Teaser Tuesdayish (13 September)

Well, it’s Tuesday in most of the world. Time for a teaser, then. Or three.

“Get him out, sir? There’s two regiments there!”
“So? That’s only eight hundred men. There are fifty-three of us.”

p. 64, Sharpe’s Gold. Bernard Cornwell.

Hogan, he thought, was right. If a miracle were needed to save the campaign, and it was, then the rogue he had just seen was the best man for the job. More than a rogue: a fighter, and a man who looked on failure as unthinkable. But a rogue, thought Wellington, a damned rogue all the same. 

p. 31, Sharpe’s Gold. Bernard Cornwell.

Suppose I should say to a wrestler, ‘Show me your muscle’. And he should answer me, ‘See my dumb-bells’. Your dumb-bells are your own affair; I want to see the effect of them.
“Take the treatise ‘On Choice’, and see how thoroughly I have perused it.
I am not asking about this, O slave, but how you act in choosing and refusing, how you manage your desires and aversions, your intentions and purposes, how you meet events — whether you are in harmony with nature’s laws or opposed to them. If in harmony, give me evidence of that, and I will say you are progressing; if the contrary, you may go your way, and not only comment on your books, but write some like them yourself; and what good will it do you?

p. 13-14. The Discourses, book four (“On Progress”). Epictetus.

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The Renaissance

The Renaissance:  A History of Civilization in Italy from 1304-1576 A.D.
© 1953 Will Durant
776 pages

I assumed the Renaissance would be a high point of this series for me, second only to The Age of Reason. After a thousand years of dogma and depressing piety, at last returns the classical world and the revival of its philosophy and art!  Instead, most of The Renaissance focuses on the politics of various Italian city states — in great detail — and their rivalries with one another. I grew bored of this very sharp focus after a few hundred pages, but aside from occasional commentaries on art history, it dominates the book. There are a few scant chapters with a more general view (one on the hilarious schism years, with various popes and antipopes running around; another on Italy’s conquest at the hands of various European powers, most notably France, Spain, and the Holy Roman Empire) , and scores of mini-biographies, but the predominant theme of The Renaissance is petty politics. It may be most useful as an introduction to The Reformation, as its two-century history see the authority and power of the Vatican evaporated away by moral corruption, political machinations, and finally invasions of Italy which compromise its sovereignty.  While it is heartening to see people turn away from stultifying medieval piety and return to attempting to make the most of this life, in the Renaissance that shift manifests itself in merchant-princes turned dictators constantly fighting with one another and sponsoring art to praise themselves.   I’m still holding out for the good stuff in The Age of Reason, which I assume covers the Enlightenment.

Given its radical shift in focus from the broad (thousand-year epochs spanning multiple continents) to the narrow ( two centuries in one peninsula), The Renaissance is quite a bit different from the rest of the books in this series. I imagine it is a worthy read for someone interested in Italian politics, but I had hoped for a broader story and made my way through these two centuries somewhat unenthusiastically.

Selected quotations:

‎”The lives of great men oft remind us that a man’s character can be formed after his demise. If a ruler coddles the chroniclers about him they may lift him to posthumous sanctity; if he offends him they may broil his corpse on a spit of venom or roast him to darkest infamy in a pot of ink.”

Will Durant, p. 391

“The sun does not move….the earth is not in the center of the circle of the sun, nor in the center of the universe.”

– Leonardo da Vinci, , quoted on page 122.

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The Illiad

The Illiad
© 1960 Barbara Leonie Picard
208 pages
Illustrated by Joan Kiddell-Monroe

The Illiad is one of the oldest and most celebrated works of literature of western civilization: a classic among classics, no world literature class would be complete without it.  It is part of the western heritage; from it come phrases like “Trojan horse.”  Yet, being a classic, it may intimidate some readers, especially given its form as epic poetry. Barbara Leonie Picard’s interpretation of it into a prose should make this lovely piece of western history open to a wider audience, especially considering her introduction and epilogue, and the use of bronze and gold plate illustrations which hearken to ancient Greek pottery.

The story is set during the Trojan War, a decade-long conflict between the city-states of Greece and the state of Troy and its allies. The feud has its roots in mythology, with Paris — a young prince of Troy —  judging a beauty contest of goddesses and being rewarded with the queen of Sparta, Helen, as his bride. Since Helen is already married to Menelaus, this causes something of a problem — and the Greeks invade Troy, where they lay siege for ten years.  The Illiad is a story of men and pride, for the pride of two Greek warriors divides their army and weakens their cause.  It begins when King Agamemnon, leader of the Greek alliance, seizes a woman who Achilles — the greatest Greek warrior –took as a war prize.  Achilles is outraged by Agamemnon’s arrogance. He abandons the fight and prays to his mother — the goddess Thetis — to ask Zeus to turn the war against Agamemnon, and as the days progress many a Greek will die.

The official author of The Illiad  is a ‘blind poet’ named Homer. In truth, we do not know when the story arose and it is probably the work of multiple generations, the story expanding with every retelling — for this is an ancient story, one originally passed on orally. “The use of gods as active characters in the story bears witness to its age:  Zeus, Athena, Apollo, and others are not mere background forces, but take an active but sometimes unseen role on the battlefield. They deflect spears and arrows, cast mists to  prevent foes from seeing one another, and directly assault the players. Although Zeus — supporting the Trojans — forbids his children from taking part, Athena never abandons her beloved Greeks, and Apollo does not forsake the Trojans. Sometimes the gods work against one another: when a river-god tries to drown Achilles for his arrogance, Hephaestus creates fires to keep the water away.

The Illiad captivated me: although I am familiar with the general story, I have never read it properly and so experienced the feud in full. The relationship between Achilles and the two princes of Troy especially interested me: Paris is a despicable character, and it amused me greatly to see Hector reliably addressing him as “Most wretched brother”.  The story is far fairer to Hector than I anticipated: he is almost as noble here as when he was portrayed by Eric Bana in Troy, though his behavior at Patroclus’ death made me think his corpse’s being dragged around the city every day at dawn was something of a just dessert.  Perhaps the most striking element of the book is its emphasis on individual heroism: these men are not selfless soldiers of Greece; they fight for glory and reputation. At the same time, there is a bond between them — and sometimes pride bowed before that camaraderie.

Rarely have I been more entertained by a classic: if you ever have an interest or a need to visit the Illiad, I would suggest looking for this translation. It is commendable.

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The Big Rock Candy Mountain

The Big Rock Candy Mountain
© 1943 Wallace Stegner
563 pages

“The frontier is closed”, declared the US census board in 1890. The boundless west has been fenced in and taken, but Bo Mason isn’t satisfied to believe it. There must be opportunities for the seizing, rich and virgin soil still yet unplowed. Somewhere, there must be a place where a man of strength and wiles such as himself can get in on the ground floor and make a killing. Driven by this insatiable lust for quick prosperity, Bo roams North America for thirty years pursuing the dream and dragging his family along behind him through peril and poverty. The result is a magnificent, emotionally-demanding character drama and a glorious portrait of the wild, untamed west. Like Grapes of Wrath, it won’t leave anyone with a case of the warm fuzzies — but it’s as real and visceral a human story as I’ve ever read.

The dominating character of Big Rock Candy Mountain is the ever-intense Bo Mason, a man who radiates with energy. His soul forged by an abusive childhood, he distrusts others and refuses to be bound by any other man’s chains: strong and intelligent, he seeks to create his own bounty. His forceful personality means that he consumes the book without being its main character. This is a story told mostly by Bo’s wife, Elsa, and later his son Bruce — but despite their own strengths as characters,  Bo looms large over their lives.  At first, his wild individuality makes him a sympathetic character, but as the decades pass that youthful rootlessness and his temper become more damaging than inspiring — and they affect not only him, but his family as well.  The novel’s tension comes from Elsa and Bruce’s attempts to grapple with Bo’s influence in their lives: Elsa is utterly selfless and longsuffering, seeing through Bo’s childishness to the man inside, while Bruce struggles with hatred toward his father, a man who can’t seem to grow up and learn the value of endurance.

While the struggle between these characters makes for a fantastic read all on its own, the environment and prose are also outstanding. Stegner has a rare authenticity, and his descriptions of the American west and Canadian wilderness made me long for a home near the mountains — to look out the window of a big ranch house and see wind-swept fields, a bright, bubbling brook, and stern green trees set against a dazzling blue sky. There’s such a vividness to his descriptions. and the environment isn’t so much as a piece of background scenery as almost a character itself, something the Masons live with and must often persevere over.

Big Rock Candy Mountain isn’t a happy story, and the ending chapters are heart-wrenching to anyone who develops a concern for the character. It forces the reader to deal with Bo, just as Elsa and Bruce do: is he a wretch? What does he deserve, our wrath or our pity? I still don’t know.  This was such an intense novel that two weeks later, its questions still hang over my head.

Do experience this if you can.

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The Feather Merchants

The Feather Merchants
© 1944 Max Shulman
145 pages
From Max Shulman’s Large Economy Size, 

Sergeant Dan Miller, supply clerk extraordinaire, is home on furlough — and leave to him to get into more trouble in one night than he’s found in months of service during the greatest war in history. It all started when he and his best buddy Sam strolled into a local tavern and had a little too much to drink and start making slurred speeches in Elizabethean English which *slightly* dramatize Dan’s role in the war so far. By the time he crawls out, Dan has bought a car, possibly gotten engaged, and is scheduled to single-handedly blow up a bridge in town to commemorate the opening of Minneapolis’ munitions plant. Oops.

The Feather Merchants is an absurdist drama in which poor Miller is railroaded into the trap of having to meet impossible expectations. He tries and tries to get out of it, but of course he can’t — the city of Minneapolis expects their local hero to do his duty and blow that bridge by himself. So he commits to doing it, and of course nothing goes to plan. It goes fantastically horrific, actually. It’s a kind of sitcom plot, but funny all the same. As in some other Shulman works, the humor lies not in the plotting but in the writing: characters launch into bizarre speeches which have nothing to do with anything at all (or so you think) and leave the main character frustrated at their uselessness, and the dialogue is…well, ‘zany’. There’s also much bawdiness.

As usual, something of a riot.

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Booking through Thursday: Queue

Booking through Thursday asks:
What are you reading now?
Would you recommend it?
And what’s next?

I’m nibbling at several books at the moment: Will Durant’s The Renaissance, which is thus far just about Italian city-state politics;  The Illiad, interpreted into prose by Barbara Leone Picard;  Marcus Aurelius: A Life, by Frank McLynn; Sharpe’s Gold by Bernard Cornwell; and the Discourses by Epictetus.   How on earth am I trying this much at once? Well…I’m taking a devotional approach to the Discourses, reading a chapter or two a night;  I read Sharpe’s Gold for leisure, and I alternate between the others when it is time for my serious reading. I know I need to commit to one if I expect to make any progress, but for the moment I’m still nibbling.

The Renaissance thus far is not igniting my interest (petty city-state rivalries are so pre-classical era), but The Iliad is thus far entertaining. People keep getting introduced and killed, but Hector insulting his brother (“Most wretched Paris!”) is almost a running joke.   The Marcus Aurelius bio is good so far, and Cornwell is always worth recommending.  I’m finding The Discourses surprisingly readable, although right now I’ve slammed into a section on the proper use of reason in thinking which is slow-going.

As for what’s next, I have Your Faith, Your Life: An Invitation to the Episcopal Church, by Jenifer Gamber and Bill Lewellis, which I’m reading  as part of my study of Anglicanism.

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This Week at the Library (7 September)

This week at the library I’ve put entirely too much on my plate. For starters, I’m knee deep in Will Durant’s The Renaissance, which is surprisingly..not all that interesting. So far it’s been three hundred pages of petty Italian city-state politics mixed in with some art discussion.  I’m still wading into a prose version of The Iliad, which is proving to be interesting. The gods are actual characters in the stories: one of them deflects an arrow shot Menelaus (the man who thought his pride was worth an eleven-year war) so that it only makes him angry instead of killing him. And, so help me, I’ve gotten interested in my big Marcus Aurelius biography after all this time.

At the library, I picked up Physics Made Simple and Sharpe’s Gold, along with a formal and complete translation of Epictetus’ works. I’ve read an interpretation of Epictetus before (The Art of Living, Sharon Lebell), but it’s not Epictetus proper. I don’t know why on earth I’m arranging so many books for myself to read, but I also borrowed Your Faith, Your Life: An Invitation to the Episcopal Church from a most kind rector as I’m continuing to learn about the Anglican faith.

In terms of books I’ve read this week, I have two reviews outstanding. I finally managed to make progress on my comments for The Big Rock Candy Mountain, and am short only a paragraph. Astronomy Made Simple and The Feather Merchants by Max Shulman need reviews, though both will be fairly short.

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Teaser Tuesday (6 September)

Teaser Tuesday is a weekly bookish event hosted by Should Be Reading in which people share a brief excerpt from their current read.

“Most wretched Paris, would you shame us further? Have you not brought dishonour and grief enough on Troy already? Coward, and stealer of other men’s wives, I wish that you had died before you went to Sparta.”

p. 23, The Illiad. Translated/interpreted by Barbara Leone Picard. This is the Illiad told in prose, not verse. This will not be the last time Hector refers to Paris as “most wretched”.

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Sharpe’s Havoc

Sharpe’s Havoc: Portugal, 1809
© 2003 Bernard Cornwell
396 pages

“So what do you believe in?” Vicente wanted to know.
“The trinity, sir,” said Harper sententiously.
“The trinity?” Vicente was surprised.
“The Baker rifle,” Sharpe said, “the sword bayonet, and me.”

(p. 266)

Napoleon’s armies command Europe, and now, in the late spring of 1809, they threaten to force Britain to abandon its fragile foothold in Portugal. The British army is in retreat, and one Richard Sharpe — commanding a small band of riflemen — has been caught behind enemy lines while on a mission to find and rescue the daughter of a wealthy English family. Our man Sharpe is of course resourceful enough to get himself out of any pickle, but circumstances are complicated when he bumps into a “Lieutenant Colonel” attached to the foreign office, who has a great many schemes and (Sharpe thinks) the legal authority to order Sharpe about. The colonel thinks himself a chessmaster, but Sharpe has his rifles and a few friends with which to survive the weeks of danger,  intrigue, and treachery which lie ahead.

Within the last year or so Bernard Cornwell has become one of my favorite authors. Unlike Jeff Shaara or John Grisham, say, I don’t read him dutifully — but joyously. His books make me excited, and Sharpe’s Havoc is a fine example of why. Sharpe is thrown into a mess, but he survives the odds again and again through skill, wit, and not a small measure of luck.  Dialogue is marvelous as usual — I do love the usual repartee between Sharpe, Harper, and Hogan — and once more we get an interesting villain in “Lieutenant Colonel Christopher”, a right weasel. Cornwell also shows off his usual gift for making the physical environment come alive. I think Havoc will stand out among the rest of the Sharpe series whenever I complete it, for like a few others it has an intimate focus: Sharpe and his men are alone, and I enjoy their solitary adventures more than accounts of large-scale battles.

Next in the series is Sharpe’s Eagle, but as I’ve already read that I’ll be moving onto Sharpe’s Gold.

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The Gods Themselves

The Gods Themselves
© 1972 Isaac Asimov
288 pages

“Against human stupidity, the gods themselves contend in vain.” – Friedrich Schiller

In a small university office, something wondrous has been discovered: an isotope of Plutonium which cannot possibly remain stable according to the laws of known physics. Yet there it sits upon Dr. Hallam’s desk, quiet as you like. The search for the isotope’s origins creates a powerful new energy source for humanity, one which is effectively inexhaustible and utterly efficient. But nothing comes without a price, and one scientist realizes to his horror that the price of humanity’s bounty may be the solar system itself.  The Gods Themselves is a story told in three parts: as two men on Earth and the Moon attempt to find someway of convincing the civilization of Earth to save itself, in another universe (the origin of that isotope) a dissident alien rails against her own people’s attempt to save itself — an attempt which is dependent on Earth’s destruction.

The Gods Themselves is one of Asimov’s more unconventional works, for the good doctor rarely used aliens in his stories. This may be the readers’ loss, for the alien race he invents for The Gods Themselves is far from being a species of “rubber forehead” aliens with strange names. They are creatures far different from us, with three genders and bodies not quite so bound as ours. Wrapping my head around their society took a few pages, but once I’d gotten a handle on the genders I was hooked. Despite their differences, they remain sympathetic– except for their dispassionate decision to destroy Earth’s solar system to ensure their survival. Asimov’s world-building on the Moon is also worth noting: it seems to be a popular location for him, as he used it in The Positronic Man and more than a few short stories.  The Gods Themselves is also a ‘harder‘ kind of science fiction than Asimov’s other works (like Empire and Robots):  the first third of the novel takes place almost entirely in the laboratory, where atomic chemistry dominates the dialogue.

The essential source of tension in the novel is human short-sightedness: as one character explains to the others,  when people are forced to realize their actions have destructive consequences, we seek to counter the consequences instead of ceasing the actions. Because our human heroes can’t overcome human stupidity in this regard, they are forced to find a scientific solution to the problem at hand. I didn’t know beforehand if this novel is intended to be set in the same storytelling universe as the Robots, Empire, and Foundation novels, so whether the characters would emerge victorious or go down fighting remained up in the air until the final chapter.

Definitely one of Asimov’s more interesting works:  dramatic tension is maintained nicely, surviving even an interesting sidetrack to explore Asimov’s alien culture. The most sympathetic character in the novel is an alien, actually: most of the humans are boors, though humanity is redeemed by two characters in the ending section. It remains to be seen if we will redeem ourselves, for the same weakness of Asimov’s humans is present today: instead of throwing ourselves into solutions to eliminate our dependence on fossil fuels, we insist on maintaining them for as long as possible, and so invite disaster.

Related:

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