In my last post I took Mr. Steinbeck to task on opening Grapes of Wrath with a three page long scenery description. I consider it the worst opening of any 'classic' book. I even pulled it off the shelf just to make sure I was remembering it correctly. Judge for yourself:
"To the red country and part of the gray country of Oklahoma, the last rains came gently, and they did not cut the scarred earth. The plows crossed and recrossed the rivulet marks. The last rains lifted the corn quickly and scattered weed colonies and grass along the sides of the roads so that the gray country and the dark red country began to disappear under a green cover."
This goes on for three pages. It's stale rice cake, chalky dry limestone, morning cotton mouth, day old campfire ash all rolled into one.
I'm sure he wanted to leave us feeling dry and heat stroked and I'm also sure literary people will tell you something insightful like, "But it's necessary! The weather/country is as much a character as any person in this story!" Maybe. But I'm willing to bet you didn't make it through those three sentences. Admit it, you skimmed that passage!
Anyway, my critique last night reminded me of my favorite opening lines over the years and this of course got me perusing my library and enjoying the first couple pages of my favorite books. It was a great time. I have a passion for opening lines. They are like a first date. Authors have got to woo you a little, throw a little intrigue your way, make you bat your eyes a little bit. You don't have to go sky diving on a first date but at the very least you should be left wanting more.
Hemingway as usual got right to the point in his opening lines. Here are some of my favs:
"Robert Cohn was once middleweight boxing champion of Princeton. Do not think that I am very much impressed by that as a boxing title, but it meant a lot to Cohn."-The Sun Also Rises
"He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish" -The Old Man and the Sea
"The strange thing was, he said, how they screamed every night at midnight." -On the Qui at Smyrna
My all time favorite opening line author is Rick Bass. As a freshman English major I asked my creative writing teacher to name his favorite author. He bristled at the question, "Go ask a kid to name his one favorite ice cream flavor." The next day he gave me xeroxed copies of his favorite Rick Bass short stories. I read and reread that packet of copyright infringement until it had the texture of an old dollar bill. I made more copies and gave them to friends. Ten years later around fifteen of his books line my shelves, many of which I reread regularly. Bass combines my love of geology and nature with bold characters sucking joy from the beauty and wildness of this earth. His stories should, as he says be, "read aloud...by firelight on a snowy evening with a cup of cider within reach, resting on an old wooden table, (Fiber)." To this day he is my favorite, and the master of the opening line.
Here are my favorites, a couple of which I had memorized:
"Galena Jim Ontz has two girlfriends and a key to Canada." -The Watch, Choteau
"As you know, there are no more Coca Colas in Mississippi. There aren't any cokes anywhere. They changed them; they did away with them. Except at my farmhouse. I have approximately two thousand seven hundred and forty-four of them in those little wooden flats they used to ship them around in, faded, red and historic."
"The rules for dating Mormon girls were simple. No coffee; no long hair. No curse words; one kiss. That was about it. It was simple. Anyone could do it." -The Watch, In Ruth's Country
I could post another 10 blogs on my favorite Bass similes but that would be digressing.
And what about you? Any favorite opening lines? Any authors that continually peak your interest after that first date?
Thanks for reading,
-td
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
I'm a Bad Reader
I'm a bad reader. I'm not trying to be self deprecating here, it's simply the truth. We tell the kids, "good readers: 1) visualize, 2) make predictions, 3) make inferences, 4) summarize, 5) figure out the meaning of unknown words etc." I'm feeling a little like Joaquin Phoenix's whiny character in the beginning of Gladiator, "As I read the list I knew I had none of them..."
I could probably blog about how I neglect almost everything on that list. But I think my most embarrassing offense, is número uno: visualizing. I just barely picture stories in my mind It's embarrassing to admit it, because if I'm not really visualizing, what in the world is going on inside my head? I'm following what's going on. I understand it. But during a dialogue I'm not picturing characters in a particular setting, nor their facial expressions, body language etc. For me, it's more like putting your ear to a wall and eavesdropping on a conversation taking place in the next room.
And if it's a scenery description, you can forget it. You might as well be Women's Day magazine because I want nothing to do with you. I am one step away from skimming at that point. I abandoned Grapes of Wrath six months ago because Steinbeck spent the first three pages describing the scenery of dust bowl ravaged Oklahoma. I started it twice and both times I wanted to sleep after three pages. There must be better ways to start a book, Steinbeck. Is it the worst opening chapter of any classic book? (And yes, I am aware that my criticizing Steinbeck is a little like my 6 year old nephew giving Pujols batting tips.)
I'm realizing however that I hate scenery descriptions because I'm a bad reader. If I'm not taking time to visualize the setting then of course scenery descriptions are worthless to me. No wonder I'm skimming. I'm like a six year old saying, "Yeah, yeah, what happens next?!" Could be why I love Hemingway so much. He never would have described scenery for three pages to open up a book. There would be some witty dialogue and then everybody would have had a delicious cocktail of some sort.
So if I'm getting into the spirit of this assignment I've got to change, I must dive into scenery descriptions and mentally create fully developed physical attributes of my characters. I gotta tell you though, it's hard. I'd like to say I've made this choice to visualize and suddenly I'm the Einstein of Visualization. But it's like any life-long habit you try to change: in the beginning it is continual effort. Conscious choice after conscious choice. Nearly 30 years of lazy reading isn't going away because I'm a reading teacher, and I don't want to be a hypocrite.
My first conscious choice to visualize was in The Island of Dr. Moreau. The main character was in a cave surrounded by half animal/half human creatures of various types. They began rhythmically chanting their 10 commandments in some sort of religious ceremony. I picked a hell of a time to start visualizing. I started think about the heat coming from the breath of the hog man standing inches from him. It was such a powerful experience that I had to stop reading. I mean imagine going from a black and white TV, to an HD, IMAX, 3D, digital surround sound theater. It was a bit jarring. I wondered, "Is this what I've been missing the whole time? Can what I was watching before even be considered TV? Is everyone else's TV this good?"
I've found, however, that part of me immediately resists this new habit regardless of my pleasure in the experience. For one, it makes reading much slower. I'm not use to simultaneously reading and deeply visualizing. It feels like the old, "rub your belly, pat your head" challenge. I can feel the new brain muscles beginning to develop and it's exhausting. My visualizing stamina is capable of about one lap around the track right now.
The task master voice in my head doesn't help either. He rushes in like a football coach shouting at players taking too long at the water fountain, "Daniel! Lets get back on pace! 25 books in 9 months aren't happening while you are wasting away in Dr. Moreauville! You want to wear your wife's wedding dress to work Daniel1?!"
I'm doing my best to push through the mental exhaustion and the annoying coach. Last night, I read about Teddy Roosevelt as a young boy reading Rob Roy with his family by candle light, in Scotland. It was such a sweet and peaceful image.
A comfortable chair, a perfectly quiet room...and a good book. It can be so sweet, can't it?
And what about you, dear readers? Do you have well-developed pictures of your characters in your mind? Is the scenery just right? How are you at visualizing? Are you a good reader?!
Thanks, as always, for making it this far.
Happy reading,
-td
1. A student suggestion for Mr. Daniel if he did not complete his 6 books this quarter.
I could probably blog about how I neglect almost everything on that list. But I think my most embarrassing offense, is número uno: visualizing. I just barely picture stories in my mind It's embarrassing to admit it, because if I'm not really visualizing, what in the world is going on inside my head? I'm following what's going on. I understand it. But during a dialogue I'm not picturing characters in a particular setting, nor their facial expressions, body language etc. For me, it's more like putting your ear to a wall and eavesdropping on a conversation taking place in the next room.
And if it's a scenery description, you can forget it. You might as well be Women's Day magazine because I want nothing to do with you. I am one step away from skimming at that point. I abandoned Grapes of Wrath six months ago because Steinbeck spent the first three pages describing the scenery of dust bowl ravaged Oklahoma. I started it twice and both times I wanted to sleep after three pages. There must be better ways to start a book, Steinbeck. Is it the worst opening chapter of any classic book? (And yes, I am aware that my criticizing Steinbeck is a little like my 6 year old nephew giving Pujols batting tips.)
I'm realizing however that I hate scenery descriptions because I'm a bad reader. If I'm not taking time to visualize the setting then of course scenery descriptions are worthless to me. No wonder I'm skimming. I'm like a six year old saying, "Yeah, yeah, what happens next?!" Could be why I love Hemingway so much. He never would have described scenery for three pages to open up a book. There would be some witty dialogue and then everybody would have had a delicious cocktail of some sort.
So if I'm getting into the spirit of this assignment I've got to change, I must dive into scenery descriptions and mentally create fully developed physical attributes of my characters. I gotta tell you though, it's hard. I'd like to say I've made this choice to visualize and suddenly I'm the Einstein of Visualization. But it's like any life-long habit you try to change: in the beginning it is continual effort. Conscious choice after conscious choice. Nearly 30 years of lazy reading isn't going away because I'm a reading teacher, and I don't want to be a hypocrite.
My first conscious choice to visualize was in The Island of Dr. Moreau. The main character was in a cave surrounded by half animal/half human creatures of various types. They began rhythmically chanting their 10 commandments in some sort of religious ceremony. I picked a hell of a time to start visualizing. I started think about the heat coming from the breath of the hog man standing inches from him. It was such a powerful experience that I had to stop reading. I mean imagine going from a black and white TV, to an HD, IMAX, 3D, digital surround sound theater. It was a bit jarring. I wondered, "Is this what I've been missing the whole time? Can what I was watching before even be considered TV? Is everyone else's TV this good?"
I've found, however, that part of me immediately resists this new habit regardless of my pleasure in the experience. For one, it makes reading much slower. I'm not use to simultaneously reading and deeply visualizing. It feels like the old, "rub your belly, pat your head" challenge. I can feel the new brain muscles beginning to develop and it's exhausting. My visualizing stamina is capable of about one lap around the track right now.
The task master voice in my head doesn't help either. He rushes in like a football coach shouting at players taking too long at the water fountain, "Daniel! Lets get back on pace! 25 books in 9 months aren't happening while you are wasting away in Dr. Moreauville! You want to wear your wife's wedding dress to work Daniel1?!"
I'm doing my best to push through the mental exhaustion and the annoying coach. Last night, I read about Teddy Roosevelt as a young boy reading Rob Roy with his family by candle light, in Scotland. It was such a sweet and peaceful image.
A comfortable chair, a perfectly quiet room...and a good book. It can be so sweet, can't it?
And what about you, dear readers? Do you have well-developed pictures of your characters in your mind? Is the scenery just right? How are you at visualizing? Are you a good reader?!
Thanks, as always, for making it this far.
Happy reading,
-td
1. A student suggestion for Mr. Daniel if he did not complete his 6 books this quarter.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Flannery O'Connor Beat Me Up
I wish there was more time for writing. I haven't posted in a while and that has been a little sad for this has been such an enjoyable process. However, dear readers, you can rest assured that in my 2 week absence I have been extremely productive. I present to you a bounty (sorry still in Pirate mode) of completed books. While I've been away, I've plowed through HG Wells', Island of Dr. Moreau (Award Winner) and Flannery O'Connor's, Wise Blood (Realistic Fiction). My first experience with both authors.
A quick run down of my time with Wells and O'Connor.
Wells is like Michael Crichton's wiser, more idealistic older brother with a larger vocabulary. Fast paced, crazy sci-fi creativity with deep insights into the human condition. I'm pretty sure he was trying to show me the absurdity of religious moral laws, (ie 10 commandments) but to be honest, I couldn't slow myself down enough to really sort through everything. I was a little too focused on the pace I needed to maintain to complete the assignment. Essentially, I was just along for the superficial excitement of an island full of half animal, half human creatures. On that level alone the story was worth reading and I find my self excited about the The Invisible Man which I might try later in the year.
Flannery O'Connor was once quoted saying, "I wrote my first book about freaks and the rest of my books about folks." Thank you, Flannery, thank you. This one line conclusion about her Wise Blood characters, is more than you will receive in the entire book. She utterly refused to help the reader come to any conclusions about her characters, the majority of whom are yes, certifiably insane. And it's how it should be, any good creative writing teacher will hammer, "Show me, don't tell me." But O'Connor takes this to a whole new level and should be used as a shinning beacon for this writing axiom. The main character first appeared bold and comically free from annoying social norms such as being nice to old ladies on the train who want to chat. But then you start to piece it together, "Hmm...this character is quirky, err--wait a second...no...this guy is a looney toon."
I love her desire to show the grace of Jesus through her writing. I love that she doesn't feel pressure to write neatly wrapped stories of redemption. But I'll be honest, I really didn't want this window into the soul of Joe Crazy. I was drained by the end of it. I can't help but think she should come with some sort of warning label. Like an experienced O'Connor fan should have pulled me aside and said, "Look, it's worth the ride but here is what you need to prepare yourself for; she's not going to baby you. She's not Max Lucado. She is not afraid to punch you in the face, then the gut, back to the face, stand over you on the ground, point a finger in your face, and say, 'Your God is too small.'"
Absolutely cannot deny the talent. I loved her sweet, simple metaphors/smiles, they resonate for several pages. She's economical with language like Hemingway. I'm excited to give her another try, now that I know what to expect.
For the next book it's time to reap the fruits of my last two weeks of labor. I have extra time to accomplish my quarter goal of 6 books and instead of trying to get ahead, I'm going to read a longer book that I have been eyeing on my shelf for a couple months: David McCullough's, Mornings on Horseback, a Teddy Rosevelt biography. Teddy has peaked my curiosity ever since I first read the "It's not the critic who counts...". My favorite presidental quote with all others being a distant and unimportant second. David McCullough's been like a well-traveled, loving grandfather. He paiteintly tells me great tales of history and seems to know that I bring very little background knowledge to the table. I'm "carry my book around everywhere, read every free second," excited.
Thanks for reading. More to come this week.
peace,
-td
A quick run down of my time with Wells and O'Connor.
Wells is like Michael Crichton's wiser, more idealistic older brother with a larger vocabulary. Fast paced, crazy sci-fi creativity with deep insights into the human condition. I'm pretty sure he was trying to show me the absurdity of religious moral laws, (ie 10 commandments) but to be honest, I couldn't slow myself down enough to really sort through everything. I was a little too focused on the pace I needed to maintain to complete the assignment. Essentially, I was just along for the superficial excitement of an island full of half animal, half human creatures. On that level alone the story was worth reading and I find my self excited about the The Invisible Man which I might try later in the year.
Flannery O'Connor was once quoted saying, "I wrote my first book about freaks and the rest of my books about folks." Thank you, Flannery, thank you. This one line conclusion about her Wise Blood characters, is more than you will receive in the entire book. She utterly refused to help the reader come to any conclusions about her characters, the majority of whom are yes, certifiably insane. And it's how it should be, any good creative writing teacher will hammer, "Show me, don't tell me." But O'Connor takes this to a whole new level and should be used as a shinning beacon for this writing axiom. The main character first appeared bold and comically free from annoying social norms such as being nice to old ladies on the train who want to chat. But then you start to piece it together, "Hmm...this character is quirky, err--wait a second...no...this guy is a looney toon."
I love her desire to show the grace of Jesus through her writing. I love that she doesn't feel pressure to write neatly wrapped stories of redemption. But I'll be honest, I really didn't want this window into the soul of Joe Crazy. I was drained by the end of it. I can't help but think she should come with some sort of warning label. Like an experienced O'Connor fan should have pulled me aside and said, "Look, it's worth the ride but here is what you need to prepare yourself for; she's not going to baby you. She's not Max Lucado. She is not afraid to punch you in the face, then the gut, back to the face, stand over you on the ground, point a finger in your face, and say, 'Your God is too small.'"
Absolutely cannot deny the talent. I loved her sweet, simple metaphors/smiles, they resonate for several pages. She's economical with language like Hemingway. I'm excited to give her another try, now that I know what to expect.
For the next book it's time to reap the fruits of my last two weeks of labor. I have extra time to accomplish my quarter goal of 6 books and instead of trying to get ahead, I'm going to read a longer book that I have been eyeing on my shelf for a couple months: David McCullough's, Mornings on Horseback, a Teddy Rosevelt biography. Teddy has peaked my curiosity ever since I first read the "It's not the critic who counts...". My favorite presidental quote with all others being a distant and unimportant second. David McCullough's been like a well-traveled, loving grandfather. He paiteintly tells me great tales of history and seems to know that I bring very little background knowledge to the table. I'm "carry my book around everywhere, read every free second," excited.
Thanks for reading. More to come this week.
peace,
-td
Thursday, September 15, 2011
My Favorite Part of Reading
I don't like to admit it. It's hard for some reason. My favorite part of reading is choosing a book. Don't get me wrong, a great book is always an amazing time but there is something about the choosing and anticipation of the next book that gets me fidgety. A quarter of the way through any book, I start looking towards the shelf, eyeing my section of unread books. It's not that I'm unhappy with my current book. It's hard to explain.
The only thing that I can compare it to is traveling. Let's say you had a billionaire uncle and he said, "Here, travel absolutely anywhere you want, it's on me." Then he added this caveat: "and since I'm such an amazing billionaire uncle, go crazy, go as many different places as you want." Well, you'd thank your amazing uncle, think about it, and go somewhere amazing like, let's say, I don't know...Bora Bora1. You land in Bora Bora and you are blown away by the 10,000 different shades of turquoise in your face and the basalt mountain towering in the back ground like a proud, ancient warrior. The first two days you are saying strange things to people: "Do you people see these colors? They don't have colors like this in Kansas. Are we appreciating this enough?" You become poetic and spiritual at the same time, "Dear Father, how great is your color wheel, your mercies shine even upon the turquoise starved valleys of my Kansas soul." Then your mind starts darting strange places very fast like you are in sixth grade and haven't yet developed logic or coherency: "Should I just wear my snorkeling gear at all times? I'm sure my wife would think my goggles and flippers during dinner are both cute and practical. I mean we are always eating right on the water and, well, it'd be great to just go for it between dishes. I need to mention this to her."
However, on the third day or so, a thought slowly enters your mind. "Wait a second. I get to go somewhere after this..." Such a slow, subtle, euphoric thought. It's not that you aren't enjoying Bora Bora, there's just an entire world to explore.
In his autobiography, Surprised by Joy, CS Lewis said, "...it is that of an unsatisfied desire which is itself more desirable than any other satisfaction," (italics added). In a letter to a friend he said it more succinctly, "Our best havings are wantings."
Lewis is nothing, if not bold. Essentially what he's saying to me is that my unmet desire for Bora Bora is more joyous than my actual time in Bora Bora. Or, in the reading world, my standing in line at the midnight book release, sporting my best Ronald Weasly outfit, was more enjoyable than actually reading, The Deathly Hallows.
That makes me uncomfortable.
As I first starting typing these thoughts I was going to straddle the fence. My thesis was gong to be, "Lewis might be right in most cases but in the Bora Bora and Deathly Hallows echelon of experiences it just doesn't apply. They are too beautiful, too gripping. They over shadow the joy of unmet desires." Now, as I'm writing, I'm not so sure. I dreamed of Bora Bora for 25 years. I was reduced to random spats of giggling as I sat in the airport waiting for our flight to Bora Bora. If you had measured my physiological responses, moments before the first Deathly Hallows book was sold, you would have found all the signs of a heart attack, I'm sure. The greater the experience, the greater the unmet desire.
I feel like somehow I'm downgrading my BB and DH experience, like they were disappointing in some way. But that's not truth either. The joy in unmet desires never downgrades the joy of experience. It enhances it I think. If you wanted to side step the issue you could say, "Well, it's just different." But I think I disagree with that as well.
From a spiritual context, maybe that's the one difference between the Father/Son/Holy Spirit and every other millimeter of matter in the universe. In Their presence they are the one thing that is truly too beautiful, too gripping to be overshadowed by the joy unmet desires. They are the one glorious present, the ever resounding NOW. Forever eliminating, "Where do I get to go next?"
Lewis closes his autobiography, Surprised by Joy saying, "But what, in conclusion, of Joy? for that, after all, is what the story has mainly been about. To tell you the truth, the subject has lost nearly all interest for me since I became a Christian...."
So who knows, maybe it's not even a conversation worth having. I think I agree with Lewis, begrudgingly at first, but now with a little more peace. Any thoughts dear readers? Any of this coherent? Is an unmet desire a greater joy than the actual experience?
Thanks for reading,
peace,
td
1. I just got back from Bora Bora on my honeymoon and had been dreaming about it since 5th grade
The only thing that I can compare it to is traveling. Let's say you had a billionaire uncle and he said, "Here, travel absolutely anywhere you want, it's on me." Then he added this caveat: "and since I'm such an amazing billionaire uncle, go crazy, go as many different places as you want." Well, you'd thank your amazing uncle, think about it, and go somewhere amazing like, let's say, I don't know...Bora Bora1. You land in Bora Bora and you are blown away by the 10,000 different shades of turquoise in your face and the basalt mountain towering in the back ground like a proud, ancient warrior. The first two days you are saying strange things to people: "Do you people see these colors? They don't have colors like this in Kansas. Are we appreciating this enough?" You become poetic and spiritual at the same time, "Dear Father, how great is your color wheel, your mercies shine even upon the turquoise starved valleys of my Kansas soul." Then your mind starts darting strange places very fast like you are in sixth grade and haven't yet developed logic or coherency: "Should I just wear my snorkeling gear at all times? I'm sure my wife would think my goggles and flippers during dinner are both cute and practical. I mean we are always eating right on the water and, well, it'd be great to just go for it between dishes. I need to mention this to her."
However, on the third day or so, a thought slowly enters your mind. "Wait a second. I get to go somewhere after this..." Such a slow, subtle, euphoric thought. It's not that you aren't enjoying Bora Bora, there's just an entire world to explore.
In his autobiography, Surprised by Joy, CS Lewis said, "...it is that of an unsatisfied desire which is itself more desirable than any other satisfaction," (italics added). In a letter to a friend he said it more succinctly, "Our best havings are wantings."
Lewis is nothing, if not bold. Essentially what he's saying to me is that my unmet desire for Bora Bora is more joyous than my actual time in Bora Bora. Or, in the reading world, my standing in line at the midnight book release, sporting my best Ronald Weasly outfit, was more enjoyable than actually reading, The Deathly Hallows.
That makes me uncomfortable.
As I first starting typing these thoughts I was going to straddle the fence. My thesis was gong to be, "Lewis might be right in most cases but in the Bora Bora and Deathly Hallows echelon of experiences it just doesn't apply. They are too beautiful, too gripping. They over shadow the joy of unmet desires." Now, as I'm writing, I'm not so sure. I dreamed of Bora Bora for 25 years. I was reduced to random spats of giggling as I sat in the airport waiting for our flight to Bora Bora. If you had measured my physiological responses, moments before the first Deathly Hallows book was sold, you would have found all the signs of a heart attack, I'm sure. The greater the experience, the greater the unmet desire.
I feel like somehow I'm downgrading my BB and DH experience, like they were disappointing in some way. But that's not truth either. The joy in unmet desires never downgrades the joy of experience. It enhances it I think. If you wanted to side step the issue you could say, "Well, it's just different." But I think I disagree with that as well.
From a spiritual context, maybe that's the one difference between the Father/Son/Holy Spirit and every other millimeter of matter in the universe. In Their presence they are the one thing that is truly too beautiful, too gripping to be overshadowed by the joy unmet desires. They are the one glorious present, the ever resounding NOW. Forever eliminating, "Where do I get to go next?"
Lewis closes his autobiography, Surprised by Joy saying, "But what, in conclusion, of Joy? for that, after all, is what the story has mainly been about. To tell you the truth, the subject has lost nearly all interest for me since I became a Christian...."
So who knows, maybe it's not even a conversation worth having. I think I agree with Lewis, begrudgingly at first, but now with a little more peace. Any thoughts dear readers? Any of this coherent? Is an unmet desire a greater joy than the actual experience?
Thanks for reading,
peace,
td
1. I just got back from Bora Bora on my honeymoon and had been dreaming about it since 5th grade
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Shiver me Timbers!
I was a runner in high school, and I still dabble today. During most long distance races (never my forte) there is always a moment during the first half of the race when exhaustion first sets in and the initial adrenaline rush is spent. At that moment, I usually start thinking, "My goodness, how much of this race is left?" And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where I find my self tonight as I sit down to write, just finishing my THIRD book. "I have to keep this pace up for 9 months? My goodness, how much time do I have left for my six books this quarter?" The answer is: 3 books remain and a little more than a month to go (Oct. 16th). The initial adrenaline rush of the challenge and blogging has worn off and though I love to read, the pace is starting to feel a little frantic. If I were in a race, this is where I would psyche myself up, "Travis you can do this. Look, you are surrounded by people who are doing this. You CAN do this." And so I pull inspiration from my students, some whom have finished their fourth book. This past week, I read on lunch breaks, during football games and woke up early before church. At 7:15pm on Sunday, I'm done. It also helped that my wonderful students are starting to wonder if Mr. Daniel should have some sort of consequence if he does not complete his 6 books for the quarter. Student suggestions so far include: 1) Mr. Daniel must shave his beard. 2) Mr. Daniel must shave his head. 3) Mr. Daniel must let wonderful students shave both head and beard. and 4) Mr. Daniel should wear his wife's wedding dress to work. We are still in the negotiating phase...
My pirate book was not everything that I had hoped for as I lusted after it in the midst of my Shakespeare rendezvous. I realized I just wanted some swashbuckling, rip roaring good pirate stories. While there were some good tales, the author spent too much time trying to summarize and create generalities of all pirates. So instead of looting, mutiny and rum party stories, there were more chapters like, "in general, here is what a typical pirate attack looked like", or "here is what the trials of most apprehended pirates amounted to." Interesting enough but after recently reading Over the Edge of the World, and The Heart of the Sea I was left wanting a little more. These two books were non-fiction stories that followed the same characters throughout the length of the book and they were absolute page turners. Historical thrillers if you will. It's not fair that Cordingly had to follow these two books nor his fault that his scope was more broad. For better or worse it just fell flat, left me wanting a connection to these pirate characters the same way I did to Magellan and the Essex crew.
There were, however, some interesting tidbits and fun facts.
Fun Fact #1: Did you know that the pirate with the parrot on his shoulder was rooted in historical fact? A good deal of pirates preyed upon the Spanish vessels returning from the New World with gold, silver and yes, parrots (along with other exotic animals). Several ships adopted the animals as a kind of ship mascot. Looks like Stevenson did his homework.
Fun Fact #2: Did you know France, Spain, and England all recruited sea men to loot and steal from each other? These "privateers" thus began a suspect system with an extremely blurry line between pirate and patriot. Periodically, there would be treaties and truces between these countries, but wait, we suddenly have a generation of seamen that have developed a taste for bounty and can't quite bring themselves to stop their pirating ways.
Not So Fun and Disgusting Fact #3: Please don't read any further if you are squeamish. Seriously just move along to the conclusion. Still with me? Okay, can't help but share the most gruesome of all the pirate torture tactics. After capturing a merchant ship captain, Pirate X wants to know exactly where the valuables are located. In order to obtain this information Pirate X slits open the stomach of the poor captain, pulls out his entrails and nails them to a post. Pirate X then takes a shaft of hot metal and proceeds to brand the captain in the rear. The captain avoid any and all rear brandings by running and jumping. All the while, his evasive actions pull his entrails completely out and he kills himself. Shiver me timbers.... moving on...
Overall, I think I had some unfair expectations of the book. It wasn't awful but with so many amazing books out, there who wants to recommend an average book?
Anyway, dear readers, that is all for now. I'm attempting shorter books for my last three of the quarter. I have HG Wells', The Island of Dr. Moreau, up to bat and Jack London's Call of the Wild/White Fang on deck. I'm looking for a short but high quality biography. Any suggestions?
Preferably under 200 pages. ;)
Thanks for reading,
-td
My pirate book was not everything that I had hoped for as I lusted after it in the midst of my Shakespeare rendezvous. I realized I just wanted some swashbuckling, rip roaring good pirate stories. While there were some good tales, the author spent too much time trying to summarize and create generalities of all pirates. So instead of looting, mutiny and rum party stories, there were more chapters like, "in general, here is what a typical pirate attack looked like", or "here is what the trials of most apprehended pirates amounted to." Interesting enough but after recently reading Over the Edge of the World, and The Heart of the Sea I was left wanting a little more. These two books were non-fiction stories that followed the same characters throughout the length of the book and they were absolute page turners. Historical thrillers if you will. It's not fair that Cordingly had to follow these two books nor his fault that his scope was more broad. For better or worse it just fell flat, left me wanting a connection to these pirate characters the same way I did to Magellan and the Essex crew.
There were, however, some interesting tidbits and fun facts.
Fun Fact #1: Did you know that the pirate with the parrot on his shoulder was rooted in historical fact? A good deal of pirates preyed upon the Spanish vessels returning from the New World with gold, silver and yes, parrots (along with other exotic animals). Several ships adopted the animals as a kind of ship mascot. Looks like Stevenson did his homework.
Fun Fact #2: Did you know France, Spain, and England all recruited sea men to loot and steal from each other? These "privateers" thus began a suspect system with an extremely blurry line between pirate and patriot. Periodically, there would be treaties and truces between these countries, but wait, we suddenly have a generation of seamen that have developed a taste for bounty and can't quite bring themselves to stop their pirating ways.
Not So Fun and Disgusting Fact #3: Please don't read any further if you are squeamish. Seriously just move along to the conclusion. Still with me? Okay, can't help but share the most gruesome of all the pirate torture tactics. After capturing a merchant ship captain, Pirate X wants to know exactly where the valuables are located. In order to obtain this information Pirate X slits open the stomach of the poor captain, pulls out his entrails and nails them to a post. Pirate X then takes a shaft of hot metal and proceeds to brand the captain in the rear. The captain avoid any and all rear brandings by running and jumping. All the while, his evasive actions pull his entrails completely out and he kills himself. Shiver me timbers.... moving on...
Overall, I think I had some unfair expectations of the book. It wasn't awful but with so many amazing books out, there who wants to recommend an average book?
Anyway, dear readers, that is all for now. I'm attempting shorter books for my last three of the quarter. I have HG Wells', The Island of Dr. Moreau, up to bat and Jack London's Call of the Wild/White Fang on deck. I'm looking for a short but high quality biography. Any suggestions?
Preferably under 200 pages. ;)
Thanks for reading,
-td
Monday, September 5, 2011
The True Value of Shakespeare
When I was a senior in high school my two best friends and I bought some really expensive cigars for our senior spring break ski trip. I don't remember what brand they were or how much they cost, only that they were exponentially more expensive than our delicious Swisher Sweets. However, once the cigars where lit after our first day of skiing, I noticed that all three of us were smacking our lips in disgust like we had just eaten some foul peanut butter. We looked at our confused at our mammoth man cigars. We hacked through a few more puffs expecting to get to the more expensive and tasteful part. This was expensive, it won some kind of award, we should like this. This should be good. As Seinfeld once said, "This is like smoking a chicken bone." Finally someone broke down and said what we were all thinking, "Screw it, let's go get some Swishers." In the words of my friend and pre-marriage counselor, we finally stopped "shoulding" on ourselves and immediately made a run for the convenience store to salvage the evening.
I finished The Taming of the Shrew this weekend and I had a very similar experience as described above. The following thoughts ran through my mind at various points, "I should like this. It's Shakespeare, it's classic. Smart people who know literature tell me it is genius and wonderful. I should be able to follow the plot better. I shouldn't have to read lines over and over again trying to figure out what the hell he is saying. I shouldn't be looking longingly at my next book about Pirates. Shakespeare should have written about pirates. This would be a lot cooler with one or two pirates..."
I finished hacking my way through the chicken bone of Shakespeare, and now I'm ready for a run to the connivance store for something more fitting to my palate. Along the way, however, I developed a simple little theory that I like to call the "ESPN.com Shakespeare Corollary." The ESC simply states that your enjoyment of Shakespeare is inversely related to the amount of time you spend on ESPN.com. I am convinced that there is something amongst the stats, 1,000 columnist opinions and 5,000 highlight videos that deadens the Shakespeare taste buds of your reading palate. Now my current rate of ESPN.com consumption is not currently the subject of discussion, but my readers can safely assume that if my theory is true, there is little to no hope of my reading palate finding a home for Shakespeare. I've tried to should myself into liking him but then, my ESPN.com palate starts smacking it's lips and looks at the book like it's some sort of grotesque poultry carcass remain.
All of that aside, there were two things in the Taming of the Shrew that improved my relationship with old Willie. 1) Shakespeare was a great comedian. I had never read a Shakespeare comedy before and was pleasantly surprised. While it was a bit less accessible and arduous than my favorite Will Ferrell comedy, I could picture several scenes on stage being absolutely hysterical. And frankly, it was nice to read something that did not culminate in teenage suicide. 2) Shakespeare was put on this earth for many reasons but one of them was so that we could steal a few of his glorious lines and whisper them in the ears of our sweeties. Shakespeare is generous and kind, not proud and snobbish. He looks down from heaven and smiles upon us ESPNers and says, "Here dear friend, steal my lines, stand on my shoulders, heed my guidance to woo the woman of your heart's eternal spring." So gentlemen, I will pass on a few of his passion soaked pearls from The Taming of the Shrew along with a few ideas on how to implement them for maximum woo effect. These are simple things that take hardly anytime and just a little planning. Just trust me and most of all trust Shakespeare, the master of the woo.
Step 1: The Morning Woo
Wake up a little early and with a dry erase marker write this in the mirror:
"Hast man beheld a fresher gentlewoman?
Such war of white and red within her cheeks!
What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty,
as those two eyes become that heavenly face?"
The impact of this will be magnified if you are not there in the morning. This builds what reading teachers like to call 'rising tension.' As you will see we will build on this throughout the day.
Step 2: The Afternoon Woo:
On some sort of red or pink stationary write the following note and place it in something that she might find later in the day.
Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee:
Sweet (enter the name of your sweetie here) embrace her for her beauty's sake.
The note could go in her lunch, purse, maybe the windshield of her car in the middle of the day. If your wife picks out her clothes the day before (why do they do this by the way?) maybe place it in one of her a pockets. Whatever will reach her in the middle of the day will work just fine.
Step 3: Return Home Woo
"and happily I have arrived at last
Unto the wished haven of my bliss."
This one you will have to memorize, but I think we can swing that. Use this last line when you see her for the first time after you get home from work. Rush up to her before she has time to thank you for your sweet notes throughout the day, and whisper the above line in her ear in your most over dramatic, sweet, raspy whisper. Now of course she'll giggle and laugh at you. But that's the point, she'll giggle and laugh but she'll do it with a shy little smile looking down at the ground maybe even blushing a little bit. From there just make sure you have your chap stick because you'll be heading for a little place I like to call Smoochyville.
And that ladies and gentleman is a little bit of my 12 rounds with Shakespeare. Thanks for reading!
2 books down 23 to go!
peace,
td
I finished The Taming of the Shrew this weekend and I had a very similar experience as described above. The following thoughts ran through my mind at various points, "I should like this. It's Shakespeare, it's classic. Smart people who know literature tell me it is genius and wonderful. I should be able to follow the plot better. I shouldn't have to read lines over and over again trying to figure out what the hell he is saying. I shouldn't be looking longingly at my next book about Pirates. Shakespeare should have written about pirates. This would be a lot cooler with one or two pirates..."
I finished hacking my way through the chicken bone of Shakespeare, and now I'm ready for a run to the connivance store for something more fitting to my palate. Along the way, however, I developed a simple little theory that I like to call the "ESPN.com Shakespeare Corollary." The ESC simply states that your enjoyment of Shakespeare is inversely related to the amount of time you spend on ESPN.com. I am convinced that there is something amongst the stats, 1,000 columnist opinions and 5,000 highlight videos that deadens the Shakespeare taste buds of your reading palate. Now my current rate of ESPN.com consumption is not currently the subject of discussion, but my readers can safely assume that if my theory is true, there is little to no hope of my reading palate finding a home for Shakespeare. I've tried to should myself into liking him but then, my ESPN.com palate starts smacking it's lips and looks at the book like it's some sort of grotesque poultry carcass remain.
All of that aside, there were two things in the Taming of the Shrew that improved my relationship with old Willie. 1) Shakespeare was a great comedian. I had never read a Shakespeare comedy before and was pleasantly surprised. While it was a bit less accessible and arduous than my favorite Will Ferrell comedy, I could picture several scenes on stage being absolutely hysterical. And frankly, it was nice to read something that did not culminate in teenage suicide. 2) Shakespeare was put on this earth for many reasons but one of them was so that we could steal a few of his glorious lines and whisper them in the ears of our sweeties. Shakespeare is generous and kind, not proud and snobbish. He looks down from heaven and smiles upon us ESPNers and says, "Here dear friend, steal my lines, stand on my shoulders, heed my guidance to woo the woman of your heart's eternal spring." So gentlemen, I will pass on a few of his passion soaked pearls from The Taming of the Shrew along with a few ideas on how to implement them for maximum woo effect. These are simple things that take hardly anytime and just a little planning. Just trust me and most of all trust Shakespeare, the master of the woo.
Step 1: The Morning Woo
Wake up a little early and with a dry erase marker write this in the mirror:
"Hast man beheld a fresher gentlewoman?
Such war of white and red within her cheeks!
What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty,
as those two eyes become that heavenly face?"
The impact of this will be magnified if you are not there in the morning. This builds what reading teachers like to call 'rising tension.' As you will see we will build on this throughout the day.
Step 2: The Afternoon Woo:
On some sort of red or pink stationary write the following note and place it in something that she might find later in the day.
Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee:
Sweet (enter the name of your sweetie here) embrace her for her beauty's sake.
The note could go in her lunch, purse, maybe the windshield of her car in the middle of the day. If your wife picks out her clothes the day before (why do they do this by the way?) maybe place it in one of her a pockets. Whatever will reach her in the middle of the day will work just fine.
Step 3: Return Home Woo
"and happily I have arrived at last
Unto the wished haven of my bliss."
This one you will have to memorize, but I think we can swing that. Use this last line when you see her for the first time after you get home from work. Rush up to her before she has time to thank you for your sweet notes throughout the day, and whisper the above line in her ear in your most over dramatic, sweet, raspy whisper. Now of course she'll giggle and laugh at you. But that's the point, she'll giggle and laugh but she'll do it with a shy little smile looking down at the ground maybe even blushing a little bit. From there just make sure you have your chap stick because you'll be heading for a little place I like to call Smoochyville.
And that ladies and gentleman is a little bit of my 12 rounds with Shakespeare. Thanks for reading!
2 books down 23 to go!
peace,
td
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