Cast Changes: Out with the old, in with more of the same.

Cast changes are inevitable in any long running television series. Usually they are met with trepidation bordering on dismay by fans.  Adding new characters allows new dynamics to be explored, new subplots, plus rehashing everything you've done before in the hopes no one notices.  Don't believe me? Watch House. (If you speak English, have internet access, and have never seen House, allow me to express my shock.) Cameron's HIV scare is recycled with a different ending in Thirteen's illness subplot.  Or Cameron and Chase's relationship echoed in Thirteen and Foreman's. Same themes and tensions, recycled and rethought.  Sometimes a cast change isn't required. Look at how many times Foreman has actually been in charge on the series (hint: more than twice).

More interestingly, NCIS has taken advantage of a cast change to recycle not just plots and themes but dialogue.  Scenes with Tony and Kate are repeated with Tony and Ziva.  The reactions change, sometimes the characters swap positions on subjects, but the conversations can be nearly identical.

Don't get me wrong.  Judiciously, recycling can be used to show character development.  Repeating scenes with different endings can show growth (or regression).  And I am not inclined to think it is at all unintentional.  Consistency is very important when consumers can buy an entire series and watch in back to back, so I doubt anyone forgot they had done this before.  I do think they expect most audiences to not notice.  But with IMDB and lists of mistakes available on the internet, I expect to see a rise in carefully constructed series that can stand up to viewing as a complete entity, not as individual episodes.  Which is only more fun for me, as television creates more credible literature.

Smart Definitions

Americans have a good vocabulary for the people they perceive as smarter or more studious than themselves.  Most of the terms have been used as slurs, many have also been embraced by the studious set. Here is a look at the origins and definitions of those terms.

Nerd— origin 1960-65, means either a stupid, irritating, ineffectual, unattractive person or a single-minded, nonsocial intelligent person, [either having more or] lacking the social grace of a geek

Geek— origin 1915-20 derived from geck —fool, means any smart person with an obsessive interest, odd person, computer expert, a peculiar or dislikable person perceived to be overly intellectual

Dweeb—origin 1980-85, means mega-nerd, nerd, wimp

Dork— origin 1960-65, means a stupid or ridiculous person, jerk, nerd

Clearly, smart and stupid are equal and interchangeable offenses. Wisdom without grace is little better than folly.  And, as always, anything not understood is considered inferior.

I have always felt nerd lacked the punch behind geek, but the internet does not currently agree with my view.

Summer Classics- The Phantom of the Opera

Every American who has ever been enrolled in grade school (at least in recent decades) will remember summer reading.  I doubt it is unique to America either.  After twelve years of associating warm weather and vacation with classic literature, I find myself yearning for books written in old-fashioned language by dead authors (more than the usual) as the weather warms up.  This year I'm starting early.

Gaston Leroux is known for only one work, and even then most people won't recognize his name.  The Phantom of the Opera is better known for the plays, movies, and other adaptations than as a gripping novel of mystery and suspense.  Which it is, or would be if everyone didn't already know the ending.  Like any famous story ( The Mousetrap excepted), there is less suspense as the reader anticipates each scene before it happens.  Fortunately, enough plot is unique to the novel, that even knowing the end, the reader gets lost in the labyrinth of the Opera house.  And the stellar imagery makes this a thrilling read if you are alone in a large house at night.....

It should be noted that the spirit of the book is excellently captured in Andrew Lloyd Weber's popular musical, no matter what anyone may say to the contrary.

A little over 200 pages, there is little unnecessary description that most modern readers would balk at.  A nod to The Hunchback of Notre Dame combined with a detective novel and ghost story, Phantom is none of the above.  It is a thriller, and it does.

Appropriate for most ages, although I do not recommend it as a bedtime story.  This book is extremely accessible and everyone should read it.

Miscellany

Along with etymology (see post "Definitions"), I love miscellany.  Random facts. Its the same thing, really.  Small bundles of truth that reveal or explain an aspect of the world around us.

Miscellany— a miscellaneous [shock] collection or group of various or somewhat unrelated items. Sym- anthology.

Wikipedia is being unhelpful and redirecting to "Anthology".  Early miscellanies, like Tottel's Miscellany (published under the title Songes and Sonettes), would be called anthologies or collections today.

Schott's Original Miscellany is an example of miscellanies found in bookstores today.  There is no table of contents, only a lengthy index, and no organization to the information presented.  So, nouns of assemblage are found directly beneath a list of cricket dismissals.  Collections can also be themed like Schott's Food & Drink Miscellany, Schott's Sporting, Gaming, & Idling Miscellany, or Little known Facts about Well Known Places: Italy. 

Sometimes, however, the most interesting facts come from more unusual places.  Satiric novels, particularly in the sci-fi/fantasy genre tend to be founts of obscure knowledge.  Bellwether by Connie Willis begins each chapter with a brief history of some cultural trend.  Douglas Adams, in an article in The Salmon of Doubt, relates his favorite fact: young sloths are so inept they often mistake their own limbs for branches and fall out of trees.

Terry Pratchett has coined the term 'white knowledge' "to describe stuff that you know, and can't remember a time when you didn't know, but were never formally taught." Facts filtered in like white noise.  But some facts need to be sought out.  Here are a few of my personal favorites.

Lying can produce histamine to cause your nose to itch.

Bertrand Russell and Alfred North Whitehead wrote a mathematical volume that contains a 362 page proof that one plus one equals two.

The Anglo-Zanzibar War of August 27, 1896 was 38 minutes long, the shortest war in history.

The family that first cultivated broccoli also financed the James Bond films.

19 roads led to ancient Rome.

Charles Dickens invented the word 'boredom' in Bleak House.

A Written Cornucopia

Review of Secret Ingredients

As a rule, I find anthologies to be hit or miss.  Short story collections can be hard to “get into” and once I lose momentum, very hard to finish.  Secret Ingredients: The New Yorker Book of Food and Drink is a winning recipe among anthologies.  Upon reading a review for this book in the Memphis Flyer, I knew I had to buy it.  Recent convert to cooking, I have long enjoyed Food Network programming.  I am also a fan of collections, liking their power to preserve knowledge in an easily referenced way, even if I have a history of losing interest halfway through.   And The New Yorker articles promised a good read. I wasn’t disappointed. 

The book is divided into 8 sections: dining out—food made by chefs, eating in— home cooking, fishing and foraging— food gathered from nature, local delicacies, the pour— wine and ketchup, tastes funny— humor, small plates— short articles, and fiction.

The way a culture prepares and eats their food speaks to their climate, terrain, traditions, history, economy, and technology.  Many of these articles, presented in chronological order within each section, draw a picture of the cultural history of the United States, France, and to a lesser extent Russia, China, Mexico, Cuba,  and Japan.  The reader experiences the change in journalistic style, food trends, advances in technology, and cultural responses to historical events like the Great Depression, all within a span of less than a hundred pages and then starts over with each section presenting different figures to tell the stories of the cooks and eaters of the past century whose influences echo into the present even when most of their names are unknown to the majority.  Secret Ingredients is a starting place for discovering classic cookbooks and movements in the world of cuisine.  Culinary celebrities like Julia Child, Escoffier, Waverly Root, Careme, and M. F. K. Fisher all appear briefly, enticing the reader to more in depth research into a field all participate in but few study.  Not to mention the great journalists, like A.J. Liebling, who introduce themselves through their work.  There is also a lot of practical advice in this anthology: which days restaurants get their food fresh, recipes for tripe, why rarer types of fruit may taste better than mega-mart standbys. 

A few of the highlights:

"The Reporter's Kitchen" by Jane Kramer illustrates how certain smells and flavors can evoke memory and even inspire a writer.  "A Forager" by John McPhee is a travelogue of a trip taken through the Appalacians woven with the personal history of his guide Euell Gibbons, a self-made naturalist via his passion for gathering wild food and a subsequent author.  "A Rat in My Soup" by Peter Hessler introduces the village of Luogang, China and its unusual restaurant specialty.

Throughout, there are numerous attempts at defining what it is that makes up good cooking.  Cooking is compared to Dada art, analyzed geographically and historically, and sexualized.  Fernand Point in Joseph Wechsberg's article states, "[T]he finest butter...that's the secret of good cooking. And time, lots of time." Time, at least, seems also to be a winning ingredient in this collection of some of the best writing about food in the last century.

H2G2-6 (of 3) Review

In an extraordinary turn of events, The Hitchhiker's trilogy has added a sixth book to its ranks. ...And Another Thing takes its title from a quote in the fourth book of the trilogy (all the original titles are taken from the first).  Eoin Colfer, author of the Artemis Fowl series takes on the dangerous task of writing a post-mortem addendum to a beloved series.  Hailed as a stellar success and declaimed as falling completely flat.... Does this children's author bite off more than he can chew. Answer: Yes, but the world needed another Hitchhiker book and he was willing to step up to the plate with semi-decent results.

SPOILER WARNING!!!!!

If you haven't read the first five books but plan to one day, skip the next paragraph.

There aren't many salient plot points, which enables me to be brief.  The earth is blown up by Vogons (ugly bureaucrats), but not before two Earthlings and two aliens escape (not all together, they meet up just before 2 of them nearly die again).  Ford and Zaphod (Galactic President) are from Betelgeuse, Arthur and Tricia McMillian (Trillian) from England.  They find a replica earth, go back (and forward) in time, talk to a very smart computer, and find the answer to life, the universe, and everything.  In book 4, Arthur falls in love with Fenchurch, and Marvin the android dies.  By the end of Mostly Harmless (book 5): Arthur discovers he has a daughter by Trillian, named Random, and everyone is drawn back to earth just before it is destroyed on all planes of existence, this time by Grebulons (hired by Vogons).

YOU MAY RESUME.

Which I always thought was a very definite ending.  I knew Adams had thought of doing another one, but he never got around to it before he died.  And even he would have had to reach pretty far to save his characters from obliteration.  So, you can't blame Colfer if it takes him a bit to long to get the ball rolling.

...And Another Thing starts with a three page recap of the past five books.  The new story is presented as a guide entry.  We are dropped immediately into a where-are-they-now? scenario, which turns out to be a holographic dream, where each of the main characters believes he/she has lived a long, happy life.  Arthur has been sitting alone on a beach, Ford lounging at a spa, Trillian reporting throughout the universe, and Random became President of the Galaxy.  One by one they come out of the dream. Unfortunately, the reader gets the joke the first time, but is stuck reading each false scenario (a total of 16 pages), knowing it won't impact the rest of the story.

When we finally catch up to our old friends in real time, the Grebulons are bearing down on earth, warming up the death rays.  Not only has no time passed, but we have jumped back a good five minutes before the end of the world.  And given Zaphod enough time to show up to the rescue in the Heart of Gold.

The rest of the story moves forward in a fairly predictable(!) manner. The characters say they will do something and they do it, in a straightforward way.  There are only three main terrestrial locations and three space craft.  There are only two new major characters.  And the old ones don't always have much to add to the story. They are over-familiar with the territory; planetary destruction not the shock it once was. So, Colfer grants them some maturity.  Um. Yeah. Arthur becomes paternal and a bit adventurous toward the end. Trillian makes a commitment to her family. Zaphod acts responsibly.  Ford, thank goodness, drinks and spends fortunes with his limitless credit account.  Some other acquaintances that show up in an attempt to liven things up are Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz, Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged, and Thor.  Thor gets a major role, along with appearances of other Norse deities, which Douglas Adams had tried in The Long Dark Tea Time of the Soul, and I didn't feel it worked there or here.  There is no android at all (sigh). Despite references to every creature ever mentioned in the previous books, the story feels a mite understaffed.

Before I move on from characters, a word about Zaphod.  He is the most ill-treated character in the book.  Part of me cheers his hidden talent as a modest, almost noble hero who only plays the part of an ego-maniacal celebrity with the memory of a goldfish. But he's not Zaphod.  When given a task that takes him to Asgard, he goes straight there.  No side trips or dawdling.  He even admits at the end of the book to being at the ready to save his cousin and friends whenever the next catastrophe occurs.  I don't mind wishing these traits on Zaphod, but him admitting it destroys his un-credibility.

Which brings me to my composition points.  Colfer is spot on with his style mimicking the rest of the Guide, but his content lacks the subtlety and complexion.  Its too coherent.  So, style good, content... passable.  Structure. Oh dear.  It looks like the Guide, but it reads like a young adult novel.  I've already touched on the simplified plot and positive character growth.  The first half of the book spends far too much time throwing in references to the original Guide.  Colfer seems to be trying to impress us with his knowledge of Guide lore, and it comes across forced.  Not to forget the pop culture references.  Yes, Douglas Adams loved a sly reference, but Colfer's timing is not what it should be.  Taking a joke about modern western civilization that is more or less stolen out of Adams's annals, Colfer comes across as insulting rather than presenting humorous social commentary.  He does this more than once.  A lot of the Guide notes are elaborations of previous Guide notes. Or are direct comments on the plot, since the story is set up as a Guide entry (Adams did a lot more indirect).  And while none of the Guide notes compare to the brilliance of the towel entry, few are really all that funny.  One Guide note is the plot summary of the Matrix.  And the characters seem to have kept up with the times.  Cell phones, uBid, streaming video, etc.  The obvious time elapse echoes through the book.  Sadly, some things never seem to come comfortably to Colfer, like the  galactic slang, or the need to threaten his characters lives more than twice.  He is at his best when danger is eminent and things are forced to move quickly.

In the end, the Earth stays destroyed, Trillian falls in love, Random gets into politics, Zaphod runs for reelection, Ford sits on a beach researching the new Earth colony, Wowbagger becomes finitely prolonged, and Arthur sets up a potential sequel (but let's hope any sequels show improvement from this volume). Up until the last few pages, this book was in danger of a truly happy ending for everyone concerned.  Interestingly, the final ironic twist on the last page is the most Adams-y thing in the book.  Why couldn't there be more of those twists?

Overall, I like to view every book from Life, the Universe, and Everything (book 3) on as alternate endings: you stop whenever you feel like that is how you want to remember the characters' stories as having ended.  I like So Long, and Thanks for All  the Fish (book 4) as an ending.  But if you slog through Mostly Harmless (the most depressing book Adams ever wrote), you may need this pick-me-up.  So, it's not Adams, but the characters finally got a little more life as unexploded beings.  And that makes it all worth it.

Arthur sums it up best: "It was nice to see everybody, but why does there always have to be genocide?"  And wait till you see what Zaphod did to his head.

Definitions

I feel a little bad about my previous sentiment on LitCrit.  There is one notable aspect that I actually love: the origins of the stories we tell.  Folklore, fairy tales, fables (and to a lesser extent myth) fascinate me in that we still use these same stories in our bestsellers and blockbusters.  I love finding out how old our 'modren' concepts really are.  Similarly, I took a year of college Latin primarily because of my love for etymology.  I gave my mother a bit of a shock when an Amazon order of mine was delivered to my parents house rather than my school address.  She called me concerned, "Did you intend to order a dictionary?"  Yes, I had, Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable  to be exact.  As Terry Pratchett puts it in the intro,"Brewer's is ostensibly a reference book, and an indispensible one. But it is also an idiosyncratic adventure, pulling you in and saying: 'This is, in fact, not what you're looking for; but it's much more interesting.' And, of course it usually is."  This book and others like it are resources for common English idiom and popular and literary allusion.  I keep a list in the back of phrases I try to look up but aren't included... yet.  I own the 17th edition, but the 18th has already been published.

I have a few standard dictionaries (Webster, Spanish to English, Latin), but the internet is rapidly making them obsolete.  Dictionary.com is my friend when I write, particularly its thesaurus.  Also in my collection is Ambrose Bierce's The Devil's Dictionary, which I picked up for a dollar somewhere or other.  It is notably the only dictionary I read for pleasure, although I'm only to "I".  Definitions on this blog will be regularly supplemented with entries from The Devil's Dictionary.  I also have a passion for books of miscellany, but will relegate these to another post.

 The root of dictionary is diction— style of speaking or writing as dependent on choice of words and -ary a suffix denoting objects, esp. receptacles or places.  Therefore, a dictionary is a word receptacle.*

Literature has roots in the latin 'literatus'— learned, scholarly, which comes from 'lettre'— alphabetic character. 'Litterature' means grammar.  So, only written, grammatical, scholarly works count as literature. Sorry, internet.

And for the record: criticism— the act of passing judgment as to the merits of anything. Critic comes from a Greek word meaning "skilled in judging".*  I rest my case.


* From The Devil's Dictionary (henceforth FDD):
dictionary- a malevolent literary device for cramping the growth of a language and making it hard and inelastic.
critic- a person who boasts himself hard to please because nobody tries to please him.