned by the local academic infrastructure)

And, as for the thorny letter X: it is for Xylography, a particularly radical form of making prints that makes use woodcutting.

And now I know my ABCs.

Lawler Literature: The Deadly, Dangerous, Beautiful Circus

Having just finished Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen (a book that includes incredible black and white photos from depression-era circuses), I just happened to have a long, fascinating talk with a research librarian who had archived a large amount of circus-related memorabilia in her day.

She introduced me to the infamous 1918 Hammond Circus Train Wreck. Gruen mentions the accident as well, but only in passing. Apparently, a train engineer fell asleep at the wheel, ramming his locomotive into the Hagenbeck-Wallace circus' train. A fire erupted, consuming the sleeping cars where the performers and roustabouts were housed. 86 people died, and 127 more were injured. All this occurred in Hammond, Indiana, which is only a short trip from where I live. The burial site, Showmen’s Rest, in Forest Park, Illinois, is also nearby.

Coincidentally, we also happen to be verging on the 12th Annual International Clown Week Celebration at Showmen's Rest. This August 7 event is free, and features memorial services, speakers, activities, entertainment for kids, and prizes.

Here are some more pictures of the circus via Circus World at the Wisconsin Historical Society. Feel free to browse through their archives.

(1935) Bert Nelson wrestles an enfeebled lioness for the Hagenbeck-Wallace show, decades after the tragic Hammond crash.

(1937) A publicity photo, posed, wherein a clown helps a circus girl with her laundry.

(1937) Terrell Jacobs and wife Dolly with the Hagenbeck-Wallace circus.

Zine Encounters: How to be a Lady, A Guide for the Incredulous

To browse through a textbook from the past, say ten to twenty years ago, is almost inevitably a hilarious/terrifying experience. One begisn to realize just how thoroughly our biased values seeped into what is supposed to be a straightforward educational text.

In her magnificent zine series, Mystery Date: One Gal's Guide to Good Stuff, Lynn Peril bravely tackles mammoth examples of retro conservatism, presented under the auspices of education and entertainment. Her zines cleverly and humorlessly dissect Sex-Ed advice records (like John and Joan McCardle's prim Your Sexuality: A Thing of Beauty), Homemaking text books (Young Living by Nanalee Clayton was written for the domestically inclined pre-teen), films about teen misbehavior (according to Boy with a Knife, knife-wielding is an 'equalizer' among teenage boys. I'll remember that next time I encounter a young rager with a sharp object), Miss America, and living single (rather than paired, tube-sock style).

Anyway, all this to say that Peril's zines are archived online and, fingers crossed, there will be more some day. Also, check out the rad pin-up girl covers!

'Pic'-ing the Ruins

As someone who has had a long time obsession with the Chernobyl ruins in Pripyat, I sort of love this website, Opacity, which photographically archives abandoned structures.

But, not only does it display beautiful photos of buildings in decay, it also digs deep into the history of each location. If you peruse the pages, you can find information about Rathen State Hospital, for example, which was founded by noted social reformer Dorthea Dix in 1848. The entry on Rathen goes on to tell us that Dix actually spent the last years of her life as a patient at the institution she helped establish. And, of course, the biography explains why the various buildings became abandoned, as well as their architectural styles and motifs previous to the slow creep of decline.

Other recent additions include the Buffalo Central Terminal and Lowe’s Kings Theatre in Brooklyn. This project is incredibly worthy for obvious reasons. Remarkable buildings worldwide are under constant, if necessary, threat. So, at least their images should be preserved on the internet. One lesson we’ve surely learned, ad nauseum, since and before the San Francisco quake is that evidence of the past can be obliterated rather quickly. Perhaps we should each “save” what we can.

Back to San Francisco (1906)

On April 18, 1906, a major earthquake rumbled through San Francisco, shattering the city’s infrastructure. According to Wikipedia, over 80% of the area was destroyed in the earthquake and the resulting fires. Consequently, few remnants of pre-disaster San Francisco remain, which is a tragedy for anyone with a nascent interest in local history.

But such wholesale destruction works to highlight the value of certain rare historical gems. This footage, for example, from the Niles Essanay Silent Film Museum, unearths a bustling San Francisco mere days before the quake.

The film, shot from the back of a streetcar, documents the people and activities of Market Street on that particular day. There is no commentary. Pedestrians gawk at what must have been the odd sight of all that newfangled film equipment. They cross the lane willy-nilly, without our dependence on crosswalks. Bicyclists cruise aside horseback riders, and carriages coexists aside motorcars. It seems as though the filmmakers induced a motorist to circle the streetcar, perhaps making the road appear busier than it was (at one point, around the 3:30 mark, he nearly rams into a pedestrian. There’s no sound, but I’m sure the man was cursing Henry Ford under his breath). Rowdy paperboys taunt the camera, and a young child peaks out at it from inside a cart. An older boy waves as he hangs one-handedly from the back of his own cart.

It is a fascinating piece of work. One could spend a lifetime dissecting the features of the past that are resurrected here. Personally, I’m mesmerized.

The Annotated 'Water for Elephants' IMDB

I'm currently reading Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen, and I was almost kind of excited to find out that a film was out there in the world. Then I found out that Robert Pattison was involved. And by involved I of course mean that he plays the protagonist. Cue emotional deflation and abject bitterness.

So, behold, I childishly went to the Water for Elephants IMDB and 'corrected' a few things. But that's only the beginning. I encourage anyone else who is bored, enraged, irritable, or, yes, bitter, to do the same. Keep it PG-13, though. Don't want to damage Pattison's delicate sensibilities.

Hopefully, this little toy works.

About the Casey Anthony Media Orgy

I first heard the name Casey Anthony approximately a week and a half ago, and, really, it wasn’t until yesterday that I grasped the details of the story.

Even before I glanced at the first sensationalist headline it had become yet another yada-yada infanticide case for me. Infanticide cases should not, of course, be categorized as yada-yada. But they are relatively common. In fact, I’m wondering if the appalled masses realize just how common it is for a baby to end up dead, either due to negligence or intentional homicide.

So why are my neighbors in Chicago just as obsessed with this case, a Florida case, as they were with Drew Peterson, or the Riley Fox murder? They may even be more obsessed. Not that geography should determine interest, but come on. We’re Chicago. Cute, photogenic kids get popped by stray bullets on a semi-regular basis. Plenty of them are neglected, too. Where is the outrage?

But, for one reason or another, Caylee is the dead baby we, as a nation, are most incensed about. That’s fine, I guess. It’s better than outright indifference.

I will say this, though: the Anthony trial is a ratings bonanza because it is easy on our collective conscience. It’s puff. There was only one definite bad guy: Casey. Two, if we count the alleged crimes of the father. No one outside the immediate family can be deemed responsible. It’s not society’s fault. It’s simple and straight-forward. Or at least, pretty simplified by the media.

It concerns me that we’ve fixated on a morality tale that means so little. I mean, other than the inherent tragedy/freakishness of murder. We’ve reduced it to nothing. Surely, Christian advocacy groups will take the narrative as a signifier of the breakdown of the American family. But Casey’s acquittal tells us virtually nothing about ourselves. It hasn’t been an opportunity for us to question broad social policies. Nancy Grace’s adamant contempt for Casey Anthony has not, thus far, been turned against the abysmal child welfare system.

So, in the end, who cares? When the news stations hit another slump, they’ll ferret out another spectacle for the public to feast upon. Nothing too filling, just some marshmallow puff or some sweet whipped cream that will dissolve in seconds. God forbid we consume a hardier meal.

Lawler Literature: Where is My Mind?

“Our life is the creation of our mind.” p, 35 The Dhammapada, trans. Juan Mascaro.

I’m re-reading Juan Mascaro’s translation of The Dhammapada, the sayings of Buddha, and right now I’m struck by the intersection between Buddhist philosophy and current psychological theories. I even went to the Psychology Today website and did a quick search for the phrase ‘mindfulness’. Let me tell you, it’s a hot topic. And no wonder: tons of research confirms that simply attempting to be mentally present reduces stress, combats depression, and allows us to be more considerate of our actions all day long.

Old as it is, mindfulness is a very contemporary notion. It asks us to pay attention to ourselves and our surroundings, closely and objectively. The new federal nutritional guidelines are in part based on mindfulness strategies. Be fully aware of what you eat and how much you eat. That’s the message. No daily recommendations, no numbers, no calorie counts. It’s a certain salve for our current mindless, cud-chewing eating habits.

But, as this article attests, obsessive self-judgment is not Zen either. It’s more about reasonable detachment, not fixation: “Many of our thoughts, urges, desires, and impulses simply bubble up from the brain in an unconscious way and no amount of mental effort, good intention, or wishing for things to be different will change that fact. You cannot control them and, for that very reason, you should not shame yourself for their mere emergence,” wrote the author, Rebecca Gladding, M.D. “Accept that they are,” she advises, “but do not act on them.”

Zen teaches us that in order to understand a mountain to be a mountain in the Zen way, the experience is to be negated first—a mountain is not a mountain—and it is only when this negation is understood that the affirmation ‘a mountain is a mountain’ becomes Reality. P 18

Labels are the enemy, if you can believe it. As humans, we like to make distinctions between good and bad, right and wrong, me and you. Capital R Reality, according to Zen tradition, mostly precludes such useless divisions. That a mountain is a mountain is largely a trick of perception, a trick of language. Its characteristics are arbitrary. The same goes for our ever unruly “thoughts, urges, desires, and impulses.”

It sucks to feel depressed, to feel lonely, to feel angry. But those feelings, on their own, aren’t good or bad. They just are. They exist. No qualifiers. You acknowledge the emotion, and then you separate it from yourself. Like the mountain isn’t a mountain, the emotions need not be emotions. They’re perceptions in disguise, masking truth.

I like this experiment wherein Dr. Stanley H. Block refutes the idea that positive thinking can lead individuals to a healthier mental state. “From a neuroscience viewpoint,” he says, “a thought is just a secretion, a droplet of a chemical where two brain cells connect (synapse).” Forced positive thinking traps us in what Block calls “the thinking box.”

For the record, positive thinking is basically the opposite of mindful acceptance. That first quote up there is not an example of the Buddha advocating the methods of The Secret. Rather, it makes a more innovative claim: with every thought, moment by moment, we determine who we are, what we are, what the world is. We can’t soley decide whether good things happen to us. Better yet, we can take good and bad out of the equation. Good and bad are insignificant. Maybe it is the finite and the infinite that we should consider.

InDependence Days

Monday is July 4^th, the day American’s celebrate their independence from England. By my count, this makes 235 years of nationhood. So, good on us.

Seeing as we are living through an age in which national sovereignty and identity are in flux, particularly in the Gulf and/or Middle East, it seems important to discuss the concept of capital “I” Independence Day celebrations.

After all, some countries have a messy relationship with independence.

Afghanistan’s I-Day, for example, is on August 19^th. It commemorates their release from UK control in 1919. Some displaced Afghan communities also call August 19^th Afghan Refugee Day, to mark their expatriate status. I’m not certain of the history here, but it seems oddly appropriate to have the two events coincide; independence can mean both a release from foreign control and an undesirable detachment from one’s society.

Afghanistan has been experiencing foreign invasion of one kind or another since the late 1970’s, right up to current U.S occupation. Independence Day parties may well be somber events.

Here’s my question: does an Independence Day celebration occur in order to rejoice at an important but irrelevant past event, or to mark current independence, or perhaps, as a reminder of what a country is capable of

This 4^th of July, I think I’m going to forget about George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, et. al, and raise a cold Sam Adams to current efforts to resurrect independence, in all its forms.