5 things make a post

1. Not quite a year ago, I was in Philadelphia, newly aware of my gluten intolerance, and appalled at the prospect of baking with multiple types of flours. F-ck bread, I said to a friend, more than once. I don't need it, and my life is better without it.

Fast forward to now, and I have upwards of six different varieties of flour in my fridge, and I have made three batches of cookies using Shauna James Ahern and Danny Ahern's AP flour mix. I think the most amazing ones so far have been these cranberry-pistachio rounds, which are very like shortbread, and are pure heaven straight out of the oven. I don't know if they'd be equally good with plain old white flour, but you should probably try them that way, and find out.

2. This year's Doctor Who Christmas Special is the best one ever. I might even watch it for a second time, just to appreciate it. Also, if you're new to Who, for the most part, this is a good entry point. You'll miss one of the running gags, but you'll see the brilliance of Pond and Eleven, and then you can go watch Series 5, and by the end, you'll understand the previously obscure gag about the centurion costume.

3. Sadly, the adaptation of M R James' "Oh Whistle, and I'll Come to You, My Lad" is as stupid as Doctor Who is brilliant. I like non-traditional adaptations (see my rapturous endorsement of the Doctor Who Christmas Carol above) -- but this is really just "Who's Got My Hairy Toe?" with James' name and title stamped on it; and John Hurt and Gemma Jones doing a Very Special Story about dementia. It's nicely filmed, and nicely staged, by which I mean that sea foam green is a good color for connoting creepiness, and that the prop bust that features heavily in the story is genuinely creepy (did they make it, or find it, I wonder?) But James is never maudlin the way that this story is, even if I appreciated the symmetry of describing someone with dementia as "the opposite of a ghost," a physical remnant of a dead person, rather than a spiritual one.

4. This review of Bush's Decision Points in the LRB is wonderful. And also horrifying.

5. Chicago writer Cliff Doerksen has died; and in celebration of his life, I offer you his take on the American history of mince pie.

Brave enough to be wrong.

I'm not sure I am, yet; but I would like to be, because the alternative is like running on top of a barrel in a fast stream.

This is me, just stating that for the record, that is the level of courage to which I aspire.

Reading "The Midnight Folk", by John Masefield

I shall get back to #reverb10 posting at some point.

This morning, I started reading John Masefield's The Midnight Folk, so a few observations on that:

I remember, the first time I read The Box of Delights, feeling confused by the presence of Caroline Louisa, and the Joneses, who were clearly so familiar to Kay Harker, and yet so unfamiliar to me. (It wasn't that I couldn't get a clear sense of them; I could! But I was still on the outside looking in, in comparison with Kay and the omniscient narrator.) I thought, at the time, that the problem was that Masefield was being a little careless because novels weren't his normal territory. This was lazy thinking on my part, since a glance at Masefield's Wikipedia page proves me wrong. So does his first novel featuring these characters. I haven't met either Caroline Louisa or the Jones family yet, but as I'm learning more about the characters so far, I'm moved to wonder at what point it became necessary to assume that in sequels and series books, authors needed to provide background material in case readers were new to the characters. Masefield does nothing of the sort in the sequel to Midnight Folk.

He also doesn't address physicality in the way that I think of as standard for children's books now -- the passage where we learn that the main character has a thin, plain face, or is not pretty, but striking; or where we learn that an antagonistic adult figure is going to be either fat, or so skinny as to be bony. Instead, I give you the passage where we learn more about Kay's governess:

The governess's Christian names were Sylvia and Daisy. Kay had read a poem about a Sylvia, and had decided that it was not swains who commended this one, but Mrs Tattle and Mrs Gossip. He loved daises because the closer one looked at them the more beautiful they seemed: yet this daisy was liker a rhododendron. She was big, handsome and with something of a flaunting manner, which turned into a flounce when she was put out.

It's a lovely bit of double character development, because we learn not only about Sylvia Daisy Pouncer, but also more about Kay Harker as well: that he loves daisies, and why, and that he thinks of other people in terms of flowers. Though there are clear delineations of masculine and feminine characteristics, the idea that femininity is anathema to males isn't there: a memorial for Kay's great-grandfather describes him as "manly in Fortitude, womanly in Tenderness."

On a related tangent, I tickled to learn that Abner Brown, the main male villain, is something of a landscape enthusiast -- as he explains, "I fell right plumb in love with this green countryside, so full of real old buildings; so I just didn't rest till I'd taken Russel's Dene, that Queen Anne Mansion, in the oak wood, where tradition says the Druids once practised their rites." Acquiring the building is certainly tied in with his own occult proclivities, but that's not the whole of it. How many villains can you think of who admit to falling in love with their surroundings?

One final note, for now: this is the first novel that I've read that seems to be centered around postcolonialism: in this case, the colonizing activities of Spain in South America, and the struggle of the South Americans to break free. Uncomfortably, this novel is about the treasure of the "great cathedral of Santa Barbara," which consisted of "church ornaments, images, lamps, candlesticks, reliquaries, chalices and crosses, of gold, silver, and precious stones," and I'm all too aware of the complacency with which these things are assumed to be unquestionably the property of the priests and bishops, rather than the rebel natives. On the other hand, Masefield writes that "the South American States were then breaking loose from Spain" without any trace of criticism or questioning of why they would want to do so. I'll be curious about how this develops as the story moves forward.

Christmas reading: John Masefield

In my last #reverb10 post, I vowed to start the day off right, rather than with the Internet, in bed. It felt very good to allow myself to wake up by reading for half an hour; and I realized, as I read, that I was freeing myself of some of the pressure to keep tabs on everything else going on, and allowing myself to start the day more gently. I didn't really realize that I felt such pressure -- but perhaps I do.

And I had a good book to read. When I was about 8, I stumbled on a PBS Christmas special, made the year before for the BBC. I'm quite certain that I was no more than 8, because I remember how careful I was to remember when the second part would air, a week later than the first -- because we had no VCR. (By the time the Lord Peter Wimsey adaptations that I loved so much came on in 1987, we did.) Here is the opening that I loved on sight:



You can actually find the whole series on YouTube, if you are patient about watching it in 10-minute increments.

I understood that it was based on a book, though I thought it surprising that the book was by John Masefield, whose poem "Sea Fever" I already knew and loved. (I cannot remember whether Star Trek introduced me to that poem, or whether "The Ultimate Computer," the episode in which it's first mentioned, was one of the first I saw, and which confirmed with no more doubt that Star Trek was the Best Thing Ever, to quote a poem about the sea.)

But it took me a long time to find the book that The Box of Delights was based on. None of my library systems seemed to have it, nor did anyone suggest anything like interlibrary loan to a 10-year-old elementary school student. I knew it must be a good book, because even the alternate title, When the Wolves Were Running, felt strange and wonderful -- how clever, I thought, to make the title of a book about a when, instead of a what. It wasn't until grad school that I found a copy in the library here, at the university, and read it through. I wanted my own copy, but had a terrible time finding one that wasn't horrendously expensive. Then the New York Review of Books published an edition, and my heart leapt, only to learn that it had been abridged. It was only on my recent trip to London that I was able to get hold of the unabridged version, published by Egmont, along with The Midnight Folk. And both illustrated by Quentin Blake! It couldn't get much better. I thought the latter was a sequel, but realized differently, this morning, as I read, that Kay Harker recognizes the name Abner Brown:

'So it's Abner Brown and his gang again,' Kay muttered. 'I am up against Magic, then, as well as Crime.'

I reprint this sentence purely because the casual recognition of fighting foes on two levels is part of what makes the atmosphere of Masefield's novel so lovely. But this morning when I stumbled over it, I frowned, and got out of bed to check the publication date of The Midnight Folk. Sure enough, it's the first of the two, so I shall put down The Box of Delights, but only to read Kay Harker's adventures in their proper order. There will still be time to reach the second (and watch the BBC series) before Christmas.

Note: The Guardian is featuring The Box of Delights as part of its Season's readings series -- if you, like me, are a fan of Christmas stories, take note!

Very Personal Ads, #1

Havi Brooks, who created the website and accompanying life curriculum at The Fluent Self, is a professional destuckification consultant. Her business partner is a duck named Selma.

Seriously, what's not to love about that?

I've been peering at The Fluent Self periodically for over a year, but only recently am I getting frustrated enough with my own obstacles that I'm ready to start actually experimenting with Brooks' strategies. One of them is asking for the things you want. No, no, not in the Prayer of Jabez "Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz" way. Things that can't simply be solved by money at the outset. Things like figuring out a way to accomplish something, or finding a collaborator, or just getting over obstacles of the self. Or asking for the perfect house to find you, which was apparently the impetus behind the first Very Personal Ad. Brooks writes that she needed "to make a regular practice of trying to feel okay asking for stuff. Even when the asking thing feels weird and conflicted."

I think I should experiment with the same thing. Seanan McGuire writes letters to the Great Pumpkin, that serve a similar purpose. I might try something like that, but I think I'll start without limiting myself to one addressee.

And for now, I'll start small, or at least, start short:

1. I have this bizarre habit of having a realization that clears up something I've been working on (most often in a dissertation-related context), and then having a strong instinct to get up and do something else, rather than following through. It's almost like I'm trying to prevent myself from actually taking full possession of the idea, once I've found it. Was that me, sneering at Emerson and his awareness of intellectual property a couple of days ago? Well, if I was sneering, then it was because I've been exhibiting the polar opposite tendency -- to refuse to even attempt ownership of the idea.

I'm getting better at not allowing myself to do this; at making sure that I get the clarity of the revelation down on paper -- most of the time. But I would really, really, really like to start aggressively taking possession of my own ideas and working with them, rather than running away from them.

And that's it for this week, in terms of VPAs. I'll look back at this one and write a new one next Sunday.

#reverb10 - Day 11: a very messy set of answers

December 11 – 11 Things What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life? (Author: Sam Davidson)

You can see by now that I can be awfully lax about these prompts when I choose to be. I'm not sure I can write the answers that I want to this one, but I can start.

1. Crushing self-doubt: I'm increasingly conscious of the fact that part of me has given up on myself. At the same time, I'm aware that this view is distorted -- and I can think of instances, in the very recent past, that prove to me that it's wrong. But there are also times when I'm surprised at myself; at my mere ability to focus. Friday I worked all day long on an editing project, moving steadily through 70 pages of text; and at the end of the day, I was both delighted and surprised, because I realize that I'd concluded from the start that I was wholly incapable of that level of focus.

2. A deep-seated fear that the work I do doesn't contribute to the rest of the world, or rather, isn't the contribution that the world needs most. With everything I see happening, from the hunger of people on the streets, to an increasing inability to use analytical reasoning, or willingness to display compassion, why does the world need me to dig up perspectives on economic development in 18th and 19th century Britain? It sounds, I know, as though I've read too many of those "the humanities are worthless" articles in the mainstream media. It also sounds as though I'm beating myself up for not being capable of being Christ himself on the cross, right here and right now. Not really a valid thing to beat myself up about, honestly, or even a good one, because that bit of scripture in Matthew (25:40, I think) about "even what you do for the least of my brothers, you do for me") can be interpreted, I think, as being also applicable in that even the least good things are still important.

I need to keep on exploring this one. Part of it is clearly just depression, but part of it *is* about my own engagement with the question, "What do the humanities have to offer the world today?" and I do have an answer to that. I'm just terrified to explore it, or not sure I'm capable of doing so (see item #1 above).

3. Less clutter. I think that the Christmas present I give myself should be an entire day for sorting through old papers, and getting rid of stuff I don't need. I've gotten better about not acquiring more junk, but I need to get better at divesting myself of old junk that remains.

4. Too much work at the wrong time, or not enough of the right sort of social activities. This is a complex one, all tangled up with the first two parts of this list, but also with my own shyness, and the problem of not feeling especially at home in this city. I've felt out of place here for years. This doesn't mean that I don't appreciate the marvels of living in a town with good options for gluten-free groceries, farmers' markets almost every day of the week (if you know where to look), and a poetry bookstore. But I'm conscious, especially now that I'm back from a quick trip to London, of how much I miss not only the SEL, but also the city itself.

I have friends here, who I like spending time with. I am lucky to have them close by, and I should take advantage of that fact. Setting up social activities is not procrastination by default.

That's four things. Supposedly, I need seven more. I'm not sure that I'm quite self-aware enough to identify the other seven.

5. Too much internet at the wrong time (or, maybe one of the things I don't need is a SmartPhone). I first started using the internet as a wake-up tool during my senior year of undergrad, when I would wake up, and crawl from one end of the bed to the other, where my desktop computer was, and dial up the internet to read Slate first thing in the a.m. Now I check my email, a couple of blog listings, and a friendslist on LJ, and Facebook, and Twitter. I'm embarrassed to admit that there's a bit of voyeurism in this: I want, quietly, to see the world bustling about. But doing this tends to start off the day with distraction, with an attempt to escape myself. It might be better if I started off the day by allowing myself to read a chapter of a book in order to wake up. That's still a form of escapism, but it's escapism where I feel more present, and not less. I think that I should try doing that for a week, starting tomorrow.

6. Cripes. I have no idea. I think I'll stop here, because the five things above are things that I *can* begin to deal with; and I suspect that as I deal with them, other things will become more clear.

ETA:

7. New Kid's post for today mentions jettisoning distance from family. Like her, I don't have a magic way of just choosing to end the distance between Seattle and London and the SEL, so I don't know how to do this. But I'd like to find a way, so I'm putting it here, for the record.

Tower Prep Review

I usually manage to watch about one 50-minute hour of television per week. In winter/spring that's Doctor Who; in early fall it's the Sarah Jane Adventures. I used to be a devoted Criminal Minds fan, but the writing has declined, and after they dropped JJ Jareau and made plans to minimize Emily Prentiss, there just wasn't enough there to keep me watching.

And this was why I was so excited when Seanan McGuire started blogging about Tower Prep.

It seemed like a great show at first, for all the reasons that Seanan mentions: atypically gendered roles, pretty good jokes, an intriguing plot: pretty perfect brain candy. I didn't mind if it was geared towards younger viewers.

But the plots of each episode have gone in directions that don't seem to be connecting, and aren't being followed up on. Each episode is a standalone that then just gets casually referenced later on. And the characters, who I originally liked, seem to be falling into fairly flat rotations of shtick, and turning into whiny, self-absorbed students. The most recent episode, Field Trip, featured them plotting to make their lab partners do all the work on an assignment so that they could work on their escape plan. Maybe I'm still bitter from being the lab partner who ended up doing most of the work in high school, but I wasn't impressed -- nor was I delighted with the continual mocking of geeky, opera-loving Fenton.

To be fair, there was a scene between Ian and Cal that was thoughtful and interesting, but it seems unlikely that we'll get that dynamic again, given what happened. Will we find out why Cal chose what he did? If we do, I'll be delighted, but I'm not counting on anything.

For me, the moment that said everything about how the show has fizzled since its opening was when Ray, Emily, and Fenton put their heads together at the end of Field Trip, and I thought "Man, I wish Tower Prep were about these three teaming up!"

I don't suppose the writers are going to humor me and change focus; but if they do, or even if Team REF does continue to work together, I'll be back. Otherwise, so long, Tower Prep. You are not even worth my $1.50 per week on iTunes.