I believe I owe someone an apology, who I am not sure, but I have previously reviewed various cinematic works on this blog and now I've had a change of heart of sorts. I believe I previously stated the last Star Wars movie (Last Jedi?) was rather good and that the Hobbit movies were not. I believe I am quite wrong on the former and was too harsh on the latter. But how much of one's opinion of any creative work (music, story, book, movie, video game, art...) depends on your own mood at the time, other stressors or distractions, your surroundings, what everyone else thinks, etc.? I loved Star Wars when I was a kid, I read all the books, and couldn't wait for the new stories to come out, but instead they tossed out all the old stories and the new ones are rather bad, but I was so desperate to be pleased that I went and watched and told myself it must be good, or rather it took me until the second on came out to admit that the first installment wasn't all that great and the second was only good by comparison. I was so excited it wasn't dreadful that I thought it was great.
Then there's the Hobbit. This time I took it in chunks. Taken as a whole, each movie is way too much sensory overload and distracts from what actually works in the movies; taken in 6 smaller doses, I appreciated it much more. You've got a great cast, good music, fantastic scenery, a decent story, and if you can minimize the dazing quality of the endless chase scenes/orc brawls enough to actually notice the rest of the movie, it is actually pretty good, that and a message about the value of friendship and home versus the dangers of greed and 'success,' makes it all the more endearing. The new Star Wars I just feel like they chopped up the old stories, flung in some random new stuff, and made a crazy quilt of a plot that really doesn't work. I think I'll just cherish my favorites of the old books and movies and the memories they inspire rather than try and convince myself that I love the new ones.
So how much of your attitude towards a particular creative piece has to do with the quality of the piece itself or are other circumstances influencing your like or dislike of a certain work? Do all your friends like a certain video game and you tell yourself you love it too? Did 9th grade English turn you off to Shakespeare? Did you watch something when you had the flu and can't stand to even think about it now? Did that kid that bullied you all through high school like a certain book that you have never read but know you despise? Did you have a migraine when your friends insisted you sit through that concert? What are you avoiding or deriding because of negative connotations rather than for the quality of the work itself? Perhaps there's a gem just waiting to be discovered under the dross of your former prejudice? Finding a new favorite is well worth eating any amount of crow, you don't even need ketchup!
Monday, March 25, 2019
Tuesday, March 19, 2019
The builders build in vain...
It is curious to me that our modern society's definition of personal virtue, character, and morality is so very different even from that espoused by folk of my grandparents' generation and especially that taken for granted in classic literature, Jane Austen's works being a very poignant example. Modern stories all revolve around action and peril and physical lovemaking, while stories from a century or more gone focus on human emotions, moral actions, character development (or lack thereof), affection and virtue, and all those tedious things that comprise the human condition but never yield even a single good explosion, save perhaps of a life or destiny. Our modern stories, like our modern culture, have no soul. We are merely soulless physical machines born only to fornicate and die, at least if you believe the modern tales of romance and the popular 'women's' magazines. But I'm old fashioned and don't believe it for a minute, though the larger culture certainly does, what with suicide rates, the opioid crisis, and people ready to fight to the verbal death with a stranger over something as silly as the 'best' pizza toppings. It is a depressing era to be alive in modern culture, at least if you drink the cultural kool-aid.
But it is a lie as old as Eden. The world is broken, humanity is broken, creation is sick; we all agree on that point, but the doctor, the cure, is not found within the province and knowledge of men. It isn't in sexual freedom. It isn't in getting to choose your sex/age/race... It isn't in a spouse or children. Not in money, power, freedom, fame or any of that. Not even a great car or the perfect job. The 'ancients' knew it, Miss Austen is no stranger to the fact, but we in our 'wisdom' have become blind to the true point of her writing. It is not of romance or the female struggle or even to laugh at social foibles that she mainly writes, but it is of virtue, the development of character, becoming more and more human, the pursuit of all that is good and lovely and right. The 'sequels' written by modern authors are all about the physical aspects of romance and completely miss the point of the original works: her heroines are flawed people who grow in the course of the story and even if they didn't find a worthy man at its end, they were still better people for it. It isn't about getting Mr. Darcy into bed but rather about Elizabeth learning not to judge others so harshly and for Darcy to learn compassion for those less fortunate. But even virtue is not enough to save us.
We must grow and change and become better if we are to thrive and flourish, but building upon a cracked foundation will only undermine the whole edifice, we must root out the broken stones and shore up the clay beneath if we are to succeed. But we did not build ourselves, how can we fix ourselves? We can't. We must let the Builder start a new work in us, then and only then, can we begin to build upon the foundation that He must lay and therein, alone, lies true Joy. Our souls are sick, but there is a Great Physician, but we have to decide we are sick enough to actually see a doctor.
But it is a lie as old as Eden. The world is broken, humanity is broken, creation is sick; we all agree on that point, but the doctor, the cure, is not found within the province and knowledge of men. It isn't in sexual freedom. It isn't in getting to choose your sex/age/race... It isn't in a spouse or children. Not in money, power, freedom, fame or any of that. Not even a great car or the perfect job. The 'ancients' knew it, Miss Austen is no stranger to the fact, but we in our 'wisdom' have become blind to the true point of her writing. It is not of romance or the female struggle or even to laugh at social foibles that she mainly writes, but it is of virtue, the development of character, becoming more and more human, the pursuit of all that is good and lovely and right. The 'sequels' written by modern authors are all about the physical aspects of romance and completely miss the point of the original works: her heroines are flawed people who grow in the course of the story and even if they didn't find a worthy man at its end, they were still better people for it. It isn't about getting Mr. Darcy into bed but rather about Elizabeth learning not to judge others so harshly and for Darcy to learn compassion for those less fortunate. But even virtue is not enough to save us.
We must grow and change and become better if we are to thrive and flourish, but building upon a cracked foundation will only undermine the whole edifice, we must root out the broken stones and shore up the clay beneath if we are to succeed. But we did not build ourselves, how can we fix ourselves? We can't. We must let the Builder start a new work in us, then and only then, can we begin to build upon the foundation that He must lay and therein, alone, lies true Joy. Our souls are sick, but there is a Great Physician, but we have to decide we are sick enough to actually see a doctor.
Tuesday, March 12, 2019
Jane Austen of the Sea?
It's my husband's fault, I never thought myself the type to read historical novels of a naval stripe and here I've waded into the two foremost sagas of the genre. It started with the mini-series of 'Horatio Hornblower' and a thrift store DVD copy of 'Master and Commander' and led to reading the entire Horatio series and the first three of the Aubrey books. I really liked the Horatio books, even if I could never come to love the main character, it was quite interesting, surprising, well written, decent characters and plots, and a most enjoyable read. I started the Aubrey books eagerly, having read comments of the humor to be found therein, the witty banter of intelligent characters, an immersive story, and some calling the author the 'Jane Austen of the Sea.'
I'm not sure I read the right books or perhaps I read the wrong comments? I gave it a chance, three chances in fact, surely such a popular work with so many volumes must deserve a second and third chance, as I pushed through three volumes of the tale, but it never got better, I never found my sea-going Austen. The writing was excellent, but the plot dragged like an anchor, the characters were not at all likable, let alone lovable, where was the 'intelligent characters' I had been promised? There was a little sparse humor, but overall I found the entire experience depressing, especially the tone of the books. I thoroughly enjoyed the movie, there was life and movement and color and danger and everything interesting. While I was not a huge personal fan of Horatio Hornblower, I loved his brilliance, boldness, and determination to do what he knew he must, even if his self-loathing drove me to distraction and the sea itself, the ships, the other characters added plenty of color and interest.
Being a student of biology and medicine, I enjoyed the advent of another dabbler in the series, to some extent, but he seemed more an alien presence than a human biologist. The most human being in the entire three books was a sloth! The whole work reeked of silent misanthropy and was rather discouraging to any human who happens to read it. And the title Jane Austen of the Sea is truly undeserved, while he may use words with the skill of Miss Austen, the author is no comparison to her in any other light. She was a keen observer of the human condition, society, and manners, she is vastly funny and actually likes people, even if she is forever making sport of them. Her characters are human, some are even likable, not mere caricatures one has no interest in. She can make a novel with very little adventure interesting and memorable, whereas this series takes adventure and exotic places and makes it less exciting and interesting than an interview with Lady Catherine De Borough.
There is no human color in these books. It lacks the mark of the 'classic' which though often dark or ugly in dealing with the human condition, at least offered some hope that things could be better, that there was such a thing as virtue, and that by strength of will and determination and discipline, a character could grow, could change, and thus so could we. Dickens used his novels to spur social change. Austen observed social mores of her day and reflected on the unchanging nature of the human heart, her heroines were flawed but not immutable and we love them because they do in fact grow, which gives us hope in our turn. O'Brian gives us two dimensional characters, that while they undergo extreme experiences, change very little, at least for the better. There is not a single character I liked even a little, save the sloth. Hornblower too is filled with flawed characters, difficult circumstances, and a main character that is hard to love, but you do love him, in a distant sort of way, for he is human, but Aubrey is a great dumb brute of a dog, jumping up with muddy paws to maul your best frock in happy unwitting delight, while decent enough when retrieving birds, he's a complete nuisance elsewhere. The doctor is a brilliant but naive creature, as ignorant about his own heart as he is about the human race.
It is written in the style of the classics: flowing lines, wonderful words, and a world in which one might lose oneself, but it is not a world I wish to inhabit, for the true classics were filled with virtue and hope along with the darker and more despairing airs of the world, O'Brian has left the former out and wallows only in the latter. We are left with indifference and misery but have no solace at all, either for the characters or humanity in general, which makes O'Brian no Austen, certainly not a 'classic' writer at all, but rather the heir of that more depressing and appalling literary tradition known as Modern Lit though in a classic setting, a more appropriate comparison I believe would be the John Steinbeck of the Sea: good writing but overall depressing view of humanity, no plot to speak of, and characters with little or no likability.
I found more hope in toiling through Mordor with Frodo, the journey seemed quicker as well, even with Gollum as a companion. I found 'Persuasion,' as close as Jane Austen gets to a sea-faring novel, infinitely more interesting, if less lively. 'A Tale of Two Cities,' is less depressing, even though the main character rots in jail with a death sentence looming over his head for the majority of it. 'Les Miserables' though filled with misery and wretchedness is infinitely more enthralling. I'd much rather sail to the Dark Island among the Dawn Treader's crew than spend a day aboard the Surprise, for I fear all of O'Brian's characters unwittingly work for the NICE. C.S. Lewis warns against this lack of virtue, this inadvertent misanthropy so rampant amongst modern souls in his essay 'The Abolition of Man,' and these books offer ample proof of it, for this indeed is a 'book without a chest.'
If you are looking for a good sea-faring story, try Horatio Hornblower. If you are looking for a voyage into the human soul and condition, try any of the classics. If you are looking for a depressing study of modernity draped in archaic guise, the O'Brian books might be for you.
I'm not sure I read the right books or perhaps I read the wrong comments? I gave it a chance, three chances in fact, surely such a popular work with so many volumes must deserve a second and third chance, as I pushed through three volumes of the tale, but it never got better, I never found my sea-going Austen. The writing was excellent, but the plot dragged like an anchor, the characters were not at all likable, let alone lovable, where was the 'intelligent characters' I had been promised? There was a little sparse humor, but overall I found the entire experience depressing, especially the tone of the books. I thoroughly enjoyed the movie, there was life and movement and color and danger and everything interesting. While I was not a huge personal fan of Horatio Hornblower, I loved his brilliance, boldness, and determination to do what he knew he must, even if his self-loathing drove me to distraction and the sea itself, the ships, the other characters added plenty of color and interest.
Being a student of biology and medicine, I enjoyed the advent of another dabbler in the series, to some extent, but he seemed more an alien presence than a human biologist. The most human being in the entire three books was a sloth! The whole work reeked of silent misanthropy and was rather discouraging to any human who happens to read it. And the title Jane Austen of the Sea is truly undeserved, while he may use words with the skill of Miss Austen, the author is no comparison to her in any other light. She was a keen observer of the human condition, society, and manners, she is vastly funny and actually likes people, even if she is forever making sport of them. Her characters are human, some are even likable, not mere caricatures one has no interest in. She can make a novel with very little adventure interesting and memorable, whereas this series takes adventure and exotic places and makes it less exciting and interesting than an interview with Lady Catherine De Borough.
There is no human color in these books. It lacks the mark of the 'classic' which though often dark or ugly in dealing with the human condition, at least offered some hope that things could be better, that there was such a thing as virtue, and that by strength of will and determination and discipline, a character could grow, could change, and thus so could we. Dickens used his novels to spur social change. Austen observed social mores of her day and reflected on the unchanging nature of the human heart, her heroines were flawed but not immutable and we love them because they do in fact grow, which gives us hope in our turn. O'Brian gives us two dimensional characters, that while they undergo extreme experiences, change very little, at least for the better. There is not a single character I liked even a little, save the sloth. Hornblower too is filled with flawed characters, difficult circumstances, and a main character that is hard to love, but you do love him, in a distant sort of way, for he is human, but Aubrey is a great dumb brute of a dog, jumping up with muddy paws to maul your best frock in happy unwitting delight, while decent enough when retrieving birds, he's a complete nuisance elsewhere. The doctor is a brilliant but naive creature, as ignorant about his own heart as he is about the human race.
It is written in the style of the classics: flowing lines, wonderful words, and a world in which one might lose oneself, but it is not a world I wish to inhabit, for the true classics were filled with virtue and hope along with the darker and more despairing airs of the world, O'Brian has left the former out and wallows only in the latter. We are left with indifference and misery but have no solace at all, either for the characters or humanity in general, which makes O'Brian no Austen, certainly not a 'classic' writer at all, but rather the heir of that more depressing and appalling literary tradition known as Modern Lit though in a classic setting, a more appropriate comparison I believe would be the John Steinbeck of the Sea: good writing but overall depressing view of humanity, no plot to speak of, and characters with little or no likability.
I found more hope in toiling through Mordor with Frodo, the journey seemed quicker as well, even with Gollum as a companion. I found 'Persuasion,' as close as Jane Austen gets to a sea-faring novel, infinitely more interesting, if less lively. 'A Tale of Two Cities,' is less depressing, even though the main character rots in jail with a death sentence looming over his head for the majority of it. 'Les Miserables' though filled with misery and wretchedness is infinitely more enthralling. I'd much rather sail to the Dark Island among the Dawn Treader's crew than spend a day aboard the Surprise, for I fear all of O'Brian's characters unwittingly work for the NICE. C.S. Lewis warns against this lack of virtue, this inadvertent misanthropy so rampant amongst modern souls in his essay 'The Abolition of Man,' and these books offer ample proof of it, for this indeed is a 'book without a chest.'
If you are looking for a good sea-faring story, try Horatio Hornblower. If you are looking for a voyage into the human soul and condition, try any of the classics. If you are looking for a depressing study of modernity draped in archaic guise, the O'Brian books might be for you.
Wednesday, March 6, 2019
One size fits all!
The phrase 'one size fits all' is always troubling to me, perhaps one size fits most, but very rarely can you actually find something that is truly one size fits all. For my husband, it is hats, do they have a 'big and tall' version for hat stores? There's a song from the Veggietales series wherein a certain cucumber is trying to sell pants on an infomercial sort of show, which is ironic as the veggies in these tales never actually wear pants, but he is offering 'one size fits all,' and promises 'pants if you're short or shorts if you're tall,' sung to such a catchy beat you almost want to buy some, but at least they are having fun with the idea that there can ever be such a concept. Even politically, have you ever noticed all women are the same, all the people of a certain race are the same, whatever your political demographic, you are all the same, except we aren't. I'm a unique individual, while I may share beliefs, traits, opinions, or ideas in common with certain other individuals that doesn't make me them or them me.
Our material obsessed culture has tried to express its individuality by making certain items more coveted and therefore valuable and 'unique' though 100,000 other people already own the same item, but that's like painting identical fenceposts different colors, sure they are all a unique color, but inside they're just wood and exactly alike. Politics and stuff can't save us, where then is our identity found? History? Genetics? Biology? Relationships? Hobbies? Money? Fame? Power? Mind altering substances? Career? Nope, we've tried all that, if not you personally, then millions of folk down through the ages and none of them are happy, just check the celebrity gossip magazines or your own family history. The writer of Ecclesiastes some three or four millennia back repined this very phenomenon, wondering what life was truly about. He made quite a curious comment upon the matter, stating, 'God has put eternity into the hearts of men.'
Eternity? In the heart of a mortal creature? Today, the beginning of Lent on the Christian calendar, many will hear the words 'from dust though art to dust thou shalt return.' A reminder of our mortality. But 40 days hence, we hear the words of victory and the answer to that age old question, 'death where is thy victory, grave thy sting!' That's the answer to 'Life, the Universe, and Everything,' as it were, not '42' as fun as that is. We can't find a hat that will fit all heads but we can find Something so big and wonderful that all men may find the answer to life's greatest riddle and Life indeed.
Our material obsessed culture has tried to express its individuality by making certain items more coveted and therefore valuable and 'unique' though 100,000 other people already own the same item, but that's like painting identical fenceposts different colors, sure they are all a unique color, but inside they're just wood and exactly alike. Politics and stuff can't save us, where then is our identity found? History? Genetics? Biology? Relationships? Hobbies? Money? Fame? Power? Mind altering substances? Career? Nope, we've tried all that, if not you personally, then millions of folk down through the ages and none of them are happy, just check the celebrity gossip magazines or your own family history. The writer of Ecclesiastes some three or four millennia back repined this very phenomenon, wondering what life was truly about. He made quite a curious comment upon the matter, stating, 'God has put eternity into the hearts of men.'
Eternity? In the heart of a mortal creature? Today, the beginning of Lent on the Christian calendar, many will hear the words 'from dust though art to dust thou shalt return.' A reminder of our mortality. But 40 days hence, we hear the words of victory and the answer to that age old question, 'death where is thy victory, grave thy sting!' That's the answer to 'Life, the Universe, and Everything,' as it were, not '42' as fun as that is. We can't find a hat that will fit all heads but we can find Something so big and wonderful that all men may find the answer to life's greatest riddle and Life indeed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)