Folklore: Santa Clause

As writers like Nissenbaum have pointed out, the celebration part of Christmas is a 19th/20th century creation. The Puritans associated Christmas with high Anglicanism and paganism (or rather, they associated anything high Anglican with paganism). Even the Victorians, much to my dismay, were not as Christmas-oriented as they are often portrayed. Yes, Queen Victoria introduced German customs into the holiday, but the Nutcracker image of a Victorian Christmas is, according to my sources, an image of the time period rather than the reality.

In any case, the Santa Clause image appeared in America in the 19th century but didn't take off until the 20th. Washington Irving used this image in this fiction, and Clement C. Moore--a friend of Irving's--practically invented the standard description with "A Visit From Saint Nicholas." In Moore's poem, Santa has a "broad face and a little round belly/That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly/He was chubby and plump." He also smokes. Moore additionally named Santa's reindeer (although Rudolf wasn't added until 1920).

Despite Irving and Moore, the man who really popularized the Santa Clause image in America was Thomas Nast, a German-born illustrator. (By the way, both Irving and Moore also have German, or rather Dutch connections. As you can see below, there are distinct differences between the British or Celtic Father Christmas and the German Father Christmas.) Nast created his illustrations for Harper's Weekly (amongst other magazines) between 1860 to 1890. As well as Santa Clause, Nast is responsible for the donkey and the elephant as Democrat and Republican symbols; Nast is definitely an example of "high" or at least medium culture seeping into the lore of a nation. Rather impressive influence for one guy!

The Nast/Moore/American image of Santa is different from British versions: for a comparison, check out Lewis' description of Father Christmas in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and see the images below. However, like Nast and unlike Moore, Lewis makes no overt attempt to associate Father Christmas with St. Nicholas. The connection has pretty much disappeared these days although it remains in books and on blogs explaining the origin of Christmas symbols. Unlike the Thanksgiving-Mayflower story, there would probably not be a Santa without a St. Nicholas first, but Santa, in this day and age, has gained his own image and persona.

There are many folk stories and performances surrounding Santa, the most prevalent being that children should be allowed to believe in Santa as long as possible. Pretending Santa exists is a deliberate, hmmm, fib that kind parents allow their children to believe for the sake of the holiday.

And I sort of see it. Except when I don't. Believing in Santa, at least for me, wasn't exactly the same as believing in, say, aliens. (Aliens might be out there.) I asked my mom if Santa was real when I was about five. Some kids at the bus stop had told me he wasn't. I already knew the answer, so when she reluctantly said, "No," I didn't have a fit and start crying. I went, "Oh, okay."

On the other hand, it would have been nice if I could have believed some jolly, rich, old uncle was paying for the gifts under the Christmas tree. I was the kind of kid who felt guilty about everything (and I mean, everything) and naturally, the money my parents spent on my gifts got added to the list.

On the other other hand, I can't imagine pushing the idea of Santa Clause very hard. People in my childhood household talked about Santa, we selected gifts for our Santa lists from the Sears Roebuck catalog, and I put out milk and cookies (although that was really more of a joke), but my parents never presented Santa as an actual possibility. "Santa" always seemed to be said in inverted commas. Even before my fifth year, I never believed in a North Pole hide-out or reindeer or a guy sliding down the chimney. I didn't not believe. I just didn't have any reason to believe (other than the guilt thing).

Do kids believe? Or do they really know, in their heart of hearts, that Santa is Mum & Dad? Do parents still spin elaborate tales about Santa's time traveling abilities? Or has Santa become an image and only an image: have your picture taken with the red-coated symbol?

Literary/Popular Appearances: Clement C. Moore's "A Visit From St. Nicholas" naturally. Grinch in How The Grinch Stole Christmas wears the traditional Santa Clause outfit. The awesome Bones' episode "The Santa in the Slush" uses multiple red-coated Santas, and there's a very funny Due South episode where a number of Santas, reindeer, and Elvises ("I said elves, you fools! ELVES!") wander around the police station.

On a far more literary note, Tolkien wrote and illustrated Letters to Father Christmas. Tolkien's Father Christmas (to the left) is more German than British/ Celtic (to the right). There's also the hilarious William Dean Howells' story "Christmas Every Day," although the main character there is a Christmas Fairy rather than Santa Clause. And I mustn't forget the famous editorial: "Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Clause" by Francis Pharcellus Church.

Whatever the image--symbolic or decorative--Santa adds a lot to the festivities!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

"R" is for RealWhoDunik (Roosevelt)

What I read: Murder in the Oval Office by Elliott Roosevelt.

"R" contains a plethora of mystery authors: Kathy Reichs (who, despite my love of Bones, I have not read); Ruth Rendell; Kate Ross (author of the very good Julian Kestrel books); Mary Roberts Rinehart; Gillian Roberts; Laura Joh Rowland; and Deanna Raybourn whose Lady Julia Grey books I've just begun.

I checked out an Elliott Roosevelt mystery on the mistaken assumption that I was checking out one of Margaret Truman's novels. Not that I customarily confuse Roosevelt with Truman: my thought was "mystery novel about politics? this must be from that series . . ."

It wasn't. Elliott Roosevelt's books star Eleanor Roosevelt as the detective while Margaret Truman's detectives appear to vary. Elliott Roosevelt's mysteries take place in a historical time period replete with historical personalities. Margaret Truman's novels, from my brief exposure, are more about the political/Washington setting than the historical one.

I found both authors fairly unreadable. This is mostly because politics do not interest me in and of themselves. That is, while I might be interested in a particular time period or country, I don't feel the same way about political people and locations. Reading Murder in the Oval Office is like reading People magazine: very little mystery; lots and lots of name-dropping (and then Eleanor met the young, brash Lyndon B. Johnson!).

Margaret Truman's mysteries aren't riddled with name-dropping--the president of Murder in the White House is entirely fictional. Rather, her mysteries are riddled with political minutiae. Reading the beginning of Murder in the White House is rather like reading a Tolstoy spy novel: twenty billion people from twenty billion organizations conferring in little groups throughout the White House and . . . yaaawwwn.

The political murder mysteries I do like are by the mystery writing team, Emma Lathen (as R.B. Dominic). Emma Lathen is better known for her Wall Street mysteries starring John Thatcher. Her political mysteries are mostly out of print. I like them though. Like in her economic mysteries, she focuses on "domestic" crimes, employs humor, and uses a detective who, while important (a Senator), isn't high profile.

Politics is always best dealt with indirectly.

Folklore: A Re-examination

I am scheduled to teach Folklore & Literature this Spring. It is not clear whether the course will get enough students to run. I comfort my ego by reminding myself that my English Composition students do ask me, "Are you teaching Literature next semester?" (Literature is the other required English course; the answer is, "No, BUT . . ."). Electives, unfortunately, don't have a high cache at community colleges and have a particularly low cache in the current economy (get in/get the degree/get out).

Whether or not I get the opportunity, I have found posting about folklore this fall extremely helpful. I'm a big believer that you can't teach something until you teach it. I did tons of research on folklore, collected massive numbers of articles and short stories, created detailed lesson plans . . . all of which would have been useful but all of which, now that I've had a chance to actually present the material, I need to alter.

In fact, I'm actually grateful that I didn't teach the course this fall although yes, I really would like to teach it one of these days.

In any case, I decided that there aren't enough direct links between New England literature and folklore to justify making them. That is, although Melville may have been influenced by scary monster stories as a child which led him to create Moby Dick, the link is extremely tenuous (it's easier to make these kind of links with Shakespeare although those links may be just as shaky).

I also decided that although folklore fascinates me all by itself, finding itty-bitty folkloric symbols in stories just doesn't. It never has. I'm all about formal criticism, but I think the story matters more than the itty-bitty symbols (and that kind of analysis always strikes me as rather desperate).

This doesn't mean I have to throw out my material, folk or literary. I just need to morph it slightly. This isn't difficult because what I've been aiming for all along is the flexibility of ideas (I just didn't know that till I "taught" it).

Here's what I mean:

Human beings tend to categorize things. Categories make stuff easier to remember. So, historically-speaking, in Europe, you've got Ancient Civilizations, the Dark Ages, the Medieval Age, then the Renaissance, the Enlightenment, etc.

As C.S. Lewis tried to point out long before it was cool to point out, the real historical experience wasn't like that. Ideas that we think of as "Renaissance" appeared much earlier. Attitudes that we think of as "medieval" continued until much later. Art, music, literature, and ideas don't exist in tidy little boxes before and after which they cease to function. Same with people; there's a great scene in Josephine Tey's The Daughter of Time where Grant, the police inspector, realizes in exasperation that Thomas More, chancellor for Henry VIII, was six when Richard III was king (and therefore, would have had no direct adult knowledge of Richard). And Ellis Peters consistently has her characters refer to the days before William the Conqueror. (The books take place during the civil war between King Stephen and Empress Maud.)

Two boxes for literature are "highbrow" and "lowbrow." "Highbrow" literature is academic, snooty, non-linear, and doesn't sell. "Lowbrow" is often raunchy, usually genre-based, narrative, and does sell. (Sorry, a bit of my bias is showing here.) "Highbrow" and "lowbrow" attitudes definitely exist in our culture whereby one group will pour scorn on the tastes of the other group.

However, in reality, nothing takes place in a box. I recently had a very interesting discussion with a student who wrote his research essay (for my composition class) on Thomas Wolfe's edited work. The student was refuting the idea that an edited work is no longer "pure" and therefore, the author is no longer a "genius." (I remember a very silly English teacher telling me that Mozart was a genius, because the notes just came out of him, but Shakespeare wasn't because Shakespeare worked on and edited his plays.)

The student and I discussed the difference between writing and editing and also how writers are influenced by other writers. Coleridge and Wordsworth, for example, wrote poems at the same table, trading ideas and sometimes even paper. (This is one reason, by the way, that I dislike placement writing tests. I'm all about students "paddling their own canoes," but 99.9% of business and creative writing involves some kind of feedback. Even if I work alone, I'm influenced by what I read and the rejection letters I receive. The idea that writing should take place in some kind of timed bubble is ridiculous.)

I believe that images, ideas, and words--whether "high," "low," or "middle"--have this kind of flexibility. Just as writers feed off and trade ideas with each other, mediums and genres feed off and trade ideas. Something that starts out as "literary" ends up as popular or low. Something that starts out as folk becomes literary, specialized, or sanctified. Ideas float about.

Take stories about magic. These stories show up in folklore. They show up in movies. They show up in the fantasy genre. They show up in literary works (where they become "magical realism," rather than fantasy). They creep into music and into art (the Pre-Raphaelites). Nothing stays still. Van Gogh's The Starry Night, for example, shows up in a song by Don McLean. Economists call this "liquidity"; as O'Rourke explains it, "Liquidity is the Wall Street word for having things you can do with your money and being able to do them." Creative liquidity would be having places (forms, genres, mediums) to play out ideas and being able to do so.

And these floating-about ideas color our perception of new works. "Puff, the Magic Dragon" was not about marijuana, but everybody believed it was. The cultural perception was more powerful, in many ways, than the reality, and the cultural perception became its own piece of folklore.

Consequently, the ideas that show up in folklore are flexible ideas that may have originated elsewhere and may show up anywhere else, altering the way new ideas are written about. With this in mind, I intend to keep more or less the same material I've already collected but broaden my scope to include material that is not technically folklore. (I will also continue to post; I've only posted about a month of material so far!)

To conclude, as an example of cultural intermingling, here are titles from various television shows. Where did they come from? What ties do they have? I've listed potential answers in a comment (there may be more than one answer for many of these).

From Lois & Clark:

The Ides of Metropolis
Fly Hard
Tempus Fugitive

From House:

TB or Not TB
Sleeping Dogs Lie

From Stargate:

The Devil You Know

From Due South:

They Eat Horses, Don't They
Hawk and Handsaw
You Must Remember This
The Man Who Knew Too Little

From CSI:

Cats in the Cradle . . .
Scuba Doobie-Doo
And Then There Were None
Anatomy of a Lye

From NCIS:

The Good Samaritan
The Truth is Out There

From X-Files:

Ghost in the Machine
How the Ghosts Stole Christmas

Q is for Quality (Quattlebaum)

What I read: Grover G. Graham and Me by Mary Quattlebaum.

There aren't many "Q's" when it comes to fiction authors. I'm sure there are loads of "Q" fiction authors in the Library of Congress, but "Q's" in local libraries tend to accompany one to two shelves--at the most.

At my local library, I looked over the two "Q" shelves in the adult fiction section and then went to look at the three or four "Q" books in the children's section. There I found Quattlebaum, and I decided that anyone with such an awesome last name deserved to be read.

The book is actually quite good. It belongs to the topic, "Fiction about orphan/foster children." Cynthia Voigt's Homecoming series comes to mind. Grover G. Graham and Me is told from a young foster boy's point of view. He is on foster home number eight or nine. There he encounters a toddler who reminds him of himself (this is never stated directly) and decides to rescue the toddler when the seemingly irresponsible mother comes to reclaim him.

The rescue part of the book is actually, realistically, quite short. It would have been interesting to see if the boy could have survived with the toddler for more than a day, but the book is really about the boy deciding to set down roots, not about the kidnapping.

The only slight snag is the boy's voice. This is actually a common problem with books told from a child's point of view. How do you make the child sound like a child without making him or her sound, well, boring? I'm not sure that children are too different from my cats: I'm hungry. I'm bored. Is there anything to do? Are we there yet? Can I go out and play?

I mean, how much critical thinking actually goes on? I don't remember much from my own prepubescence, but then, I've always liked getting older. I never wish myself back to my own youth.

My lack of memory (or desire to remember) may be why I don't write children's books. C.S. Lewis, for example, may not have liked children very much, but he vividly remembered his childhood. His child characters, therefore, although adult-like in many ways, have responses that are rooted in childhood's common experiences. For instance, there is a delightful passage in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe where Lucy "got the feeling you have when you wake up in the morning and realize that it is the beginning of the holidays or the beginning of summer." I remember reading that as a child and going, "Yes! Yes! That is the best feeling in the world."

On the other hand, C.S. Lewis provides his children with far more authority than your average child has--which is kind of the point. But "realistic" fiction (which, I have complained elsewhere, is sometimes terribly unrealistic) can't make that trade-off. In real life, children don't have power. Consequently, "realistic" children are given far more introspective thoughts about their powerlessness than I think they probably have.

But then, a lack of introspection would make such books pretty uninteresting. When I'm reading books of this type, I simply increase the age of the heroes or heroines in my mind: the hero isn't eleven, I tell myself; he's thirteen. And then I have no problem with the story at all!

P is for Pathos (Paton)

What I read: Cry, the Beloved Country by Alan Paton

I read this book for my church book club. I confess that my initial reaction was to run out and find the cliff notes: to do anything but actually read the book. My reaction was largely due to the jacket summary which stated, "[T]he story reaches a height of tragedy which has seldom been equaled in contemporary fiction."

If anything could turn me away from reading a novel, that little blurb would be it.

To digress a bit, I've never been a big fan of tragedy for tragedy's sake. In high school, I detested Steinbeck's The Pearl; disliked A Separate Peace; refused to read The Red Pony; found Tess completely ridiculous; and still consider Ethan Frome one of the stupidest novellas ever written.

On the other hand, I quite liked Shakespeare's tragedies; enjoyed Lord Jim; applauded Lord of the Flies; and even liked the movie version of Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men (the one with Gary Sinise) when I finally got around to watching it.

After some thought, I determined that I don't mind--and sometimes even like--tragedy based on individuals' deeds gone wrong as opposed to tragedy based on subservience to fate.

That said, it is hard to know which category Cry, the Beloved Country falls into. I did read it very slowly since it is so sad. However, it is also heart-warming and beautifully written.

Cry, the Beloved Country has a lyricism that I've noticed in Alexander McCall Smith's Botswana novels; I've wondered if McCall Smith read Paton or if the land itself seeps into the writing of those who have lived in Africa. In many ways, it is interesting to compare Paton to McCall Smith, not because they are writing the same kind of stuff but because their perspective on Africa is separated by fifty years of change. McCall Smith is more optimistic, but his books have the same sense of awesome (in the biblical sense) sadness one finds in Paton: a feeling of overwhelming sorrow swallowed up in an expanse of space (I don't mean to sound flip because I really don't feel flip, but the song "I'm Going to Go Back There Someday" in The Muppet Movie conveys the sense I'm talking about).

To return to Cry, the Beloved Country, the novel's most astounding characteristic is Paton's focus on individual human emotion. The story takes place against a context of severe oppression, yet the fundamental, true emotions of the father, Jarvis, and the various people the father meets are never ignored in favor of the larger picture. This makes the book human, real, universal. It makes the context more comprehensible as well as more appalling because it has not been swallowed up in political rhetoric. One of Paton's finest qualities is that he is not willing to placate the context with clear-cut/easy explanations and solutions. So many people in the novel are good people just trying to do their best. This makes the book indescribably touching.

And the overall point is subtle, yet sure: good occurs when individuals decide to do good. I've run across few pieces of literature, outside of the Bible, that present such a comprehensive picture of forgiveness followed by acts of kindness. It is stunning and nothing like, well, the finale of Hamlet, for instance.

Cry, the Beloved Country is much better than "unequaled tragedy."

Stargate: Season 3 Review

Episode #1: Into the Fire—Second part of Season 2 ender: one of those episodes where things become incredibly convenient (the Goa'uld can be removed that easily? really?).

Episode #2: Seth—Pretty good episode combining cults with the ATF and Sam's dad.

Episode #3: Fair Game—A fun episode that proves exactly how distrustful the Goa'uld are . . . of each other!

Episode #4: Legacy—One of my favorites in which Daniel is infected with a Goa'uld killing device that makes him temporarily crazy. This episode also contains two of my favorite lines by Jack: "Why don't we just put a little sign at the base of the ramp saying, 'Gate travel may be hazardous to your health'? I can live with that" and--when Daniel wants to know why he feels better--"I have a very calming effect on stressed-out people." (In this episode, Jack uses the word "ascribe," correctly. I think this is proof that Jack is way, way smarter than he presents himself.)

Episode #5: Learning Curve—Interesting episode that if I think about too hard doesn't make any sense (why would any culture, even one that learns through nanites, give up ordinary educational techniques?). However, I enjoy the episode's willingness to explore the issue (and it has a great scene about painting).

Episode #6: Point of View—Alternate reality episode with alternate reality fun!

Episode #7: Deadman Switch—This is one of those episodes that I should enjoy more. It has a wisecracking bounty hunter, for one thing. But I just find it boring.

Episode #8: Demons—One of Stargate's few forays into Christian territory. One of the really, really smart things about the Stargate writers is, no matter what they may think personally about religion, they go out of their way to make it clear that the Goa'uld impersonate all-ready extant gods. That is, "Ra" isn't really Ra; he impersonates Ra. I like this, not just for the Christian episodes but for all of them (ancient and otherwise). It maintains a respect for all the religions that SG-1 encounter. (The disrespectful folks are the Goa'uld who distort and play on people's beliefs.)

Episode #9: Rules of Engagement—Lord of the Flies, with guns! Not really, but it's an interesting episode about young warrior men abandoned by their instructors. It's one of those episodes that I'm surprised Stargate never did a follow-up on (maybe in Seasons 5-10?).

Episode #10: Forever in a Day—Great episode with alternative realities blending into dream states. Think of the Buffy dream episode "Restless" although, no offense to Whedon's creativity, I like "Forever in a Day" better. (Buffy is just a little bit too wisecracking-girl in "Restless.")

Episode #11: Past and Present—Remember Linea? Here she shows up again young. Great episode about the connection between memory and personality.

Episode #12 & 13: Jolinar's Memories and The Devil You Know—Pretty good two-parter where the team goes to "hell" to rescue Sam's dad. They are accompanied by two of those dark-haired, muscular but wiry young Tok'ra guys. I like the brutal logic of the Tok'ra; it makes them good antagonists to SG-1 (specifically to O'Neill's brand of heroism) but not bad guys.

And Apophis is still alive! Does he ever die? (In Seasons 5-10 maybe.)

Episode #14: Foothold—Fun episode with Maybourne; this episode prepares us for the later episode "Shades of Gray" by making Maybourne somewhat more approachable.

Episode #15: Pretense—Okay episode that takes care of the Skaara storyline. Nice pay-off at the end.

Episode #16: Urgo—Very funny episode although Urgo, played by Dom Deluise, is highly annoying. Consequently, not a very funny episode I watch very often.

Episode #17: A Hundred Days—This episode really annoys me, and I've decided it's a girl thing. This is one of those "our intrepid male hero goes to a planet where he falls in love with a woman and thinks he will spend the rest of his life with her, especially since he's been cut off from home, but then the people at home contact him, and he leaves her for a higher purpose."

Believe it or not, it isn't the higher purpose stuff that bugs me. When the writers redid this plotline in Stargate: Atlantis, I was pleased that Sheppard never settled into his new life. What bugs me is the "have my cake and eat it too" syndrome. Man gets to play at being a house husband for a few days except, guess what kids, duty calls. I just think the male heroes should be more Sheppardy and stick to their guns (literally).

Episode #18: Shades of Gray—Nice undercover spy episode. Maybourne's willingness to believe Jack is a bit abrupt. However, although Jack is acting out of character, he isn't acting so out of character to be unbelievable. And Maybourne is arrogant enough to think he can win people over.

Episode #19: New Ground—Pretty good adventure episode with a bit of theology/science thrown in.

Episode #20: Maternal Instinct—Pretty good episode with another "superior" alien race. I don't actually mind Oma Desala being superior because (1) she has a philosophy to go along with her superiority; (2) she doesn't rub it in; and (3) she's Mother Nature, and yeah, Mother Nature is more powerful than technology (think Hurricane Katrina, Mount Saint Helen's . . . ).

Episode #21: Crystal Skull—One of my all-time favorites. It has Daniel running around as a "ghost"; Asgard music; Jan Rubes . . .

It probably seems like I have a huge crush on Michael Shanks, and he is a handsome man. But I think I mostly prefer the Daniel episodes because they are the more human-interest/archeology/language episodes. I don't particularly mind episodes with guns, but human-interest/archeology/language is more interesting.

In any case, "Crystal Skull" has one of my favorite Jack lines. While everyone is oohing and awing about the immense pyramid, Jack goes, "Can you imagine what it takes to heat this place?"

Episode #22: Nemesis—Season ender. The Asgard and the mechanical bugs. Well, I like the Asgard, and the mechanical bugs are creepy, but I prefer bad guys that can talk back.

Folklore: Thanksgiving II, Founding Fathers

Several weeks ago, I promised that I would return to America's Founding myths around Thanksgiving time.

I chose four founding tales to tackle; two are based on real events, one is a song, and one is completely fabricated (and scholars know, more or less, who the fabricator is). I maintain that all four tales are folklore, however, because they have become "common knowledge," the stuff people more or less think they know about American history.

Before I continue, I should state that I am not APPALLED by the historical inaccuracies of these tales. I've never really understood why elementary and high school teachers should be blamed because (1) they don't teach the intricate minutiae of historical events to their students; (2) the students don't remember intricate minutiae about historical events. The fact is, most people remember history as a group of stories, and it makes a lot of sense to teach it that way. Second fact is, if you can get students to realize that the Civil War happened before WWI and that the Revolutionary War didn't involve Texas, you are doing a pretty good job.

Case in point: how many people know that the pyramids would have looked ancient to Moses? Not many. Egyptian history has been lumped into pyramids, King Tut, Cleopatra, Moses, Ramses, and Queen Hapshetsut even though most of those elements are completely unrelated in time and location. Still, anyone who is at least passingly familiar with all those elements is doing a pretty good job.

Story 1: The Boston Massacre

It depends on your definition of massacre. Out of a crowd harassing a group of British soldiers, five were shot and killed; six others were wounded. That doesn't seem like much but population-wise, it was probably a fairly high percentage. The part of the tale that is often skipped is that the British soldiers were defended by later American patriots, John Adams and Josiah Quincy. The leader of the Brits and six soldiers were acquitted; two soldiers were found guilty of manslaughter. (I believe it was at this trial that Adams or Quincy gave the famous "people are guided by self-interest and why shouldn't they be?" speech).

In any case, the perception that the Boston Massacre was YET ANOTHER EXAMPLE OF BRITISH ATROCITIES was evidently not shared by all the colonists. I've always found it interesting that the long-term relationship between America and Britain survived in a far more stable fashion that that between, say, America and France.

Story 2: Paul Revere's Ride

A few years back, it became popular to get all snotty about Paul Revere, specifically, Longfellow's poem about Paul Revere, and to point out that he didn't make the ride in 1775 alone; he didn't even make it to Concord!

The problem with this type of snotty cynicism is that it masks the fact that Paul Revere actually was involved in the ride that bears his name. Folklore should never be entirely ignored! Revere and William Dawes started out to warn Concord that the British were going to seize the military supplies there. They met up with Dr. Prescott. Revere was captured by the British (that makes him a bona fide hero in my book!), and Dr. Prescott made it to Concord. A map of the ride can be found here.

Story 3: Yankee Doodle Dandy

Reportedly, the British troops used the song to mock colonists. A "doodle" refers to a dumb person; a "Yankee"--at the time--referred to a bumpkin or redneck (no jokes about the New York Yankees, please) while "macaroni" referred to a "dandy." The idea is that Yankee Doodle is such a stupid oaf, he thinks a feather makes him fashionable.

The colonists reportedly took the song and made it their own. This is actually a classic strategic move in political game-planning. In one of his books, P.J. O'Rourke refers to one of Ted Kennedy's convention speeches: "Where was George?" (in reference, I think, to the Iran/Contra Affair; "George" was Bush Senior). The opposition's response was "At home in bed with his wife, Ted."

The folklore part of "Yankee Doodle Dandy" is that the song has survived despite uncertainty about its origins and despite multiple variations (older versions have many more verses than the classic tune that is hummed around school yards).

Story 4: George Washington and the Cherry Tree

For those of you who have forgotten this story, George Washington as a child reportedly chopped down a cherry tree (because boys will do these sorts of things). When questioned by his father, he admitted that he was the culprit.

It never happened. It was completely made up, probably by Mason Locke Weems in the 19th century. In 19th century terms, the story makes sense.

First, it is typical for people to create "prequels" about national and religious heroes after those heroes have entered the sacred zone of communal memory (after they've been dead/gone for 30 to 50 years). Some of the gnostic texts--the ones intelligently thrown out by early Christian scholars--tell stories of Jesus's childhood where he heals birds and invites strangers to breakfast, etc. In England, at least when I was there at age fourteen, the tour guide at Glastonbury Abbey claimed that Joseph of Arimathea brought Jesus to England during his teen years. (I guess Walt Disney World was closed.) My mother, who is something of a Bible scholar, sat there with her lips tightly pressed together. She later told me that it was unlikely. But it makes a great story!

Second, during the 19th century many, many, many books were written about good little children who learned their lessons and proved their moral superiority (the brats!). They often pined away and died (think Little Nell). Twain writes a very funny parody of this in Huckleberry Finn: Read the part about Emmeline and her poetry.

As I mentioned earlier, I consider founding tales to be fairly innocuous. It is customary for people who have too many degrees and very little sense to be SHOCKED! SHOCKED! that people would actually invent and/or perpetuate stories in order to create/support an image of a nation or home or cause; it is also customary for said SHOCKED individuals to want the said perpetuation stopped RIGHT NOW (except, of course, for those stories that ought to be perpetuated for the good of our nation).

Welcome to human nature.

Not that I'm not a fan of "real" history (and yes, I think there is such a thing; it's like pornography: I know it when I see it). But I think getting after people for perpetuating exciting stories--like the Halloween scares--or identity stories--like alien abductions--is kind of like getting after companies for trying to make their products look good so people will buy them (horrible capitalists!): a total waste of time.

Whatever my personal feelings, I would ask my students these questions: What is the function of founding tales? What do they tell us about being American? Is it wrong for kids to be taught these stories? Is there a place for folklore in history?

Yes, I know, I know, it's kind of like asking them, "Is there a place for Walmart in history?" Maybe not, but it's kind of there, so live with it. But they are young, and I can't do their thinking for them.

Literary/Popular Culture Occurrences: Longfellow's "The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere" naturally (although this may be an occurrence of literature creating folklore rather than the other way around); a character makes a reference to the "real" story of the Boston Massacre in Daughter of Time by Josephine Tey. I actually watched Johnny Tremain to see if it got me anywhere; it didn't much except for the rather cute and orderly colonists-dressed-as-Indians. Booth does make a very funny reference to the Boston Tea Party in Season 3 of Bones: "I love this country. You know, I'll tell you something, if I was working law enforcement back in the day when they threw all that tea in the harbor - I'm good, I'm good. I would have rounded everybody up and we'd still be English."

Folklore: Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving, as it is known in America, is a relatively new holiday . . . despite the supposed link to Pilgrims and Indians!

Not that the Pilgrims and Indians didn't lunch together--only, at the time, the involved parties weren't thinking, "Hey, this is Thanksgiving!" although they may have been thinking of "thanksgiving." People are generally glad not to be dead from starvation.

Not to overwhelm anyone with semantics, but holidays usually become holidays once the thing they become a holiday for is long past. This is true of most commemorations: the Vietnam War Memorial was completed in 1982; the Korean War Veterans Memorial in 1995; and the World War II Memorial--for the war we won!--in 2004.

Commemoration always seems to occur when people fear that the thing being commemorated has already been forgotten (and it probably has).

Thanksgiving follows a similar pattern. During the Civil War, Sarah Josepha Hale, a kind of early Martha Stewart, became obsessed (sorry, there's no other word for it) with the idea of a National Thanksgiving Holiday. In many ways, she was the soul-sister of Martha Stewart since the creation of the holiday led to literally thousands of books on "how to cook the perfect turkey" and "holiday crafts that children will be forced to make and then scatter about your house!" (not that I minded the crafts as a child; I only became anti-crafts as an adult). Hale wrote for several women's magazines.

Hale was not particularly interested in Pilgrims and Native Americans. She was more interested in a holiday that would unite the United States (remember, this is pre-Civil War), specifically, a holiday that had New England origins. Harvest festivals and days of thanksgiving were part of early colonial life, and thanksgiving dinners were already being practiced in New England in the 19th century.

In October 1863, Lincoln caved, issuing a Proclamation of Thanksgiving for the last Thursday of November for Federal employees and DC residents. However, Hale died long before Congress passed Thanksgiving as a legal holiday in 1941.

Here's the commemoration bit: although Hale started campaigning for a Thanksgiving holiday in the mid-1800s, that holiday was not linked to Indians feeding poor starving Pilgrims until the late 1800s; by then, the Mayflower had become a founding story, and Native Americans were no longer a perceived threat in the United States.

In other words, the reality of the historical event had been--true to the exigencies of communal memory--forgotten; the real threat felt by both Pilgrims and Native Americans regarding each other no longer existed. (As several people point out in the Buffy episode "Pangs," you can't just apologize for wiping out a civilization plus it is against human instinct to simply roll over and play dead just because you feel very, very, very bad; the politically-correct Willow still fights the ghost Indians to save her friends.)

All this sounds much more cynical than I mean it to. I'm all in favor of Thanksgiving personally and although I sympathize with those who commemorate it as a National Day of Mourning (if commemoration is going around, why not commemorate the way one wants to commemorate?), I think the symbolic gesture kind of misses the point. Thanksgiving Day started out as Martha Stewart personified and ended up as football, turkey, days off from school, and Christmas shopping (all of which is not too far afield from the original gesture; I guess Hale had a point); the later linkages occurred long after any actual conquest took place.

Not to mention that communal memories that don't have a shelf-life of thirty years tend to create miserable places to live: hence, the Middle East.

On the other hand, I was raised on the Thanksgiving=Pilgrims & Indians story, so the link is there, however erroneous. I wasn't raised on it in a nasty way, and I never took it very seriously (it may help the cynics amongst my readers if I clarify that I have rarely in my life believed anything a teacher told me, but that doesn't mean I feel betrayed or anything [gasp! I was lied to in high school! gasp! gasp!]; I figure that in a democracy, obtaining and discerning correct information is my responsibility).

Misguided or not, I wasn't taught Thanksgiving folklore in a "We came, we saw, we conquered" sense but in multicultural sense. As Dave Barry writes in his A Sort of History of the United States, "Also we should keep in mind that women and minority groups were continuing to make some gigantic contributions"--which is completely patronizing (kind of Barry's point) but hasn't stopped many university programs from practicing this approach at the expense of more accurate/less "fair" history.

Literary/Popular Cultural Occurrences: I haven't been able to find any! I'm fairly certain that Harriet Beecher Stowe--the other Martha Stewart of the 19th century--referred to Thanksgiving Day in her writing. Otherwise, not including Buffy, I haven't been able to track down many literary/pop culture Thanksgivings that refer to the Pilgrim/Indian folktale. Either this is a folktale with relatively low flexibility or it is dying out. Football, turkey, and days off have taken its place: a triumph for secularism!

Stargate: Season 2 Review

Season 2

Episode #1: The Serpent's Lair—Nice pay-off to Season 1's cliffhanger.

Episode #2: In the Line of Duty—Quite good episode! It introduces Jolinar and the idea of the Tok'ra. I hadn't realized until watching the episodes in order, how early the Tokr'a were introduced (one thing I like about Stargate is the writers' willingness to explore cracks and exceptions in supposedly monolithic cultures. As Daniel constantly reiterates, our main characters really know very little about the Goa'uld).

Episode #3: Prisoners—Good episode introducing Linea. Linea is a great character and is paid off well later on. The only snag is the whole genius-who-can-master-an-entire-alien-computer-system-in-fifteen-minutes syndrome. I just don't buy it. Sci-fi uses this motif A LOT.

Episode #4: The Gamekeeper—Good episode with, of all people, Dwight Schultz. Now, there's another sci-fi acting junkie!

Episode #5: Need—A rather odd episode. It explains why humans don't use the sarcophagus, but the plotting is kind of random. Diplomacy just isn't that hard; Daniel should have been able to get his friends released days before he turned into evil-sarcophagus guy.

Episode #6: Thor's Chariot—Pay-off episode to "Thor's Hammer," which also introduces the Asgard in the most in-your-face deux ex machina resolutions I've ever seen. (It really is totally unbelievable.)

Episode #7: Message in a Bottle—One of those the-supposedly-evil-alien-that-has-taken-over-our-base-is-only-trying-to-communicate episodes. There are days I actually prefer the Independence Day version of aliens.

Episode #8: Family—Pay-off for earlier Chulak episode. Eh.

Episode #9: Secrets—The introduction of the Harsisis (kid born to two Goa'ulds). Switching Daniel's focus from his wife to the baby is an example of something I think Stargate does very, very well. They don't try to keep one single problem going for ten, or even three, seasons. In fact, by Season 3, they have disposed of both Skaara and Daniel's wife; this is smart. Giving a character the same problem for ten years may be "real life" but isn't good television.

Side-note: The actor who plays Mulder's half-brother in X-Files shows up as the reporter who suspects the Stargate secret and gets killed for his suspicions. The Stargate folks are serious sci-fi nuts (they know Classic Trek!). I wondered if this was a tribute to X-Files.

Season #10: Bane—Eh. I don't mind episodes with children, but I don't really get into The Feisty Helpful Street Kid motif.

Season #11 and Season #12: The Tok'ra—Pretty cool introduction of a not-completely-trustworthy ally and the wonderful Carmen Argenziano as Carter's dad and Tok'ra-to-be.

One thing I love about Stargate is the casting. I think it is inspired. The writers avoid existentialism (they never make the claim that all alien races look and/or act alike), but they use casting to remind the reader what group you are dealing with. The majority of the male Tok'ra are dark-haired, muscular but wiry young guys who all have the same dark-haired, muscular but wiry look. It is visually smart casting.

Season #13: Spirits—I didn't care for this episode the first time I saw it. I kept hearing "Message! Message! Message!" Rewatching it, though, I very much enjoyed the guest star: Rodney Grant as Tonane.

Season #14: Touchstone—Episode with the second Stargate. Other than guest-starring the awesome Tom McBeath as Maybourne, it's kind of a throw-a-way.

Season #15: A Matter of Time—An interesting reflection on time moving at different speeds, but that's about all.

Season #16: The Fifth Race—I love this episode for the ending. First, I like the Asgard. Second, I like Jack being the focal point of Asgard-human relations. Third, I love the Asgard music.

Season #17: Serpent's Song—Fascinating episode with Apophis played by the stellar Peter Williams. I don't watch it often because it's so sad: as the Goa'uld starts to die, the host reemerges; the host has been controlled by Apophis for over 2000 years and is completely confused. The part where Daniel says the Egyptian prayer-for-the-dead for the host is non-saccharine touching.

Apophis almost enters the realm of ambiguous bad guys, and I like ambiguous bad guys as long as the good guys don't forget "this is a bad guy." On a side-note, one of my favorite Stargate: Atlantis episodes involves "Steve," one of the Sheppard-named Wraiths. Steve is used in an experiment and then dies. Sheppard's reaction isn't to beat his chest and say, "Oh, the Wraith aren't our enemy after all/we're just as bad!" but he does evince concern for Steve. It's a great episode.

Season #18: Holiday—One of my absolute favorites with Michael Shanks playing both Daniel and Ma'chello. One of the things I really love about Michael Shanks playing multiple characters is that he will subtly insert verbal differences, like pronunciation. So, Shanks as Ma'chello (in Daniel) pronounces "Goa'uld" differently than Shanks as Daniel (in Ma'chello). Shanks is completely consistent.

Season #19: One False Step—Odd but not totally awful episode. We get to see Daniel and Jack yell at each other and then make up (guy fashion) which is always inexpressibly amusing.

Season #20: Show and Tell—Not a bad episode except for the glaringly stupid decision to go to a planet of invisible terrorists who can sneak undetected through the Stargate. But then, if they didn't, the episode wouldn't have worked.

Season #21: 1969—I really like this episode. I'm a fan of time travel episodes in general, and I get a huge kick out of, well, everything, including Jack's interview with the 1969 Cheyenne Mountain CO where he refers to himself as "Captain Kirk" and then as "Luke Skywalker." I also love the part where the team is locked up in Cheyenne Mountain; a suspicious guard comes in and says, in Russian, "Are you Soviet spies?" Daniel, who speaks seven languages, shrugs and says, "Nyet." Jack glares at him. As he is being escorted out, you hear Jack say, exasperated, "Nyet?!"

The best part, however, is the actor who plays the young General Hammond. He is so pitch-perfect in terms of behavior, voice, and appearance, I looked him up to see if he is related to Don S. Davis. He, Aaron Pearl, isn't, but boy, is he fantastic! (By the way, I just learned that Davis died in 2008, so I'm feeling very, very sad.)

Season #22: Out of Mind—Season ender with rerun flashbacks (have I mentioned how boring flashbacks are? I'll rewatch entire episodes six, seven, eight, nine times, but episodes with flashbacks bore me silly). The premise is completely ridiculous (why on earth would villains, who torture without compunction and have mind-reading devices, bother to concoct elaborate subterfuges like building replicas of the hero's hometown, etc.?). However, one of the refreshing things about Stargate is that story is more important than message and even more important than good sense! There's never the self-consciousness that I sense when watching Star Trek or Whedon's stuff. It's like the director and writers go to work every day and go, "This is so much fun! What a great way to earn a living! Let's do it again!!"

O is for Okay (Oke)

What I read: The Bluebird and the Sparrow by Janette Oke

Janette Oke writes religious romances. They are similar to Grace Livingston Hill's romances: the religious context is clearly Christian evangelical but in a rather ecumenical way. Christian Light. People don't swear or behave badly, but there isn't a whole lot of theological discussion going on.

This lack of theological discussion doesn't make these romances nonreligious, however. The books' problems usually center on the heroine's need to change her behavior or attitude in some way. She does this through religious instruction, and there is nothing unrealistic about the instruction or the change. The Bluebird and the Sparrow, for instance, revolves around sibling jealousy and the need for one sister to accept herself before she can accept others. It is a perfectly legitimate religious problem and makes a perfectly worthy plot.

It just comes across as rather, well, flat.

Not boring. The book was an easy read. It made good points. In many ways, it was like sitting down to a long chat with a smart, down-to-earth aunt. But I was left thinking, "Why is it that religious fiction often can't capture the transcendental nature of religion?"

It isn't the subject matter, per se, and even if it were, religion shouldn't be any more off-limits to fiction than, say, romance. And it isn't that the transcendental isn't felt by the writers; it is just so darn hard to express.

The counter-approach--writing that is filled with analogies and metaphors and Yoda-type phrases--isn't much better. Hesse may be a better writer than Oke, but I don't consider him more readable.

There are books that capture the transcendental, but they remind me of a line from Murder Must Advertise by Dorothy Sayers where Wimsey remarks that for some reason, good advertising copy is always written with the tongue firmly in the cheek. Sincerity leaves the copy sounding flat. Likewise, to capture the awe of a religious conversion/experience, the event has to be approached sideways.

Fiction books that capture that transcendental awe:

Passage by Connie Willis
The Monk Downstairs by Tim Farrington
The Path of Dreams by Eugene Woodbury
C.S. Lewis's fiction
Ellis Peters' mysteries
The Great & Terrible Quest by Margaret Lovett

Stargate: Season 1 Review

I see very few television series through to completion. Like with books, somewhere around Number 3 (novel, season), I get tired of the whole thing.

There are exceptions, such as shows that only have three seasons. I have also seen all of Star Trek: Next Generation and all of Star Trek: Voyager.

Recently, I decided to watch all of Stargate and all of X-Files. In both cases, I made it to about Season 4. But I figured, Stargate and X-Files are my two favorite cult-classics, so why not finish them?

I've been rewatching Stargate Seasons 1-4, preparatory to watching all of Season 5, all of Season 6, all of Season 7 (rather than just a few episodes here and there) and the remaining seasons (10 altogether). And I figured: why not take notes?

So, here is my review of Stargate SG-1, starting with Season 1. I don't give summaries, just reviews:

Episode #1: Children of the Gods—Pretty good! I've seen it several times. It is "R" rated based on some National Geographic nudity. The nudity isn't offensive, but it is completely disconcerting because Stargate is about as PG a show as I've ever encountered. In any case, Episode #1 is a good "movie" (Stargate movies are, in general, pretty good).

Episode #2: The Enemy Within—Pretty good episode which introduces why the Goa'uld can't just be removed from human hosts (this ups the ante for the rest of the show). Disappointing death of Kawalsky (played by Jay Acovone, one of my favorite "bit part" actors).

Episode #3: Emancipation—Okay episode with a feminist theme and a Star Trek feel. (In general, Stargate episodes are surprisingly non-Star Trek). I suppose some episodes just have to be done, sci-fi-speaking.

Episode #4: The Broca Divide—I really like this episode, mostly for the line where Daniel Jackson says, deadpan, "Oh, you poor man," when Jack confesses that Carter tried to seduce him (in cave woman mode).

Episode #5: The First Commandment—Well-written episode but not one of my favorites. God-complexes just don't interest me that much.

Episode #6: Brief Candle—If you ignore the completely non-professional behavior (Jack should never have eaten the food in the first place), this episode is a good showcase of Richard Dean Anderson's talent. It makes me want to keep track of Richard Dean Anderson and see if he behaves the same way, as he acted, when he is 80.

Episode #7: Cold Lazarus—Okay episode that gives more background to Jack's family history (with his son). This is one of Stargate's very touching episodes (they actually have several); it edges on saccharine but doesn't go too far.

Episode #8: Thor's Hammer—Good episode up until the end. I have very mixed feelings about the end. On the one hand, I agree with Jack that you do what is best right here/right now. On the other hand, dismantling another planet's defense system for the sake of your friend . . . eh . . . that's not so good. (This particular problem is identified and addressed in a later season.)

Episode #9: The Torment of Tantalus—I quite like this episode with its WWII sequences. Young Ernest Littlefield is played by the same actor who plays Dr. Beckett (McGillion) in Stargate: Atlantis. This is disconcerting because the personas are totally different. (For fans, McGillion does have a Scottish background.)

Episode #10: Bloodlines—I rarely rewatch the Chulak episodes, but of course, I had to this time. It's an okay episode. The little boy who plays Ry'ac is seriously adorable.

Episode #11: Fire and Water—One of my absolutely favorite episodes! In fact, this episode is the reason I bought Season 1. I think Michael Shanks does a fabulous job in this episode. Shanks tends to either be ultra-laconic or ultra-hyper. Here he is ultra-hyper, and I love it.

Episode #12: The Nox—Not one of my favorite episodes, but it's nice to watch Armin Shimerman play a sweetie-pie rather than a loathsome principal or Ferengi.

Episode #13: Hathor—Eh. The degree of control exercised by the Goa'uld varies considerably . . . depending on the needs of the writers.

Episode #14: Cor-ai—I quite like this episode; it deals with forgiveness and whether Teal'c should be punished for what he was in the past or forgiven for what he has become. This is also the beginning of many, many episodes where Teal'c is looked after (anointed, perfumed, painted, washed) by women. I'm thinking Christopher Judge wasn't complaining.

Episode #15: Singularity—Another favorite which borders on saccharine. Also, one of the few episodes that goes out of its way to remind us that, for all her military background, Carter still has motherly instincts. (Stargate does this less with its women than a lot of shows; in general, Carter is one of the most truly emancipated—not just token emancipated—women on television).

Episode #16: Enigma—The introduction of Garwin Sanford as Narim. (Garim Sanford is also in Stargate: Atlantis as Dr. Weir's boyfriend who gets dumped when she goes to Atlantis. I was sure he'd been on Voyager too; I was wrong, but he is a sci-fi acting junkie.)

"Enigma" is a pretty good episode, but it does introduce another race with "superior technology" that runs around calling Earthlings "children." This is very annoying. The race's "adult" superiority isn't based on a higher moral standard or better government, just better technology. That is, if they didn't have the technology, they would be just as vulnerable to the Goa'uld and just as unhappy about it. Therefore, their sneers at Earthings' war-like reactions are pretty obnoxious. The so-called superior race isn't unwarlike because it has grown beyond war; rather, it is unwarlike because it can afford to be. I prefer the Asgard, who would help if they could but can't due to treaties and problems at home.

Episode #17: Tin Man—Very fun episode. I was completely surprised by the ending because I thought the episode was going in a Star Trek direction and it didn't! (I've never really understood the putting-people's-brains-back-into-their-heads resolution.) This episode is very nicely paid off in a later season.

Episode #18: Solitudes—Introduction of the second Stargate which is never really used by the show in a way that leads to anything. Eventually, it is destroyed; apparently, too many Stargates=problematic show. I kind of agree.

Episode #19: There But For the Grace of God—One of my favorites. I really like alternate reality type shows where you see the same cast and location, only from a new perspective. What stays the same? What changes? Very cool.

Episode #20: Politics—Episode with rerun flashbacks. The narrative that holds the flashbacks together is really good; the political arguments against the Stargate program are well-written and delivered. The flashbacks are boring; flashbacks always are (but these types of episodes give everyone in the studio a break).

Episode #21: Within the Serpent's Grasp—First of a two-parter. Both parts are well-conceived. It does get funny after awhile watching the team run down corridors, knowing it is the same corridor over and over and over again. I tried not to think about it too hard.

Another Lawsuit for Star Trek

Case 3: "Suddenly Human" (ST:NG, Season 4) in which a young human man, Jeremy Rosso, is discovered on an alien (Talarian) ship. In a Light in the Forest twist, the crew learns that Jeremy, or Jono, was "adopted" by his captors between 5-7 years old and has fully assimilated to his adoptive culture. Despite the existence of Jeremy's human grandmother, Admiral Rosso, Picard ultimately decides to return the young man to his adoptive parent.

Plaintiff: Admiral Rosso
Defendants: Captain Picard, Starfleet

Argument: Admiral Rosso is appalled that her grandson, and only living relative, would be returned to the people who attacked a Starfleet outpost, resulting in the deaths of her son and his wife. She believes the Enterprise should have returned Jeremy to human space as soon as he was discovered. She allows that the political situation was tense but argues that the Enterprise could have easily outmaneuvered and outrun the Talarian ship.

Decision by Judge Kate: No damages against Starfleet. Captain Picard's actions, however, will be submitted to a review by Starfleet. Although the decision to return Jeremy to his Talarian father was likely the correct one, Captain Picard did not allow for an adequate examination of Jeremy Rosso's mental state or his Talarian home life. Captain Picard is, after all, a diplomat and has gotten himself out of stickier situations!

Pending Starfleet's decision, Admiral Rosso will not be awarded damages. This will not, of course, prevent Admiral Rosso from making Captain Picard's career a very uncomfortable one (like maybe the Enterprise finds itself sent to the most distant outposts for the next year).

New Show, New Season, New Movie

New Show: Castle

The new show I started is Castle, starring Nathan Fillion and Stana Katic. I'm a sucker for crime shows, and I am big sucker for crime shows that deal with one story per episode (instead of a continuing soap opera). So Castle is right up my New York alley.

I'm also a fan of Nathan Fillion although it has taken me awhile to adjust to him in the role of multi-millionaire, high-living writer. I think it took Nathan Fillion a bit to adjust as well--the first disc of Season 1, he's rather hyperactive--as if he is trying out the role of "debutante" New Yorker. By disc two, he has calmed down considerably. It helps that he is supported by the expert Susan Sullivan, the respectable Molly Quinn, and the flawless Stana Katic. Personally, I think Stana Katic is a better match for him than Morena Baccarin (from Firefly)--leather rather than lace.

The only oddly bothersome thing is the clothes Castle wears. Nathan Fillion is a really, really big guy. As a comparison, he is taller than Boreanaz and much heftier. As Castle, he wears multi-millionaire, hip writer clothes. Don't get me wrong--the clothes are nice and look good, but every time I watch an episode, I go, "Oh, come on, he looked much more comfortable as Mal."

One last note: ABC must recruit its actors from the East Coast. (Wasn't ABC based on the East Coast at one time? Is it still there? Does Castle actually film on location?) Canadian actors, like the folks from Nero Wolfe, keep showing up as extras. I love it!

New Season: Season 4 of Bones

Yup, that's Season 4, not Season 5. I'm a season or more behind everyone else.

And it's good--naturally. I was actually quite impressed by the massive rewriting of Zach's history in the first episode. It truly made no sense that Zach had ever murdered anyone, and I guess the writers wanted to redeem themselves.

I was also surprised by my reaction to Zach not being in the lab. I quite like the character, but I didn't think his absence would make that much difference to the show. The constantly changing research assistants are funny, but I feel there's a hole in the lab-dialog where Zach used to be. It's almost as if the writers need a more-Brennan-than-Brennan persona to bounce dialog off of. Without it, they seem to flounder.

However, the Bones/Booth dialog is, as always, right on the money. I must say that being able to do what those writers have done--create a couple who act like they are married without constantly holding out the possibility that they will be--is rather remarkable. It may come down to chemistry. One of my favorite scenes with Bones and Booth is when they are investigating the Beauty Pageant murder. When they enter the dance studio, they are muttering to each other like usual. They sit down side by side, a woman turns to them and says, "So which one is yours?"

Of course, Bones and Booth react in a flustered way, but the truth is, for those brief seconds, they look extremely natural together: not lovey-dovey, just husband-and-wifey. Unlike so many couples on television, I have no difficulty believing that Bones and Booth could actually make a marriage work. They may be different, but their chemistry doesn't come from warring opposites (however much they might believe that); it comes from two people who share an underlying world view, respect each other, and have little to no difficulty communicating.

New Movie: Twilight

After watching what has to be the longest movie in the history of movies . . . okay, that's not fair but it is a very, very slow movie that takes exactly one hour and twenty-two minutes to actually present a plot problem.

The very, very slow set-up does involve some good stuff: the misty setting is quite nice; the new-kid-in-town uneasiness is well conveyed; two television regulars--Michael Welch and Jose Zuniga--show up; Anna Kendrick as Jessica has good enough comedic timing to have her own show; and Robert Pattison does a respectable job as a tortured vampire. There's even a hint of Dexter: well, Dexter without an adult job, interesting internal commentary, phenomenal acting skills, and a well-balanced, if oblivious, girlfriend. I like my sociopaths to know they are sociopaths. (Dexter is surrounded by people who, if they knew who he was, would be horrified; he knows this and also knows that he doesn't really want to be around people who wouldn't be horrified.) However, in many ways, the movie is Edward's. (And Pattison's ability to convey self-amusement is a huge bonus here.) This is good because Kristen Stewart's acting skills are, shall we say, eh hem, very untried. Since I consider Bella the most boring character in literature, there may be some cosmic justice here. Stalky or not, both Jacob and Edward are more interesting. In fact, Jacob's interactions with Bella are quite teen-plausible; I spent half the movie, going, "Wow, it's so sad that this girl couldn't have a relatively normal life with one I-have-a-dark-past-but-I'm-still-a-normal-guy boyfriend!"

The other half of the movie, I spent going, "Why would anybody in their right mind go back to high school?" At one point, Edward says, "We like to start in a new place as young as possible." Have you thought of . . . being freshmen in college, maybe? (Newsflash, silly family, but people between 25 and 45 are much harder to place than people between 1-24.)

The suspension of disbelief was just too great. I don't know if I could have ignored it in the book; I couldn't ignore it in the movie. No matter how good high school was, anyone who voluntarily goes back to age seventeen has major psychological growth issues. It's creepy. Way high creep factor. Creepier than stalking. Made me appreciate Angel all over again.

N is for Not Forgotten (Niffenegger)

What I Read: The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger.

This is actually one of the few books I've read in my life that I couldn't read out of order.

I read the ends and middles of books all the time. It doesn't hurt my reading experience. A good ending will only convince me to read the rest of the book. A bad ending tells me I'm wasting my time. (For example, I read the ending of Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell before I read the book. There was no way I was going to invest in that many pages and be disappointed in the end; that's a lot of my life there that I could use rereading Agatha Christie, thank you very much. I'm happy to say that I ended up reading the whole book, and it is very much worth it.)

With The Time Traveler's Wife, out of order reading doesn't work. This is not because the chapters are chronologically out of order; a few are, but the book more or less follows a chronology. The reason is that the main character, Henry, is not terribly appealing in the early chapters, but you are supposed to believe that he is. You don't know why if you read the book out of order.

Basically, The Time Traveler's Wife does something fairly remarkable: gives you a fated, true-love relationship that doesn't bypass the difficulty of the actual relationship.

One of the problems with many TRUE LOVE stories is that TRUE LOVE is equated with EASY RELATIONSHIP. That is, TRUE LOVE is taken to mean "I don't have to explain myself, and the other person is never hurt, and everything is perfect." The seduction of books like Twilight is the idea that once all the horrible external bad people/events go away, the relationship itself will be a no-brainer.

This is not true. I've never believed it, not even with Romeo & Juliet. (My rose-colored glasses phase of teenagerhood had a relatively short life.)

One of my favorite parts of The Time Traveler's Wife is when Clare finally meets up with her "future" husband at his actual age. This is a man she has known since she was six, and she has always known him as mature and stable and, if occasionally depressed, comfortable with the complexity of the world. When she meets his 27-year-old self, she's thrilled, but somewhat taken aback by how . . . how, well, young he is.

In other words, sure, she's getting the man she'd been in love with all her life and sure, she knows that he will be head-over-heels in love with her, but they still have to do that whole getting-to-know-you-and-live-with-you-and-adjust-to-your-presence thing. And they have to keep doing it. Even after he becomes the man she first fell in love with, she still has to live with him and vice versa.

Having said all this, I would not have read this book if I wasn't doing this exercise, yet I'm glad I did. The actual reading isn't difficult. I read the book in less than a week (for why it has taken me so long to post for "N," see below), but I nearly put it down at the 1/3rd mark with a note to self: That's enough for a review.

However, by then, I was caught up in the relationship, so I stuck it out, and it was worth it. But if you are like me, and you dislike "saga" tales, be warned; you may feel that you are being inundated with saga at one point. That's because, unlike real life, many things are being learned and thrown at you at once. Take a breather and keep going. Remember: time eases pain, explains paradoxes, and puts context to past behavior.

Explanation for why it's been so long since "M"--When The Time Traveler's Wife came out several years ago, I got it out of the library; I never got around to reading it, but I thought about it a lot. I even bought a cheap copy from Goodwill, which I never got around to reading. So finally, I gave the copy back to Goodwill.

Then the movie came out, which I saw (it's okay; the director and script writer obviously value the book, but like with all books, it's hard to do justice to). And I'd already started this project. I got to "N," and I tried "Larry Niven," and I couldn't even get through a single page, Larry Niven was so boring, so I thought "Why not read Niffenegger?"

And every single copy at both the libraries I have cards for was on hold. Multiple holds--22 holds per copy. Seriously.

This is after the movie came out.

I can't complain. I had my chance beforehand. Still--sheesh, talk about establishing a connection between movies and sales. Although, the book may have been on hold because everybody was like me: we wanted to read it, not buy it.

So I finally got a copy last week, and I finished it last week.

I have already picked out "O" and "P."

Election Day, Smelection Day: Now is Always Better Than Then

It is customary to believe that people are less happy, less free, less everything now-a-days than they were in some glorious past. My theory is that the glorious past is always at least about 30 years old. That's because communal recollection only goes back 30 years. So when I was growing up (in the 80's), the 50's were perfect . . .

I'm not a fan of the glorious past because (1) I don't believe it ever existed; (2) NOW is so much better than THEN.

Here is my life NOW compared to what it would have been THEN--in this case, 150+ years ago:

I can read and write (this has not been true for most people--men and women--throughout history, discounting the Puritans' obsessive reading stats).
I am educated, and it was considered normal for me, a woman, to attend both high school and college.
I can own property, and I can sue people and/or have them arrested if they try to take it away from me.
I am allowed to teach, and although a few of my immigrant students find this unusual (a woman teacher!), nobody considers it abnormal.
My job choices are not limited to farm work, factory work, being a nurse, teaching little children, or service (maid, etc.).
I (still) retain the majority of my paycheck for my own use and can dispose of it at my own discretion.
I have never been threatened with jail because I was in debt/missed a loan payment.

I can vote and when I go (outside) to the voting booth, I do not have to wear clothes that cover my whole body and my face. (Actually, I can wear just about anything I want.)
I am not held at gunpoint while I vote.
I am not harassed for my views (if I discount pollsters, toads, and annoying phone calls).
I have never gained or lost a job based on my voting record.

I can live by myself, not with parents and/or siblings.
I am not married or have kids and although my hairdresser finds this odd, my lack of spouse and/or child has never disqualified me from getting a loan or a job. I have also never been sent to a mental hospital (yes, women without children have been perceived as unbalanced in the past). Some social pressure is still exerted--I sometimes think it would be easier to tell my hairdresser I'm gay than to try to explain that I am single, straight, and have no children (although it isn't the "single" thing that confuses people, it's the "no child" thing. This is actually one of the nice things about my conservative church: I don't have to explain why I don't have kids; I get more pressure from non-church sources. In general, we live in a society that still expects a womanly woman to have--and want--children).

Speaking of children, I'm not dead from being married at age 16, having had six kids in six years and finally getting infected in the aftermath of the last childbirth.

I'm not dead from scurvy.
I'm not dead from plague.
I'm not dead from smallpox.
I'm not dead from blood poisoning.
I'm not dead from tuberculosis
I'm not dead from consumption.
I'm not dead from malaria.
I'm not dead from diphtheria.
I'm not dead from diarrhea (no, I'm not kidding; dehydration caused by diarrhea can kill, especially infants).
I'm not dead from typhoid.
I'm not crippled from polio.

I have ready access to meat, and it costs a relatively small portion of my paycheck.
I have ready access to fruits and vegetables which cost me a relatively small portion of my paycheck.
I do not have to have a ration card.
I am not restricted in my diet by legal means (other than hard drugs, which I'm okay with).
I do have access to some drugs, such as aspirin and Neosporin.
I also have access to modern doctors and dentists. (This does NOT mean I have insurance; I don't. I just mean I have access to them, which is historically unusual. If I had to go to the emergency room, I could. For that matter, I save up and see an optometrist once a year.)

My religious beliefs have never prevented me from voting, getting a job, or renting an apartment.
I have never been harassed due to being Mormon (although I have gotten puzzled looks).
In the last 100 years in the U.S., Mormon meetings have never been invaded by federal troops.
In the last 100 years in the U.S., Mormon leaders have never been held at gunpoint—oh, wait, President Hunter was, but the gunman was crazy, and the gun was fake.

I lived in a state that has not endured war on its soil in the last 300 years. I realize this is not true of many places in the United States (and on earth), but it is still remarkable.
I have access to a plethora of information; I can fortunately access information about religions, jobs, politics, education, and books and, unfortunately, pornography, racist and Holocaust denial material. The unfortunate guarantees the fortunate. (Speaking of which, although I have been criticized on my blog, I have never been contacted by legal representatives for my rather innocuous blog's content.)
I have never been legally prevented from moving within and/or between states.
I have never been visited at home by a legal representative. (I was going to write "a legal representative has never come to my home in the middle of the night and questioned me" but actually "never been visited" is accurate. Legal representatives have stopped my car.)
I have never had to pay protection money or hire bodyguards just to survive my day.
I have never lived in a town or city where a fire was left to burn instead of being attended to by the fire department.
I have never lived in a town or city where police non-intervention in a crime was considered acceptable or normal behavior.
I have never had to bribe my mail carrier to deliver my mail.
I have no need to buy a gun, although I could if I wanted to.
I have never been prevented from entering a state or federal building.
I have never been prevented from watching a trial (but then, I don't try very often).
I live in a country of mixed races which just voted a black man as president (I'm not saying he was or wasn't the best option; I just think it's really, really cool!), and where people of many races (and both sexes) occupy military and political positions. (Forget, the last 150+ years; this is unprecedented in the last 50!)

I have never been prevented legally from buying anything I wanted (lack of funds, yes; legal intervention, no). This includes cars, books, medications, educational and religious materials.
I own a car (being able to own--and afford--transportation is unusual for (1) women throughout history; (2) most people in ancient civilizations, and (3) most Americans up to 1950).

I live (and am allowed to live) in reasonably hygienic conditions: I don't have to pour my urine and feces in the street; I don't have to bathe in other people's bath water. I CAN bathe on a daily/every-other-day basis; I do not sleep on the same bedding as my pets; I can wash my clothes on a more than yearly or bi-yearly basis.
And, believe it or not, I breathe relatively clean air (and I live in the city). I do not live in conditions where I am constantly breathing in coal dust nor do I live in conditions where, as my mother can attest, soot has to be cleaned off my walls every spring.
I have access to and can afford (at relatively low expense) to heat myself and cook for myself. (Not to sound all cavewomanly but "Fire--new!" and no, I'm not kidding. The most consistent factor of 19th century literature is how freaking cold everybody is all the time. In 1891 in Paris, Marie Curie lived in a single room with a "small stove that often lacked coal . . . I was obliged to pile all my clothes on the bed covers. In the same room I prepared my meals with the aid of an alcohol lamp and a few kitchen utensils" [from The Crimes of Paris by Dorothy and Thomas Hoobler]. And Curie would have been considered middle-class.)

Now, in many ways, I have had a good life and have lived in good places within the United States. But my experience is not that different from many Americans and members of industrialized countries—which is my point. Throughout history, most of the negatives listed above (things I haven't had done to me, haven’t had to tolerate) have existed as givens for most people. The fact that I live in an era and place where they are less likely to be true—or at least, there's an even chance that they are not true as opposed to true—is to me, remarkable! I'm so glad I wasn't born 150 years ago!!

Folklore: Halloween

Happy Halloween!!
(In three days.)

In terms of folklore, American Halloween--despite claims that it is tied to ancient Celtic and medieval European festivals--is a very recent invention.

Around Victorian times, Halloween in the United States began to involve private parties which would include fortune telling and apple bobbing. Themed costumes entered the picture in the 1900s, but costumes--and for that matter, begging--were associated more with Thanksgiving than with Halloween.

The link of Halloween to costumes and, specifically, to trick-or-treating by children didn't take place until the WWII era. The idea was to reduce adult pranking and general out-of-handness by concentrating on the child aspects of the holiday.

I grew up at the tail-end of this children's-oriented paradise. I remember going trick or treating, carrying pillow cases (none of those cutsy jack o'lantern shaped "bags"--those things aren't even close to big enough!), and I have a vivid recollection of my brothers discussing whether or not to go home and get my little red wagon, so (1) I wouldn't get tired; (2) there would be more room for the candy. When we did get home, we would count, categorize, and trade our candy. (Then, as now, I preferred chocolate to hard candy and just about anything to Baby Ruths.)

And nobody checked it. In fact, not only did nobody check our candy, people gave away seriously uncheckable stuff: soda, homemade caramel popcorn balls. I grew up in pure suburbia, and there were tons of kids on the street and tons of houses ready and waiting to hand out treats.

And then the scares started. Interestingly enough, the big scare--the Candy Man--happened earlier than I had remembered. The Candy Man, the murderer who used doctored Halloween candy to hide killing his own kid, committed his crime in 1974. As a testimony to the power of folklore, by the time I hit my late prepubescence (the early 80's), this isolated incident had taken over people's perception of the holiday. By the time I was twelve, Halloween had become what it is now (more or less): a day for parties, aimed at both children and adults.

Sure, there're still some trick-or-treaters out there, but the holiday does seem to have lost its non-commercial joie de vivre (maybe, I'm just getting old). Many movie buffs credit the 1947 film Meet Me In St. Louis as crystallizing the ideal mid-America old-fashioned Halloween. In the movie, the costumed children meet around a bonfire (in the street!); one of them runs off and pulls a prank (throwing flour at a neighbor man).

My childhood Halloweens didn't involve bonfires or pranks, but I realized, watching the movie, that the costumed children are completely unchaperoned; that freedom was part of my childhood (my childhood was basically Sandlot). Whenever I get trick-or-treaters now, they are almost always accompanied by adults. To be honest, I probably would accompany my kid too if I were a parent. But when I was young, Halloween really was a kids' night--our parents simply expected us to be home before . . . midnight, I guess. My parents weren't careless; they were products of the Depression-era. Since my siblings and I are all still alive, I guess that sense of security (or was it a sense of "if it isn't poverty or a bomb, it won't kill you"?) was justified.

And the truth is, there have been relatively few incidents of children being harmed on Halloween. The Proquest Newspaper search I used to locate the "Candy Man" turned up almost no other incidents of poisoning. I think I read somewhere that more kids are hurt from carelessly crossing the street while trick-or-treating than from "stranger-danger," but that could be propaganda by those companies that sell glow-sticks.

Factually incorrect or not, the surge of poison/razor blade scares had great impact. However, human beings are in general great adapters. Halloween didn't go away; it morphed. After the scares of the 1970's and 80's, at-home types of entertainment became more and more popular: for example, decorating one's house or yard for Halloween. To be technical, these "haunted" or "spook" houses are folk performances rather than folk lore, but with holidays, the two tend to merge: folk performances inform the way the holidays are written and talked about.

Literary/Modern Examples: Children's literature contains some of the best writing about Halloween, namely The Witch Family by Eleanor Estes and Jennifer, Hecate, Macbeth, William McKinley, and Me, Elizabeth by E.L. Konisburg (Konisburg references the folk performance of the costume parade at school). There is also a reference to Halloween pranking in Ghosts Have I Been by Richard Peck.

For media examples, there are the Monk and Psych episodes that deal with poison candy (the Psych episode just makes a reference, but the Monk episode uses the idea of poison candy as its central mystery).

Also, Home Improvement has several Halloween episodes in which Tim creates a "spook" house. This is part of Tim's repairman-persona; there are also several Christmas episodes where he competes with a neighbor man--not Wilson--on how many lights and elves and electronic reindeer he can put up. Although this seems to be entirely commercial, these types of displays are in fact largely folk-promoted. I could digress here into a discussion of the things people put in their yards, but it would get way off-topic. I mean . . . gnomes?