I was not feeling too well this morning, and only got to one and part of another sessions of the online medieval studies congress. Both were on Tolkien, a nice change from Wednesday.
Tolkien and dragons. 1) People over the centuries have thought that auroras were signs of distant but large fires, and that meteors were dragons. So Tolkien made them so in his fiction. An aurora that turns out to mean that Morgoth's armies are invading you from the north ... talk about chilling.
2) You know which Austrian psychotherapist's couch you're on when the presenter keeps calling a dragon "the penetrating phallus." The problem is that, if the cave is the womb-like "feminized space," that's where the dragon lives and comes out of, not what he invades, so the whole metaphor is off.
3) Traditional English dragons, including the one in Beowulf, are poisonous, and may have venomous breath, but breathe no fire. So where do Tolkien's fire-breathing dragons come from? Presenter suggests it's from Leviathan in the Book of Job, who breathes fire and also has legs, which traditional dragons (worms) often don't. Presenter leaves audience wondering if this has anything to do with earlier warning that most people don't know what's genuinely Catholic about Tolkien's work.
Tolkien and illness and healing. Less medicinal than it sounds. Two papers, one on dancing, one on singing, and how in Tolkien they heal the soul, fulfill desire, and act to express and share cultural identity. E.g. Bilbo begins to feel dwarvish and adventurous when he hears the dwarves' song, but that's only the first of many examples. Dance-paper presenter points out that, despite long religious disapproval of dancing, Dante was also pro-dance.
Kalimac's corner: a journal by DB
Thursday, May 13, 2021
Wednesday, May 12, 2021
Wednesday at Kalamazoo
A quiet day at the medieval studies congress, with no Tolkien on the schedule. In the morning there was a very tempting-sounding session on medievalism and anti-semitism. This turned out to be somewhat fuzzier than I'd hoped. Two of the presentations were on current right-wing movements using pseudo-scholarly medievalist tropes with, inter alia, some anti-semitism in it: racist black-metal bands, and groups that think knights are cool, not because of chivalry of course but for their violence. Another speaker mentioned the dispute in Spanish historiography over whether to derive the nation purely from Visigothic roots or from multi-cultural ones including Jewish and Muslim influences, and then discussed contemporary Spain's greater readiness to make amends for its anti-Jewish past than its anti-Muslim past, without connecting the two points although the thesis was that there was a connection. Another speaker made a cursory survey of medieval anti-semitism without connecting it to the Carmina Burana poetry, her ostensible topic, and being even less connected, if possible, when turning to the Carl Orff version. So I didn't feel I learned much here.
Later on I had to choose between a C.S. Lewis session and one on women and Beowulf. I wound up at the former, and heard about derivations of The Last Battle from Piers Plowman and of Out of the Silent Planet from Bernardus Silvestris, that latter of which took its garbled time to finish up, and two papers on Ransom's moral development in the latter novel, one of which engaged in vigorous Social Darwinist-bashing.
Not as effective a day as Tuesday. I'm hoping for better tomorrow.
Later on I had to choose between a C.S. Lewis session and one on women and Beowulf. I wound up at the former, and heard about derivations of The Last Battle from Piers Plowman and of Out of the Silent Planet from Bernardus Silvestris, that latter of which took its garbled time to finish up, and two papers on Ransom's moral development in the latter novel, one of which engaged in vigorous Social Darwinist-bashing.
Not as effective a day as Tuesday. I'm hoping for better tomorrow.
Tuesday, May 11, 2021
Tuesday at Kalamazoo
This was the most interest-filled day of the online medieval studies congress, and despite bouts of itchiness and tiredness I managed to sit through the better part of five sessions.
The first and most Tolkien-related session, sponsored by the new fantasy studies center (sorry, centre) at the University of Glasgow (where it was 2 p.m. instead of 6 a.m. as here), was on the late Christopher Tolkien as a medievalist. Multiple manuscripts of the same medieval text all differ, and medievalists learn not to consider any given one authoritative but to consider all for their points of interest, so Miriam Mayburd showed how CT brought that principle to the editing of his father's multifarious manuscripts. Perry Neil Harrison considered JRRT's creative works based on medieval sources (The Fall of Arthur, The Legend of Sigurd, his translations of Beowulf and Sir Gawain), and how CT used editing these as an opportunity to write accounts of how they fit into the medieval tradition. (This being a celebratory session, there was no consideration of how these accounts are often clotted and hard to understand.) Eileen M. Moore treated CT as a calligrapher, following JRRT's practice of including, on the title pages of books, descriptions in tengwar of their contents. Though Eileen's sole interest in the presentation was on analyzing the mode CT developed for this (English was not made for the tengwar, nor the tengwar for English), when asked, "For those of us who don't read tengwar, what do the inscriptions say?", she shot us a link to a file in the chat. And Erik D. Mueller-Harder discussed CT as cartographer of the maps in JRRT's books, not claiming skill nor aiming at originality but simply trying to reproduce the style as well as the content of his father's messy working maps as cleanly as possible. A very productive session.
After that, I thought it might be related to go on to a session on the accuracy of medieval manuscript copying. Unfortunately I didn't get all the way through this one, though I did hear an account of how a later copy of a medical treatise had revisions reflecting changes in society in the interim (if the presenter said either when or where either copy was produced, I missed it) and a description of a chain of transmission of a popular compendium of saints' lives.
More sizzling was a session on the ethics of a field that actually has a name, fragmentology: the collecting and study of manuscript fragments. I'd thought this would be about crumbling parchment like the Dead Sea Scrolls, but no: "fragments" are leaves torn out of intact manuscripts by dealers and sold separately to make more $$$. (These people have a name too: they're called book-breakers.) The question was, is it ethical for libraries to collect the broken leaves? Some say absolutely not, but they weren't at this session. The panelists all stoutly defended the practice: leaves are less expensive than full codices, so more affordable to institutions with limited budgets; they're more portable and less fragile than the codices, so they give more students a chance to handle real manuscripts in person; they really are still useful for research.
Yet I still began to feel uneasy. The way most of the panelists try to discourage the practice of book-breaking is by buying only fragments that were broken a long time ago. One person actually compared this to ivory: you shouldn't buy new ivory, but ivory hundreds of years old should be OK. But it isn't. The US has a prohibition against the importation of ivory, period, no matter how old it can be verified to be. The Stanford Music Department discovered this when they tried importing some old player pianos from Australia (piano rolls are model-specific, so if they had the rolls they needed the specific pianos) and had to leave the keyboards behind in Australia. I heard about this years ago, and never learned if they ever got a waiver. I didn't dare mention an even clearer case, child pornography. Possessors of that, even second- or third-hand, are considered every bit as guilty as those who actually produce the stuff, and the reason is, acquiring it encourages the production of more of it. Of course, no children are abused nor elephants killed to break a manuscript, but that only means the penalty is less: it shouldn't change the principle. Either the one of these cases should be more like the others, or the others more like the one.
I skipped a session on Tolkien and Chaucer, even though I liked what Chaucer I've read, because I don't know that much about his work, in favor of one with the truly tempting topic of whether the Society for Creative Anachronism is "a problematic medievalism." Especially as the program listing typoed it as "Anarchronism." This was more like a science-fiction convention panel, in that nobody had written out their presentation, and in winging it made a lot of detours and asides, and references to things they didn't explain, which is how life is at SF con panels.
Yes, there was a lot said about the white supremacists, and the coronation coat with swastikas on it, but the panel also addressed the problematic way that medievalist scholars often look down on re-creators. Groups like the SCA are a way of bringing medieval studies to people who'd never get into an academic classroom. In some fields, like fabric arts, original material and even written accounts of making it are rare (the presenter discussing this didn't say anything about pictures), so re-creation is the only way to study it. On the other hand, amateurs should stop marching into museums and telling the curators that we know how it's done and you don't.
Some of the speakers were members of the SCA and some weren't, but they all pronounced it as an initialism, which is how I learned it, and not as a word like "ska" which has apparently become widespread. One speaker described his disappointment with a series of groups, but then he was attracted by a Viking society which clearly abjured white supremacy. Yeah, he quoted the society's literature as saying, the original Vikings looted and took slaves, but they weren't all racist about it.
Last I got to a session on inclusion in musical pedagogy. This was about what I expected. Two scholars designing basic music-history survey courses with more non-Western music in them. One trying to figure out how to get his students to appreciate the non-Western music he teaches, in this case medieval Chinese music. And one Asian-born grad student of an intensely Western genre, medieval Church music, trying to find her place in the scholarly community. Naturally, the last speaker's PowerPoint included a slide with a dictionary definition of "microaggression."
The first and most Tolkien-related session, sponsored by the new fantasy studies center (sorry, centre) at the University of Glasgow (where it was 2 p.m. instead of 6 a.m. as here), was on the late Christopher Tolkien as a medievalist. Multiple manuscripts of the same medieval text all differ, and medievalists learn not to consider any given one authoritative but to consider all for their points of interest, so Miriam Mayburd showed how CT brought that principle to the editing of his father's multifarious manuscripts. Perry Neil Harrison considered JRRT's creative works based on medieval sources (The Fall of Arthur, The Legend of Sigurd, his translations of Beowulf and Sir Gawain), and how CT used editing these as an opportunity to write accounts of how they fit into the medieval tradition. (This being a celebratory session, there was no consideration of how these accounts are often clotted and hard to understand.) Eileen M. Moore treated CT as a calligrapher, following JRRT's practice of including, on the title pages of books, descriptions in tengwar of their contents. Though Eileen's sole interest in the presentation was on analyzing the mode CT developed for this (English was not made for the tengwar, nor the tengwar for English), when asked, "For those of us who don't read tengwar, what do the inscriptions say?", she shot us a link to a file in the chat. And Erik D. Mueller-Harder discussed CT as cartographer of the maps in JRRT's books, not claiming skill nor aiming at originality but simply trying to reproduce the style as well as the content of his father's messy working maps as cleanly as possible. A very productive session.
After that, I thought it might be related to go on to a session on the accuracy of medieval manuscript copying. Unfortunately I didn't get all the way through this one, though I did hear an account of how a later copy of a medical treatise had revisions reflecting changes in society in the interim (if the presenter said either when or where either copy was produced, I missed it) and a description of a chain of transmission of a popular compendium of saints' lives.
More sizzling was a session on the ethics of a field that actually has a name, fragmentology: the collecting and study of manuscript fragments. I'd thought this would be about crumbling parchment like the Dead Sea Scrolls, but no: "fragments" are leaves torn out of intact manuscripts by dealers and sold separately to make more $$$. (These people have a name too: they're called book-breakers.) The question was, is it ethical for libraries to collect the broken leaves? Some say absolutely not, but they weren't at this session. The panelists all stoutly defended the practice: leaves are less expensive than full codices, so more affordable to institutions with limited budgets; they're more portable and less fragile than the codices, so they give more students a chance to handle real manuscripts in person; they really are still useful for research.
Yet I still began to feel uneasy. The way most of the panelists try to discourage the practice of book-breaking is by buying only fragments that were broken a long time ago. One person actually compared this to ivory: you shouldn't buy new ivory, but ivory hundreds of years old should be OK. But it isn't. The US has a prohibition against the importation of ivory, period, no matter how old it can be verified to be. The Stanford Music Department discovered this when they tried importing some old player pianos from Australia (piano rolls are model-specific, so if they had the rolls they needed the specific pianos) and had to leave the keyboards behind in Australia. I heard about this years ago, and never learned if they ever got a waiver. I didn't dare mention an even clearer case, child pornography. Possessors of that, even second- or third-hand, are considered every bit as guilty as those who actually produce the stuff, and the reason is, acquiring it encourages the production of more of it. Of course, no children are abused nor elephants killed to break a manuscript, but that only means the penalty is less: it shouldn't change the principle. Either the one of these cases should be more like the others, or the others more like the one.
I skipped a session on Tolkien and Chaucer, even though I liked what Chaucer I've read, because I don't know that much about his work, in favor of one with the truly tempting topic of whether the Society for Creative Anachronism is "a problematic medievalism." Especially as the program listing typoed it as "Anarchronism." This was more like a science-fiction convention panel, in that nobody had written out their presentation, and in winging it made a lot of detours and asides, and references to things they didn't explain, which is how life is at SF con panels.
Yes, there was a lot said about the white supremacists, and the coronation coat with swastikas on it, but the panel also addressed the problematic way that medievalist scholars often look down on re-creators. Groups like the SCA are a way of bringing medieval studies to people who'd never get into an academic classroom. In some fields, like fabric arts, original material and even written accounts of making it are rare (the presenter discussing this didn't say anything about pictures), so re-creation is the only way to study it. On the other hand, amateurs should stop marching into museums and telling the curators that we know how it's done and you don't.
Some of the speakers were members of the SCA and some weren't, but they all pronounced it as an initialism, which is how I learned it, and not as a word like "ska" which has apparently become widespread. One speaker described his disappointment with a series of groups, but then he was attracted by a Viking society which clearly abjured white supremacy. Yeah, he quoted the society's literature as saying, the original Vikings looted and took slaves, but they weren't all racist about it.
Last I got to a session on inclusion in musical pedagogy. This was about what I expected. Two scholars designing basic music-history survey courses with more non-Western music in them. One trying to figure out how to get his students to appreciate the non-Western music he teaches, in this case medieval Chinese music. And one Asian-born grad student of an intensely Western genre, medieval Church music, trying to find her place in the scholarly community. Naturally, the last speaker's PowerPoint included a slide with a dictionary definition of "microaggression."
Monday, May 10, 2021
Monday at Kalamazoo
Today's Tolkien session, sponsored by the Marquette University Archives where many of his papers are kept, was on Tolkien and manuscripts. I expected something esoteric, and was delighted by the lucidity of the papers. One was a fairly light overview of racial and class dialects of English in The Lord of the Rings, viewed as if it were a historical manuscript; the other was a particularly virtuosic account of particularly viruosic actual medieval scholarship, showing how Tolkien used scribal letterforms and spellings to demonstrate that a particular Anglo-Saxon text was a 13th-century copy of a work composed around the 9th century. That he could analyze both composition and scribal dates at once without getting muddled was particularly impressive.
After that I hung around for part of a session on King Lear, because at least that's a work I know, and, indeed, if I had not known it I would not have been able to follow the papers. You'd think Shakespeare would be outside of the borders of medieval studies, but apparently not: there's a thriving Shakespeare track here. One of the papers had actual medieval leanings, though: it was on the Fool's prophecy with its mind-tickling final line, "This prophecy Merlin shall make, for I live before his time." The author showed the prophecy as deriving from a tradition of Merlinesque prophetic texts.
After that I had to get off for other things, but I'll be back tomorrow.
After that I hung around for part of a session on King Lear, because at least that's a work I know, and, indeed, if I had not known it I would not have been able to follow the papers. You'd think Shakespeare would be outside of the borders of medieval studies, but apparently not: there's a thriving Shakespeare track here. One of the papers had actual medieval leanings, though: it was on the Fool's prophecy with its mind-tickling final line, "This prophecy Merlin shall make, for I live before his time." The author showed the prophecy as deriving from a tradition of Merlinesque prophetic texts.
After that I had to get off for other things, but I'll be back tomorrow.
Sunday, May 9, 2021
beheld, a Tolkien conference
So, the Tolkien fringe event to the Kalamazoo medieval studies congress yesterday. Nine papers, not organized into sessions but with half-hour slots each, and I managed to hear at least part of all of them. I didn't take any notes and this is from memory. Among them:
The prospectus of a plan to take Tolkien's working map of Middle-earth that he used during the writing of most of The Lord of the Rings and deconstruct it into all the various revisions and overlays, some of them literal as Tolkien made some of his revisions by sticking new pieces of paper on top. (Not, I hasten to add, taking apart the original map: this project is based on Christopher Tolkien's published descriptions of the map, including uncovering lower layers by peering through it with a strong light.)
A discussion of "The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth Beorhthelm's Son" in its capacity as a work of drama and of alliterative verse. This is rare, since most considerations of "Homecoming" are of the scholarly essay it's embedded in. The alliterative verse part is especially interesting, as Tolkien was almost solely responsible for reviving into modern English this poetic form that had been obsolete for about 500 years. Tolkien wrote lots of alliterative poems, but this is one of the longest and most elaborate.
Twins in Tolkien, and their common characteristics. What struck me as more interesting than the main thrust of the paper is that one of these common features - echoing names - appears even in sets of siblings who aren't twins, like Boromir and Faramir. Plenty of others among the hobbits too: Belladonna/Donnamira/Mirabella.
Shared themes and poetic phraseology between Tolkien and G.B. Smith, one of his close friends who died in WW1. Could be mutual influence, could be shared inspiration from common sources. Smith's middle name was "Bache" and it turns out nobody knows how to pronounce this.
Results of survey asking young readers to name the most and least favorite, and most and least relatable, characters among the nine members of the Fellowship. Boromir was among the least favorite but the most relatable; I don't quite follow that line of reasoning. Apparently no attempt was made to zero out the influence of the movies on these ratings.
The prospectus of a plan to take Tolkien's working map of Middle-earth that he used during the writing of most of The Lord of the Rings and deconstruct it into all the various revisions and overlays, some of them literal as Tolkien made some of his revisions by sticking new pieces of paper on top. (Not, I hasten to add, taking apart the original map: this project is based on Christopher Tolkien's published descriptions of the map, including uncovering lower layers by peering through it with a strong light.)
A discussion of "The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth Beorhthelm's Son" in its capacity as a work of drama and of alliterative verse. This is rare, since most considerations of "Homecoming" are of the scholarly essay it's embedded in. The alliterative verse part is especially interesting, as Tolkien was almost solely responsible for reviving into modern English this poetic form that had been obsolete for about 500 years. Tolkien wrote lots of alliterative poems, but this is one of the longest and most elaborate.
Twins in Tolkien, and their common characteristics. What struck me as more interesting than the main thrust of the paper is that one of these common features - echoing names - appears even in sets of siblings who aren't twins, like Boromir and Faramir. Plenty of others among the hobbits too: Belladonna/Donnamira/Mirabella.
Shared themes and poetic phraseology between Tolkien and G.B. Smith, one of his close friends who died in WW1. Could be mutual influence, could be shared inspiration from common sources. Smith's middle name was "Bache" and it turns out nobody knows how to pronounce this.
Results of survey asking young readers to name the most and least favorite, and most and least relatable, characters among the nine members of the Fellowship. Boromir was among the least favorite but the most relatable; I don't quite follow that line of reasoning. Apparently no attempt was made to zero out the influence of the movies on these ratings.
Saturday, May 8, 2021
behold, a Tolkien conference
Thanks to the magic of Zoom, I got to attend a conference today that I'd never been to before.
The Tolkien scholars invaded the International Congress on Medieval Studies about 20 years ago, initially under the leadership of Prof. Jane Chance. This event is held annually in May by Western Michigan University, which is in the town of Kalamazoo. As a result, the congress is never called by its name. It is called "Kalamazoo." As I found as soon as I heard of it, you just have to know what the metonym means.
Kalamazoo is an appropriate place for Tolkien scholars to be: Tolkien was himself a medievalist scholar, and medieval influences and styles are all over his fiction. There'd been occasional papers on Tolkien in earlier years, but now there were several full sessions - a paper session at an academic conference is 3-4 papers by different people on putatively related topics, stuffed into a 90-minute time slot. And for several years, there were more sessions every year, not all of which were all that medievalist; there were panel discussion sessions; and also there were play readings, there was music, some serious and some satiric. Tolkien began to take over Kalamazoo.
But all did not remain well. A few years ago the conference organizers blew the whistle and limited the formal Tolkien group to a few, like 3, sessions per year, although they also began accepting Tolkien sessions proposed by others. So the Tolkien group started up its own annual fringe conference. That's what was today. The main show starts on Monday.
I've never been to Kalamazoo. Two main reasons: one is that, unlike many Tolkienists, I'm not much of a medievalist. Most of the rest of what goes on is outside of my expertise. The other is that Kalamazoo is cleverly located far from major airports. It's difficult and time-consuming to get to if you're from far away. My priority is Mythcon. It's tricky to add a hard-to-reach congress of huge scope (it lasts a week, longer if you add the fringe) and limited personal interest to that if your budget or time is restricted, and mine has been.
But this year, after being wholly cancelled last year, Kalamazoo moved online. I don't have to leave home to attend, and I'm not stuck at the conference when there's nothing on that I want to hear. So I signed up. I also signed up for the Tolkien fringe, likewise online.
And I've said enough that I think I'd best leave the actual fringe conference for a later post.
The Tolkien scholars invaded the International Congress on Medieval Studies about 20 years ago, initially under the leadership of Prof. Jane Chance. This event is held annually in May by Western Michigan University, which is in the town of Kalamazoo. As a result, the congress is never called by its name. It is called "Kalamazoo." As I found as soon as I heard of it, you just have to know what the metonym means.
Kalamazoo is an appropriate place for Tolkien scholars to be: Tolkien was himself a medievalist scholar, and medieval influences and styles are all over his fiction. There'd been occasional papers on Tolkien in earlier years, but now there were several full sessions - a paper session at an academic conference is 3-4 papers by different people on putatively related topics, stuffed into a 90-minute time slot. And for several years, there were more sessions every year, not all of which were all that medievalist; there were panel discussion sessions; and also there were play readings, there was music, some serious and some satiric. Tolkien began to take over Kalamazoo.
But all did not remain well. A few years ago the conference organizers blew the whistle and limited the formal Tolkien group to a few, like 3, sessions per year, although they also began accepting Tolkien sessions proposed by others. So the Tolkien group started up its own annual fringe conference. That's what was today. The main show starts on Monday.
I've never been to Kalamazoo. Two main reasons: one is that, unlike many Tolkienists, I'm not much of a medievalist. Most of the rest of what goes on is outside of my expertise. The other is that Kalamazoo is cleverly located far from major airports. It's difficult and time-consuming to get to if you're from far away. My priority is Mythcon. It's tricky to add a hard-to-reach congress of huge scope (it lasts a week, longer if you add the fringe) and limited personal interest to that if your budget or time is restricted, and mine has been.
But this year, after being wholly cancelled last year, Kalamazoo moved online. I don't have to leave home to attend, and I'm not stuck at the conference when there's nothing on that I want to hear. So I signed up. I also signed up for the Tolkien fringe, likewise online.
And I've said enough that I think I'd best leave the actual fringe conference for a later post.
Wednesday, May 5, 2021
a shavian mystery
Looking through the biography of Winston Churchill by Roy Jenkins (2001), and reading the part about Churchill's truly unfortunate involvement in trying to prevent the abdication of King Edward VIII, I find a transcript of a strange letter - Jenkins mentions "the rashness of content and the jauntiness of tone, in sharp contrast with the note of measured respect in which he normally addressed his sovereign" - encouraging the king to hold out against pressure to abdicate and naming some potential allies he should enlist.
It's not clear if one of these is intended to be the person named in point 5 of the letter: "For real wit Bernard Shaw's article in to-night's Evening Standard should be read. He is joyous."
I wonder what Shaw said, and indeed whether it had anything to do with the abdication at all - it could have been "oh, you must read this funny article," irrespective of anything else Churchill was saying. I'm still wondering.
There's nothing about this letter in Frances Donaldson's biography of the Duke of Windsor (1975), which I happen to have - the inscription shows it was a high-school graduation present from my aunt - but Donaldson does give context, that Jenkins doesn't discuss, that reveals how futile Churchill's intervention was. By the date of the letter, 5 Dec. 1936, Edward had definitely made up his mind to abdicate, though Donaldson says that Churchill's influence "temporarily weakened the King's resolution." (Churchill came to dinner with the king - Jenkins says the previous day, Donaldson says on both days.) Donaldson even says at one point that the king had already rejected the participation of Lord Beaverbrook, one of Churchill's suggested allies ("He is a tiger to fight. A devoted tiger! Very scarce breed").
But what of Shaw? Donaldson never mentions him; Jenkins says nothing else either. I consulted the monumental biography of Shaw by Michael Holroyd (v. 3 of 4, 1991). All he says of the abdication is that Shaw made "an approving reference" to it in the play he was writing at the time. Holroyd does, however, devote a couple of pages to recounting Shaw's rather peripatetic friendship with Churchill.
If the research libraries were open, I might be able to track down the original article - I doubt there will be microfilms of the Evening Standard (which was one of the papers of Lord Rothermere, another megalomaniac press baron like Beaverbrook), but if there's a collected edition of the complete journalism of Shaw it might be there. But they're not open, so it's moot for now.
It's not clear if one of these is intended to be the person named in point 5 of the letter: "For real wit Bernard Shaw's article in to-night's Evening Standard should be read. He is joyous."
I wonder what Shaw said, and indeed whether it had anything to do with the abdication at all - it could have been "oh, you must read this funny article," irrespective of anything else Churchill was saying. I'm still wondering.
There's nothing about this letter in Frances Donaldson's biography of the Duke of Windsor (1975), which I happen to have - the inscription shows it was a high-school graduation present from my aunt - but Donaldson does give context, that Jenkins doesn't discuss, that reveals how futile Churchill's intervention was. By the date of the letter, 5 Dec. 1936, Edward had definitely made up his mind to abdicate, though Donaldson says that Churchill's influence "temporarily weakened the King's resolution." (Churchill came to dinner with the king - Jenkins says the previous day, Donaldson says on both days.) Donaldson even says at one point that the king had already rejected the participation of Lord Beaverbrook, one of Churchill's suggested allies ("He is a tiger to fight. A devoted tiger! Very scarce breed").
But what of Shaw? Donaldson never mentions him; Jenkins says nothing else either. I consulted the monumental biography of Shaw by Michael Holroyd (v. 3 of 4, 1991). All he says of the abdication is that Shaw made "an approving reference" to it in the play he was writing at the time. Holroyd does, however, devote a couple of pages to recounting Shaw's rather peripatetic friendship with Churchill.
If the research libraries were open, I might be able to track down the original article - I doubt there will be microfilms of the Evening Standard (which was one of the papers of Lord Rothermere, another megalomaniac press baron like Beaverbrook), but if there's a collected edition of the complete journalism of Shaw it might be there. But they're not open, so it's moot for now.
Tuesday, May 4, 2021
remembering the cold war
I was reading historical accounts of the earlier decades of the Cold War, and remembering what it was like to live through it.
We really did have drills at school in which we huddled on the floor underneath our desks for a specified period, 60 or 90 seconds, while our teacher patrolled the room to ensure we were doing it properly. I doubt that, as a small child, I really understood what it was for, but in retrospect to protect yourself from the Bomb that way seems pathetic. I suspect it was drills of that sort which generated the exchange in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy,
We were told that Communism imposed totalitarian control over life, and that specifically it was a politico-economic system that abolished private property.
This was perhaps a misleading way of explaining it to a small child. I knew that our house was my parents' property, but the only form of private property I was actually familiar with was my own, which consisted of my clothes, and my toys and books. If Communism abolished private property, it therefore seemed to me that, under it, I would have to live in some sort of dormitory with strange boys, and we would get all our clothes out of a communal drawer. Yech!
I had never had to share my clothes - as the oldest child in the family, I never even wore hand-me-downs, though my brothers did - but I had lived, at camp, in dormitories with strange boys, an experience I found utterly unappealing. So I was firmly anti-Communist.
Which reminds me that I had read somewhere that Barry Goldwater supported making school year-round. I was 7 years old, so that was enough that I was opposed to Barry Goldwater too.
We really did have drills at school in which we huddled on the floor underneath our desks for a specified period, 60 or 90 seconds, while our teacher patrolled the room to ensure we were doing it properly. I doubt that, as a small child, I really understood what it was for, but in retrospect to protect yourself from the Bomb that way seems pathetic. I suspect it was drills of that sort which generated the exchange in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy,
'I thought,' he said 'that if the world was going to end we were meant to lie down or put a paper bag over our head or something.'Of course, what we were afraid of, that might bring these bombs, was Communism. So what was Communism, and why was it bad?
'If you like, yes,' said Ford.
'Will that help?' asked the barman.
'No,' said Ford.
We were told that Communism imposed totalitarian control over life, and that specifically it was a politico-economic system that abolished private property.
This was perhaps a misleading way of explaining it to a small child. I knew that our house was my parents' property, but the only form of private property I was actually familiar with was my own, which consisted of my clothes, and my toys and books. If Communism abolished private property, it therefore seemed to me that, under it, I would have to live in some sort of dormitory with strange boys, and we would get all our clothes out of a communal drawer. Yech!
I had never had to share my clothes - as the oldest child in the family, I never even wore hand-me-downs, though my brothers did - but I had lived, at camp, in dormitories with strange boys, an experience I found utterly unappealing. So I was firmly anti-Communist.
Which reminds me that I had read somewhere that Barry Goldwater supported making school year-round. I was 7 years old, so that was enough that I was opposed to Barry Goldwater too.
Monday, May 3, 2021
the pandemic that (perhaps) never ends
One on my reading list has pointed out that, the more the virus flourishes in - at the moment - India and other Asian countries, the greater the likelihood that a new genetic variant will emerge that is immune to and unaffected by our vaccines, either completely or partially enough to be significant. The actual likelihood of this happening is uncertain, because we don't know enough about the virus's evolutionary patterns, but it's certainly more than zero and becomes higher the more transmission is going on.
This is not a point I'd previously directly considered, though I certainly know that it's possible.
In which case, the person points out, we'll have to start all over again with the lockdowns and the development of a new vaccine.
And what I say is: if we get to that point, then the pandemic will never end. Because there are three reasons why it's dragging on as long as it is, and only one of those reasons is slowness and inefficiently in the distribution of vaccine. The other two are 1) failure of a sufficient number of people to abide by lockdowns and other safety procedures; 2) failure of a sufficient number of people to get the vaccine.
And if we have to start all over, the number of people too weary of all this to either abide by safety procedures or to get the new vaccine will only increase. What they can't grasp is that rigid adherence for a long enough period is the only way to end this. If you give up because you just want it to go away, it never will.
I've been reading, for instance here, that countermeasures are being dropped too quickly and not enough people are getting vaccinated. A few more weeks should do it, the writer says, but it's not happening. And yet, as the writer doesn't say, that applies only to the U.S. and assumes nothing more virulent comes from overseas, which of course it will if it exists at all.
The original writer says that, considering the possibility of a renewed pandemic, we should therefore take advantage of our newfound freedom to do things, because it may not last. And to an extent that's good advice. But everything I've read about "so what can we do now?" talks about balancing: the risks - because the vaccine isn't 100% protective and there's too many unvaccinated still spreading virus around - against your personal need to do these things. The risk seems constant; it's the extent of the need that allows you to take greater risks.
Those needs are usually expressed in psychological terms - there's a limit to how long you can stand being cooped up at home all day - and here, as an extreme introvert, my needs are low. Back last fall, when the virus transmission increased dramatically, I cut out the few things I was going: supplementary grocery shopping (in addition to our weekly pickup order) in person, and getting takeout meals from indoor restaurants. Once I was vaccinated, I resumed those things. And I'm also going back to the gym, which I ceased when the pandemic started last March, not in the fall (to be fair, that's when the gyms closed).
But not much more. I've had exactly one outdoor dine-in restaurant meal. My brother and I are planning a day's travel expedition when he visits next month, and that will involve more meals. I'm prepared to attend socially distanced, preferably outdoor, concerts when they resume, like Menlo's potentially in July. (The San Francisco Symphony just now got around to telling me, as a subscriber, something I already knew from news reports, that they're going to start a few indoor but distanced concerts in May and June, but I doubt I'll go: too much nuisance getting there.)
Two more things I am definitely not attempting until and unless things markedly improve. 1) overnight car trips: too much still shut down, and too many logistical hassles also involving my advancing personal health issues. 2) Airplane flights. That's the one area where I don't trust the conventional assuring wisdom, in this case that the air circulates so it's OK to be cooped up with strangers for hours. I don't trust it because I have too much personal experience of catching nasty colds and flus from airplane rides.
This is not a point I'd previously directly considered, though I certainly know that it's possible.
In which case, the person points out, we'll have to start all over again with the lockdowns and the development of a new vaccine.
And what I say is: if we get to that point, then the pandemic will never end. Because there are three reasons why it's dragging on as long as it is, and only one of those reasons is slowness and inefficiently in the distribution of vaccine. The other two are 1) failure of a sufficient number of people to abide by lockdowns and other safety procedures; 2) failure of a sufficient number of people to get the vaccine.
And if we have to start all over, the number of people too weary of all this to either abide by safety procedures or to get the new vaccine will only increase. What they can't grasp is that rigid adherence for a long enough period is the only way to end this. If you give up because you just want it to go away, it never will.
I've been reading, for instance here, that countermeasures are being dropped too quickly and not enough people are getting vaccinated. A few more weeks should do it, the writer says, but it's not happening. And yet, as the writer doesn't say, that applies only to the U.S. and assumes nothing more virulent comes from overseas, which of course it will if it exists at all.
The original writer says that, considering the possibility of a renewed pandemic, we should therefore take advantage of our newfound freedom to do things, because it may not last. And to an extent that's good advice. But everything I've read about "so what can we do now?" talks about balancing: the risks - because the vaccine isn't 100% protective and there's too many unvaccinated still spreading virus around - against your personal need to do these things. The risk seems constant; it's the extent of the need that allows you to take greater risks.
Those needs are usually expressed in psychological terms - there's a limit to how long you can stand being cooped up at home all day - and here, as an extreme introvert, my needs are low. Back last fall, when the virus transmission increased dramatically, I cut out the few things I was going: supplementary grocery shopping (in addition to our weekly pickup order) in person, and getting takeout meals from indoor restaurants. Once I was vaccinated, I resumed those things. And I'm also going back to the gym, which I ceased when the pandemic started last March, not in the fall (to be fair, that's when the gyms closed).
But not much more. I've had exactly one outdoor dine-in restaurant meal. My brother and I are planning a day's travel expedition when he visits next month, and that will involve more meals. I'm prepared to attend socially distanced, preferably outdoor, concerts when they resume, like Menlo's potentially in July. (The San Francisco Symphony just now got around to telling me, as a subscriber, something I already knew from news reports, that they're going to start a few indoor but distanced concerts in May and June, but I doubt I'll go: too much nuisance getting there.)
Two more things I am definitely not attempting until and unless things markedly improve. 1) overnight car trips: too much still shut down, and too many logistical hassles also involving my advancing personal health issues. 2) Airplane flights. That's the one area where I don't trust the conventional assuring wisdom, in this case that the air circulates so it's OK to be cooped up with strangers for hours. I don't trust it because I have too much personal experience of catching nasty colds and flus from airplane rides.
John Oliver read my mind
"The Covid vaccines: the end result of the world's greatest scientists working around the clock to save countless lives, immortalized in a card we'll all definitely lose in a month. Vitally important, but also too big to fit in any standard wallet. Way to fumble at the one yard line, science." - John Oliver
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