Characters - from English Traits

in The Essential Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson

There is an English hero superior to the French, the German, the Italian, or the Greek. When he is brought to the strife with fate, he sacrifices a richer material possession, and on more purly metaphysical grounds. He is there with his own consent, face to face with fortune, wich he defies. On deliberate choice and from grounds of character, he has elected his part to live and die for, and dies with grandeur. This race has added new elements to humanity and has a deepter root in the world. -pp. 533

The stability of England is the security of the modern world. If the English race were as mutable as the French, what reliance? But the English stand for liberty. The consevative, money-loving, lord-loving English are yet liberty-loving; and so freedom is safe: for they have more personal force than any other people. The nation always resist the immoral action foo their government. -pp. 535

I told C. that I was easily dazzled, and was accustomed to concede readily all that an Englishman would ask; I saw everywhere in the country proofs of sense and spirit, and success of every sort: I like the people: they are as good as they are handsome; they have everything, and can do everything: but meantime, I surely know, that, as soon as I return to Massachusetts, I shall lapse at once into the feeling, which the geography of America inevitably inspires, that we play the game with immense advantage; that there and not here is the seat and centre of the British race; and that no skill or activity can long compete with the prodigious natural advantages of that country, in the hands of the same race; and that England, an old and exhausted island, must one day be contented, like other parents, to be strong only in her children. But this was a proposition which no Englishman of whatever condition can easily entertain. - pp.598

They are also truthful, sad - from English Traits

in The Essential Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson

English veracity seems to result on a sounder animal structure, as if they could afford it. They are blunt in saying what they think, sparing of promises, and they require plain dealing of others. – pp.524

The Englishman finds no relief from reflection, except in reflection. When he wishes for amusement, he goes to work. Religion, the theatre and the reading of books of his country all feed and increase his natural melancholy… It (the police) thinks itself bound in duty to respect the pleasures and rare gayety of this inconsolable nation; and their well-known courage is entirely attributable to their disgust of life. – pp.529

Of the constitutional force which yields the supplies of the day, they have the more than enough; the excess which creates courage on fortitude, genius in poetry, invention in mechanics, enterprise in trade, magnificence in wealth, splendor in ceremonies, petulance and projects in youth. – pp. 531

The ‘h’ in my heart

(a riddle of sorts :-)

The ‘h’ in my heart

If I could silence the ‘h’ in my heart
And register a loud ‘sigh’ to my senses,
You would suppose I have fallen apart -
When I just sounded off Freud in past tenses.

Nature has seasons

(people are often programmed and re-enforced to shy away from feelings other than joy, with shared happiness much celebrated; but life is way more than that, even a happy one.... this was written for net friend R2)

Nature has seasons

Nature has seasons
Summer but one
Of the few

Nature has secrets
Ocean deep with-
out a cue

And Nature has reasons
that make it whole
that make it true…

…So do you

It's in their genes - from English Traits

in The Essential Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson

If the race is good, so is the place. - pp. 505

It is not usually a point of honor, nor a religious sentiment, and never any whim, that they will shed their blood for; but usually property, and right measured by property, that breeds revolution. - pp. 510

Lord Elgin, at Athens, saw the imminent ruin of the Green remains, set up his scaffoldings, in spite of epigrams, and, after five years' labor to collect them, got his marbles on ship-board. The ship struck a rock and went to the bottom. He had them all fished up by divers, at a vast expense, and brought to London; not knowing that Haydon, Fuseli and Canova, and all good heads in all the world, were to be his applauders. -- pp. 511

One secret of their power is their mutual good understanding. Not only good minds are born among them, but all the people have good minds. Every nation has yielded some good wit, if, as has chanced to many tribes, only one. But the intellectual organization of the English admits a communicableness of knowledge and ideas among them all. -- pp 515

blood chilled by cold blood

In Cold Blood
by Truman Capote

I was prepared for this book. I had watched the movie "Capote" and had anticipated accurately how it would have been written. Still i was captured by the mesmerizing stories, the excellent writing and the hidden yet unmistakable emphathy that the author had shown to the victims AND the criminals.

Capote gave a vivid illustration of the complexity of human nature. There are contradictory forces at work among individuals and within one; there are infinite varieties and depth of thoughts, impulses and emotions; and there exists the origin of virture, evil and everything in between.... One could not help but feel a sense of desperation and profound sadness that each individual is bound to become what he is made of, only some are luckier and others less so.

What about this guy?!

(another old piece - "the heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of." :-))

Talking about Clinton

So many times I wanted to write about my fondness of Bill Clinton and as many times I was glad that I did not get to it. Now, after all these turmoil years (for him, not really for most of us in the same sense), I am surprised by myself for still holding fairly postive opinion of this guy. It is particularly puzzeling considering meanwhile I have also been such
a dedicated reader of the Wall Street Journal - not a single day has passed by without some Journal editorial sneering at him (usually rightly so).

Politicians as a breed bore me. Back in 1992, however, I was quite impressed by the young and energetic pair, Bill and Al. Al lost his appeal long before his disastrous presidential election; yet Bill has kept his attractiveness from the ruins of his own making. I still consider 1998 a bad year because I spent way too much time worrying about his fate. Favorable and unfavorable events seemed to alternate each day and I would only read "good" news, rumors or not. So I never bothered with that Starr report, yet was pleased when Betty Currie lied to protect her boss (no principle on my part certainly). Of course, when I barely breathed a sigh of relief towards the end of his tenure, he had just got himself into the deep water of a pardon scandal. Now I have pretty much resigned to the fact that, from this guy, there is always another dirty shoe waiting to fall. Nonetheless I am still interested in reading any good things about him and hope somehow he continues to manage whatever trouble he is going to run into next.

I know it is again my soft spot for complicated personalities. I generally like people inflicted with extremes, strength and faults, Clinton being an example, not an exception. He has a shiny personality (well, at least on surface) and he has intelligence (not in all matters); and he seems down-to-the-earthly communicable (just my perception). Whatever impossible situation he gets into seems to me a demonstration of an inevitable struggle with the evil side of oneself, of the complexity of a being and of the futility of life, all making him, well, quite interesting.

Still it is all too embarrassing and un-sought for, this unwavering fascination with someone so principle-less, faith-less and reckless. Now Clinton is laughing to the bank with the likes of me still wishing the best of him and with my favorite Journal seething with incredulity. What do I have to say? Not every matter can be rationalized; least of all, one's feelings. there, there. :-)

What is it in this garbage

(i can't seem to keep a straight face for long; so i wrote this one right after the previous article about WSJ. just to "balance out". ;-))

Reading tabloids

If you've ever wondered who make up that large readership of the much discredited tabloids, well, count me one. I used to define a cozy afternoon as one sitting alone on my apartment floor with a large bag of potato chips and a thicket of tabloids (It feels cozier, even luxurious now since I don't have that kind of time anymore). I often do not mind the long waiting line at the supermarket check-out -- I would always pick up a tabloid and scan it contently....

The best thing about a tabloid is that it is like one's earnest friend: it only cares about pleasing you. A tabloid goes out of the way (yeah, I know­.) to find out what you might really want to know about some celebrities or some shocking events. It is always enthusiastic about the tasks, as evident in its chatty tones and flashy styles. Contrary to those authoritative and mission-ridden newspapers, the Wall Street Journal coming to mind, a tabloid would never give you any pressure by being so judgmental, argumentative, superior and sophisticated. Nor is it pretentious -- it cheerfully and unapologetically carries news which is not "worth printing".

A tabloid is a showcase of the sad side of life. It illustrates the very famous in full-color and in off-color: how a young beautiful deteriorates into oblivion; how a glamorous becomes aged and ugly. It immortalizes those who have died young. In a tabloid's casual tone, one comes to realize the frailty and irony of life. A tabloid is never forgetful. Instead of getting just "one annual report" in a regular paper, some of the best known culture icons are forever "regulars" here. Under this light, a regular paper looks duty-bound while a tabloid is almost humane.

Oh, don't expect me bad-mouthing tabloids here; others have done that one thousand times over :))

In praise of a newspaper

(an old piece written around 1999)

On The Wall Street Journal

I always enjoy reading newspapers. The habit went back at least as far as the wartime between China and Vietnam in the late seventies. I used to fight with my father daily to get to read "the International News for Reference (?)" first. Only in recently years had we subscribed to the Wall Street Journal, for obviously practical reasons. I didn't warm up to it right away. The format was drastically different from any other newspapers I had ever read. It did not have colorful pictures; major figures mentioned in articles were sketches in black&white - interesting yet strange. Over all, the paper looked, well, it looked boring. Newspapers to me are mainly for entertainment these days. News comes from TV and, increasingly, from internet. And I had no interest in investment or business in general.

I guess I have to admit that environment does modulate one's behaviors. With the bulky journal scattering around the house all the time, I gradually picked up some short sections and long articles. Then one day I had an important discovery - the journal is the most informative, entertaining and educational newspaper I had ever read! It was certainly embarassing to admit that I had been so oblivious to the "most influential newspaper in the world" for so long while claiming myself a rigorous newspaper reader. Still it is better late than never. I am simply happy that I have got to know this paper eventually.

So what is it about the Journal that is special? Granted that whoever reads it must have very different opinions, here is my own take on it.

Other newspapers emphasize daily news (by definition; nothing wrong about it). But daily news nowadays is ubiquitous. One gathers the same information from internet, TV, radio or the first paper one picks up. The Journal, on the other side, provides only title size for most of the world and national news. This leaves the front page for other things it cares to carry. They are not all business-related, often about something new or strange in my opinion (one does not often read about them in other frontpages) and always written in a very interesting and personified style. In other words, they are more like stories than news and they make one ponder or simply delighted.

I always devote sizable time to the Journal editorials and opinions. The Journal has very strong and clear ideology standings: pro-business, pro-religion and socially conservative. I had never learned so much about American politics, cultural issues and ideology conflicts in any other place. In fact, I wasn't even aware of the existence of many of the particulars. I have become enormously interested in these issues and started to clarify my own views. The journal's position is somewhere to my right. Interestingly, despite its enormously influence over me, the Journal's position has remained, well, somewhere to my right through the years (I will talk more on this topic in other writings).

I also enjoy reading book reviews and reviews on music, art, theatre and sports. Again they are somehow different from what I read in other spapers and seem more entertaining. I had taken the book reviews seriously and stopped following the NYT bestsellers.

The Marketplace section carries more business-related news and trends in selected industries. I can usually find at least one interesting enough to follow. I had never missed the humourous "tofu" block (taken off since). Often, at this point, I run out of time. Otherwise, the Money&Investing is not that boring after all; or I will dig out other news between the pages.

Weekly, a special section would come along, introduicng an emerging industry, summarizing all one needs to know about certain investment or reviewing social changes of a past time frame of choice (mutual funds; internet; e-commerce, the world after the fall of berlin wall, etc, etc). It again makes a good leanring experience.

And as if it's still not enough! The Journal recently introduced a weekend section published every Friday. Wow, talk about favorites within favorites. It provided so many fun and original topics already that it has become a fixture of my weekend routine. Once a main article introduced the best art works in some of the most famously museums around the country. I am a total foreigner to arts and usually do not bother to learn. But this piece was not made of the usual laundry listing; instead, it was written in such a thoughtful and delightful way (probably with ingorant people like myself in mind) that I followed eagerly to track down the most storied, the most forgotten and the most controversial arts in the museums. It also helped that the article was illustrated with the works it talked about. The next time I walked into the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, I was surprised by my own knowledge and appreciation of a couple of art works exhibited there!

Several things about the Journal stand out. 1). the quality of writing. I don't know how to describe it but one could simply feel the flow and elegance of style (even the constant manipulative playing of words). It makes plain contents fanciful and unfamiliar topics intimating. 2). the orginality and creativeness. So often I would come across something, a piece of news or an opinion, from other media sources after I have already read it first in the Journal. 3). The authenticity and that little bit of arrogance. It impresses me how the journal takes clear stand on various social, cultural and business issues, takes pride in its authenicity and resourcefulness, and takes it upon itself to educate and influence readers and the society as a whole.

What else could be asked of a daily newspaper?!

Transexual but not transcedental

Enjoyed Transamerica, a movie exploring the awkward experiences of a male-to-female transexual who eventually succeeded to have the life she wanted. Coincidentally, read the next day on WSJ about Dr. Ben Barres, a female-to-male transexual i met many years ago, before his "transformation".

In the WSJ interview, Barres held strongly that there is really no difference in intelligence between males and females, himself being the living proof. and he recounted how he was then discriminated as a she and now well respected as a he. Adding to the amazing personal experiences was his expert knowledge on the well-established plasticity of neurons.

What can be more convincing? ! Well, not to get into the debate of intelligence per se, i have to say i am rather disappointed by his arguments.

For one, any personal experience, no matter how extraorindary, is not necessarily a path to truth. therefore, all he had said needs to be qualified as "me thinks ...". Because, to prove what he believes, he still has to conduct scientific studies, to define intelligence and to compare large enough numbers of boys and girls. Secondly, as badly as he had portraited it, one can also argue that discrimination against Dr. Barres as a scientist and against him as a transexual was actually not powerful enough to have prevented him from obtaining the professorship in the former or changing his sex in the latter case, suggesting that something more fundamental was at work. To me, it is evident that there exists biological basis determining both human sexuality and gender differences in obtaining knowledge, both of which can be readily, albeit imprecisely, appreciated in daily life and can be studied seriouslly by scientists.

Thus, it is a benignly rational, if irratating to some, hypothesis that the innate difference could be ONE OF the contributing factors to a disproportional representation of the two sexes in scientific research, which does not really diminish discrimination against women being another key factor, as Dr. Barres so acutely experienced and recounted. And one should not ignore the slow but profound societal improvement/adjustment which has yet to reflect upon the current composition of the scientific minds. Knowing them all helps us learn how we have become us, as individuals and as human beings.

You and me together - from English Traits

in The Essential Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson

Emerson quoted Wordsworth: “Christ died on the tree; that built Dunscore kirk yonder; that brought you and me together. Time has only a relative existence.” - pp. 476

Classics which at home are drowsily read, have a strange charm in a country inn, or in the transom of a merchant brig. I remember that some of the happiest and most valuable hours I have owed to books, passed, many years ago, on shipboard. - pp. 483

As we neared the land, its genius was felt. This was inevitably the British side. In every man's thought arises now a new system, English sentiments, English loves and fears, English history and social modes. Yesterday, every passenger had measured the speed of the ship by watching the bubbles over teh ship's bulwarks. To-day, instead of bubbles, we measure by Kinsale, Cork, Waterford and Ardmore. There lay the green shore of Ireland, like some coast of plenty. We could see towns, towers, churches, harvests, but the curse of eight hundred years we could not discern. - pp. 483

Alfieri thought Italy and England the ony countries worth living in: the former because there Nature vindicates her rights and triumphs over the evils inflicted by the governments; the latter because art conquers anture and tarnsforms a rude, ungenial land into a paradise of comformt and plenty. - pp. 484

The practical common-sense of modern society, the utilitarian direction which labor, lawers, opinion, religion take, is the natural genius of the British mind. The influence of France is a constituent of modern civility, but not enough opposed to the English for the most wholesome effect. The American is ony the continuation of the English genius into new conditions, more or less propitious. - pp. 485

Many a mean, dastardly boy is , at the age of puberty, transformed into a serious and generous youth. - pp. 498

Art, in a sorry age for a long while - from Pale Fire

by Vladimir Nabokov

All artists have bene born in what they call
A sorry age; mine is the worst of all:
An age that thinks spacebombs and spaceships take
A genius with a foreign name to make,
When any jackass can rig up the stuff;
An age in which a pack of rogues can bluff
The selenographer; a comic age
That sees in Dr. Schweitzer a great sage. pp. 270

VN's verses such as this one are very rational hums; they are rhythmic but short of emotions. It makes one think, not feel. :-)

on Parody - from Pale Fire

by Vladimir Nabokov

I have a certain liking, I admit,
For Parody, that last resort of wit:
"In nature's strife when fortitude prevails
The victim falters and the victor fails." pp. 269
Parody: whenever i could, i would. :-)

VN thought of God - from Pale Fire

by Vladimir Nabokov

Line 101: No free man needs a God

"When one considers the numberless thinkers and poets in the history of human creativity whose freedom of mind was enhanced rather than stunted by Faith, one is bound to question the wisdom of this easy aphorism." -pp.116

Interesting argument, but VN has mixed up two issues: the existence of God and the belief of the existence of God. What he observed could as easily be attributed to the latter. :-)

"Just behind (one oozy footstep) Frost" - from Pale Fire

I am in the mood for poetry recently. came across this passage in Pale Fire and loved it.

"Frost is the author of one of the greatest short poems in the English language, a poem that every American boy knows by heart, about the wintry woods, and the dreary dusk, and the little horsebells of gentle remonstration in the dull darking air, and that prodigious and poignant end --two closing lines identical in every syllable, but one personal and physical, and the other metaphysical and universal. I dare not quote from memory lest I displace one small precious word.

With all his excellent gifts, John Shade could never make his snowflakes settle that way." - p p.203

The last sentence made me smile - some writing to have made VN humble! ;-)
Needless to say, I, too, love this wondrous little piece of pearl:

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

dandelions again

replaced the "borrowed" fancy lines with plainer words, which are mine and, more importantly, more consistent with my low-key style. Now I can call it my own. :-)

Dandelions

Mommy tends to her orchids,
I, look after these dandelions.

Called nothing but weeds -
I wonder why,
Year after year,
They are so beautiful to me.

Bloom in our backyard
They are yellow and bright.
Surprise me on the sidewalks,
Their heads puffy and white.

I love all flowers anyways,
But this one only
I can blow away -

Sending their kids around the world,
Oh, little dandelions!

What did William really think? - A section from Rose

The name of the rose
by Ubertino Eco

“…It’s hard to accept the idea that there cannot be an order in the universe because it would offend the free will of God and His omnipotence. So the freedom of God is our condemnation, or at least the condemnation of our pride.”

"I dared, for the first and last time in my life, to exprss a theological conclusion: “But how can a necessary being exist totally polluted with the possible? What difference is there, then, between God and primigenial chaos? Isn’t affirming God’s absolute omnipotence and His absolute freedom with regard to His own choices tantamount to demonstrating that God does not exist?”

William looked at me without betraying any feeling in his features, and he said, “ how could a learned man go on communicating his learning if he answered yes to your questions?” I did not understand the meaning of his words. “Do you mean,” I asked, “that there would be no possible and communicable learning any more if the very criterion of truth were lacking, or do you mean you could no longer communicate what you know because other would not allow you to?” -------pp, 493

or what does Eco really think. of God. ;-)

From what had happened, Adso came to the daring conclusion that "God does not exist" . And William's answer was an evasive "yes".

However, one has to remember "what had happened", or this story, was entired and very carefully constructed by Eco. To me, this conversation explained why the story had proceeded as it was: a seemingly mystery ended up suddenly in smoke.

Which is to say that Eco has made up a compelling story to illustrate his VIEW that God does not exist (whether God exists or not is a different matter).

My more complete review is here.

That's all, folks. :-)

My reading buddies

What poetry is

Poetry is the art of words. It reflects the beauty of words, especially the rhythmic beauty of words.

Scared and scary animals

Robert Crumb, documentary, 1994

Thought I knew about psychiatric disorders. Unexpectedly I learned something new from the movie, which was either not explicitly described in textbooks or I had missed completely by ignorance, which is that afflicted individuals also have very dysfunctional sexuality. Shouldn't have been a surprise; I just didn't think about it.

It takes someone like R Crumb, with a rare combination of acute personal experiences, a daring (and barely functional) personality and amazing artistic skills, to illustrate and bring this dark side to light. And he brought along his even sicker brothers (his two sisters refused the interview). Their lives are simply tragic, trapped in their scared but also scary animalistic shells. That R Crumb has "survived" and his art recognized is no less than a miracle.

What do I have to say? That life is simple complex? that life is not always beautiful? That there is so much more to life than one is willing to explore, even at the individual level? Well, feel like adding a couple of feathers to a heavy dying bird.

(I had been puzzled by Kafka's Metamorphosis until I watched Crumb. Kafka's Samsa turned out to be a "milder" case of the same impairing disorder).