Mel’s Meme: The Seeds of Society

In his book Leisure the Basis of Culture, Josef Pieper lays out the founding of what we have come to know as “culture”. It was only when men did not have worry about every meal, when every moment was not spent securing the livelihood of a people, that they could begin to spend time – leisure time – studying.

And, eventually, creating. Art can only happen in a society organized enough to have leisure.

And this is my introductory excuse for having poor taste. When I looked deep, deep into my psyche, I discovered that my instinctive grabs would be;

Plato’s Republic,
&
Aristotle’s Politics,
&
De Tocqueville’s Democracy in America

I am horrified.

I loathe politics. In fact, it might be rated up there with chickens.

In my most cynical moods, I tend to reject all forms of government.

But I do trust education. And maybe if every person in this surviving culture read about politics, it might work!

And the first thing to that a dispossessed society needs in order to stay a culture, is a working organization.

A system of government, if you will.

And it needs people who can think clearly and reasonably about the purpose and organization of government. It need both the information and the wisdom passed down through the ages, what Chesterton called the “democracy of the dead”.

The purpose of government is to serve the people: humans do not exist to serve the government. So yes, there are books that – as I have in the middle of exploring – make us human.

But if the world as we knew it suddenly ended and we had to start anew, it would be important not just to preserve the beauty that was but to rebuild lives, society, and culture.

John Adams, in the throes of organizing the fledgling United States of America, deftly describes this basis of culture in a letter to his wife.

My Dear Portia—

Since my arrival this time, I have driven about Paris more than I did before. The rural scenes around this town are charming. The public walks, gardens, &c., are extremely beautiful . . . I wish I had time to describe these objects to you, in a manner that I should have done twenty-five years ago, but my head is too full of schemes, and my heart of anxiety, to use expressions borrowed from you know whom. To take a walk in the gardens of the palace of the Tuileries, and describe the statues there, all in marble, in which the ancient divinities and heroes are represented with exquisite art, would be a very pleasant amusement and instructive entertainment, improving in history, mythology, poetry, as well as in statuary. Another walk in the gardens of Versailles would be useful and agreeable. But to observe these objects with taste and describe them, so as to be understood, would require more time and thought than I can possibly spare.

It is not indeed the fine arts which our country requires ; the useful, the mechanic arts, are those which we have occasion for in a young country as yet simple and not far advanced in luxury, although perhaps much too far for her age and character. I could fill volumes with descriptions of temples and palaces, paintings, sculptures, tapestry, porcelain, &c., &c., &c., if I could have time ; but I could not do this without neglecting my duty.

The science of government, it is my duty to study, more than all other sciences; the arts of legislation and administration and negotiation, ought to take place of, indeed to exclude, in a manner, all other arts. I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy. My sons ought to study mathematics and philosophy, geography, natural history and naval architecture, navigation, commerce and agriculture, in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry and porcelain.

Adieu.

Thus concludes the excuse. I would like to have found that my heart of hearts wants to preserve Homer, or Shakespeare, or Dante. I believe that those are the books that teach us best what it mean to be human.

But no.

I suppose it is hope that makes grab political training manuals rather first.

Because if the Cylons do come destroy Earth and we must begin anew, I want to reach the point of culture as quickly as possible so that the new Homers, Shakespeares, and Dantes have a chance to create again.

Epic Meme Saturday: A Fairy-Tale Honeymoon

A book that I would bring on my honeymoon. Oye jehmoie! I don’t know if I would bring a book on my honeymoon. At least, not any of the books that changed or formed my life. Those books are so very important that I would either read them with my beloved before we married, or take longer over them than a honeymoon would give (for reading at least). Books of such importance should not be kept waiting.

If I ever get married any and all books on my honeymoon would have to be of the sort that are meant to be read by a fire and under the stars, so that would include …. Patrick McManus books!

Though those are not quite as romantic as I might want. So maybe not…maybe G.K Chesterton’s Fr. Brown mysteries, they are thrilling and enchanting; perfect for snuggling up before a fire! However, there is one drawback to those stories; they are never shallow (not the drawback, I am coming to that…) and some times they are quite deep! That is the draw back! Although it is a requirement to think deep thought and have deep discussions with my new spouse, I think not right before bed (which is when you have fires) because I would be too busy being comfy. So perhaps that would be a better travel-book.

Arra, this is harder than it seems!

Alright, last possibility is fairy-tales! But not just any fairy tales, because I can only listen to so many of Andrew Lang’s stories without going to sleep (though that might not be a bad thing), so they must be special and exciting! That leaves me with Rudyard Kipling’s Just So Stories! They are witty and charming, just right to right to read and giggle over and rambunctiously enjoy!

Perfect!

Mel’s Meme: The Bookshelf Overfloweth

I am very late.

I know.

I am sorry. I have no excuse, other than simply being an all-round despicable being.

So, after a quick perusal of my bookshelves – and deciding that owning three copies of each Austen novel doesn’t count – I must admit that the author by whom I own the most books is none other than Terry Pratchett.

This is partly because Pratchett has written so many books. I love Austen, but the entire sum of her work amounts to a very small finite number. Had she written 80 books, I would have them all and happily allow her to dominate my bookshelves.

Pratchett, on the other hand, can easily overrun a bookshelf. I did discuss this plenitude in last year’s meme, as my “Favorite Series“.

Pratchett is a skilled wordsmith; his work abounds delicious puns, linguistic oddities, and fun sounds.

Pratchett does not underestimate the intelligence of his reader; he plays with the genres and tropes, and bends, twists, and finds loop holes the laws of the worlds that we know, from physics to conventions.

Pratchett is a creative genius; the plots and narrative structures that spew forth from his strange mind are amazing.

I enjoy Pratchett. He amuses me. I adore his quirky characters.

And occasionally I enjoy the heart of his books. Going Postal? All about the virtue of hope! Thud!? An interesting dialogue on the personal responsibility of civic leaders.

But there are some issues with Pratchett. (The Other Egotists covered them pretty well here.) He tends towards preachy. With a decidedly, annoyingly liberal bent. Thud! also has strong overtones of “Lectures on Racism”.

Some people object to the extension of word to include spoof of basketball and rock music, rather than staying within the world of fantasy and fairy tales. But frankly, I find the willingness to include all aspects of the world charming,and Pratchett handles his subject with a light, humorous, and punny touch. And as much fun as the fantasy genre is, there is more to world than that.

And the way that Pratchett borders on Mennippean Satire thrills me to the very cockles of my cynical old heart.

Epic Meme Saturday: Best (Love) Story

Yuck! Mushy love stories!? Gross.

Pull a random “romance” from the dark and frightening caverns of a library’s paperback fiction section and it very scary. Though, to tell the truth, I have never been able to actually read a whole one of this type through, I pull it off the shelf and see the cover with a beautiful woman on it and a man without a shirt and with rippling abs and I cannot bring myself to open it!!

No thank you, no books about love for me.

You see, what I object to in books about love is that you can’t set out to make a story about love. Love does not work that way! For, although it is the very reason for our existence and should be the reason behind every action, it is not so simple that it can be reduced to The King’s Daughter, who loves perfectly and always succeeds, not is it so earthy that the man with rippling abs can explain everything about it. There has to be more to the plot that love.

(Except for the Bible, that is the ultimate love story without being smarmy, but then, that is God for you. Only He can show love perfectly.)

However, good wholesome adventure stories which happen to have true love in them are quite lovely! Take the story of Conan and Anne, in The Red Keep.

As a young boy in Medieval Normandy, Conan saves the life of a young girl, the daughter of the Lord of the Red Keep (a castle made of red stone), as she is left for dead among her slain family, she is taken back to castle of Conan’s lord and there she grows up, always dreaming to reclaim her fief. While Conan, whose only ambition is to become a knight, is completely oblivious to her hopes and dreams, and her growing love for him. (Though I was never sure why she would love the idiot he was in the beginning). Then something happens to turn his world upside-down and he is faced with challenges and choices that help him to grow from being as cocky boy to a wise and competent young man.

Finally, at the very end he realizes why he fought so hard against his enemies, why he fought for something that was not his own; it was because through her eyes he was shown something good and desirable, something that was larger than himself. And on her part, Conan gave her hope in a hopeless situation.  He gave her something to relay on other than herself, and in this way made her gentle and not the fiery little wild-woman that her red hair implied.

This story is not about love, for most of the book they are not even together! it is a story about life, it is a story about friendship, it is about courage and honor, deceit and treachery, it is about adventure and secret tunnels!

But it has love in it (as life does) as a purpose. And it is the life in the book that makes the love real, not the other way around.

Mel’s Meme: Best Love Story

Literature, to paraphrase C.S. Lewis, does not reduce reality but gives us a higher sense of what is real. In particular, love stories might not be the most true to the “reality” of this current world.

Knights in shining armor rarely appear on the modern landscape.

One look across a crowded room does not often result in a life long romance.

And few men can woo their ladies with beautiful song, dance, or poetry.

But we hold up these ideals of love not so that we are disappointed with our own prosaic lives, but so we can recognize the full beauty of Love as it was meant to be.

So when a love story exists as reality, all hope is renewed.

 

The Love Story:

John and Abigail Adams.

 

I cheat. I know.

But hey, their letters are published in a book! And, they most certainly a story, albeit a slightly quieter one than in fiction.

Therefore, I will maintain that they are part of the literary tradition. Their letters are beautiful, and definitely part of the American literary canon.

I was dithering about trying to choose my favorite fictional loving relationship – everything from Anne and Wentworth in Persuasion to Beatrice and Benedick in Much Ado - and could not make up my mind. But a then a friend posted a selection of the Adams’ correspondence, and their romance struck me afresh.

These letters, written while Abby was at home with the children at Braintree John was either riding the circuit, away in Boston for his law practice, attending congress, or being an ambassador to France,  convey a glimpse both what amazing people they were individually, and how well they suited each other and made their relationship work.

Miss Adorable

Without dramatics or extremes – other than a revolutionary war and the subsequent creation of Country and Government –  these two created one of the most beautiful love stories in both history and literature. Through the medium of day-to-day concerns and discussions and even something like arguments, their tender, intimate, sweet, respectful love for one another is immediately apparent.

Their relationship is not centered around themselves, but their personal union is a source of stability, joy, and grace for the people they know, from their neighbors to their children.Indeed, these personal letters reveal their biggest plans for the future of their beloved new country. Their love for each other radiates outward into a love for the world, and practical plans to make that world better.

Their letters reveal a mutual concern over the country and its formation, and frank discussion of necessary freedoms and reforms. Abigail gives a compelling argument for more freedom for women in this new country! And John has marvelous ideas not only for for forming  a government, but forming a flourishing culture.

They both worry over the mortal and immortal care of their family, and spend time developing a course of education for their children. And not just the course of study, but how to make the children fond of their readings. John wrote,

“The Education of our Children is never out of my Mind. Train them to Virtue, habituate them to industry, activity, and Spirit. Make them consider every Vice, as shamefull and unmanly: fire them with Ambition to be usefull—make them disdain to be destitute of any usefull, or ornamental Knowledge or Accomplishment. Fix their Ambition upon great and solid Objects, and their Contempt upon little, frivolous, and useless ones. It is Time, my dear, for you to begin to teach them French. Every Decency, Grace, and Honesty should be inculcated upon them.”

The sentence, “My dear, it is time you began to teach them French”, just kills me with its casual endearment, absolute assumption of ability, and complete trust. I cannot wait for the day that my husband remarks, “my dear, it is time we began to teach the children Old English”.

And the  sweet chiding and teasing and endearments between the two! Abigail opens a letter with the rebuke, “I wish you would ever write me a letter half as long as I write you!” and lists all the information that should like to receive. John drily replies, “ You justly complain of my short Letters, but the critical State of Things and the Multiplicity of Avocations must plead my Excuse” . . . an refers her to pamphlets he has enclosed.

They can share every worry and thought, exchange news and discuss how it applicable to their lives, from concerns over the state of the farm and state affairs, to sharing the latest studies on child development. They remark on their readings and experiences, sharing what they have studied, thought, and learned. They both have an appreciation of beauty and joy that seems to have been nourished by their association with each other. Their discussions and shared experiences brought to the fore those aesthetics and virtues needed in so young a country.

They are both friends and lovers. They have the kind of best relationship, where they work together and truly share their lives.

The affection between them is clear through every subject they discuss and in every tone they use. John’s endearments for Abigail are at once teasing and sweet, from “Miss Adorable”, to “Portia”. And Abby return with intense and lively description of home life, including her husband as much as possible despite his absence.

Their love, while singularly bereft of heroic rescues and grand adventures or gestures, is perhaps best exemplified in these simple, tender, and beautiful letters.

To me, it is the height of romance that John can address a letter simply to, “Dearest Friend”, and close with, “I am, with the tenderest Affection and Concern, your wandering John Adams”.

Epic Meme Saturday: Roguish Villainy

Oh, there are so many good types of villains!

The villains that are totally evil but still so attractive, the kinds are bumbling and cute, the kinds that make you shrivel in your pajamas, the kind that are so pompous that they make you laugh, the kind that are delightfully evil (differing from the shriveling kinds because they don’t give you night-meres)…. And oh so many more!

I think it would be possible to make it a lifelong hobby to categorize all the different kinds of villains one might encounter when venturing out into the scary and mysterious world of literature. I don’t know why one would want to do that, but it is possible!

All hobbies aside, I really don’t know who my favorite villain is. I love the demons in The Phantom Tollbooth, but I don’t know if they could really be called villains, they are more like a trial for the character to defeat. So I have to think of something more than just having fun reading about these dubious characters!!

Hm…

Well, I must say that when I read “King Lear” for the first time, I was shocked to find out that Edmund as a bad guy!

I mean, he had all the qualities of someone great; strength of character, vision, determination, courage, cunning…except they were all so sadly misplaced and he used them maliciously to achieve what he perceived as his own personal ‘good’ rather than using them honorably to reach a higher good. He let his bitterness at the way he was chained to his station poison all that could have been good in him.

Yet there is something so appealing about him, about what he could be. I almost wish he didn’t die, so that I could see if that hint that he could have become a real man ever came true.

Mel’s Book Meme: Ze Villianous Villain of Villainy

Terpsichore has given an excellent outline of  a “Villain”, and I find myself with really nothing to add.

Except, perhaps, to utter the injunction, “Oh villain! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption for this!”

Dogberry’s misspeaking aside, The Villain of my nightmares is not going anywhere near redemption.

He is a man, who presumably started life as a human, but choose evil so willingly and wholeheartedly that he can barely identified as such anymore. In fact, it is suspected that the devil has given him a third eye so as to better see and manipulate people.

He is:

Mr. Jackman,
from Russell Kirk’s Old House Of Fear

Kirk, better known for his philosophy, economics, and literary commentary, loved ghost tales. He discovered them during his sojourn at the University of St. Andrews, where he was surrounded by the ghostiness of the town. (St. A’s is known for being haunted.)

And Kirk’s taste for the sublime spooks came out in his fiction. He is, (as Lewis says of MacDonald,) perhaps not the best writer but he is a great teller of myth. All of his tales are chilling, but in a very good way.

Each is shot through a sense of the otherworldly, where the possibilities of meeting  a devil or meeting an angel walk side by side.

Each is told from a human standing: imperfect but trying, and oh, so very mortal.

And each highlights the dangers of Evil on the immortal soul. From the ghosts of thieves, to the possessing spirits of truly fiendish mobsters, Kirk’s stories create an intense interior repulsion from all things devilish.

The tales are told in such away that the reader is not sure what is happening, or if there is even something truly diabolical going on. But the little twists and turns that the plot takes slowly uncovers the supernatural working. Every story has surprised me in some way. But none laid a chilly finger on my spine the that my first Kirk story did.

This a Gothic Romance, written because Kirk simply wanted to see if he could write one.

Old House of Fear is narrated from the point of view of a prosaic American Lawyer, Mr. Logan, on a business trip to buy a castle. He gets stranded on the island off the coast of Scotland where this castle resides, with the dying owner, her beautiful niece, and Mr. Jackson. And Mr. Jackson’s henchmen. And Angus the shepherd.

But mostly Mr. Jackman. Mr. Edmund Jackman, who wants the castle, the niece, and the money. And can use evil powers to get it all.

Mr. Logan starts the story denying the possibility of any hocus-pocus. But as he becomes involved, he slowly becomes convinced of the actual, real, palpable existence of Evil. (And the fact that that wrinkle in Mr. Jackman’s forehead is really the lid for his third eye.)

There is terror, evil, a beautiful girl, midnight romps across a storm-tossed island, Scottish accents, and bottle dungeon.

(The bottle dungeon is modeled after the one in the Castle in St. Andrews!)

And the best part is, the Good wins! Mr. Jackman faces the eternal consequences of his choices. Logan gets the girl. And everything is resolved in a way that brings not only narrative and literary but spiritual satisfaction. For not being explicit Christian in any fashion, there is still an underlying system of belief. A portrayal of the Devils assumes the presence of the True God.

So the memory of Mr. Jackman remains to remind me that not only is Evil real, it is vanquishable.

Book Meme: Mel’s Musical Weekend

This is a very difficult choice. Not only must I narrow down my favorites in both music and literature, but I must try to see which ones go well with each other!

In the end, I could not make the final cut. So, after much dithering and many tears of worriment, Urania made me a delicious mojito and I finally saw the light.

Thus, you are blessed to TWO entries today. (Who says there must be only one? Phooey!)

Behold!

Haley Westenra’s “Dark Waltz”

is the theme song for

Melian and Thingol

from The Silmarillion

“Then . . . afar off he heard the voice of Melian, and it filled all his heart with wonder and desire. . . He came at last to a glade open to the stars, ad there Melian stood: and out of the darkness he looked at her, and the light of Aman was in her face.

She spoke no word; but being filled with love Elwe [Thingol] came to her and took her hand, and straight away a spell was laid on him, so that they stood thus while long years were measured by the wheeling stars above; and the trees of Na Elmoth grew tall and dark before they spoke any word.” (The Silmarillion 55)

Melian and Thingol were the Ainu and Elf who met under the trees of Arda and fell into such an immediate and deep love that they spent years staring at each other. Then they married and proceeded to build the first kingdom in Middle Earth, which flourished within the safety of their love and power, and developed a beautiful civilization. But they had both seen the Light of the Two Trees, which set them on more equal ground and thus made their love possible. But their story is haunted with loss: meeting separated Thingol from his people, and their attempt to protect and preserve their kingdom sets in motion it’s ultimate Fall.

Haley Westenra has long been one of my favorite musicians. Her voice is gorgeous, and her choice of music is always amazing; so every song is clear, poignant, haunting and filled with a sense of the open, wondering wideness of the world.

I have always thought that she was particularly suited to sing of the Elves of Middle Earth, but this song in particular reminded me of Melian and Thingol, of their all-encompassing love as the stars wheel overhead, of the culture and haven that their relationship brought about, and the consequences – both brilliant and tragic – of it all.

(Side note: If you like the clip above, Haley’s song “Across the Universe of Time” seems to describe the Fate of the Elvish love stories in Middle Earth.)

Debussy’s “Le Fille aux Cheveaux de Lin”

as the theme song for

Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse

(Ignore the histrionics of the performer: his actual playing is great.)

“”Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose,” she read, and so reading she was ascending, she felt, on to the top, on to the summit. How satisfying! How restful! All the odds and ends of the day stuck to this magnet; her mind felt swept, felt clean. And there it was, suddenly entire; she held it in her hands, beautiful and reasonable, clear and complete, the essence sucked out of life and held rounded here – the sonnet.” (121)

This the ultimate perfection of music and literature together.

Woolf and Debussy seemed to have similar approaches to their arts: unconventional, melodic, and heart-tugging.

It was tempting to pair Woolf’s “The Waves” with Debussy’s “Le Mer”, but while they undoubtably would work together, it is these two particular works that touch me on their own: the simple and tender beauty of this Debussy piece, and the gentle, heart-revealing narrative of “To The Lighthouse”.

In tandem, they open up worlds of experience in love and life.

(Side note: This is the one piece of music to which it might be possible for me to be seduced. Just in case you were wondering.)