John Steinbeck on Fish and Relativity

Those of us who work with non-sciency things like language and social studies have learnt not just to accept the lack of universal truths and procedures, but to cherish and revel in them. The relativity and the uncertainty of our areas make them somehow more humanly relevant, more personally accurate and liberatingly dynamic.

John Steinbeck also reflected on this issue in his The Log from the Sea of Cortez, and my summer gift to you this year is in the form of his beautiful prose. Let it linger in the back of your minds for the holiday season!

"

We made a trip into the Gulf; sometimes we dignified it by calling it an expedition. Once it was called the Sea of Cortez, and that is a better-sounding and a more exciting name. We stopped in many little harbors and near barren coasts to collect and preserve the marine invertebrates of the littoral. One of the reasons we gave ourselves for this trip–and when we used this reason, we called the trip an expedition–was to observe the distribution of invertebrates, to see and record their kinds and numbers, how they lived together, what they ate, and how they reproduced…

We were curious. Our curiosity was not limited, but was as wide and horizonless as that of Darwin or Agassiz or Linnaeus or Pliny. We wanted to see everything our eyes would accommodate, to think what we could, and, out of our seeing and thinking, to build some kind of structure in modeled imitation of the observed reality. We knew that what we would see and record and construct would be warped, as all knowledge patterns are warped, first, by the collective pressure and stream of our time and race, second by the thrust of our individual personalities. But knowing this, we we might not fall into too many holes, we might maintain some balance between our warp and the separate thing–the external reality.

The oneness of these two might take its contribution from both. For example: the Mexican sierra has “XVII-15-IX” spines in the dorsal fin. These can easily be counted. But if the sierra strikes hard on the line so that our hands are burned, if the fish sounds and nearly escapes and finally comes in over the rail, his colors pulsating and tail beating the air, a whole new relational experience has come into being–an entity which is more than the sum of the fish plus the fisherman. The only way to count the spines of the sierra unaffected by this relational reality is to sit in a laboratory, open an evil-smelling jar, remove a stiff colorless fish from formalin solution, count the spines, and write the truth “D. XVII15-IX”. There you have recorded a reality which cannot be assailed–probably the least important reality concerning either the fish or yourself…The man with the pickled fish has set down one truth and has recorded in his experience many lies. The fish is not that color, that texture, that dead, nor does he smell that way.

…we were determined not to let a passion for unassailable little truths draw in the horizons and crowd the sky down on us. We knew that what seemed to us true could be only relatively true anyway. There is no other kind of observation. The man with the pickled fish has sacrificed a great observation about himself, the fish, and the focal point, which is his thought on both the sierra and himself.

We determined to go doubly open so that in the end we could, if we wished, describe the sierra thus: “D. XVII15-IX A. II-15-IX”, but we could also see the fish alive and swimming, feel it plunge against the lines, drag it threshing over the rail, and even finally eat it. And there is no reason why either approach should be inaccurate. Spine-count description need not suffer because another approach is also used. Perhaps out of the two approaches, we thought, there might emerge a picture more complete and even more accurate than either alone could produce. And so we went.

"

Source: As given, pp. 1-3

How Not to Annoy - The World Citizens Guide for Americans

The war-time line "overpaid, oversexed and over here", used to describe Americans in Europe has in later years been rewritten to "overweight, oversexed and overthrow whomever". Admittedly, Americans struggle with some public image issues beyond their heartland even to the extent that they are the object of their own phobia, amerophobia or columbophobia. Amerophobes shudder at American overestimation of their powers of comparison through the word "like", their inability to pronounce t-sounds inside words, their volume and their initial ignorance, subsequent ceaseless fascination and merciless appropriation of anything Non-American. However, the fear is more of this stereotype than of the Americans themselves, who often put this stereotype to shame by being sociable, polite and altruistic.

However, in 2014, 8,8% of all Americans took an overseas trip, according to numbers from the Office of Travel and Tourism Industries and the US Census Bureau, a number relatively similar to those of previous years. The cultural challenges facing these Americans abroad prompted "Business for Diplomatic Action", an American organisation worried about the declining standing of Americans abroad, to commission the compilation of the "World Citizens Guide". This guide provides the American tourist with the necessary knowledge to not get on the nerves of the natives of their country of choice.

Here is a collection of pearls from the guide:

"

Look. Listen. Learn.
Don't just shop. See the sights, hear the sounds and try to understand the lives people live.

Think big. Act small. Be humble.
It's easy to resent big, powerful people. Assume resentment as a default and play down your wealth, power and status.

Live, eat and play local.
Once you get to know other Americans, don't start ignoring locals you knew before.

Refrain from lecturing.
Nobody likes a know-it-all, and nobody likes a whole nation of them. Rightly or wrongly, the I.S. is seen as appointing itself as policeman, judge and jury to the world. Be aware of this perception and try to understand other viewpoints.

Dialogue instead of monologue.
[...] ask people you're visiting how what you've said compares to what they do and how they live in their country.

Be proud, not arrogant.
People around the world are fascinated by the U.S. and the lives we Americans live. They admire our openness, our optimism, our creativity and our "can-do" spirit. Be proud of being an American, but resist any temptation to present our way as the best way or the only way.

Keep religion private.
Some may have no knowledge of the Bible, nor is it appropriate to tell them about it unless you are a professional missionary identified as such.

Be quiet.
In conversation match your voice level to the environment and other speakers. Casual profanity is almost always considered unacceptable.

Check the atlas.
Everyone's home is important to them.

Agree to disagree respectfully.
Surely, there are people who object to actions or activities of our government, our industries and our culture.

Talk about something besides politics.
Listen first. Then speak. And leave politics alone if you can. Speak of culture, art, food or family if you need another topic.

Show your best side.
Americans are a kind and generous people. You can help dispel the stereotype of the Ugly American; impress people with your kindness, curiosity and fair nature.

"

Sources: Adapted from [1], otherwise as indicated, 

Perfecly Golden, Wodehouse - Service with a Smile

Welcome to the belated third bulletin in the series "Perfectly Golden, Wodehouse"! As the the bees are buzzing in the bushes going about their summerly business with a gusto, one cannot but be inspired and therefore steps onto the podium like the heralds of yore. The previous compilations of Wodehousean splendor consisted of delectable morsels out of Carry on, Jeeves and Very Good, Jeeves (with an additional little topical collage in 2011) and not even your severest critic would look at you askance for revisiting them. However, one must keep a stern focus on the task at hand, and so, with the determination of MacIntosh the dog or that Duch fellow with the boat, I will plunge into the sunlit expanses of Blandings Castle and the

Third book:

Service with a Smile

First published 1961

(ed. published 2008 by

Arrow Books, London)

"'South Kensington? Where sin stalks naked throught the dark alleys and only might is right. Give this man a miss. He'll lead you astray.'" (p.28)

"Some twenty muinutes had elapsed, and there were still no signs of the bride-to-be, and nothing so surely saps the morale of a bridegroom on this wedding day as the failure of the party of the second part to put in an appearance at the tryst. [...] Lord Ickenham tried to comfort him with the quite erroneous statement that it was early yet." (p.33)

"Going by the form book, he took it for granted that ere many suns had set the old buster would be up to some kind of hell which would ultimately stagger civilization and turn the moon to blood, but what mattered was that he would be up to it a t Lord Emsworth's rural seat and not in London." (p.47)

"'Nervous, Bill?' he said, regarding the Rev Cuthbert sympathetically. He had seemed to nitice during the early stages of the journey a tendency on the other's part to twitch like a galvanized frog and allow a sort of glaze to creep over his eyes." (p.48)

"'I happened to be doing some visiting there for a pal of mine who had sprained an ancle while trying to teach the choir boys to dance the carioca, and I came along just as someone was snatching her bag. So, of course, I biffed the blighter.'
'Where did they bury the unfortunate man?'
'Oh, I didn't biff him much, just enough to make him see how wrong it is to snatch bags'" (p.50)

"'I always strive, when I can, to spread sweetness and light. There have been several complaints about it.'" (p.62)

Lord Emsworth had been subjected to a cruel trick by the Church Lads Brigade, camping out in his grounds under his sister Connie's protection and consults Ickenham on the subject of retaliation: 
"'Ah, that wants thinking over, doesn't it? I'll devote earnest thought to the matter, and if anything occurs to me, I'll let you know. You wouldn't consider mowing them down with a shotgun?'
'Eh? No, I doubt if that would be advisable.'
'Might cause remark, you feel?' said Lord Ickenham. 'Perhaps you're right. Never mind. I'll think of something else.'" (p.67)

The dastardly Duke of Dunstable covets the Empress of Blandings, that magnificent, prize-winning Berkshire pig of Emsworth's:
"'I've asked him a dozen times. 'I'll give you five hundred pounds cash down for that bulbous mass of lard and snuffle,' I said to him. 'Say the word,' I said, 'and I'll have the revolting object shipped off right away to my place in Wiltshire, paying all the expenses of removal.' He refused, and was offensive about it, too. The man's besotted.'" (p.72)

"'[You would buy the Empress] Just to do Clarance good?' she said, amazed. She had not credited her guest with this atruism.
'Certainly not,' said the Duke, offended that he should be supposed capable of such a motive." (p.73)

"Prefacing her remarks with the statement that if girls like Lavender Briggs were skinned alive and dipped in boiling oil, this would be a better and sweeter world, Myra embarked on her narrative." (p.94)

According to Ickenham, breaking off an engagement is the easiest thing in the world:
"'You're strolling with him in the moonlight. He says something about how jolly it's going to be when you and he are settled down in your little nest, and you say, 'Oh, I forgot to tell you about that. It's off.' He says, 'What!' You say, 'You heard,' and he reddens and goes to Africa.'" (p.138)

"In the life of every successful man there is always some little something missing. Lord Tilbury had wealth and power and the comforting knowledge that, catering as he did for readers who had all been mentally arrested at the age of twelve, he would continue to enjoy these indefinitely" (p.140)

"He mistrusted these newspaper fellers. You told them something in the strictest confidence, and the next thing you knew it was spread all over the gossip page with a six-inch headline at the top and probably a photograph of you, looking like somepne the police were anxious to question in connextion with the Dover Street smash-and-grab raid." (p.147)

"Once more, Archie Gilpin ran a hand through his hair. The impression he conveyed was that if the vultures gnawing at his bosom did not shortly change their act, he would begin pulling it out in handfuls." (p.162)

"Seated on the stile, hist deportment was rather like that of a young Hindu fakir lying for the first time on the traditional bed of spikes, Archie Gilpin seemed still to find a difficulty clothing his thoughts in words." (p. 163)

"Archie nodded. He had never blinded himself to the fact that anyone trying to separate cash from the Duke of Dunstable was in much the same position as a man endeavouring to take a bone from a short-tempered wolf-hound." (p. 168)

"'Are you there, Stinker?'
If the Duke had not been a little deaf in the right ear, he might have heard a sound like an inexperienced motorist chaning gears in an old-fashioned car. It was the proprietor of the Mammoth Publishing Company grinding his teeth. Sometimes, when we hear a familiar voice, the heart leaps up like that of the poet Wordsworth when he beheld a rainbow in the sky. Lord Tilbury's was far from doing this." (p.170)

"[Lord Tilbury] proceeded to answer in the negative. This took some time for in addition to saying 'No' he had to tell the Duke what he thought of him, indicating one by one the various points on which his character diverged from that of the ideal man." (p.171)

"'Well, well!' said Mr Schoonmaker.
'Well, well, well!' said Lord Ickenham.
'Well, well, well, well!' said Mr Schoonmaker.
Lord Emsworth interrupted the reunion before it could reach the height of its fever." (p.179)

Mr Schoonmaker has difficulties mustering the courage to propose to Constance Keeble:
"'When I try to propose to her, the words won't come. It's happened a dozen times. The sight of that calm aristocratic profile wipes them from my lips.'
'Try not looking at her sidways'" (p.184)

The Duke of Dunstable on his favourite theme:
"'Hasn't he got any? You told me he came from Brazil. Fellers make money in Brazil.'
'He didn't. A wasting sickness struck the Brazil nuts, and he lost all his capital.'
'Silly ass.'
'Your sympathy does you credit. Yes, his lack of money is the trouble.'" (p.202)

"'You know and I know that Dunstable is a man who sticks at nothing and would walk ten miles in the snow to chisel a starevng orphan out of tuppence'" (p.210)

"'Should I escort you there, sir?'
'No, don't bother. I'll find it. Oh, Beach?'
'Sir?'
'Here,' said Mr Schoonmaker, and thrusting a piece of paper into the butler's hand he curvetted off like, thought Beach, an unusually extrovert lamb in springtime.
Beach looked at the paper, and being alone, with nobody to report him to his guild, permitted himself a sharp gasp. It was a ten-pound note" (p.212)

"Mr Schoonmaker, meanwhile, touching the ground only at odd spots, had arrived at Lavender Briggs' office ...[and was] pacing the floor in a manner popularized by tigers at a zoo" (p. 213-214)

"The Duke, who had been scowling at the typewriter, as if daring it to start something, became more composed. A curious gurgling noise suggested that he had chuckled" (p.219)

"Jabberwocky" by Lewis Carroll

This poem from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There is a lingering one. There is something about the language which makes me return to the poem over and over. Carroll had a knack for language, inventing words as he went along with great success. He explained his procedure in the preface to The Hunting of The Snark:

"

As this poem is to some extent connected with the lay of the Jabberwock, let me take this opportunity of answering a question that has often been asked me, how to pronounce "slithy toves." The "i" in "slithy" is long, as in "writhe"; and "toves" is pronounced so as to rhyme with "groves." Again, the first "o" in "borogoves" is pronounced like the "o" in "borrow." I have heard people try to give it the sound of the "o" in "worry. Such is Human Perversity.

This also seems a fitting occasion to notice the other hard works in that poem. Humpty-Dumpty's theory, of two meanings packed into one word like a portmanteau, seems to me the right explanation for all.

For instance, take the two words "fuming" and "furious." Make up your mind that you will say both words, but leave it unsettled which you will say first. Now open your mouth and speak. If your thoughts incline ever so little towards " fuming," you will say "fuming-furious;" if they turn, by even a hair's breadth, towards "furious," you will say "furious-fuming;" but if you have the rarest of gifts, a perfectly balanced mind, you will say "frumious."

Supposing that, when Pistol uttered the well-known words--

Under which king, Bezonian? Speak or die!"

Justice Shallow had felt certain that it was either William or Richard, but had not been able to settle which, so that he could not possibly say either name before the other, can it be doubted that, rather than die, he would have gasped out "Rilchiam!

"

I interviewed a few people and asked them to go "galumphing", a word coined and frequently used by Carroll. Although none of them knew the word from before, they all did what Eddie Izzard, miming a moving giraffe does here. That is the true mark of linguistic genius.

So, without further ado, on with the poem!

"

Jabberwocky

by

Lewis Carroll

"

And Alice described it very well:

"

"It seems very pretty," she said when she had finished it, "but it's rather hard to understand!" (You see she didn't like to confess even to herself, that she couldn't make it out at all.) "Somehow it seems to fill my head with ideas--only I don't exactly know what they are! However, somebody killed something: that's clear, at any rate---"

"

Sources: Preface, Poem, End Quotation

"Lionizing" by Edgar Allan Poe

This is Edgar Allan Poe's fable Lionizing from his 1840 Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque, most notable for the previously published The Fall of the House of Usher. Read it, then analyse your reaction. Perhaps my comments at the end might help.

"

Lionizing

-all people went
Upon their ten toes in wild wondernment.
Bishop Hall's Satires.

I AM, that is to say I was, a great man, but I am neither the author of Junius nor the man in the mask, for my name, I believe, is Robert Jones, and I was born somewhere in the city of Fum-Fudge.

The first action of my life was the taking hold of my nose with both hands. My mother saw this and called me a genius:-my father wept for joy and presented me with a treatise on Nosology. This I mastered before I was breeched.

I now began to feel my way in the science, and soon came to understand that, provided a man had a nose sufficiently conspicuous, he might by merely following it, arrive at a Lionship. But my attention was not confined to theories alone. Every morning I gave my proboscis a couple of pulls and swallowed a half-dozen of drams.

When I came of age my father asked me, one day, if I would step with him into his study.

"My son," he said, when we were seated, "what is the chief end of your existence?"

"My father," I answered, "it is the study of Nosology."

"And what, Robert," he inquired, "is Nosology?"

"Sir," I said, "it is the science of Noses."

"And can you tell me," he demanded, "what is the meaning of a nose?"

"A nose, my father," I replied, greatly softened, "has been variously defined by about a thousand different authors." [Here I pulled out my watch.] "It is now noon, or thereabouts-We shall have time enough to get through with them all before midnight. To commence then: The nose, according to Bartholinus, is that protuberance-that bump-that excresence-that-"

"Will do, Robert," interupted the old gentleman. "I am thunderstruck at the extent of your information-I am positively-upon my soul." [Here he closed his eyes and placed his hand upon his heart.] "Come here!" [Here he took me by the arm.] "Your education may now be considered as finished-it is high time you should scuffle for yourself-and you cannot do a better thing than merely follow your nose-so-so-so-" [Here he kicked me down stairs and out of the door.]-"So get out of my house, and God bless you!"

As I felt within me the divine afflatus, I considered this accident rather fortunate than otherwise. I resolved to be guided by the paternal advice. I determined to follow my nose. I gave it a pull or two upon the spot, and wrote a pamphlet on Nosology forthwith.

All Fum-Fudge was in an uproar.

"Wonderful genius!" said the Quarterly.

"Superb physiologist!" said the Westminster.

"Clever fellow!" said the Foreign.

"Fine writer!", said the Edinburgh.

"Profound thinker!" said the Dublin.

"Great man!" said Bentley.

"Divine soul!" said Fraser.

"One of us!" said Blackwood.

"Who can he be?" said Mrs. Bas-Bleu.

"What can he be?" said big Miss Bas-Bleu.

"Where can he be?" said little Miss Bas-Bleu.-But I paid these people no attention whatever-I just stepped into the shop of an artist.

The Duchess of Bless-my-Soul was sitting for her portrait; the Marquis of So-and-So was holding the Duchess' poodle; the Earl of This-and-That was flirting with her salts; and his Royal Highness of Touch-me-Not was leaning upon the back of her chair.

I approached the artist and turned up my nose.

"Oh, beautiful!" sighed her Grace.

"Oh, my!" lisped the Marquis.

"Oh, shocking!" groaned the Earl.

"Oh, abominable!" growled his Royal Highness.

"What will you take for it?" asked the artist.

"For his nose!" shouted her Grace.

"A thousand pounds," said I, sitting down.

"A thousand pounds?" inquired the artist, musingly.

"A thousand pounds," said I.

"Beautiful!" said he, entranced.

"A thousand pounds," said I.

"Do you warrant it?" he asked, turning the nose to the light.

"I do," said I, blowing it well.

"Is it quite original?" he inquired, touching it with reverence.

"Humph!" said I, twisting it to one side.

"Has no copy been taken?" he demanded, surveying it through a microscope.

"None," said I, turning it up.

"Admirable!" he ejaculated, thrown quite off his guard by the beauty of the manoeuvre.

"A thousand pounds," said I.

"A thousand pounds?" said he.

"Precisely," said I.

"A thousand pounds?" said he.

"Just so," said I.

"You shall have them," said he. "What a piece of virtu!" So he drew me a check upon the spot, and took a sketch of my nose. I engaged rooms in Jermyn street, and sent her Majesty the ninety-ninth edition of the "Nosology," with a portrait of the proboscis. That sad little rake, the Prince of Wales, invited me to dinner.

We are all lions and recherches.

There was a modern Platonist. He quoted Porphyry, Iamblicus, Plotinus, Proclus, Hierocles, Maximus Tyrius, and Syrianus.

There was a human-perfectibility man. He quoted Turgot, Price, Priestly, Condorcet, De Stael, and the "Ambitious Student in Ill-Health."

There was Sir Positive Paradox. He observed that all fools were philosophers, and that all philosophers were fools.

There was Aestheticus Ethix. He spoke of fire, unity, and atoms; bi-part and pre-existent soul; affinity and discord; primitive intelligence and homoomeria.

There was Theologos Theology. He talked of Eusebius and Arianus; heresy and the Council of Nice; Puseyism and consubstantialism; Homousios and Homouioisios.

There was Fricassee from the Rocher de Cancale. He mentioned Muriton of red tongue; cauliflowers with veloute sauce; veal a la St. Menehoult; marinade a la St. Florentin; and orange jellies en mosaiques.

There was Bibulus O'Bumper. He touched upon Latour and Markbrunnen; upon Mosseux and Chambertin; upon Richbourg and St. George; upon Haubrion, Leonville, and Medoc; upon Barac and Preignac; upon Grave, upon Sauterne, upon Lafitte, and upon St. Peray. He shook his head at Clos de Vougeot, and told with his eyes shut, the difference between Sherry and Amontillado.

There was Signor Tintontintino from Florence. He discoursed of Cimabue, Arpino, Carpaccio, and Argostino-of the gloom of Caravaggio, of the amenity of Albano, of the colors of Titian, of the frows of Rubens, and of the waggeries of Jan Steen.

There was the President of the Fum-Fudge University. He was of the opinion that the moon was called Bendis in Thrace, Bubastis in Egypt, Dian in Rome, and Artemis in Greece.

There was a Grand Turk from Stamboul. He could not help thinking that the angels were horses, cocks, and bulls; that somebody in the sixth heaven had seventy thousand heads; and that the earth was supported by a sky-blue cow with an incalculable number of green horns.

There was Delphinus Polyglott. He told us what had become of the eighty-three lost tragedies of Aeschylus; of the fifty-four orations of Isaeus; of the three hundred and ninety-one speeches of Lysias; of the hundred and eighty treatises of Theophrastus; of the eighth book of the conic sections of Apollonius; of Pindar's hymns and dithyrambics, and of the five and forty tragedies of Homer Junior.

There was Ferdinand Fitz-Fossillus Feltspar. He informed us all about internal fires and tertiary formations; about aeriforms, fluidiforms, and solidforms; about quartz and marl; about schist and schorl; about gypsum and trap; about talc and calc; about blende and horn-blende; about micaslate and pudding-stone; about cyanite and lepidolite; about haematite and tremolite; about antimony and calcedony; about manganese and whatever you please.

There was myself. I spoke of myself;-of myself, of myself, of myself;-of Nosology, of my pamphlet, and of myself. I turned up my nose, and I spoke of myself.

"Marvellous clever man!" said the Prince.

"Superb!" said his guests;-and next morning her Grace of Bless-my-soul paid me a visit.

"Will you go to Almack's, pretty creature?" she said, tapping me under the chin.

"Upon honor," said I.

"Nose and all?" she asked.

"As I live," I replied.

"Here then is a card, my life. Shall I say you will be there?"

"Dear, Duchess, with all my heart."

"Pshaw, no!-but with all your nose?"

"Every bit of it, my love," said I:-so I gave it a twist or two, and found myself at Almack's.

The rooms were crowded to suffocation.

"He is coming!" said somebody on the staircase.

"He is coming!" said somebody farther up.

"He is coming!" said somebody farther still.

"He is come!" exclaimed the Duchess, "He is come, the little love!"-and, seizing me firmly by both hands, she kissed me thrice upon the nose.

A marked sensation immediately ensued.

"Diavolo!" cried Count Capricornutti.

"Dios guarda!" muttered Don Stiletto.

"Mille tonnerres!" ejaculated the Prince de Grenouille.

"Tousand teufel!" growled the Elector of Bluddennuff.

It was not to be borne. I grew angry. I turned short upon Bluddennuff.

"Sir!" said I to him, "you are a baboon."

"Sir," he replied, after a pause. "Donner und Blitzen!"

This was all that could be desired. We exchanged cards. At Chalk-Farm, the next morning, I shot off his nose-and then called upon my friends.

"Bete!" said the first.

"Fool!" said the second.

"Dolt!" said the third.

"Ass!" said the fourth.

"Ninny!" said the fifth.

"Noodle!" said the sixth.

"Be off!" said the seventh.

At all this I felt mortified, and so called upon my father.

"Father," I asked, "what is the chief end of my existence?"

"My son," he replied, "it is still the study of Nosology; but in hitting the Elector upon the nose you have overshot your mark. You have a fine nose, it is true; but then Bluddennuff has none. You are damned, and he has become the hero of the day. I grant you that in Fum-Fudge the greatness of a lion is in proportion to the size of his proboscis-but, good heavens! there is no competing with a lion who has no proboscis at all."

THE END

"

Comments

The reader may well feel uneasy while reading this fable. For a modern reader, the title of the volume signals the very notion, although the words grotesque and arabesque also refer to the complicated pattern of decorative art found in Roman and Arabic architecture. This thus also reflect the complicated and interwoven nature of the story.

The unease could have a number of causes. Freud explains the term uncanny or unheimlich ("unhomely") in his essay on the term from 1919 as the snag that makes something familiar and safe unfamiliar and scary. He does, amongst other examples, explain how the eyes are understood as vital from a very early age and that any deficiency in these would promote the feeling of the uncanny. (See for instance Neil Gaiman's Coraline.) What makes Lionizing uncanny is the warped sense of reality, biology and the use of a familiar mode of narration to relate this warped sense.

Beginning with the last, the narrative structure looks very much like that of fairy tales and fables (hence my labelling in the introduction). These genres are generally used to teach, that is induce certainty, and entertain, which would induce ease and a feeling of belonging and safety. The subject matter of Lionizing on the other hand does neither.There is very little consistency in the characters and very little exposition of setting and yet the characters are shown to be highly important through massive use of references and emphasis of their comments. This makes the reader feel at a loss. Furthermore, while the structure of repetition would normally promote a feeling of stability and unity, the fragmentary nature of the narrative (especially in terms of setting) and the subject matter undermines this. The fable does, however, rather surprisingly have a lesson at the end.

There is a warped sense of reality which keep appearing. References are given to real life scientists etc. but many of the matters of discussion and the protagonist's area of expertise are nonsensical. Also, the protagonist undergoes an unnaturally rapid development and consorts with an unlikely array of figures who acts in ways uncalled for. The fable contains several references to reality which, each on their own, can be accepted but which in combination makes the text uncanny.

Finally, the warped sense of biology. Notice a child's fascination with any kind of physical deformity and deficiency. This is an aspect of the same feelings Freud discussed. The protagonist is uncommonly smart and has an uncommonly attractive nose. As long as this is proven by the other characters through their exaggerated attention to the nose, the sense of unease is maintained, because the natural has become unnatural.

As a closing side note, Poe is not really known for being humourous. Perhaps the unease may stem from a rather unsuccessful attempt at comedy and the whole uncannyness was unintentional? For humourous nonsense, I guess you would have to look to Lewis Carroll or Roald Dahl, or perhaps Tim Burton's The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy & Other Stories.

Sources: Text, Pic., Uncanny

Some Interesting Online Reference Sites

There are lots of interesting reference sites on the web, freely available for use. These are just a few of them.

Brewter's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable
Although the hardcover version is updated and thus more extensive, it is also more expensive. The online version is based on the 1898 original but still of great use. Did you for instance know that:

• Most phrases involving Dutch mean the opposite of what is indicated. Thus, a Dutch concert is noise, Dutch courage is not really courage and a Dutch auction is an auction where bidders decrease their bids towards the minimum price.
• To whistle down the wind is to defame someone.
• To nurse an omnibus is to send a bus from a rivalling before and after another bus in order to pick up its passengers.

Myth Encyclopedia While the Larousse Encyclopedia of Mythology is probably the best printed encyclopedia of myths and gods, this online Myth Encyclopedia does a pretty decent job on the digital arena.

The Phrase Finder

Wondering where you have got "once more unto the breach" from or who first said "at one fell swoop"? The Phrase Finder is a good place to look up phrases, idioms, sayings and expressions.

Urban Dictionary

Although it is a bit silly, the Urban Dictionary is useful for looking up slang. And funny wordplay of course. What, for instance, is Deja Moo? The feeling that you've heard this bull before...

and while on the subject of words...

The Online Etymology Dictionary

Etymology means the study of the true sense of words. It comes from Greek etymon which means "true sense" and logos which, of course, means "word". The word entered English via Old French. This, I found with a quick search in the Online Etymology Dictionary.

Sources as given

Why Most English Teachers Retire Young

The following are a number of analogies, metaphors and similes found in high school student's exam papers. Although I suspect them to be somewhat tweaked, I am delighted to see the existence of a bit of wit in the great unwashed.

For those unfamiliar with the terminology, an analogy is a comparison based on a similarity between otherwise dissimilar things or concepts while a metaphor is a comparison made without the use of a grammatical conjunction like as, like or as if. A simile is a comparison made with the use of such words.

1. Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.
2. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free. 
3. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience,like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it. 
4. She grew on him like she was a colony of E.coli and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.
5. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
6. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
7. He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.
8. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM.
9. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.
10. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.
11. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m.instead of 7:30.
12. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.
13. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.
14. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.
15. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.
16. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck,either, but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.
17. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant and she was the East River.
18. Even in his last years, Grandpappy had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.
19. Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.
20. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.
21. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.
22. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
23. The ballerina raised gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant. 
24. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.
25. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.
26. Her eyes were like limpid pools, only they had forgotten to put in any pH cleanser.
27. She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.
28. It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it to the wall. 

Sources: 1, 2 Thanks to MHH

The Cockney Bible, Innit?

In April 2001 Mike Coles, a teacher in a secondary school in Stepney, London published his Cockney Bible (or bits of it anyway). Coles had found that translating texts into Cockney rhyming slang made them more appealing and accessible for students. He translated nine stories from the Bible and had them published as the Cockney Bible, which was later endorsed by the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Originally intended as a code language to keep information from the authorities, Cockney substitutes words for rhyming alternatives or pairs. Bear this in mind while reading and enjoying the following excerpts.

"

The Lord's Prayer

Hello, Dad, up there in good ol’ Heaven,

Your name is well great and holy, and we respect you, Guv.

We hope we can all ‘ave a butcher’s at Heaven and be there as soon as possible: and we want to make you happy, Guv, and do what you want ‘ere on earth, just like what you do in Heaven.

Guv, please give us some Uncle Fred, and enough grub and stuff to keep us going today, and we hope you’ll forgive us when we cock things up, just like we’re supposed to forgive them who annoy us and do dodgy stuff to us.

There’s a lot of dodgy people around, Guv; please don’t let us get tempted to do bad things.

Help keep us away from all the nasty, evil stuff, and keep that dodgy Satan away from us, ‘cos you’re much stronger than ‘im.

Your the Boss, God, and will be for ever, innit?

Cheers, Amen.

"

Jesus Calms the Storm

One evening, Jesus said to his chinas, “Let’s go to the other side of this ‘ere lake.”

So they left all the people, and the disciples got into the nanny and set orf. There were quite a few other nannies there too.

And then, would you Adam and Eve it, a huge wind started to blow up, and the waves got so bloomin’ big that they began to spill into the nanny. It got to the stage where the nanny was almost gonna fill up with fisherman’s.

Despite all this, Jesus was at the back of the nanny ‘aving a feather, lying there with his loaf on a pillow. The disciples woke him up and said, “Teacher, we’re about to die. Don’t you care?”

Jesus got up from his little feather and shouted at the wind, “Oi, be quiet!” and he said to the waves, “Oi, be still!” The wind suddenly died dahn, and it became really calm. Jesus then said to his chinas, “What is it with you lot? Why were you all so frightened? Do you still not have faith?”

But the disciples were in a right ol’ two and eight.

Source

Post on the Occation of a Blog's First Anniversary

Today it is one year since this blog was started. It has come a long way. The first fumbling posts were, like the first inquisitive steps of an infant, an attempt to forge an identity and explore a new environment. The first posts were special in the sense that they were not targeted at any reader as such. The blog could not be found with search engines until the middle of February and I remember revelling in writing for its own sake. I could write about whatever sprung to mind with no concern for propriety or entertainment value and bask in the splendour of possibilities yet to be discovered.

This state of Arcadian simplicity only lasted so long, however. I soon became aware that one of these possibilities consisted of an excuse to study subjects closely and process them through writing. A new form of self-realising sprung to life, more constricted in form and perhaps language yet all the more rewarding in terms of content. This inevitably led to my "going commercial". I opened my blog for search engines and soon found new delight in meeting a wide array of visitors. This led to a heightened awareness of what I chose as subjects for my posts. With so many picture based blogs on trivial matters out there, I wanted to offer something of a more abstract but still utilitarian character. Granted, at times a lapse in standards would, and will, occur but I like to think that even these were somehow relevant.

I have at intervals been forced to review the parameters of my blog. With the above mentioned monitoring of traffic, was my blog becoming subject to the implied pressure of having readers and changing accordingly? Potential topics for posts would, admittedly, be discarded due to their presumed lack of popular appeal but this would happen tolerably rarely. If anything, the awareness of actual readers would have a positive impact on my blog insomuch as I would take greater care with finding reliable sources and presenting a good, readable product. This was, amongst others, instrumental in the changes the blog underwent in early spring and the first weeks of October. A stunning 38 visits on the "reopening" in the end of October was a testimony to the positive influence of having readers.

Today, I am proud of the 77 posts I have produced and sincerely happy for having dared to venture into unfamiliar and somewhat scary territory. I hope to be able to keep blogging although I must admit that the main objective remains unaltered; to allow myself room to just enjoy writing and using my favourite language.

I know it does me good.

Perfectly Golden, Wodehouse - Very Good Jeeves

Welcome to the second bulletin in the series "Perfectly Golden, Wodehouse"! As the experienced subscriber might recall, these are compilations in which he might lose himself in the genius of Wodehouse's writings and the splendor of the English language. The first bulletin included golden tidbits from Carry on, Jeeves. This bulletin will quote a five year younger Jeeves and Wooster collection, so read this voluminous (if that's the word I want) though far from exhaustive pastiche and I guarantee you will feel topping ooja-cum-spiff, what?

Second book:

Very Good, Jeeves

First published 1930

(ed. published 2008 by

Arrow Books, London)

"I hit Woollam Chersey at about four o'clock, and found Aunt Agatha in her lair, writing letters. And, from what I know of her, probably offensive letters, with nasty postscripts." (p.17)

"Young Bingo, you see, is one of those fellows who, once their fingers close over the handle of a tennis racket, fall into a sort of trance in which nothing outside the radius of the lawn exists to them. If you came up to Bingo in the middle of a set and told him that panthers were devouring his best friend in the kitchen garden, he would look at you and say, 'Oh, ah?' or words to that effect." (p.26)

"I now came down to earth with a bang: and my slice of cake, slipping from my nerveless fingers, fell to the ground and was wolfed by Aunt Agatha's spaniel, Robert." (p.28)

Bertie and the Right Hon. Mr. Filmer is trapped atop a gazebo by an infuriated swan:
"[The swan] was standing below, stretching up a neck like a hosepipe, just where a bit of brick, judiciously bunged, would catch it amidships. I bunged the brick and scored a bull's-eye. The Right Hon. didn't seem any too well pleased. 'Don't tease it!' he said. 'It teased me,' I said. The swan extended another eight feet of neck and gave an imitation of steam escaping from a leaky pipe." (p.32)

"The Right Hon. was a tubby little chap who looked as if he had been poured into his clothes and had forgotten to say 'When!'" (p.33)

"The swan had been uncoiling a further supply of neck in our direction, but now he whipped round. [...] He subjected Jeeves to a short, keen scrutiny; and then, taking in some breath for hissing purposes, gave a sort of jump and charged ahead." (p.36)

"I had once got engaged to his [Sir Roderick Glossop's (red. anm.)] daughter, Honoria, a ghastly dynamic exhibit who read Nietzsche and had a laugh like waves breaking on a stern and rock-bound coast. The fixture was scratched owing to events occuring which convinced the old boy that I was off my napper; and since then he has always had my name at the top of his list of 'Loonies I have Lunched With'." (p.65)

"he was not young Tuppy. Tuppy has one of those high, squeaky voices that sound like the tenor of the village choir failing to hit a high note. This one was something between the last Trump and a tiger calling for breakfast after being on a diet for a day or two." (p.76)

"'You!' said Sir Roderick finally. And in this connection I want to state that it's all rot to say you can't hiss a word that hasn't an 's' in it. The way he pushed out that 'You!' sounded like an angry cobra, and I am betraying no secrets when I mention that it did me no good whatsoever." (p.78)

"The Bellinger, at Tuppy's request, had sung us a few songs before digging in at the trough, and nobody could have denied that her pipes were in great shape. Plaster was still falling from the ceiling." (p.91)

"'The modern young man,' said Aunt Dahlia, 'is a congenital idiot and wants a nurse to lead him by the hand and some strong attendant to kick him regularly at intervals of a quarter of an hour.'" (p.96)

"'Bertie,' said Aunt Dahlia firmly, 'you will sing "Sonny Boy" on Tuesday, the third prox., and sing it like a lark at sunrise, or may an aunt's curse -'
'I won't!'
'Think of Angela!'
'Dash Angela!'
'Bertie!'
'No, I mean, hang it all!'
'You won't?'
'No, I won't.'
'That is your last word, is it?'
'It is. Once and for all, Aunt Dahlia, nothing will induce me to let out so much as a single note.'
And so that afternoon I sent a pre-paid wire to Beefy Bingham, offering my services in the cause, and by nightfall the thing was fixed up" (p.101)

"A costermonger, roused, is a terrible thing. [...] From every corner of the hall there proceeded simultaneously the sort of noise you hear, they tell me, at one of those East End boxing places when the referee disqualifies the popular favourite and makes the quick dash for life. And then they passed beyond mere words and began to introduce the vegetable motive.[...] The last seen of him [Tuppy], he was beating a tomato to the exit by a short head" (pp.106-107)

"[Tuppy] came in, and hovered about the mantelpiece as if he were looking for things to fiddle with and break." (p.109)

"an Aberdeen terrier of weak intellect, had been left in my care by the old relative while the went off to Aix-les-Bains to take the cure, and I had never been able to make it see eye to eye with me on the subject of early rising." (p. 112)

"London is not big enough to hold Aunt Agatha and anybody she happens to be blaming." (p. 113)

"With a slight sinking of the old heart, I saw that the kid had recognized me.
'Hullo!' he said.
'Hullo!' I said.
'Where are you off to?' said the kid.
'Ha, ha!' I said, and legged it for the great open spaces." (p.119)

Later, Jeeves was referring to what ensued...
"'Indeed, young Master Blumenfeld was somewhat outspoken.'
'What did he say?'
'I cannot recall his exact words, sir, but he drew a comparison between your mentality and that of a cuckoo'
'A cuckoo, eh?'
'Yes, sir. To the bird's advantage.'"

"No good can come of association with anything labelled Gwladys or Ysobel or Ethyl or Mabelle or Kathryn. But particularly Gwladys." (p.137)

"It's a hard world for a girl, Jeeves, with fellows flinging themselves under the wheels of her car in one long, unending stream." (p.141)

"'Have a drink?' I said.
'No!'
'A cigarette?'
'No!'
'A chair?'
'No!'
I went into silence once more. These non-drinking, non-smoking non-sitters are hard birds to handle." (p.154)

"But now, though she still resembled a lion-tamer, her bearing had most surprisingly become that of a chummy lion-tamer - a tamer who, after tucking the lions in for the night, relaxes in the society of the boys." (p.182)

"'And it is for this [...] that we pay rates and taxes!'
'Awful!' I said
'Iniquitous.'
'A bally shame.'
'A crying scandal,' said Miss Mapleton.
'A grim show,' I agreed." (p.184)

"I have never been able to bear with fortitude anything in the shape of a kid with golden curls. Confronted with one, I feel the urge to step on him or drop things on him from a height." (p. 190)

"I think I have mentioned before that my Aunt Dahlia stands alone in the grim regiment of my aunts as a real good sort and a chirpy sportsman. [...] I had just got across the lawn when a head poked itself out of the smoking-room window and beamed at me in an amiable sort of way.
'Ah, Mr Wooster,' it said. 'Ha, ha!'
'Ho, ho!' I replied, not to be outdone in the courtesies." (p.191)

"This scourge of humanity was a chunky kid whom a too indulgent public had allowed to infest the country for a matter of fourteen years." (p.199)

"There came into his eyes the sort of look which would come into those of an Indian chief [...] just before he started reaching for his scalping knife. He had the air of one who is about ready to begin." (p. 205)

"There was a bird or two hopping about, a butterfly or so fluttering to and fro, and an assortment of bees buzzing hither an thither." (p.210)

"'Darling!' said Mrs Bingo, blowing him a kiss.
'Angel!' said Bingo, going on with the sausages." (p. 216)

Bingo suffers under a diet inflicted on him by Mrs Bingo. She forgets the luncheon basket and tells him:
"'It is much the best thing that could have happened.'
Bingo gave her a long, lingering look.
'I see,' he said. 'Well, if you will excuse me, I'll just go off somewhere where I can cheer a bit without exciting comment'" (p.228)

"'You, Jeeves?' I said, and I should rather think Cæsar spoke in the same sort of voice on finding Brutus puncturing him with the sharp instument." (p.228)

"Hell, it is well known, has no fury like a woman who wants her tea and can't get it." (p.229)

”[Health enthusiasts prefer the fruit-liquor]. You make this, apparently, by soaking raisins in cold water and adding the juice of a lemon. After which, I suppose, you invite a couple of old friends in and have an orgy, burying the bodies in the morning” (p. 232)

“The back-seat drivers gave tongue” (p. 233)

“’What I want,’ I said, “is petrol.’
‘What you’ll get,’ said the bloke, ‘is a thick ear.’
And, closing the door with the delicate caution of one brushing flies off a sleeping Venus, he passed out of my life” (p. 236)

“the Pyke [a friend of Mrs. Bingo] is unfit for human consumption and should be cast into outer darkness where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth.” (p. 237)

“He was fat then, and day by day in every way has been getting fatter ever since, till now tailors measure him just for the sake of the exercise.” (p. 244)

“I sauntered along the passage, whistling carelessly, and there on the mat was Aunt Agatha. Herself. Not a
picture. A nasty jar. […] She legged it into the sitting-room and volplaned onto a chair.” (p.249)

“’[I could] bring the car round from the garage –‘
‘And off over the horizon to where men are men?’
‘Precisely, sir.’” (p. 269)

“’Who was the girl?’ I asked, in that casual, snaky way of mine – off hand, I mean.” (p. 278)

Dirty Talk 18th Century Style

Ever wondered what the charm of those 18th century balls was? Alexander Armstrong and Ben Miller give the answer in the first season of their Armstrong and Miller Show; the quadrille. In a series of skits they perform a number of exchanges while dancing and the discourse reflects the joyous situation. I am proud to present all the lecherous meetings of mind (and body) from the first series of Filthy Quadrilles.

The Quadrille

Wench: You're not moving quite so freely as is your wont, Mr. Gosling. You're usually such a wonderful dancer.
Rake: Unfortunately, Miss Cardew, I am negotiating an obstruction in my breeches with the same tough, knotty and veined aspect as a Portuguese sailor's arm.

Rake: You dance impeccably, Miss Harwood. You've truly awoken the devil in my imaginings.
Wench: And you, Captain Jennings, have stirred something in the region girded by my most intimate undergarments.
Rake: Indeed, madam? And I believe that it will interest you to know that under the restrictions of my pantaloons there is a protrusion so monstrously tumescent that were you to avail yourself of it, I can guarantee your horse would see no action for a week.


Rake: With your hair so prettily coiffed, Miss Harwood, you resemble nothing so much as the most charming French poodle.

Wench: I'm flattered, Mr. Gosling.

Rake: Which leads me to enquire whether at a later stage this evening, I might be permitted to attend to you on all fours with all the bestial vigours of one of my father's prize mastiffs.

Wench: Woof, woof!

Rake: Precisely.

Cover of Season 1
(from BBC's web shop)


Rake: Not too fatigued by this evening's exertions, Miss Cardew?

Wench: Why, no, Captain Jennings. I could go on for hours.

Rake: Then might I suggest that you join me later for some modest theatricals?

Wench: Gladly! And which roles would we be playing?

Rake: I would play the part of a wealthy industrialist, whilst you, Miss Cardew, would play a Whitechapel strumpet of such eye-wateringly low virtue that you would leave me as dry as a ship's biscuit.

Alexander Armstrong

Rake: Ah, Miss Cardew! You and your friend Miss Harwood look ravishing tonight.

Wench: Then perhaps you would like to accompany us back to Duxford Hall, where she and I would be most happy to disport ourselves gaily before you on the floor of the parlour.

Rake: And would I be confined to observing these antics, or might I be permitted to participate at some opportune juncture?

Wench: Participate? Oh, Mr. Gosling, I can promise you that you will see more action than the Duke of Wellington's musket.



Rake: Miss Harwood, you look ravishing, though I cannot help to conject that your exquisite gown would look even more becoming strewn on the floor of my bedchamber.

Wench: And a man as exquisitely fashioned as you, Captain Jennings, would look even more becoming on, beneath, behind and, for my own benefit, several inches within me.

Ben Miller
(img.poptower.com)

Wench: Captain Jenning, I am looking forwards to succumbing to your roving hands this evening.
Rake: And it is with the utmost anticipation that I am looking forward to flinging you upon my divan and plundering your most intimate undergarments.
Wench: I'm sorry to disappoint you, Captain Jennings, but in a quite unforgivable display of amnesia, I appear to have left them in my bedchamber.

Rake: Ah, Miss Cardew. I was hoping to have the pleasure of interviewing you this evening.
Wench: Oh, Mr. Gosling, I'm afraid I've rather rashly agreed to receieve Captain Jennings this evening.
Rake: Captain Jennings? But why?
Wench: Because, Mr. Gosling, according to Lady Derbyshire, he is endowed with a sword as elegantly formed as it is epically proportioned and which will leave me walking like an orphan with rickets.

The best part is that according to research, this is probably the way things went down.

The series can be bought at any sensibly industrious vendor.

First Editions and Other Marvels of Bibliophilia

During the summer vacation I succumbed to my bibliophilic streak and bought a monstrous number of books. In the course of this quest for literature, I visited many exciting bookshops. I went to Oxford and found a fantastic bookstore. Blackwell Rare Books in Broad Street seemed, in this bibliophile's opinion, to be able to cater to my every need. With a seemingly infinite number of departments spanning a number of buildings, a small café and an allegedly wonderful at ordering what they might not have they met my every need. Also, G. David Bookseller in Saint Edwards Passage in Cambridge proved to be a gold mine for old and rare books. I wish I had been able to spend more time there. Once you have held the first ever printed copy of Robert Louis Stevenson's Kidnapped in your hands there you know there are no limits to what you might find. Finally, The Haunted Bookshop in the same alley deserves to be mentioned not because of the staff, which was less than obliging, but because I spent quite a lot of money there.

I bought the following:

A first edition of Mulliner Nights by P.G. Wodehouse

P.G. Wodehouse -
Mulliner Nights
(London 1933)

This set me back £50, but it was worth it. I had considered buying a number of Wodehouse books, but there is something special about a first edition. This one, from 1933, would have cost ten times as much with its dust jacket which is fortunately missing. There is something relic-like over a first edition by your favourite author; imagining how it was first read by eager eyes in the interbellum years, how reader after reader inherited and enjoyed the book until it finally, surprisingly, is bought and soon to go international.

The plot revolves around Adrian Mulliner, a private detective who has not smiled since he was twelve. However, re-learning how to smile he finds that his smile has a most astounding effect on those with something to hide. As the book is packed with these individuals, hilarity, in the colloquial lingo, ensues.

I am looking forward to being the latest in a long line to enjoy exposure to the Wodehouse wit. In the end, many years from now, I will pass on the book. As the antiquarian said, "we do not own books, we borrow them."

Three More Wodehouse First Editions

P.G. Wodehouse -
Ice In the Bedroom
(London 1961)

P.G. Wodehouse -
Mr. Mulliner Speaking
(London 1929)

P.G. Wodehouse -
If I were You
(London 1931)

Of these three, only Ice in the Bedroom has still got its dust jacket. It turns out that the reason why first editions of Wodehouse books with their dust jackets are much more valuable than those without is because they have generally been popular enough for the dustjackets to get worn away. However, my reasons for buying them were not financial. These books were highly anticipated. People with bobs queued up to buy them and then passed them on to people they thought well of. The last in this line of vehemence is me.

P.G. Wodehouse -
The Heart of a Goof
(London 2008)

P.G. Wodehouse -
Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves
(London 2008)

And...

just to prove that I am not judging books solely by their covers, these are two other books I bought. Incidentally they were both bought at G. David's for half their original price although they were perfectly, crisply new.

Virgil - Eclogues, Georgics, Aeneid 1-6 translated by H.R. Fairclough (New York 1925) 

Printed in 1925 and immediately bought by one J.W.D. Calman this is the first of two volumes covering Virgil's works. The other volume could not be found, neither could the dust jacket, which might explain the price of £3. Professor Fairclough of Harvard University spent the First World War years translating Virgil into English and the book nicely displays the original Latin text on the left side and the translated English text on the right.

The Eclogues is a set of text where herdsmen in a pastoral setting discuss and consider political, moral and even eroticist questions. They can be read as propaganda texts for Virgil's patron Augustus augmenting the political mythology he built for himself. The Georgics is a collection of four books in which a treatise on society and man is disguised as a handbook on agriculture. Analogically reminiscent of Hesiod's Erga the Georgics compare man to bees and emphasises the virtue of labour. Finally, the book contains the first six books of the Aeneid, the analogue of Homer's The Odyssey. Like The Odyssey the Aeneid begins with the fall of Troy and follow Aeneas, the mythical forefather of all Romans on his flight from Troy to Italy. I am especially looking forward to reading the better half of the epos, as I have not looked at it for 8 years now.

Edmund G. Gardner - The Story of Florence (London 1928)

St. Zenobius resuscitating a child
who has been hit by a runaway cart
(Domenico Veneziano - St. Zenobius Performs a Miracle (c. 1445))

I take a special interest in Florence and especially Renaissance Florence. This is where the Renaissance started and whence what I consider to be the most seminal works of art and literature of the period came. This is where Petrarch was born, where Michelangelo, Donatello and Botticelli made their David, Annunciation and Primavera, where Brunellesci built the first Renaissance dome atop the Santa Maria del Fiore. It is also where Niccolò Machiavelli wrote his The Prince and the setting of Dante's Divine Comedy and Boccaccio's Decameron (all available here). All this was funded by wealthy banker patrons such as the Medici who controlled Europe's largest bank. Culture flowed forth from Florence together with textiles and florins, which because of their purity became the standard coinage of Europe. Thus, Florence was the hub of Renaissance culture. For an astonishingly visual and appealing visit, play through the video game Assassin's Creed II. For a more toned down but still interesting approach, seek this book.

The book I have bought is not Machiavelli's Florentine Histories from 1532 although it refers to it. His style is unfortunately rather erratic and not fit for a travel guide such as the one I actually bought. However, it seems informative and I have already found the guide useful: during a visit to the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge, I came across a painting of Florence's St. Zenobius and recognised the motif from what I had read. In seeking to understand human nature, such links are always most gratifying.

Christian is fed up with
the "City of Destruction"

John Bunyan - The Pilgrim's Progress (London, date unknown)

This must be the weirdest box of frogs I've ever probed my nasal appendage into. The text can best be classified as a Christian allegory. John Bunyan wrote it while serving several consecutive jail sentences in 17th century England for preaching weird stuff. Like Hitler he found it necessary to write down his strange ideas while imprisoned and this book is further proof that pen and ink should be prohibited for those incarcerated, as weird or dangerous products are the result (Marco Polo excepted). It was published in installments between 1678 and 1686. The allegory's plot consists of the main character, Christian, who travels from the "City of Destruction" to the "Celestial City" (the pious Christian's ascension). On his way through "Plain Ease", "The Delectable Mountains", the "Valley of the Shadow of Death" and , interestingly, "Vanity Fair" he meets personifications like Mrs. Bat's-Eyes, Madame Bubble, Mr. Wordly Wiseman and even Beelzebub. The book certainly makes you both bewildered and uncomfortable but it is still curiously fascinating. For the full text, click here.

Gender and 18th Century Literature

Charlotte Lennox -
The Female Quixote
(My ed. London 1970)

Henry Fielding -
The Adventures of
Joseph Andrews
(My ed. London 1912)

This coming fall I will try to write posts about a number of 18th century novels offering different views of gender in contemporary England. I bought two of these in Oxford: Charlotte Lennox' The Female Quixote and Henry Fielding's The Adventures of Joseph Andrews. My edition of The Female Quixote has a special history attached to it. I had already bought a recent edition, but at Blackwell's in Oxford something happened which made me buy another edition. Having browsed for some hours, I came over all peckish and bought a scone with butter and jam and a cup of tea in the in-store cafe. An elderly, Ernest Hemingway-looking gentleman was seated all alone in a group of comfy chairs, so I asked whether one of them was taken to which he replied in the negative. We ended up conversing on this and that, as he turned out to be "a semi-retired professor". I told him what I was planning on reading, pointing to a second-hand edition of the above mentioned book on a nearby shelf. He told me that this was rather a happy coincidence as he knew the previous owner. He was a fellow at Merton College and had signed his name, unintelligibly for mere mortals, in the cover. So, obviously, I picked up the thing following our little conference and brought the Oxford Press product, formerly owned by an Oxford fellow.

Dara Ó Briain - Tickling the English (London 2009)

For those poor souls unfamiliar with the wit and down to earth sense of Irish stand-up comedian Dara Ó Briain, now is the time to expand your horizons. He is sharper than a carpet tack; he studied maths and theoretical physics, audited the local debating society, founded a newspaper, wrestled killer whales, won debating championships and is fluent in Irish. Also he makes sense. Funnily. Just look:

Dara Ó Briain -
Tickling the English
(London 2009)

He has been host and/or participant on most of the good panel shows on the British airwaves, perhaps most notably on Mock the Week, and has toured the isles with several stand-up shows. The book was written while doing this.

One of his routines involves asking the audience for adjectives that describe people from obscure countries. This resulted in highlights like "the Azerbaijanis are Crazy and Bouncy [...] the Bhuthanese are Happy and Unwashed [and] the people of Fiji are Well-read and promiscuous" (p.15). However, the audience could never do the same with the British and so, throughout his tour and book, Ó Briain tries to find his adjectives.

Tom Bryant (ed.) - Debrett's Guide for the Modern Gentleman (Richmond 2010)

From its beginnings in the 1780s, Debrett's has produced a who is who of British nobility and peerage. Originally the official publisher to the East India Company, they were well suited to gather material for their most famous 20/21st century products; their books on etiquette. The Guide for the Modern Gentleman informs such an individual on subjects as diverse as dress code, how to survive a plane crash, how to buy underwear and bed basics. Try, for instance, to find whether one should wear silk, satin or cotton in bed at their homepage. If you do, should the same material be worn at all seasons?



Lewis Carroll - The Hunting of the Snark (London 1928)

Lewis Carroll's Hunting of the Snark or agony in eight fits is a delightful read. Being a mathematician and a wordsmith the poem is a metrical delight as well as a lexical one. In its absurdity the poem is highly reminiscent of the Alice books and even incorporates some of its characters (though unfortunately not my fravourite, the Red Queen). What is a snark, then? As Carroll explains in his preface:

"take the two words “fuming” and “furious.” Make up your mind that you will say both words, but leave it unsettled which you will say first. [...] if you have the rarest of gifts, a perfectly balanced mind, you will say “frumious.” (p. xi-xii) 

Is it a snail, snake or a shark? The mind boggles. It does not really matter, of course, as long as the snark is not a boojum.

A crew of ten, all with occupations beginning with "b" apart from the lace-making beaver of course, departs on a fantastical journey to capture a snark. Throughout the poem, different situations arise with hilarious effects:

"He came as a Butcher: but gravely declared,
 When the ship had been sailing a week,
He could only kill Beavers. The Bellman looked scared,
 And was almost too frightened to speak:

The Beaver, who happened to hear the remark,
 Protested, with tears in its eyes,
That not even the rapture of hunting the Snark
 Could atone for that dismal surprise!" (p. 9)

"Whenever the Butcher was by, the Beaver kept looking the opposite way and appeared unaccountably shy"

Some of the characters such as the Baker also have hidden phobias:

"“For, although common Snarks do no manner of harm,
 Yet, I feel it my duty to say,
Some are Boojums —” The Bellman broke off in alarm,
 For the Baker had fainted away

They roused him with muffins — they roused him with ice —
 They roused him with mustard and cress —
They roused him with jam and judicious advice —
 They set him conundrums to guess." (p. 24-27)

For the reader who is into absurd literature or who simply likes the beauty and pleasantness of delectably metric poetry, the poem is available here in its entirety. You are welcome!

Saul David - Victoria's Wars (London 2007)

Having read George MacDonald Fraser's Flashman series I was delighted to find Victoria's Wars at Waterstones in Cambridge. It was one of those books that tagged along. The book gives a reader friendly insight into some of the major conflicts of the British Empire while keeping a second focus on the responses of the monarch herself. Quotation from sources and numerous anecdotes make narration flow nicely and captivate the reader to such an extent that one tends to be reminded of the memoirs of the notorious cad himself. Indeed, the book covers much the same area as the Flashman books do; The Opium Wars (Flashman and the Dragon), The First Afghan War (Flashman), The Sikh Wars (Flashman and the Mountain of Light), The Crimea (Flashman at the Charge) and The Indian Revolt (Flashman in the Great Game).

Saul David -
Victoria's Wars
(London 2007)

Sir Harry Paget Flashman
VC, KCB and KCIE

The book includes all the central heroes, villains and incompetent fools of the era including respectively George Broadfoot, Sir Campbell and Toughguy Napier, Sher Singh and Akbar Khan and finally Macnaghten and Elphinstone. It also provides some analysis of the role of each of these personages perhaps a bit less subjective than the Honorable H.P. Flashman, although both are wonderful and vivid presentations of some of the most fascinating aspects of Britain's imperial history.

A Final Curiosity: Alexander Pope's Last Letters and Will (London 1776)

The WORKS of ALEXANDER POPE, Esq.
VOLUME the SIXTH.
Containing
The last of his LETTERS, and WILL
(London 1776)

Feast your imagination on this, dear reader! Not only does the book contain Alexander Pope's letters to his friend John Gay and his will but it is a historic relic as well a work of art in its own right. The pages are beautifully textured, the pages are wonderfully composed (like the title page above) and the book is old enough for the words to have modern "s'es" only at the ends of words and "f's" in their place otherwise. Also it is intriguing to imagine previous readers. The person who bought this book would probably not live to see the Napoleonic Wars, perhaps he would even have relatives fighting across the sea in America. Perhaps he also bought the first volume of Edward Gibbon's The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire or Adam Smith's The Wealth of Nations. Perhaps he mourned the death of Edward Wortley Montagu or rejoiced in that of David Hume or Nathan Hale. Perhaps he expressed outrage in the House of Lords at the loss of the thirteen colonies on 4th of July or at the madness of the regent.

Of course, one cannot know these things but such a book can trigger quite a nice bit of intellectual exercise or plain imaginative pleasure through its content and its existence. As with all books, one can and should be somewhat awestruck.

Sources:
http://www.theoi.com/image/book_virgil_lg.jpg

http://www.lamdhabooks.com.au/large%20pix/37348.jpg

http://www.learner.org/interactives/renaissance/florence.html

http://www.bbc.co.uk/portuguese/images/021209_catherine150.jpg

http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?VISuperSize&item=230496173698

http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51vMwdarNGL.jpg
http://www.csdl.tamu.edu:8080/DQIIMAGES/largeimages/472/1752-London-Millar-01-001-t.jpg
http://www.offthekerb.co.uk/images/artists/dara-obriain/Tickling-The-English-304.jpg
http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2008/09/22/article-1059756-02C1C4FB00000578-479_233x307.jpg
http://image.guardian.co.uk/sys-images/Arts/Arts_/Pictures/2008/01/03/flashman460.jpg
http://www.sauldavid.co.uk/photos/victoria%27s-wars.jpg
http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/c/carroll/lewis/snark/images/snark3.jpg

Other images from Wikimedia Commons