Write Away

HAIL! ... and Farewell?

2011-12-31T19:57:00.000-08:00

My thanks to you who have done me the honor of becoming “followers” of Write Away. May your New Year be filled with happiness, prosperity, and worthwhile reading.

Since embarking on my self-publishing adventure in 2009, I have sold some 147 copies of Storm Approaching, 62 of Gold and Glory, 41 of Resolution. Of Miscellanea, published in November, I have sold 4. Sales of AGT come to 265, but it was published in 2001. I have recovered about half of the cost of publishing and advertising these books. This is not very good.

I started this blog on Jan. 6, 2010, to share humorous essays and to generate interest in my books.

The counting mechanism that Blogspot thoughtfully provides says that Write Away has been favored by 3,459 visits, which averages almost ten per day. That does not sound too bad. But no one not previously known to me has left a comment or written. No one has ordered a book from me via the blog. (Even my lavish :-) offer of a free copy of Miscellanea, made at the end of the post on December 10, got no response.) I detect no blog-related sales at Amazon or B&N. So I fear that many of these visits have been the result of random clicking on some item buried deep in Google, or perhaps attempts to find out more about namesakes, such as the actor (in Shawshank Redemption and others) or the prolific photographer and commentator on city architecture and local sports in Portland, Oregon.

The tribulations of a self-published author are only to be expected; those expectations have been fulfilled. The difficulty of publicizing one’s works, the reluctance of those who learn of them to risk money on a product lacking the imprimatur of agent and publisher, are obvious. Additionally frustrating in my own case is that I did have a very good agent for Storm Approaching and I have evidence, from disinterested reviewers and impartial readers, that a great many people would enjoy the Mercenaries series and And Gladly Teach and Miscellanea.

A reasonable man must ask how long to pursue a chimera. My current intention is to leave this site up but, barring some discernible response, to add nothing further. It seems a bit too much like talking to myself, which I do enough already.

I shall probably publish The Free Lands, the fourth volume of Mercenaries, in the summer or fall; although it needs much editing, it would be a shame to leave it merely as a pile of paper (675 sheets) on my bookcase. After that perhaps I’ll take up quoits.

Still, hope springs eternal, etc. etc., so let me conclude, with as much objectivity as an interested party can display, that if you like humor and satire you would indeed enjoy And Gladly Teach and Miscellanea; and if you enjoy fantasy-adventure tales that are light on magic, heavy on things military written by one who has devoted decades to the study of military history, you would like the Mercenaries series. I invite you to explore this blog to find information on and excerpts from my books, and many amusing essays, too.

And please feel free to write or leave a comment – or even buy a book.

Brian A. Libby / Faribault, MN brnlbb@gmail.com

The Blindex

2011-12-20T15:50:00.000-08:00

Here is a Blog Index to essays and excerpts, arranged chronologically so visitors may easily find them with a click or two.

ESSAYS

2011
November 1: History Repeats Itself? (on Libya)
October 10: An ‘Aria of Revenge’ a la Verdi
July 26: Lights! Cameras! Teach!
July 26: Project 1812: History for Kinesthetic Students
July 25 & 20: Historical Films
May 10: An Innovative Grading System
January 12: Evelyn Waugh on Educational Reform

2010
October 11: A Theory of Art
March 1: The LOTR Film Trilogy (Take That, Peter Jackson!)
February 21: Star Wars III: A Critique of “Revenge of the Plot”
February 15: The Test of the Future
February 7: Star Wars II: A Critique of “Tacky Clowns”
January 28: The Newest Members of the U.N.
January 18: Star Wars I: A Critique of “The Phantom Mess”
January 7: Just What the Doctor Ordered [on prescription medicines]

EXCERPTS FROM MY BOOKS

2011
March 17: “Consulting”: An excerpt from And Gladly Teach

2010
October 6: from Resolution
April 4: from Gold and Glory
March 7: from Storm Approaching
February 1: from And Gladly Teach

I welcome feedback, via comments here or e-mail. And perhaps you'll care to buy a book or two?

Merry Christmas, and remember: Taking life seriously is the first step to unhappiness.

WHY NOT GIVE THE GIFT OF...

2011-12-01T20:06:00.000-08:00

my books? The festal season approaches. Surely your loved ones, friends, business associates, etc. enjoy receiving books? And not just any books—not the sort one finds all over the place, in supermarkets and at airports and even in… Walmart…—but books that nobody finds in any stores at all, books reserved for discriminating cognoscenti, bibliophiles who frequent online emporiums like Amazon and B&N.com. This Christmas (or Hanukkah or Saturnalia or the festival of Sol Invictus), give your nearest and dearest one (or more!) of Brian Libby’s chefs d’oeuvre:

STORM APPROACHING – Part One of the celebrated MERCENARIES series.

GOLD AND GLORY – Part Two of the celebrated MERCENARIES series.

RESOLUTION – Part Three of guess what.
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AND GLADLY TEACH—A satirical look at life at a boarding school.

MISCELLANEA – Twenty-one essays sparkling with humor, satire, joie de vivre, jeu d’esprit, and occasional vicious sarcasm.
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Hasten to your favorite online bookseller! Note that Storm Approaching is available on Nook.

OR, order from the author. Signed copies will wing their way to you as soon as I can get to the post office. Brian Libby / 1000 Shumway Ave. / Faribault, MN 55021

Prices (including postage):

Storm Approaching, $17 / Gold & Glory. $20 / Resolution, $20/ And Gladly Teach, $15 / Miscellanea, $10. Cash, check, or money order.
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You can find sample chapters and much other information about these masterpieces right here on this blog.
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Now for some jokes. Here are a few quotations, allegedly authentic, from college athletics:

A football player received four F’s and a D. His coach told him, “You’re spending too much time on one subject.”

“You guys line up alphabetically by height,” said a Florida State coach.

“You guys pair up in groups of three, then line up in a circle.” The same Florida State coach.

On being asked if he had visited the Parthenon during his trip to Greece, S. O’Neal replied, “I can’t really remember the names of the clubs we went to.”

A boxing promoter speaking of a fighter: “He gets up at six every morning regardless of what time it is.”

C. Nevitt, explaining why he was nervous: “My sister’s expecting a baby, and I don’t know if I’m going to be an uncle or an aunt.”

Asked if his problem was ignorance or apathy, a player replied, “Coach, I don’t know and I don’t care.”
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Do not yourself be ignorant or apathetic. Energetically make an intelligent choice: buy books!
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The first person to send me an order for any Mercenaries book will also get a free copy of Miscellanea.

A Nomination

2011-11-29T13:43:00.000-08:00

If there are any other educational professionals (aka “teachers”) out there, or indeed anyone intererested in an important part of American history, you will be well rewarded if you take a look at http://becomingamerica.edublogs.org/, a site where you will find interesting and significant items on many aspects of immigrants and immigration in the history of the USA. I nominate this site for an Edublog Award (an “Eddy”) (http://edublogsawards.com/nominations/) in the category of Best New Blog.

History Repeats Itself? Let's Wait and See

2011-11-01T15:10:00.000-07:00

This blog does not discuss politics; but I was struck today by the news that an unknown engineering professor who has lived much of his adult life in the U.S.A. has been named interim prime minister of Libya. His name is Abdul (or Abdel) Rahim (or Abdurrhamin) al-Kib, (or al-Keeb, or el-Keib). (Apparently Mummar Ghadaffi is not the only Libyan whose name is difficult to transliterate. This must be a national problem. Perhaps Libyans should have been given Italian names during the colonial period.) He faces many challenges, not the least of which is the disbandment of the “three hundred militia groups” mentioned in the news report.

The reason I was struck by this news is that by pure coincidence the material I taught in my Europe 1870-1945 course today was the first part of the Russian Revolutions of 1917, specifically the February Revolution (in March) and the establishment of the Provisional Government headed by a moderate politician, Prince Georgi Lvov, who had little name recognition or popularity in the country as a whole. He was replaced four months later by Mr. Kerensky, who was replaced three months after that by Mr. Lenin—and the rest, as they say, is history.

I advised my students, as I advise you who read this, to pay attention to what happens in Libya in the months ahead. No historian will presume to predict the future. But it would not at all surprise me if we see Mr. al-Kib (etc.) vanish into the limbo of forgotten names—although with luck he will return to his work at the Petroleum Institute rather than receive a less desirable retirement package, such as dangling from a lamppost.

At any rate, it will be interesting to see if what happens in Libya follows a frequent pattern in revolutions, i.e. the replacement of the initial moderates by increasingly radical successors.
I certainly hope that Mr. el-Keib (etc.) succeeds in disbanding the 300 militias (who counts militias in Libya? is there a government agency?) and brings to that troubled land the advantages of a free, open, pluralistic democracy ,freedom of speech and of assembly, complete religious freedom, and cooperation with the civilized nations of the West.

I also hope I win the Powerball grand prize next Saturday.

To help this nice man achieve the popularity he will need if he is to succeed, Mr. al-Keeb (etc.) deserves slogans designed to rally the people to his moderate cause. Here are some, which I invite my Libyan readers to set to music:

1) His name is spelled Keeb, Keib, or Kib
But what the heck—he loves our Lib
ya. He is just the man we need,
So hail to thee, Kib, Keib, or Keeb.

2) He’s patriotic. He loves our Libya.
Right from his cranium down to his tibia.
We all should join his winning team:
Let’s get behind Abdul Raheem!

3) Abdul – Abdel – Abdurrahim
We hope you’re more than what you seem.
Disarm militias! Let freedom ring!
Then stage a coup and you’ll be King!

4) He’ll rally Libya. He’ll never fib ya
If you need humor, he’ll gladly rib ya.
I can’t think up more silly rhyme
But hail to Abdul one more time!

HOT OFF THE PRESS

2011-10-28T19:21:00.000-07:00

Miscellanea, my latest literary effusion, is available! Containing twenty-one essays of varying length, this slim volume (115 pages) can be yours for the slim price of $10 (postpaid) or $8 (in person). It is available from Amazon.com too. My address: 1000 Shumway Ave. / Faribault, MN 55021

The list of the essays in Miscellanea can be found by scrolling down two posts.

My next project is to edit The Free Lands, the fourth volume in the Mercenaries series; but I don’t plan to publish it until the first three volumes have sold more. I hope that Miscellanea will encourage some folks to sample my novels.

An "Aria of Revenge" a la Verdi

2011-10-10T19:51:00.001-07:00

This bit of whimsy was inspired by listening to Count Stankar’s 3rd Act recitative and aria (“Disonorato io son!” and “Oh gioia inesprimibile”) in Stiffelio.

Argument: In Acts I & II, Count Ammazarlo, learning that Baron Scellerato said hello to Innocenza, the count’s daughter, without first having been properly introduced, considers all aspects of the outrage for almost a full minute before concluding that there is only one way (other than immediate suicide) to deal with such an insult. Accordingly, he accosts the baron at a party and, after hinting at his disapproval of the baron’s conduct by boxing his ears, spitting on his shoes, and pouring punch all over his doublet, he challenges him to a duel. The duel is duly fought (offstage), after which the Count appears on stage and sings:

Justice! Justice! I have found it! Halleluia! Praise the Lord!
Surely ‘twas the hand of Heaven that directed my sharp sword:
As we parried, thrust, recovered, as we fought with might and main
I soon chopped him into fragments that now decorate the plain.

Oh the remnants of his person have been scattered far and wide
Once my blade went in his liver and came out the other side.
So the honor of my family is restored to pristine state
Now that Baron Scellerato can be henceforth called “the late.”

My sweet daughter, Innocenza, I’ve protected all her life
For I’ve never met a man who could deserve to call her “wife.”
And a father has a duty to keep libertines in line.
(She is only fifty-seven and I’m only eighty-nine.)

In some countries family problems might be taken up in courts
With the lawyers and the judges scribbling stuff ‘bout pleas and torts—
But down here in fair Italia we despise mere feeble prose
And defend all slights to honor by just carving up our foes.

Count Ammazarlo then hastens to church to ask pardon for any recent peccadilloes.

Miscellanea Back Cover

2011-09-28T20:34:00.000-07:00

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Taking life seriously is the first step to unhappiness

A salmagundi of risible feuilletons
An olla podrida of jeux d’esprit
A bunch of funny essays

1. Historical Films
2. Star Wars I – III: The Phantom Mess; Tacky Clowns; Revenge of the Plot
3. The Choices of Master Peter
4. Pippi Longstocking On Film
5. Harry Potter and the Writing of Fiction
6. An Innovative Grading System
7. The Test of the Future
8. Lights! Cameras! Teach!
9. Project 1812: History for the Kinesthetic Learner
10. Testing Kinesthetic Students
11. Faculty Assessment Form
12. An Innovative Boarding School Model
13. Evelyn Waugh on Educational Reform
14. The Dome (A Poem)
15. The Newest Members of the United Nations
16. Temperature Lag
17. Just What The Doctor Ordered
18. from A Guide to the Faculty Lounge
19. Lest We Forget: The Wonders of Mackall Hall
20. A Peninsular Battle
21. Follow Me! (But Check Your Compass)

Imagination begins where knowledge ends;
so the less you know, the more you can imagine.

A Nice Review

2011-08-15T20:54:00.001-07:00

Storm Approaching has just received a review at http://www.2readornot2read.com
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Oh, yes--happy birthday, Napoleon. (The Emperor would have been 242 today, if only he had lived.)

LIGHTS! CAMERAS! TEACH!

2011-07-26T14:27:00.000-07:00

by Cecil B. DeLibby

Revolutionary improvements in teaching now happen every few months. This year saw yet another giant step: the installation in classrooms of video cameras coupled with the use of Pan-Opto, a program that allows us to store the films of our classes for instant viewing on computers. Being a man who ardently embraces all advances in our ancient profession, I naturally wish to be among the harbingers of progress by examining the implications of this latest breakthrough. What can we expect to happen?

First will come changes in titles and terminology, something we are very used to anyway. The Director of Studies, now termed the “Casting Director,” will place job listings in Variety as well as traditional locations and will assemble the “cast” (faculty) for the year’s “shoots” (classes). An “actor” (teacher), before going “on stage” (to the classroom), will report “in costume” (dress code) before “call-time” (the bell) to the “green room” (faculty lounge), where a make-up artist will insure that the actor does not look pasty or off-color while the cameras are rolling.

During the opening faculty meetings actors will receive instructions on the key skills of modern pedagogy, such as how to present one’s best profile, voice projection, and the importance of not looking at the camera.

Because the presence on-set of real students is not always necessary—they can watch the movie later—the stage can sometimes be filled by “extras” chosen to personify whatever goals the school is trying to emphasize (e.g. gender balance, multicultural diversity). Extras will be controlled by an off-screen AD (assistant director), who will coach them in simulating interest, taking notes, holding vigorous (but polite) discussions—from a script, of course—and otherwise impersonating ideal students in an ideal classroom. This will make for boffo kudos when the movies are displayed, as they surely will be, on You Tube as well as Moodle.

As the actors build up fan bases and viewers, Producers and Directors (Boards of Trustees and Heads of Schools) must expect certain difficulties. The most successful actors will get agents, of course, so the annual contract-signing, at present reduced to a simple response to an e-mail, will involve heated negotiations for salary, housing, and perhaps perks like chauffeured limousines, luxurious trailers, stars painted on classroom doors, and reserved chairs with names on their backs. Directors will start hearing things like “I’m not thrilled by the script for Physics—can you do a re-write?” “I’m not right for Middle School Spanish—I’m better with more mature audiences,” “Come on, even Sir Alec Guinness couldn’t mine any yocks from Calculus AB!” “If I go into much detail about the September Massacres of 1792, will we lose our G Rating?” or “This is live theater, remember. How much audience response can you expect anyone to get from this ‘Passé Composé’ shtick?” And don’t forget residuals every time a film is played, and fees for “The Best Of ...” compilations.

Thespians who specialize in the liberal arts will have an inherent advantage over those in math and science: English Dept. actors work with material written by geniuses, while those on the nonfiction side usually can concentrate on the doings of various zanies, lunatics, and fascinating homicidal maniacs who so dominate the genre called History. Possibly actors who must try to make audiences warm to verb forms, invisible particles, or complex formulas will demand higher pay on that account.

Some teachers will also encounter difficulties. No school will wish to hire anyone who lacks stage presence or who is unsightly. It will do a school no good to place on stage some gargoyle, however skilled a teacher he might be. Maybe some careers can be salvaged by plastic surgery.

But there will, of course, be opportunities for different types of actors. A media-savvy school will try to present, through its films, a variety of interesting types to provide a potpourri of diverting performances. Among these might be:

The Young Progressive: Chummy with students, affects coolness (odd ties and belts, perhaps a tattoo), makes up for inexperience by enthusiasm (shouting, prancing about, standing on chairs), avoids giving many tests or “high stakes” evaluations.

The Matriarch: A motherly beldam who brings cookies and bags of sweets to class, perches stuffed animals on the windowsills, and punishes severely the tiniest disturbance.

The Jock: Personable, magnetic; easily distracted from his subject (usually “social studies,” which, of course, anyone can teach) by questions about the most recent “big game;” happy to speculate in class on the prospects of this or that professional team in some upcoming tournament. Knows all major sports stars even if he is hazy on Robespierre.

Mr. Chips: To meet the expectations of the public, prep schools especially must have a couple of antiques pottering about the place, confusing names and faces and reminiscing of antediluvian times. These absent-minded relics are often rather weak on classroom discipline and reporting attendance and quite easy for clever students to fool; on the other hand, students who enter their classrooms intent on actually learning something often emerge very well prepared for college.

*

A seminal article like this cannot be expected to deal with every new development that filming classes will bring about—such as post-production (e.g. insertion of special effects and a musical score; editing out such things as an actor throwing an eraser at an annoying student)—but the author hopes he has at least given his colleagues food for thought. (Might we eventually get to cutting-edge “blue screen” classes, where no students are needed since they will be computer-generated afterwards?) We invite you to meditate on this and develop your own notions.

Perhaps it is a good idea to end a treatise about this latest revolution in education with an encouraging reminder: the basic needs of good teaching were developed not last month (class-room cameras) nor last year (smart boards) nor several years ago (computers) nor in the 1960s (television in classrooms) nor in the 1940s (filmstrips) nor even in 1454 (the printing press) but around 440 BC, when Socrates demonstrated that the essentials are (1) a knowledgeable and enthusiastic instructor, (2) students who want to learn, and (3) adequate time. (He didn’t even use chalk!)
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August 2010; expanded July 2011

PROJECT 1812

2011-07-26T14:16:00.000-07:00

HISTORY FOR THE KINESTHETIC LEARNER

A Modest Proposal

INTRODUCTION
Teaching history to kinesthetic high-schoolers is challenging because history is usually studied by reading and listening; to learn history has heretofore meant using books, or hearing about events from savants who, having devoted their lives to such study, can highlight, and simplify complex matters for easy reception by tender minds.(1) (see notes at end) Now, however, with students who find it difficult to learn by such antique methods, modern pedagogues must develop new rubrics, new praxis, new epistemologies.(2)
We present here an exemplary project that we hope will stimulate many other educational professionals (“teachers”) to develop and expand innovative methodologies.

PROJECT 1812

OVERTURE
One of the most dramatic and important events of the early 19th Century was the French invasion of Russia. Project 1812 focuses on the catastrophic dénouement of this, the largest military operation before World War I, which set in motion the downfall of the First Empire and the victory of the reactionary regimes of the Age of Metternich (1815-1848).

The retreat from Moscow has often been described--e.g. Tolstoy’s magnificent treatment in War and Peace--but how can one bring the reality of what happened to people who cannot readily comprehend the written or the spoken word? We think we have found a way.

METHODOLOGY
Most Modern European History courses will reach the second half of the Napoleonic Era in December or early January, which is the perfect--indeed, the only--time when this Project can be properly conducted.

* On a very cold day with high wind chill, all the kinesthetic learners will be driven to a mall or other public location about five miles from campus. They may wear only light summer clothing, such as T-shirts, shorts, cotton slacks, and sandals. Each will receive a sandwich, a pint of bottled water, and a knapsack containing about fifty pounds of hockey pucks.

Rationale: The flimsy clothing and scanty food simulate the dress and rations of most French soldiers during the retreat from Moscow. The knapsacks simulate the vast assortment of loot that the French took from the ruined city, confident that they could bring it back to France.

* The students will be told they will get $1 for each hockey puck they bring to campus.

Rationale: Students will have the opportunity to experience the common dilemma of greed vs. reason, in that they must decide whether, and when, to lighten or discard the valuable but heavy knapsacks in order to have a better chance of reaching home.

* The students will walk back to campus.

* It is highly desirable that, as a part of our Community Relations, a number of local people take part in the Project. Their job is to fol-low the students, and, when any fall behind the main body by more than fifty yards, to pelt them with stones, throw them into ponds, or beat them with clubs.

Rationale: The citizens simulate the Russian peasants and Cossacks who followed the French army from a safe distance but attacked stragglers.

* A teacher will ride beside the students in a chauffeur-driven car, calling out encouragement to his “troops” and composing bombastic “official bulletins” announcing that the campaign is going very well. (To assist with the bulletins, he may be accompanied by a “chief of staff” provided by the Office of Institutional Advancement.) When his limousine is half a mile from the school, he will wave encouragingly to the freezing remains of his “army” and be driven quickly back to campus, leaving his men to finish the trek on their own.

Rationale: The teacher simulates Napoleon, who departed the army in a swift coach on December 5, two weeks before the epic retreat ended.

* Those students who reach campus will be given a cup of hot chocolate and sent to the hospital. The others will be buried.

OUTCOMES
The 1812 Project gives haptic learners a “hands-on” experience like no other. Instead of merely looking at artifacts in a museum or using colored markers to occupy their fidgety fingers, they will feel they have actually participated in an important historical event. It is an experience they will remember to the ends of their lives. (This is especially true for those who do not reach campus, since their lives and the Project will end simultaneously.) At least half of the survivors will have permanent “memory triggers” right on their bodies (such as the stumps of frostbitten fingers and toes after amputation at the hospital).(3) No need for hard-to-read books or boring lectures to teach them what happened!

ENRICHMENT
Hardy kinesthetics who insist on remaining at the school after Project 1812 will take part in Project 1941, “Hitler’s Retreat From Moscow” (which is very similar to Project 1812 except that the local people may use rifles).

Schools in warm climates may obtain satisfactory results from Project 1917 (The Project to End Projects), a simulation of Passchendaele (3rd Ypres). It takes place in soft, muddy ground in early spring or late autumn. (Project 1917 provides a fine opportunity for some cross-disciplinary activity: for added realism, the Science Department can manufacture phosgene and mustard gas for use as the kinesthetics slog through the knee-deep mud towards distant, unattainable objectives.)
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1 Kinesthetic (or “haptic”) learners (for the benefit of nonprofessionals who might not know) are those who, we are told, cannot learn much from reading or listening, but who learn best by doing things with their hands and the movement of their bodies. Some laymen, ignorant of current pedagogical “best practice,” might think that such students would not be enrolled in preparatory schools or aspire to college diplomas, but would instead be directed into shop classes, vo-techs, the lower enlisted ranks of the armed forces, and similar places where they could use their talents to best advantage without cluttering up the halls of academe; but that is not the case today.

2 I do not really know what these last words mean, but I have noticed that the most esteemed educational experts and holders of Doctorates of Education use them quite a bit. I thought I should use them too, so I will be taken seriously.

3 For these, the “hands-on” experience can also be a “hands-off” experience!

Historical Films, Pt. 1

2011-07-26T13:56:00.000-07:00

Each year, as I teach my courses, I find myself recommending various movies to my students. Why not do the same here? This is the first installment in a list of historical movies that I think are worthwhile—that do not do too much violence to history and are otherwise good viewing. I have made no attempt to be systematic; these are simply films I remember; but I will give them in approximately chronological order. Given my interests and training, most of these films are about war or European politics.

I’m probably more tolerant than many people of historical error or exaggeration in films. I am not pedantic. I know that any treatment of a historical topic has to compress and simplify. I do not get upset if there are too few buttons on a uniform or a Highlander wears the wrong plaid. On the other hand, I do get upset with falsehood and blatant distortion.

1) Cleopatra. This extravaganza almost bankrupted Fox and is perhaps best remembered today for the love affair between two of its stars, Taylor and Burton. But in fact the writers paid attention to history and tried to be accurate about Caesar, Antony, and the Serpent of the Nile. The sets are awesome. The two-hour special that comes with the film is very interesting, too.

2) El Cid. Another spectacular, and one that certainly simplifies the life of Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar—there is no reference to his many years of work as a mercenary for the Moors, for instance. But there is a nobility about the central character and his actions that is inspiring, and the last part of the film perhaps has more relevance today than it did, say, fifteen years ago…

3) Joan of Arc. The 1948 film with Ingrid Bergman and Jose Ferrer. Ms. Bergman does a remarkable job in conveying the purity and nobility of la Pucelle. Very moving.

4) The Taking of Power By Louis XIV. An awkward title and a film that is far more talk than action; but Roberto Rossellini does a fine job of describing how and why the young Louis acted to control the nobles and make himself effective absolute king. The scenes (towards the end) of the king at dinner and at court are quite marvelously done. French with subtitles.

5) The Alamo. The 2004 film directed by J.L. Hancock. Although the interpretation of Santa Anna by Emilio Echevarria seems to me a bit over the top, the film tries to remain faithful to people and events in describing this heroic incident, the American Thermopylae.

6) The Charge of the Light Brigade. Not the Errol Flynn historical fiction opus but the 1968 film with Sir John Gielgud and David Hemmings. Aside from an inexplicable and completely dispensable theme involving Vanessa Redgrave as an unfaithful wife, this is a very good film about the early Victorian military and the famous mistaken attack.

7) Gettysburg. Just magnificent. The film wisely concentrates on three events in detail—the first day’s fighting, the defense of Little Round Top by the 20th Maine (yay!), and of course Pickett’s Charge—rather than trying to cover everything. Yes, I know that Gen. Longstreet’s beard looks wrong and that the first Confederate soldier you see is too fat, but don’t get hung up on trivia. This is an excellent film.

8) Gone With The Wind. Of course this is fiction, based on a novel; but it certainly captures the life of the antebellum South (as lived by the tiny number of really wealthy planters), the horror of the war on the home front, and some of the difficulties of Reconstruction.

9) Breaker Morant. A great film about three Australians accused of atrocities during the dirty end-phase of the Boer War. It makes you think.

10) Nicholas and Alexandra. This is an outstanding piece of history, compressing many of the problems of Romanov Russia in its last days and the personalities of the last tsar and tsarina into a couple of hours. And you’ll remember Rasputin. Academy Award for costumes.

11) Gandhi. Undoubtedly the personality of the title character is presented overly simply and hagiographically, but the basic history is there and the sense of being in India is overwhelming (at least for viewers who, like me, have never been in India.)

12) Zulu. The personalities and relationship of Lts. Chard and Bromhead are fictionalized but the story as a whole is true and exciting. And there will never be a better British RSM (in this case at company level) that Colour-Sergeant Bourne.

13) A Night To Remember. This is the Titanic film everyone should see, even if it is in black & white. No mawkish love story gets in the way of the real story. The Criterion Collection edition has very good commentary by two authorities on the ship.

14) The Last Emperor. A masterpiece. What a portrayal of an entirely different society than ours! See it.

15) Lawrence Of Arabia. I hardly have to recommend this, do I? While hazy on chronology —I wish someone mentioned a few dates—it certainly captures the legendary essence of its eccentric subject.

16) Oh What A Lovely War. This musical is a good commentary on the War to End War.

17) Tora, Tora, Tora. This is almost a documentary study of the events leading to Pearl Harbor. A very fine film.

18) Patton. You’ve seen this. It’s not really a war film—the battle scenes are its weakest part—but a psychological study of a complex, remarkable man.

19) Valkyrie. I did not think that modern Hollywood would do so good a job with the July 20 plot. But Tom Cruise did very well indeed. (I do not in the least mind the American accents.)

20) Is Paris Burning? This vast film has been largely forgotten. It’s a fair and balanced study of its theme from both the French and German viewpoints. Gert Frobe (Goldfinger) plays Gen. Choltitz, the Paris commandant. Black and white, unfortunately.

21) A Bridge Too Far. An hour too long, I think, and I have trouble accepting Elliott Gould as a colonel of infantry, but this epic captures the spirit and facts of Operation Market-Garden, especially the massive airborne drops and Col. Frost’s heroic defense of the key bridge.

22) Downfall. Wow. This film is the last word on “Hitler in the bunker.” No further film treatment is ever necessary. Not a study only of the by-then-demented dictator, but of all the inmates of the bunker. A tremendous film. German, with subtitles.

23) Soldiers of the Pope. Bet you never heard of this one. A documentary, the only one, on the Swiss Guard (in 2005). Interviews with Guardsmen, some history, drill and ceremonies. The “sets” includes some of the grandest interiors in Europe. The oath-taking ceremony is moving. 50 mins.

Historical Films, Pt. 2: Not So Good

2011-07-25T14:01:00.000-07:00

1) 300. The seniors in my Greece and Rome elective kept urging me to see this, although with giggles. (They knew enough about the subject to guess my reaction.) It falls into a category I especially dislike: a film that leaves the general public knowing less about the subject than they did before seeing it, having replaced ignorance by falsehood. Certainly a rip-roaring gorefest, but otherwise … ick.

2) Gladiator. This thing won the Academy Award for Best Picture? The Fall of the Roman Empire (1964), of which this bloody (I use the word in both the sanguinary and British senses) film is essentially a remake, is much better. Much of this is mere violence masquerading as art.

3) Braveheart. This probably would have been a better film if Mel Gibson were not so intense an Anglophobe. It is largely fiction, and eventually becomes really silly (e.g. the amour between William Wallace and the Princess of Wales). Impressive battle scene, of course; but the Battle of Stirling Bridge was completely different than what we see.

4) Cromwell. This film has scant historical value because the producers decided to portray the English Civil War as a personal confrontation between Charles I and Oliver Cromwell, which it was not. (For example, Cromwell never met the king, nor was he one of the five M.P.s whom Charles tried to arrest in 1642.) However, it is worth seeing because the battle scenes give at least a flavor of musket and pike warfare and because Alec Guinness gives a fine performance as Charles I, right down to the slight stammer and the Scots burr that creeps in when he is agitated. The trial and execution scenes are very well done. The film also gives you a chance to see Albus Dumbledore and James Bond at early stages of their careers (Richard Harris plays Cromwell; Timothy Dalton plays Henry Ireton.)

5) Waterloo. This film—unavailable on DVD for, I suppose, some legal reasons—is hard for me to evaluate. The costumes are perfect and since most of the Russian army was apparently made available for filming there is no shortage of extras. The score is fine. Some scenes are excellent: the Emperor’s farewell at Fontainebleau, the great cavalry charges (with the aerial shots so clearly showing the British squares), Orson Welles as Louis XVIII. I read that Rod Steiger decided to play Napoleon as “a man needing a rest and a hot bath,” which I guess is justifiable. But more should have been done with the Prussians (both at Ligny and on the 18th); Napoleon did not suffer some kind of seizure at the height of the battle, there was no hurricane (I think someone accidentally turned on a wind machine just before Blücher arrived), and some scenes are not very illuminating, especially the charge of the Scots Greys (a charge that does not hit anything; there is no indication that much of d’Erlon’s corps was rendered ineffective by the charge). I have heard that some hours of film are still available. Grognards like me can only hope that the entire available footage is eventually released.

6) Gods and Generals. The successor to Gettysburg and one of the biggest turkeys ever filmed. Long and boring. Why cover Fredericksburg instead of Antietam? Why spend so very much time on Stonewall Jackson? Seldom has so much effort, such attention to detail, been put into a more unsuccessful film—which shows that minute historical accuracy (e.g. Jackson being wounded in the finger at First Bull Run) does not guarantee a good movie. And what a pity, since its failure prevented the making of what would have been a trilogy.

I hope these two articles have been of use to some folks. Let me know.

An Innovative Grading System

2011-05-10T19:41:00.000-07:00

Here is my latest contribution to education reform; I strive always to be on the cutting edge of proactive pedagogical progress.

AN INNOVATIVE GRADING SYSTEM
by B.A. Libby, B.A., etc.

The traditional grading system uses the letters

A
B
C
D
F

When students receive a low grade—and, these days, “low grade” often means, in the minds of parents and students, anything below an A- —it causes misery, humiliation, and discontent.

How can we can solve this problem? One way would be to insist that students work very hard, to put academics first, to emphasize that learning and studying are not meant to be fun or diverting, and that it is in the nature of things that not everyone can do well in academics, any more than everyone can do well in, say, music, sports, or administering a school. But such draconian methods are today obsolete, of course, particularly at financially precarious independent schools that wish to retain all their students at almost any price.

I propose a simple solution. Here is the new grading scale that entirely solves the problem:

A+
A3
A2
A
A-

Another problem is that the numerical equivalents for the letter grades are 4, 3, 2, 1, 0. This also depresses weak students (and their parents), who of course want a high GPA. This difficulty too is easily solved:

A+ = 4.0
A3 = 3.9
A2 = 3.8
A = 3.7
A- = 3.6

Thus no student will ever have a GPA lower than 3.6 and everyone will be happy.

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Observe how imagination and creativity solve problems that have puzzled generations of pedagogues! We must learn to think outside the box. In fact, we should throw away the box.
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Note: Owing to limitations of the Blogspot medium, at least so far as I can figure it out, there is no way to insert superscripts. The grades A3 and A2 should be read as "A cubed" and "A squared."

Consulting

2011-03-17T11:59:00.000-07:00

Here is an excerpt from And Gladly Teach. I thought of this particular chapter recently and want to share it.

SLA = St. Lawrence Academy, the imaginary school where the novel is set.

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V. THE MAGI

As part of the opening week’s meetings, the faculty was introduced to Dr. Rodney L. Glennis, the founder and president of the firm of Broad Horizons, Inc., educational consultants. SLA had hired Broad Horizons to study all aspects of school life and to recommend ways to attract more students, reduce expenses, and, in general, make more money. (As a non-profit organization SLA was naturally very concerned with making as much money as possible.)

What is a “consultant”? The dictionary says, “an expert who is called on for professional or technical advice,” but a far more comprehensive definition might be “someone who is paid a lot of money to figure out things you ought to be able to figure out for yourself.” Another definition, apt for the sort of consultant the educational world produces, is “someone who, not liking to be a teacher or an an administrator, now makes more money than either by telling them how to teach and administrate.”

The world of education teems with consultants, it seethes with them, it is lousy with them. There is probably no school in the country whose substance has not been drained by at least one of these academic lampreys. It is not easy to say why communities consisting of well-educated adults, with decades of experience in every aspect of their profession, shell out thousands of dollars to these self-proclaimed experts. But they do. In the private school world there are even consultants to whom parents can go for the purpose of finding the “right” school for their child. This is a particularly lucrative field, since parents driven to use such services are so desperate to get their kid(s) out of the house that they will pay any amount to find a school which will take them. Such consultants, with just a computer, a phone, a copy of the Bunting & Lyon guide, and a knowledge of which schools are in financial trouble, could place Jack the Ripper in a private school, for a suitable fee.

Dr. Glennis (exactly what he was a doctor of was not clear, but the title engendered confidence in his clients) was a tall, gaunt, balding man in his late fifties, with bushy brows and bright brown eyes. He had arrived with a staff of three and several suitcases full of charts, tables, graphs, and overheads. He spoke for two solid hours. He painted an unnerving picture of the future. He explained how American teenagers were with each passing minute becoming stupider, lazier, and more undisciplined, how their parents were becoming less and less competent at raising them, how independent schools would soon be inundated with these creatures, and how any school which hoped to survive would have to develop “new and innovative programs,” “a clearer vision of viable objectives,” and “a distinctive cachet to proclaim itself unique among the profusion of similar institutions.”

All the while he spoke, his aides were busy flashing transparencies on the screen and whisking them away before the squinting audience could deduce their meaning, if indeed they had any. One chart was displayed upside-down, but that really made no difference.

“Broad Horizons has been conducting an in-depth study of SLA, which will be concluded shortly. We will then be in a position to make further recommendations as to how you can improve recruitment and retention. You have already taken a great step forward by energizing your hockey program, as I recommended to the Board two years ago.”
“So it’s his fault,” whispered several of the teachers.
“SLA cannot rest on its academics. Remember, parents take for granted that every independent school has an excellent teaching staff, superb courses, unlimited individual attention, and fine college preparatory opportunities. That’s a given.”
Now many teachers were glancing at each other. Was this true? Were parents really that dumb?
“What you must have is a further extra-curricular, I mean co-curricular, ...” Dr. Glennis’s volubility momentarily stopped. The word he had almost used, “gimmick,” didn’t seem elevated enough. Then he went on, “... dimension. which will individualize your identity. You must not be thought of as a ‘plain vanilla’ school, but rather as a Neapolitan one, a sort of tutti-frutti, which offers things unique, distinctive, sui generis!”
The teachers didn’t clap, partly because they were mostly appalled, and partly because they did not know he was done. But he was done, for the moment.
In the back row Mr. Vetter turned to Mr. del Rey. “But I like vanilla,” he whispered plaintively.

Mr. Jones, the European History teacher, a crabbed and reactionary man who had a particularly low tolerance for consultants, and indeed for innovations in general, looked at his schedule and noted with regret that tomorrow another speaker would appear. Mr. Jones often wondered who did this scheduling. He thought it was done by the Senior Staff, or SS, at its weekly meeting. The term SS did not mean--as one might think--those members of the faculty who had been at SLA for the longest time. No, the SS was an ex officio group which did not include any full-time teachers. Exactly who it did include was hard to say. Mr. Jones had never seen any list which specified the members of the Senior Staff. The SS exercised power anonymously, like the Venetian Council of Ten, the Neapolitan Camarilla, and the Illuminati. Perhaps the members had a secret handshake or a special tie clip. At any rate, these ghostly councillors seemed to be responsible for bringing to the campus the succession of quacks, mountebanks, and assorted humbugs who periodically bedevilled the busy teachers with their crackpot theories and impractical advice.

On the morrow, the latest speaker turned out to be some sort of child psychologist, an adolescent development “expert.” His presentation was so bizarre that many of the teachers wondered if it was an elaborate practical joke, similar to the one at a convention some years before where the keynote speaker, billed as Margaret Thatcher’s educational advisor and the youngest pilot to have flown with the RAF in the Battle of Britain, turned out to be a comedian. Certainly the clouds of jargon which befogged the room had about them an aura of comic implausibility.
First came something called the “Optimal Environmental Conditions” (which made Mr. Jones think of seventy degrees and low humidity,) which were engendered by a teacher having “Congruent Anticipatory Sets” with his students. This led, somehow, to “Cognitive Behavioral Change.” Intervention in student discipline would succeed, said the speaker, only if “environmental conditions” were “appropriate.” One had to “assess the lethality” of a situation so that one could provide “value-added opportunities” which students would “buy into.”
With everyone reeling from this barrage, the speaker--Dr. somebody, they were always “doctors”--physician, heal thyself--went on to the topic of “Gaining a Meta-Perspective.” A “teacher-student interaction” was something which happened on the “subjective level.” When the teacher then discussed this “interaction” with one or more colleagues, he gained a “meta-perspective.” A discussion of this discussion furnished one with a “meta-meta-perspective.” And ...
Mr. Jones quietly got up and went away. He knew that he might be reprimanded for this desertion, but he thought that a reprimand would be preferable to being jailed for murdering the speaker, which, given his state of mind, was his only alternative to departure. On his way home he marvelled, not for the first time, at his colleagues’ patience in tolerating these verbal assaults. He knew that SLA was not unique. All over the country, probably all over the world, these “experts” were going to and fro in the earth, and walking up and down in it, chanting their incomprehensible mantras to captive audiences at conventions, school openings, and faculty meetings, and being well-paid for doing so.

At least, thought Mr. Jones as he entered his apartment and sank into his easy chair, this guy hadn’t had us “break up into little groups.” That was a favorite technique of those people. The faculty would be divided into squads of five or six and sent hither and yon to discuss some problem concocted by the speaker. Often each group would be instructed to write its collective thoughts with a magic marker on large, poster-sized sheets of paper. When the faculty reconvened, the speaker would pin up the sheets of paper all around the room, so it resembled a kindergarten, and then everyone would compare the various ideas and try to find “congruence.” After it was found--and it always was--the now-congruent teachers could go home, the speaker would gather up the posters and throw them away, and no one would ever hear or speak of the matter again. This was called a “very productive meeting.”

Mr. Jones reflected that if the Headmaster and the Board could remove the opium pipes from their teeth and come down to planet Earth, they might take all the money spent on these consultants and just do something useful with it, like repairing the scandalously decrepit boys’ showers. In thinking this, however, Mr. Jones was merely demonstrating that he would never be a Headmaster, because he lacked “Strategic Vision.” Strategic Vision is the ability to ignore mundane realities completely and to immerse oneself in a world of dreams. All great educational leaders have it.

As for Mr. Jones, well, he really felt, after being exposed to all these consultants, advisors, and experts, that a school in need of guidance would be better off if it hired an astrologer. The fees would be less and the advice every bit as reliable.

----------------------

If you enjoyed this little essay, why not buy the whole book?

Other Books

2011-01-14T18:43:00.000-08:00

Most of the information here at Write Away is about the Mercenaries trilogy (and if you have come here to investigate those excellent works, please scroll down a bit; you will find copious material). Just now I’d like to say a bit about two other books.

AND GLADLY TEACH, published in 2001, is a short novel (174 pp., 12-pt. type) about life at a fictitious boarding school. It is droll, risible, piquant, or, in a word, funny. It is satirical—sometimes acidulous, even mordant. It is not mainly about students, rather the faculty and administration; most events are seen through the eyes of Mr. Jones, a history teacher. It has sold about 250 copies and many readers have enjoyed it a lot, if I do say so myself. Why not find out for yourself? (There is an excerpt here; go to the entry of February 1, 2010.)

THE UNITED STATES CONSTABULARY, 1946-1952 (190 pp.) comprises my doctoral dissertation and three papers I wrote in grad school. I exhumed these and retyped them (making a good many syntactical changes—I write better now than I did thirty-five years ago) so as to make some tiny contribution to my profession. They are, of course, very serious (although the dissertation is probably the only scholarly treatise with a smiley-face in the notes—inserted when I retyped it, as my dissertation committee would not have approved).

The United States Constabulary was a force formed from several armored cavalry regiments to police the U.S. Zone in occupied Germany. It spent most of its time trying to suppress the black market and handling problems created by the presence, among the ruins of southern Germany, of tens of thousands of DPs (displaced persons, mostly Poles and Polish Jews).

The three papers are (1) The Blockade of Brest, 1803-1805, a study of the most important military operation in history in which nothing happened, (2) The Struggle For The North: Latvia In 1919, about the role of German mercenaries in securing the independence of that Baltic country in the aftermath of World War I, and (3) German Intelligence On The Eastern Front: An Assessment, which is an assessment of German military intelligence on the Eastern front in three major operations (Stalingrad, Operation Citadel, and the Russian June offensive of 1944).

If any of these items pique your interest, you may obtain them from me, or from Amazon.com, or from the publishers (AuthorHouse for A.G.T., Lulu for the other two).

Oh, prices, including postage: AGT is $15, USC is $14.

Reviews and Interviews

2011-01-13T19:41:00.000-08:00

One of the biggest challenges for self-published authors is to get any notice at all for their literary productions. One of the biggest challenges for potential readers of those authors is to find any disinterested information that will aid them in deciding whether to buy those productions.

Below is a consolidated list of such information pertaining to my novels. If anyone finds any other reviews, please let me know.

Reviews of Storm Approaching
- *Allbooks Reviews, July 2009 [review no longer on site; see Amazon.com]
- *Cheryl’s Book Nook, August 7, 2009
- DaveBrendon’s Fantasy and SciFi Weblog, January 4, 2010
- *Midwest Book Review, Sept. 2009 [on Logan’s Bookshelf in Reviewer’s Bookwatch]
- The Old Luke Reviews, Oct. 27, 2009 and Jan 7, 2010
- *Sporadic Reviews, July 30, 2010
- Amazon.com: 6 reviews, including those designated by an * above.

Reviews of Gold and Glory
- Luke Reviews, June 5, 2010

Reviews of And Gladly Teach
- Midwest Book Review, Oct. 2002 [on Small Press Bookshelf—Fiction Shelf]
- Library Thing (2 reviews)
- Amazon.com: 4 reviews, including the Midwest B.R.

Interviews

- Dave Brendon Reviews: January 29, 2010
- The Old Luke Reviews, June 9, 2010
- Solely Fictional Blog, August 26, 2010

I am making vigorous efforts to enlarge this list, but it is not easy. Some review sites do not consider print-on-demand books; some are just too busy to accept more titles; some accept titles but never get around to reviewing; and some just don’t answer their e-mail. I invite any readers who feel comfortable with appearing in print to post their own reviews at Amazon.

Evelyn Waugh On Educational Reform

2011-01-12T19:40:00.000-08:00

I read Waugh’s Scott-King’s Modern Europe many years ago. The last paragraphs impressed me then; in the last couple of years they have impressed me even more. In fact I am tempted to have them embossed on a great banner that I can hang on my classroom door.

Mr. Scott-King, a fusty Latin teacher at an old English public school, returns from an excursion that, much against his will, has taken him to a European dictatorship and a Palestinian refugee camp (from which he was rescued by a former student). The Headmaster tries to persuade him to teach something more ‘useful’ than Latin, since the number of Latinists at the school is dwindling.

“You know,” the Headmaster said, “we are starting this year with fifteen fewer classical applicants than we had last term.”

“I thought that would be about the number.”

“I deplore it as much as you do. But what are we to do? Parents are not interested in producing the ‘complete man’ any more. They want to qualify their boys for jobs in the modern world. You can hardly blame them, can you?”

“Oh yes,” said Scott-King. “I can and do. I think it would be very wicked indeed to do anything to fit a boy for the modern world.”

“It’s a shortsighted view, Scott-King.”

“There, Headmaster, with all respect, I differ from you profoundly. I think it is the most long-sighted view it is possible to take.”

Evelyn Waugh
Scott-King’s Modern Europe, 1947

Now Available

2010-12-16T19:36:00.000-08:00

Just 3,461 days ago--June 26, 2001--I wrote the opening sentence of Storm Approaching, the first volume in the MERCENARIES series. (Volume One was then called "The Gathering Storm"; eventually I decided not to compete with Winston Churchill, who used that title for the first volume of his history of the Second World War). Today I received 25 copies of Resolution, the third volume in the series. The trilogy is now complete. I am happy--whatever the literary merits of my series, I at least have demonstrated perseverance. I will be even happier if more folks buy the books. See below for more information, including how to order from me. Make a comment or send an e-mail if you have questions.

You can get these books from Amazon.com and other on-line outlets; from the publishers (AuthorHouse for Part One, the Avid Readers Publishing Group for Two and Three), or from me (Storm Approaching is $17, the other two $20, postpaid).

My address is 1000 Shumway Avenue, Faribault, MN 55021. Please send an e-mail if you have any questions.

RESOLUTION

2010-12-12T20:05:00.001-08:00

Resolution concludes the Mercenaries trilogy, which I began writing ten years ago. Click on the cover to enlarge it; below on this blog are an excerpt and one of the maps. Resolution is 530 pp.

A Theory of Art

2010-10-11T19:34:00.000-07:00

After a performance of Messiah, Lord Kinnoul congratulated Handel by saying that the oratorio had been a “noble entertainment.” The great composer replied, “My lord, I should be sorry if I only entertained them. I wished to make them better.”

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I have always been inspired by these words from my favorite composer. Interpreted not in a narrow, didactic sense, but in the broadest sense, I think they are a goal towards which all creative artists—even mere self-published novelists—should strive.

RESOLUTION: An Excerpt

2010-10-06T15:07:00.000-07:00

Here is approximately seven-tenths of one per cent of the next novel in the MERCENARIES series.
I hope some folks will want to read the rest.
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1. APPROACH MARCH

“Just more woods, Zinni?”

“’Fraid so, major. But the cits say there’s a highway from Gorodel to Whitesands.”

“All right. Go tell the general.”

The young scout saluted and rode off. Loreg turned to Sgt. Chindan. “They say Vedraxa is part of the Empire now. I hope that means some new roads.”

We reach Gorodel in three days, sir. Things should get better then.”

“I hope it doesn’t snow. Any more supplies?”

“We can’t get much from the farmers, sir. They got nothing to spare. That last village managed to cough up about two bushels of wheat.”

“I’ll ask her about going on half rations until Gorodel. Carry on, sergeant.”

Loreg looked back; the van of the Pelicans could be seen wending its way through the forest. “Rear guard in Sarenia and vanguard here. Wish we could be in the middle for once,” he said. Then he trotted south, through the screen of archers, and reached 1st Company.

“Still nothing but forest,” he said to Lt. Vaklar.

“We’ll reach the Zerdar soon, sir. It’s easier north of the river.”

“I hope so. When we get to Gorodel, make sure nobody wanders off. The men are hungry enough to start pillaging, and we’re in friendly territory. Any rumors about the enemy?”

“The commander is with the general. Maybe she’ll have some news, but as far as I know they’re still near Vorgast, sir. It’ll be some time before we see any Saris.”

“You ever campaigned in the winter before?”

“No sir. This will be a new experience.”

“Maybe we can winter in Vorgast, or Norl.” He rode down the line, shaking his head when troops asked if there was any relief in sight.

The march from Ferlind had been going on for eight days across a poor and wild countryside. By now a battle seemed preferable. In fact, the prospect of a battle would have cheered everyone up by offering chances for loot and fame. Marching provided neither.

Loreg rode past the other three companies of halberdiers to the bag-gage column. The first wagon was pulled by two horses that looked as though they should have been carrying fighting men (which was what they had done before Kedriss Gap). Sitting in back, protected by a bul-wark of disassembled tents, were three young women, playing cards.

“How much further to this town, major?” called one, peering out from under the hood of her woolen cloak.

“About three days, Sary. And probably half rations until then.”

“Why couldn’t we go by sea!” exclaimed another.

“Rough weather, they say. The commander wasn’t upset about that.”

“No. She’d rather go to Whitesands on her knees than get on a boat.”

“Ha. I win,” said the third girl, laying down her cards.

The other two paid her as Terl Garvis rode up. “Commander around, Lana?” he asked one of the losers. “I’ve got a bivouac picked out.”

“She’s back with the general, captain.”

“Good. I can see her and the army billeting officer together.”

He rode away. Loreg went to his usual place, between 3rd and 4th Companies, and the long column of soldiers trudged on, into the gathering twilight of central Vedraxa.

(2)

Andiriel returned just before the evening halt, telling Loreg and Tomas that nothing much had changed. “The general is still worried that the enemy might try to threaten our right, so the light cavalry will stay to the east and our scouts will be in charge of guiding the army,” she said. “It’s an honor, really, that he trusts us to do that.”

Loreg told her of the food situation and recommended cutting rations.

“I was afraid of that, but there’s no choice,” she said. “The general assured me that there’s lots of food in Gorodel. The Prince ordered it sent there two weeks ago. We’ll have a decent road, too, finally. We’ll go to Whitesands and follow it down the coast.”

“No news of an invasion yet?”

“No. But the general says it can’t be long now, unless they’ve decided to wait until spring, which he thinks isn’t likely. Hang on, everybody. Things will get better.”

The army encamped near a brook. Fuel parties went to chop firewood after the tents were up and the guards out. The temperature was near freezing—colder than it usually had been the previous year at Ironport.

Supper was stale bread, a little beef jerky, and some dried vegetables. Andiriel ate with her orderlies and the regimental mascot, who was less bouncy than usual.

“Sandi isn’t too happy,” said Lana, passing the fox a bit of bread. “This isn’t the desert.”

“It’s the cold, and there aren’t as many things she can catch,” said Andiriel. “Hunting’s not easy these days, is it, honey? All the yummy mouses have gone someplace warmer.” She stroked Sandi’s back and smiled. “Your coat’s getting really thick.”

Sandi yipped plaintively and left the tent. “If you find a nice big rat, bring it back,” called Dagget. “We could use it.” He looked at Andiriel. “Chief, can we really fight a campaign in this weather? It’s November 20, and it’ll get lots worse. Food and weather, I mean.”

“It only takes one side to make a war,” she replied. “If the Saris invade Vedraxa, we have to meet them. If they don’t cross the border, the general plans to put the bulk of the army near Whitesands and cover the frontier with pickets.”

“Maybe the Empire will send some help,” said Lana.

“I asked him about that. He doesn’t think it will happen before spring. We couldn’t feed more men, for one thing. Demantius is pretty sure we can handle the Saris and their mercs. The Prince is placing him in supreme command. The message just got here today.”

“That’s good, chief.”

“He’s going to ride ahead to Whitesands, to look things over.”

“Who’ll command this force while he’s away?”

“Cormad. He’s the senior colonel.”

Dagget’s face fell. Andiriel smiled. “You didn’t think it would be me, did you? I’m not ready for that yet, Dags. Cormad’s in his fifties. He’s very good.”

“But we captured his whole regiment at Chevelina, chief.”

“That wasn’t his fault. He never got off the ship. He respects us, you know. We treated the Gryphons honorably.”

(3)

Demantius rode north the next day; his five regiments continued their unpleasant trek through the bleak countryside of central Vedraxa. Patrols came in regularly from Tyvar Negrath’s cavalry force—which included the 150 men of the general’s own unit—to report all was quiet on the right, and the Pelican scouts likewise found nothing new. The wind picked up a bit. Chilly rain fell. The troops trudged on. “Better a long march to victory than a short one to defeat,” said some witty officer, a saying that made the rounds.

They reached Gorodel, the only place of any size in the region, on the morning of the 23rd. This city of 12,000 souls sat astride the Zerdar River. Cormad marched through it, since it contained the only bridges for miles, but the troops were not allowed to break ranks. They made camp two miles north and dispatched wagons to get the expected supplies—which proved in fact to be there, a compliment to the arrangements of the Prince of Vedraxa and his bureaucracy, and a good thing for Gorodel, too, considering what might have happened if the troops started foraging after three days on half rations.

That night Captain Voros brought word that the army would force-march to Whitesands. Enemy light troops had crossed the border; Demantius felt that a full-scale invasion would soon follow. He wanted to meet the Sarenians close to the Reldani frontier.

Andiriel asked Voros what forces were already in place. “About 3,000,” he replied. “There’s five merc regiments, maybe 1,300 levies, and about 100 Vedraxan knights plus their people. The Prince of Reldan supposedly is coming in, too, with some loyal men.”

“So we’ll have over 6,000? That’s a lot.”

“The general thinks we may be outnumbered almost two to one once the Saris add their men to the mercs. This is going to be tough.”

“We can do it. Some of my men say we’ll spend the winter in Vorgast, or even Norl.”

“We’ll need all the confidence we can muster,” said the captain with a grin.

“Morale’s good, and now we’re on full rations. How are things at Whitesands?”

“The Vedraxans have a big depot there, and wagon convoys all the way from Karlisberg. Should be enough for a month or so. North of Whitesands the country’s very wild.”

“Well, if the enemy has a lot more men, maybe they’ll have a lot less food. It can’t be any easier for them to supply themselves.”

“The general thinks the same, colonel. He said that if Rognard can’t force a decision quickly, he’ll have to wait until March. If all else fails, we can just hold Whitesands. It’s the only walled city between Vorgast and Karlisberg. By spring Prince Ednis can call out his vassals in the south. The Empire will help pay for everything, too. It’s paying our salaries right now.”

“It is?”

“Yes. We learned that in Whitesands. The Chancery decided to foot the bill for all of Vedraxa’s mercs so Prince Ednis won’t go bankrupt.”

“So we’re fighting for the Empire, at least indirectly?” said Andiriel. “I’m very glad. I always hoped to work for the Emperor.”

RESOLUTION Battle Map

2010-09-29T20:17:00.000-07:00

Here is a battle map from Resolution (click to enlarge).

A Pleasant Surprise

2010-07-18T20:43:00.000-07:00

About two months ago I gave away five copies each of Storm Approaching and And Gladly Teach through a Library Thing program in which you offer some books and, after a couple of weeks, L. Thing randomly picks the winners from those who indicated an interest in getting a book and sends you their addresses. The recipients are asked to provide a review. In the weeks following my dispatch of the ten books, only one person even acknowledged receiving one. Oh well, I thought, so much for that. But when I checked L.T. today, I found that a recipient in Connecticut had posted the following in late June about And Gladly Teach:

"This book is extremely funny and I had fun reading it. There were times when at the doctor's waiting room, or at the laundrymat, I burst out laughing uncontrollably, prompting the startled people to ask just what I am reading that is so funny. I showed them the book and they either jotted down the title and author or asked me if they can read it after I'm done; they needed a good laugh. I highly recommend this book to whomever needs a good laugh. It is well written."

Isn't that nice? Thank you! And you, O reader, wouldn't you like a good laugh? Why not buy And Gladly Teach today? Or tomorrow. Or real soon, anyway. Soon your own gufffaws and chortles will also ring out at clinics and laundromats, and you too can recommend my books to eager readers. See "Books, Anyone? two posts down.

The New Empire

2010-07-12T14:18:00.000-07:00

The main political unit of the west, the New Empire has a polity somewhat reminiscent of the Holy Roman Empire. The Emperor ruless the Crown Lands directly; the nine provinces are subject to their own sovereigns, who owe fealty, but not taxes, to the Emperor. Valdi, which broke away from the New Empire long ago, is entirely independent.

Andiriel was raised at the Institute for the Salvation of the Homeless in Javakis, Norland.

(Click on maps to enlarge them)

The Calamian Islands

2010-07-12T14:15:00.000-07:00

Although culturally and linguistically close to the New Empire, the ten states of the Calamian Islands are independent monarchies. The Isles are a good place for soldiers of fortune to find work, as small wars are frequent. Most of the action of the Mercenaries trilogy takes place here. There is also a good deal of piracy, especially near the Pinnacles.

Sarenia

2010-07-12T14:13:00.001-07:00

Four hundred miles east of the Calamian Islands lies Sarenia, governed by the all-powerful King of Kings with the assistance of the Ruling Clerics. Less arid than foreigners imagine it to be, Sarenia, wealthy and populous, is very different from the nations to its west.

Gold and Glory -- An Excerpt

2010-04-04T20:03:00.000-07:00

Here are the first six pages of Gold and Glory, Vol. II in my MERCENARIES series. The print-on-demand production process is going well; I hope the book is available by early June, or perhaps earlier.

(If anyone knows how to get Blogspot to indent, please let me know. Since I can't, I have had to insert blank lines between each paragraph to make things more readable.)

----------------------

1. THE JEKLAR CAMPAIGN: IRONROCK

In the hills and valleys
Trumpets loudly blaring,
Mercenaries march, all
Bold, brave, handsome, daring.
Rat-a-tat-tat the drums are beating
Rat-a-tat-tat the drums are beating
Tantarara go the trumpets
Tantarara, one, two, three.

“What’s this one, Loreg? I haven’t heard it before.”

“Just a silly song, commander. But it keeps us marching at a good clip.”

All our officers are
Riding steeds so dashing:
Proudly step their horses,
Sun from helmets flashing.
Rat-a-tat-tat, etc.

Andiriel patted Brownie’s neck. “Do you feel dashing today, steed? Poor girl. At least you survived the winter. You’re tougher than you look.”

Though we’ve left behind us
Girls who can’t forget us,
‘Bout nine months from now they
May perhaps regret us.
Rat-a-tat-tat, etc.

“Give them a ‘tantarara,’ Artus,” Andiriel told her trumpeter. “Two days out and already I feel happier. It’s spring! It’s so nice to see grass, and trees with leaves.”

“We all feel better, commander. Morale’s high. All we need now is a job.”

What on earth is finer
Than with comrades trusty
To march forth to battle
Though the roads be dusty?
Rat-a-tat-tat, etc.

“Three days to Jeklar, right? Just hope that Emdan really is at war with Fanrix.”

It was early afternoon of April 2. Having gone around the hills and mines west of Ironport, the Pelicans were now on a dirt road, entering farm country. The cits, depending on their previous experiences with mercenaries, either stood and waved or ran away and hid.

About an hour later, as the regiment got underway after a ten-minute halt, two riders approached from the west: L/Cpl Gerlon and a stranger.

“Ah, visitors,” said Andiriel, trotting ahead to meet them. “In a hurry, too.” She gestured to Loreg, who joined her from his position further back.

Gerlon saluted. “Commander, this is Captain Kassis nar Voros, staff-officer to General Demantius. He’s been looking for us. Sir, our colonel, Anashla.”

The captain was about thirty, wearing very good mail and boots; his stallion made Brownie look feeble. He saluted, and said, a little breathlessly, “At last we found you. I can guide you to the general’s camp, colonel. It’s two days’ march to the northwest.”

“Northwest? Not at Jeklar?”

“Jeklar is under siege by the Count of Fanrix. The general is organizing a counterattack.”

Andiriel and Loreg stared at him.

“Yes. The Count moved fast and surprised us. He crossed the border a few days back and disrupted all our plans. The general left a garrison in the city and retreated north. We’re trying to raise everyone we can as quickly as possible. Jeklar can hold out for three weeks at least.”

Andiriel nodded to L/Cpl Gerlon, who returned to his scouting duties. She rode with the two men next to 1st Company, whose men had fallen silent, trying to overhear the news.

“So Emdan does want to hire us, captain?” she asked.

“We certainly do. We’re offering G1,100 for one month, supplied, with options for two more months. I have a contract with me. We heard the Red Rats were in the southeast.”

She winked at Loreg. “Captain, do you suppose the Count of Fanrix also needs troops?”

Voros frowned. “Oh, colonel, surely, after wintering in the Duke of Emdan’s lands, you would not....”

“Well, I don’t know, captain. We’re mercenaries, after all. You did say G1,200?”

He hesitated, gave a close-lipped smile, and said, “Yes, that’s right, colonel.”

“Then you’ve got us: the Pelicans, not the Red Rats. We’ll bivouac in an hour or so. Could you brief my officers then? Good.” She nodded towards the column of troops. “Please ride around and see what you’ve bought. Major Jevlis, you and Carlin inspect the contract.”

The regiment was getting better at castramentation. At 4 PM, Capt. Garvis, the Provost Marshal and Billeting Officer, came back from his reconnaissance to tell Andiriel there was a good bivouac site a mile ahead. Once there, the Mounted Scouts patrolled the perimeter while the halberdiers, archers, and civilians unloaded the wagons and put up tents. Then the wagons were chained together and placed along the “most likely threat” route; this was southwest, and seemed less theoretical than in the past. The Provost saw to the setting out of the usual security details after the Sergeant of the Guard for the week reported to Andiriel, who gave him the parole and countersign for the night. Loreg reported the contract to be satisfactory.

At Retreat Andiriel introduced Capt. Voros and announced that the regiment was now working for Duke Kesman of Emdan against Count Tilmand of Fanrix, “and for good pay, twelve hundred, supplied. Sharpen your blades. We’ll be in action soon.”

She was a little surprised by the cheering. Loreg said, “All our training and practice, commander—they want to use it.”

Captain Voros watching with a professional eye, was satisfied. He said so at supper, which he ate with Andiriel, Loreg, and Tomas. The other officers came in afterwards.

“I won’t make excuses,” he told them. “We were surprised and outmaneuvered. The Count of Fanrix is a good soldier. He forestalled Duke Kesman’s invasion by launching his own. Apparently he told his knights during the winter to assemble in early March. He hired four mercenary units and kept them up north; we knew of only one. He called out just his eastern levies, so they assembled and moved quickly. He crossed the border with over 4,000 men when we had barely half that number ready. It’s a short march to Jeklar. The count surrounded it by land while all six of his warships appeared in the harbor and sank two of the five Emdani quadriremes. So Jeklar is cut off, with Duke Kesman inside.”

“Inside!” exclaimed Lt. Galagos.

“Yes. His Majesty is a brave man. He refused to abandon his capital, so my general left the best garrison he could and marched fifteen miles northeast. We’re calling in all the levies we can. The enemy has not pursued. The general intends to relieve Jeklar as soon as you join him.”

“What mercs does Fanrix have?” asked Tomas.

“The Bears: 500 javelins; Carl’s Killers: 400 sword-and-shield men; the Red Company: 100 halberds and 300 bows; and the Sable Shields, 800 spearmen.” He paused. “I think you’re familiar with the last one, colonel? The Duke of Fanrix hired them away from Sir Bend nar Tillag after that battle.... I forget the name....”

“You’ve very polite, captain. Call it the Rats’ Run if you like.” Andiriel turned to her officers. “I’ll sign the contract now. Tell the men we’ll be facing the Sable Shields again and that we’re going to show them the difference between a rat and a pelican.”

“We sure will, commander,” said Lt. Vaklar; his colleagues voiced agreement.

She motioned Loreg and Tomas to stay and sent for Carlin. Capt. Voros changed G1,100 to 1,200 in the contract. She signed both copies and they touched palms.
“And now, captain, tell us frankly what our chances are of beating Fanrix.”

“That will depend mostly on your regiment, colonel. The Emdan levies aren’t wildly enthusiastic. You’re the only professional infantry we’ve got.”

“Don’t worry,” said Loreg. “We’re looking forward to meeting the Sable Shields again.”

Next morning the regiment turned off the road at Capt. Voros’s direction into an area where villages were sparser. A patrol of light cavalry reached them, which Voros sent back to report that he had hired the Pelicans.
That evening, as she sat reading Xenoranthus, she heard, “Not very talkative today, commander? Lots to think about?” and felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Lana.

She put her hand over Lana’s. “We’ve got our first real battle coming up. I’m worried.”

“You’ll do great, Asha. The men are really ready for a fight, especially after what the Sable Shields did to us last time.”

“I know. That’s not why I’m worried. We’re just part of the army. I hope this Demantius knows his job and that the other troops are brave. We can’t win everything by ourselves.”

Lana knelt beside Andiriel’s chair and took her hands in her own. “We’ve got to win. Otherwise we won’t be able to go shopping in Jeklar, and I really need a new dress.”

Andiriel laughed. “At least if we win we’ll have something to shop with. I guess we’ll do all right. The enemy haven’t got a lucky fox, do they?” She looked out the tent flap, to see Sandi catching beetles.

Capt. Voros brought a report from the light cavalry that the Count of Fanrix was moving north. “He’s left enough troops to maintain the siege and the rest are on the march towards us. General Demantius is moving southwest. We should join him tomorrow afternoon and give battle the next day.”

(2)

The Pelicans met General Demantius sooner than expected: together with a dozen aides and guards he rode into the field while the regiment was having dinner. He urgently sought out Andiriel, who was disappointed by her new superior’s appearance. She had imagined an august, commanding figure (like Sir Branlor), but in fact Demantius was a small, sallow Islander of fifty or so riding a horse that seemed slightly too big for him. His sparse black hair was greasy, his beard untrimmed, his breastplate and cuisses needed polishing; his robust escorts diminished him still further. Andiriel felt that she was equally unprepossessing to him: his brown eyes seemed very skeptical as he studied her when she came to attention.

“Count Tilmand has halted a mile south, near Mud Brook,” Demantius said as he dismounted. “The rest of the army will be here before nightfall. Could I see you alone, colonel?” His voice was cultured, but he spoke abruptly.

They walked to a small grove. Dagget followed, to offer the general some wine, but he waved it aside and dismissed the young man.

Again Demantius fixed her with doubting eyes. “This regiment was the Red Rats?”

“Yes, general. It was.”

“Why is it any better now than at Thrale’s Disaster or Brakar’s Dike?”

“Better training, discipline, morale, and.... and leadership, general. We even won a battle last fall. A big skirmish, at least.”

“Tell me about that.”

She did (omitting her deception of the baron). He listened carefully, nodded, and said, “How long have you been a mercenary?”

“Since I was nineteen, sir.”

“And how old are you now?”

“Nineteen, sir.”

He chuckled before he spoke. “Anashla, you are the only woman I know to command a regiment, except for Ela nal Tindal. She took over the Claws of Gartos when her husband was killed, but turned them over to her brother-in-law a few months later. Listen. I’ve got about 2,200 men: 50 Emdan knights, my 150 light cavalry, 1,400 levies, and 600 Pelicans. Fanrix will field more: 125 knights, 1,700 good mercenary infantry, and about 1,000 levies who certainly aren’t any worse than ours. We have the initiative because they have no light horse, and we’ve got a few more bows, about 400 to 300. The point is, young woman, your regiment will almost certainly either win or lose this thing. I can’t count on the levies to do more than defend, and not even that for very long. It will be all my cavalry can do to distract theirs. I certainly can’t hope to defeat all their knights. Do you honestly think your Pelicans can handle the Sable Shields?”

“Yes, general.”

He waited; she said no more; he raised his shaggy eyebrows.

“The only other thing I could say is ‘no,’ general, and that’s not a good answer, is it?”

Now he laughed, and put a hand on her arm. “Maybe we’ll win this after all, colonel. Maybe we will. Make camp here. I’ll talk to the officers once the rest of our troops arrive.”

They duly arrived. The Emdan knights looked good, accompanied by a lot of people from their estates who pitched the tents and looked after the spare horses. But the militia who wandered into the area over a period of an hour or so made the Pelicans look like the Imperial Guard: a throng of peasants in leather gambesons or no armor, some with helmets and many without, armed with a collection of random weapons and farm tools, supervised (a bit) by older men, most of whom wore mail. They had few tents, and they mobbed the supply wagons to get their bread and meat.

“Will these yokels be of any use at all?” Andiriel asked Loreg.

He studied the milling throng and replied, much to her surprise, “They’re sturdy fellows, commander. Levies aren’t always bad, but they’re unpredictable. I’ve seen militia run at the first volley of arrows, and I’ve also seen them fight like mad. Of course, sometimes that’s because they don’t know enough to retreat. But these lads should give a good account of themselves. They’re healthy, and after a dull winter they’ll welcome some excitement.”

“They’ll certainly get lots of it tomorrow.”

A Judge Speaks

2010-03-18T09:07:00.000-07:00

Last October I learned that Storm Approaching had won an Honorable Mention in the 2009 Writers Digest Self-Published Book Awards. This was announced five months later, in the March/April 2010 issue of the magazine (p. 63); and yesterday I received a certificate, which I expected, and a copy of the evaluator's commentary sheet on the novel, which I did not expect. Here is what Judge 23 had to say:
----------------------------
What did you like best about this book?

The attention to detail here is amazing. I liked this book a great deal; it’s imaginative, well written, and thoroughly engaging. I’m surprised actually that this didn’t find an outlet at a larger house. It deserves a wider readership. The writing is clear and clean and varied without being tedious. The plot moves swiftly but attends as well to the needs of the audience. The characters are believable, as are their motivations. An intelligent, enjoyable read.

How can the author improve this book?

This is a small quibble, but I did at times feel like there were too many named characters, and though this didn’t hamper my enjoyment of the book, I was at times a bit confused about where we were as Andiriel moves throughout the land. But again, my confusion was minor, and I don’t necessarily think that anything should have been changed. The book simply has a large cast.

Author’s Comment: Thank you, Judge 23. (And remember, there are maps in the back of the book.)

"Mercenaries Are More Fun Than Vampires"

2010-03-17T20:26:00.001-07:00

Does anyone think this slogan would help sell books? Really, when will this vampire craze end??

Thank You!

2010-03-09T13:48:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I received a big box. Inside was a wonderful present: some of my former students arranged for a master mapmaker at the Cartographers' Guild to transform the two simple, hand-drawn maps in my novel Storm Approaching into a magnificent 16 x 21-inch antiqued map display, fully glassed and framed, which even includes, much in the manner of 18th-century charts, a view of the Imperial Palace at Pargados and a very appropriate attribution as to the maps' origins.

I want to thank these anonymous friends. In 1984, students presented me with a replica of the dress sword Napoleon brought with him to Waterloo; now I have received this other touching gift. The two, coming 26 years apart, might well serve as bookends to my teaching career--which I guess did some good. Thank you again, most sincerely!

Those who would like to take a look at the map may visit me; if that is not possible, go to http://forum.cartographersguild.com/showthread.php?8757-The-New-Empire-WIP

Storm Approaching Excerpt

2010-03-07T20:29:00.000-08:00

I posted an excerpt from And Gladly Teach some days ago. Here is one from Storm Approaching--not Chapter 1, but Chapter 5 (pp. 19-26). I hope it entices some folks to risk buying the book.
------------------------------
5. THE SILVER HAWKS

After eighteen years at the Institute, Andiriel was exhilarated to be on her own. She lived in a tenement on Larch Lane, off Gold Street, a building with six respectable households and a vigilant concierge. She had two large rooms for two silvers a week, which was more than she could have afforded had she not been willing to dig into her savings.
She worked at the Wizards House each morning. She spent almost as much time reading as cataloguing. These books, all neatly printed and beautifully bound—she had never imagined such riches. As Garjon had said, they were on multifarious topics. There were even books by contemporaries who paid the Imperial Press to publish their writings, like Farewell to Alms, the autobiography of Rellas Shai, the Institute’s benefactor, who had begun life as a beggar. Some were in Old Imperial but most of the Classics were translations, for it was the intent of the Ministry of Culture, whose imprint graced the title pages, to make these treasures available to the literate population. That population was certainly a minority of the Emperor’s subjects, but she was part of it; she would sit reading until her conscience made her take up a pen and another card.
In the afternoon came lessons at Mohar’s Equestrian Academy. This establishment was not quite so grand as its name implied—the staff was Mohar and his son—but it certainly taught a lot of people to ride. Most, of course, were men; but Andiriel’s money was as good as theirs, and Mohar did not mind humoring her eccentricity, even in not riding sidesaddle. She discovered that she had no hidden talent for equitation, but on the other hand horses seemed to know she liked them, as she did all animals, and as the days went by she found herself more often in the saddle than out of it.
In the evening she practiced at the archery range near the west wall. She was glad to have her old bow back, for she could not yet draw Sir Branlor’s magnificent gift. This inspired her to work hard, and she made progress. She entered a contest for beginners and won second prize: a quiver and fifty arrows. So encouraged, she redoubled her efforts.
On Sundays, after early service, she would read, or walk in the woods near the town, thinking indecisively about her future. She often had supper at Nella’s little house, where Jon and his wife made her feel an honored guest. (Jon deeply appreciated Andiriel’s wedding present, so useful to a man starting in business.) About once a week she would stop by the Happy Tankard for a meal, and to say hello to Boggus, whom she remembered as a kindly boss. He was always glad to see her and to provide a free cup of root-tea, her favorite drink. He also retailed the latest stories and rumors, such as the troubles in the north.
“They say the Ferals have been attacking Red Tooth Pass more strongly now. The Chancery is hiring more mercs to help out. You’ll probably see some pretty strange characters marching through Javakis soon.”
In four days there appeared in the streets 200 ferocious-looking men, dressed in an assortment of leather armor, armed with javelins and swords, called “Gambog’s Maulers.” The city authorities hustled them to a camp outside the walls and hurried them on their way the next morning. Later came some cavalry, the Coursers—lithe men on small horses—who were allowed to spend the night near the Old Gate and were likewise sent off at dawn.
Then one sunny afternoon, as Andiriel returned from her riding lesson, she heard music. A column of perhaps 400 soldiers was marching in step down Gold Street to the bracing rhythm of drums and fifes, headed by a man carrying a big blue flag on which was a white bird with golden claws diving on its prey. Officers rode beside their units. The troops wore matching equipment—helmets, mail shirts, and greaves—and carried large shields and long spears. Others, including a few young women, were archers in leather jerkins.
“Who are they?” she asked another onlooker.
“The Silver Hawks. You never heard of ‘em? Very famous they are. Fought in the Isles, and Castle Garmal, and all over. They took Vorgast and won the famous fight at Gorodel. The Pass will be well-guarded if the Emperor’s willing to pay for the Hawks.”
She walked along the broad avenue, next to the soldiers, enjoying the rhythmic music and the ordered progress of the men. They halted at the big field near the West Gate. An officer with a red crest on his silvered helmet spoke to them; then they broke ranks and started to set up camp with practiced efficiency.
Andiriel watched all this with great interest, then headed home. As she passed the Happy Tankard, Boggus trundled out to ask if she would work that evening. “We’ll need experienced help tonight. I’ll pay you C6 and there’ll be lots of tips.” She agreed, pleased to be wanted.
*
Boggus was not wrong. At liberty that evening, the Silver Hawks swamped every inn, tavern, and shop. Andiriel and the other four girls had their hands full taking care of customers—not only mercenaries but lots of citizens eager to hear news and stories, of which there was no shortage. Andiriel listened eagerly to snatches of talk about affairs in far-away places.
One table was occupied by a trio of bearded men. Two had three white stripes encircling the left arms of their blue supervests; the other had four. As Andiriel served them their latest mugs of ale and another chicken, one of them said, “How long have you been an archer?”
She stared at him while his companions laughed at her surprise.
“No, I’m no mage,” continued the man. “But I spent five years with the Golden Bows, and now three in the Hawks, and if I can’t tell an archer by her chest and upper arms, my name’s not Arvis Gelman.” (Andiriel blushed slightly. The costume of a Happy Tankard serving-girl was not as modest as the smock she had worn at the Institute.)
“Actually he’s Ralph Ondos,” said the four-striped man, which led to more laughter. “Tell him you’ve never fired a bow in your life and I’ll give you part of the bet I’ll win.”
“I’m afraid you lose, master. I’ve been practicing the bow for over two years.”
“There, you see? I am Arvis Gelman. And a fine archer I’ll bet you are, a tall, strong lass like you. Thinking of joining up?”
“Joining up? You mean become a mercenary?”
“It’s more exciting than carrying ale mugs to old coots like us.” More laughter.
“Is it all that much fun, Sergeant Gelman?”
“Sit down here. Your name? Sit down, Andiriel. Here’s a copper to buy you a break.”
She took the coin to Boggus, left her big tray on the counter, and joined the men.
“You must meet my friends,” said Arvis Gelman. “This brawny guy is Willem Bolton, who leads a section of heavy infantry, and the fellow with four stripes is Thrale Jermis, who’s the sergeant-major of 1st Company. We have to be respectful to him because he outranks us.”
“You’re respectful because I’m older and smarter,” said Jermis with a grin
“So why are you mercenaries?” asked Andiriel, accepting a slice of meat pie and a cup of ale. “You were going to tell me, Sergeant Gelman.”
“My dear, it’s a fine life. You travel all over the civilized lands—and some not so civilized, too. The pay is very good in a crack unit. The comradeship is wonderful. You have respect and honor from everyone. Now, I’ll bet you’ve never been far from Javakis, have you?”
“You’re right, I haven’t. Barely a mile, in fact.”
“But surely you’d like to travel? You don’t want to stay here all your life.”
“Oh yes, that’s true...”
“See the world and be paid for it: the spires of the Capital, the palaces and castles of the great lords, the cities of the Isles. Friends you can always depend on, the pride of doing a manly, I mean a difficult, job well.”
“But there aren’t many girl mercenaries, are there?”
“Very few, very few, but a small number of brave and daring women serve in fine units: exceptional women, like you, Andiriel.”
She couldn’t help smiling. Sgt. Gelman raised his arm and his voice. “Bravery calls, honor demands, glory awaits, my young friend, my future comrade-in-arms. Rise above the common herd. Embrace the life most suited for a man or woman of spirit and pride. Set your feet upon the path of glory!”
Patrons were listening. A corporal at another table began to sing:

Up, heroes, to battle, seize bow or spear!
Set your feet on the true path of glory!
Let cowards hide now and tremble with fear.
We’re the Hawks! Let the foe feel our fury!
With our weapons in hand and a song on our breath
We will vanquish the foe while we laugh at death!

Other Hawks joined in.

The world is balanced on a long sharp sword,
So hail! to the mightiest bladesmen.
The strong, brave, and skillful will gain the reward,
Not peasants or fat, greedy tradesmen.
No prize on the earth is so great or high
That heroes can’t seize it, if only they try!

And finally every mercenary in the Happy Tankard united, more or less in harmony:

A soldier of fortune alone can feel
Full life in its vigor and spirit.
We carve our future with guts and steel,
And as for Fate, we don’t fear it.
All men die but some die without being alive.
Long live courage and pride! May the Hawks always thrive!

The song ended with cheers and applause and shouts of “Hail the Hawks!” Sgt. Gelman, quite flushed after accompanying his lusty singing by pounding his tankard on the table, said, “Our hymn, Andiriel. We sang it while we broke Prince Ednis’s line at Gorodel and won the battle all had thought was lost. Ah, that was a day of glory.”
Sgt.-Maj. Jermis, who had sung out as lustily as any, spoke up: “Yes, and a day when we lost over thirty per cent. Arvis didn’t mention that he’s our senior recruiting sergeant.”
Andiriel, on the point of asking how to sign up, said, “Do you like being a mercenary, Sergeant Jermis?”
“It’s been a fine life for me. I escaped being a farmer, I met my wife—she’s one of our sutlers—and I’ve been places and seen things that were wonderful. And you can’t do better than the Hawks, if you’re infantry. But it isn’t all fun, and women have a harder time than men.”
“But what career is all fun?” asked Sgt. Gelman. “However,” he went on, calming down a bit, “you don’t have to run off with us tomorrow. But I’d like to see you shoot. We’ll be leaving Javakis about noon, won’t we, Will?”
“Yes. The commissary wants time to lay in some vegetables and wine.”
“Could I see you tomorrow at nine, at those butts near the wall?”
“Certainly, sergeant. I’ll be there.”
The sound of fifes and drums, soft but moving closer, filled the room. “That’s our song,” said the sergeant-major. “Tattoo. Twenty minutes to get back to camp.” He drained his mug, smacked his lips, got up, and bowed to Andiriel. “A pleasure to meet you, young mistress. If you want some advice from an old campaigner, keep practicing the bow and learn to ride. You may have a real future as a soldier.”
The other mercenaries were also leaving. Before Sgt. Gelman reached the door several young men came up to him. At least he recruited somebody with his eloquence, she thought. Maybe I really should... No, not yet. I wonder if Sir Branlor will come back?
Most of the townsmen also left. Andiriel and the other girls began cleaning up.
“How did we do, Master Boggus?” asked Chandra.
“Ha! Four days’ profits in one good night. A windfall. You’ll all get an extra C2.”
“And nice decent fellows, too,” said young Terini. “Hardly a broken bottle.”
“Mercs are like anyone else: there’s good and bad. Those Maulers a while back—they might’ve burned Javakis down if they’d been allowed to run loose. The Hawks are crack troops.”
*
Next morning Andiriel found both Arvis Gelman and Willem Bolton waiting for her. Arvis examined her old bow and said it was a decent beginner’s weapon. “But you certainly have a grand case for it,” he went on. “Must have cost much more than the bow.”
“Oh, this is for my other one.” She took out Sir Branlor’s gift.
Arvis gingerly took the bow, exchanged glances with his comrade, and exclaimed, “Dragonsteeth! You didn’t get this in Javakis.”
“No. It was a present from... from a friend in the Capital.”
“A friend? Are you a countess in disguise, my lady? Do you know what this is? It’s an Imperial Battle Bow. They only make ‘em at the main armory.” He pointed to the little green eagle below the grip. “That’s the hallmark. They cost near G30, and cits can’t buy ‘em without a warrant from the Marshal’s office. The Imperial Guard uses ‘em. There are no better bows.”
“Can you actually shoot this?” asked Sgt. Bolton.
“Not too well yet. But I practice every day, and I’m getting stronger.”
“May I try a few shots?” asked Arvis.
“Of course.”
He fired thrice at the thirty-yard target: two in the second ring and one in the bull.
“Ah,” he sighed happily. “Like a dream. Beautiful weapon.”
“Didn’t we come to see Andiriel shoot?” asked Sgt. Bolton with a grin.
“Uh, oh yes, of course. Please, show us your skill.”
Using her old bow, she put all five arrows into the forty-yard target, two quite near the bull. The men watched her closely. “Yes, she has the talent,” said Arvis. He moved her right arm a bit and her sixth arrow grazed the bull.
“You keep it up, young archer. Keep at it until you can use your Battle Bow as well as you do this one. Then you’ll really be ready for the Hawks.”
“Yes, and be nice to that friend who gave it to you,” said Willem Bolton. “Maybe you’ll get a set of Vlaster’s Plate next.” Both men laughed.
She walked with them back to camp, filled with curiosity about where the Silver Hawks were going and what they were going to do when they got there.
Arvis laughed. “You should ask our colonel,” he said. “We underofficers don’t worry much about stuff like that. Our job is to see that our men are in good shape wherever we go, and we know that wherever it is we’ll be fighting someone. Unless it’s what we call a ‘soft mission,’ like guarding a palace or escorting a caravan. But I guess that the Ferals are getting noisier than usual so they need some really good men to quiet ‘em down.”
“There was trouble in April,” said Willem. “Lots more Ferals than usual, and some of the provincial levies didn’t hold up. The Chancery must have decided to send better troops.” He smiled. “And they’re sending the best.”
“Have you ever been to the Pass?” she asked.
“Not me,” said Arvis. “Will has.”
“Twelve years ago. I was with the Savage Spears then. The Duke of Corm hired us instead of sending his levy—wanted to give his people time to get in their harvest. The Pass is quite a place. Huge fortress, of course, but so desolate—dusty plains next to an endless forest. You can stand on the battlements and see trees as far as the horizon. We were there three months and saw action on at least ten days. Got a nice scar on my leg to remember it by.”
“And did you see much of the Sovereign Order?”
“The Sovereign... You mean the Glory Knights?” asked Willem. “Sure. They command the fortress and the army. A privilege to fight alongside ‘em. But the garrison is about 3,000 men, and there’s only 300 Glory Knights. The rest are mercs or levies.”
They were near the camp; the two sergeants took their leave. “Think about what I told you,” said Arvis Gelman. “We can always use eager young archers, especially when they’re as smart as you, and anyone will tell you that the Silver Hawks are the best regiment in the Empire or the Isles. Practice. You’ll be damned lethal if you can master that grand bow of yours. And keep the Hawks in mind. We’ll be up at Red Tooth Pass for a good while, just fifty miles away.” He grinned. “I think you might become our first female officer.”
“We’ll meet again,” said Willem. “The Hawks fly all over.”
She went home, wondering why Sir Branlor thought she was worthy of so splendid a gift as her Battle Bow. Over thirty gold!
*
The next day, instead of riding, Andiriel shopped. She came home with a helmet, a hauberk, a sword with a scabbard and silvered belt, a dagger in a sturdy sheath, three hunting shirts, two pairs of riding breeches, a pair of knee-boots, twenty days’ supply of cured beef, spurs, a haversack, a tinderbox, a riding crop, and a small tent. After paying the porters who carried all this to her rooms she found she had spent G31/S9/C6.
She sat sipping root tea in her stuffed chair near the open window, contemplating her impedimenta and wondering what had possessed her. I spent over a third of my money and I don’t even know what I’m going to do with this stuff. I’ve got spurs and no horse. I’ve never even held a sword. What’s come over me? I’m a little orphan girl—well, maybe not so little, considering all the trouble they had finding a hauberk that fit—and I’ve never traveled anywhere in my life. I’ve got a ton of work yet to do at the Wizards’ House.
She put on her gear and posed before the mirror. At least I look like a fighter, she thought, smiling. She adjusted her helmet, thinking that she had made a good choice of the four available. It covered the skull, the cheeks, and the neck to the shoulders, and had a flat visor that left the face open. Master Ordel, the proprietor of Javakis Arms and Armor, had called it a “burgonet.” (He also said there was a ‘falling buffe’ that could be attached to the cheek plates and raised to shield her lower face, but he didn’t have one in stock.)
She took off the equipment, ate supper, and set out for an archery lesson with her Battle Bow, determined that today she’d get her thumb somewhere near her nose. And she resolved to wear her hauberk for a couple of hours each day, to get used to its weight and to moving in it.
Two weeks passed.

Culture Corner: The LOTR Film Trilogy

2010-03-01T20:20:00.000-08:00

In posting this evaluation I risk the wrath of many, I suppose, since Mr. Jackson's trilogy is, I believe, fairly popular with several people. But Tolkien's masterpiece has been an inspiration to me since I read it many decades ago, and is responsible for the whole revival of the Fantasy genre in modern times. Therefore I must publish a few words about the cinematic rendition of the Master's story, and say, like Martin Luther at the Diet of Worms (though perhaps about a slightly less important issue), "Here I stand. I cannot do otherwise."

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THE CHOICES OF MASTER PETER

Peter Jackson’s rendition of J.R.R. Tolkien’s books has won so many awards that belaboring it might seem pointless, but belabor it I will, for I believe that Mr. Jackson’s three movies (Special Extended Edition) are a betrayal of Tolkien’s plot and characters, and that it would have been better if the films had never been made because their success will make it difficult or impossible for anyone to get the chance to do a good job.
*
That the films are visually impressive no one can deny. We must commend the artisans who did so masterful a job with photography, costumes, and sets. The Weta Workshop is superb. The stunt team is magnificent. The attention to detail, the thought, the hard work that went into re-creating Middle Earth, are wonderful. The opening of Fellowship is a fine interpretation of the Shire; I was enthralled to see what I had so often read about. Mr. Jackson deserves much praise for bringing together the experts he worked with, and no one can but admire the energy and organizing ability he demonstrated in making three huge films at once over a period of several years.
*
Unfortunately, Mr. Jackson evidently thinks he is not only a great director but an equally-great writer, so all this technical ability produced a deformed variant of J.R.R. Tolkien’s novel. One might say it is as though a skilled craftsman, given the score of a Beethoven sonata, carefully built a fine piano, and then, fancying himself a composer as well as a builder, tinkered with the sonata and turned it into “Chopsticks.”
*
Let us catalog a few of the cinematic crimes of PJ.

Frodo, instead of being a character who grows in wisdom and courage, remains a scared, clumsy, rather negligible pygmy who succeeds in spite of himself. The worst betrayal of Tolkien in the films comes in Fellowship, when Arwen shows up to rescue the wounded Frodo. Setting aside the idiocy of Arwen as an Amazonian elf-maiden, this means that Frodo is carried across the river like a sack of potatoes. His splendid defiance of the Black Riders (“By Elbereth and Luthien the Fair, you shall have neither the Ring nor me!”) is replaced by some words written for Arwen; instead of growing and rising in our esteem, Frodo remains literally inert. This is very dumb; it is the epitome of stupidity; it suggests that Mr. Jackson was unable to understand the books when he read them. (Insofar as he did: on ROTK Disc 2 (Scene 62) he says, “... because I haven’t obviously picked up the book and actually read the book for years. I’ve read little bits and pieces of it.... You lose the experience of the books as a whole and... I now... my mind is so muddled as to which is what” [i.e., he does not know how his movie differs from the book]).
*
As we go on, we see Frodo falling down a lot and opening his eyes very wide. Those are his main talents: falling down and staring. He falls down on every possible occasion, including an especially splendid belly-flop into the Dead Marshes.
*
Aragorn’s character is betrayed by completely changing his moti-vation. In the book, he is a hero who, after decades of preparation, is ready to claim his rightful throne. In the film, he is a moral coward, a wimp who has abandoned his family’s heritage, who has to be shamed and argued into accepting his destiny as Isildur’s heir.
*
Saruman, no longer the too-clever conniver who hopes to outwit Sauron, seize the ring, and become master of Middle Earth, is simply Sauron’s willing tool.
*
Théoden, a kindly, venerable old man who regains his courage, is too young, and portrayed as a touchy grouch who usually looks as though his ulcer was bothering him.
*
Elrond makes Théoden seem cheery. His expression--a permanent scowl--suggests his diet must consist mainly of lemons. And did he have to look like an aging hippie?
(I was happy to find, after I wrote these lines on Elrond, the following comments by Mike Hopkins, the Supervising Sound Editor, on the commentary track (Scene 30, where Elrond gives the re-forged sword to Aragorn--a scene not in Tolkien, of course). Mr. Hopkins says wryly that Elrond has not yet gone over the sea because the other elves told him, “‘You’re not coming to the (expletive) Undying Lands with us, you (expletive) moaning bastard. You’d just bring us all down.’ Look at him. He’s so (expletive) depressing, isn’t he? I mean all he talks about is doom; we’re all gonna die. Give that man a valium, some Prozac.” Mr. Hopkins’s pungent insights suggest that I am not the only one to sense that the Elrond depicted in the films is not exactly what a great Elf-lord ought to be.)
*
Gimli. Oh lord. Someone should have told Mr. Jackson—since he evidently could not grasp it by himself--that dwarves are not noted humorists, but are dignified and serious almost to a fault. Turning Gimli into a buffoon, a zany, a figure of fun, ruins the character and gives us a series of embarrassingly stupid jokes and events that make us wince again and again. (Dwarf-tossing? A drinking contest with Legolas?) Every time the camera focuses on Gimli, we dread what will come out of his mouth.
*
Almost everywhere you touch these films, after the first half hour of Fellowship, they ring false, they fail. Hardly anything has not been marred. Pippin has to trick Treebeard into fighting; Denethor, with no reference to the palantir that has maddened him, is a lunatic set up for a preposterous end that deprives him of all dignity (the “flying fireball”); Boromir’s noble death is ruined by having him get up and fight again and again; Aragorn falls over a cliff to extract a few cheap emotions from his friends... There is no end. These things did not save time or simplify the plot. They were deliberate decisions by Mr. Jackson, a man whose childish mind fits him only for the making of penny-dreadful horror movies.
*
A last example: the siege of Minas Tirith. In the books, an epic of bravery and resolution, courage and victory; in the film, the siege is resolved by the arrival of an army of bluish ghosts (what someone called the “scrubbing-bubbles of death”) that surges over all opposition after Gandalf’s staff has been broken (!), Gondor’s ineffective soldiers are cowering, and Theoden’s cavalry largely trampled by elephants. Tolkien dismissed the dead army after it seized the corsair fleet; Jackson brings it to Minas Tirith and ruins the whole scene.
*
One could go on for many more pages, but that would be too sad a task. These movies are a cream pie thrown in Tolkien’s face by a yahoo incapable of appreciating the work of a great author. The usefulness of the films is to show how superior literature is to cinema (a sentiment that the screenplay writers share: see below). What the humble scholar did alone, with a pen, in his spare time, towers far above what was done by the Great Director with thousands of assistants and a budget of many millions.

Tolkien’s work is immortal. Jackson’s films are meretricious.
Long live the Master! Down with the Falsifier!
---------------------------------
The commentary tracks, especially that of the three writers, are often amusing and instructive. Mr. Jackson, Ms. Walsh, and Ms. Boyens sometimes engage in recriminations as to who was responsible for this or that atrocity, or make desperate attempts to furnish reasons why they corrupted this or that part of Tolkien’s book. Sometimes they admit that a scene “attracted a certain amount of criticism” from “purists.” (I suppose they mean people who expected that the greatest scenes in the book might appear in the movies.) Listen, e.g., to their writhings at Scene 48 of Two Towers (when elves arrive at Helm’s Deep). Also of great interest are Ms. Walsh’s comments at the very end of Two Towers (at 1:53:50, buried in the end-credits, with the names of the prosthetics supervisors on the screen)--interesting because she maintains that films are inferior to books and that it is impossible for a movie to do justice to Tolkien. (“You can’t really have anything that comes close to the depth of the books.... You can’t really hope to satisfy people who adore this book with the movie.... Films are entertainments, they’re just not going to give you the pleasure that a book can give you.”) These are telling admissions. (Mr. Jackson says nothing; silence implies consent.) I would raise the question: then why did you folks make the films at all? Perhaps the task should have fallen to someone who believes that a good film can do justice to a novel? Or at least someone who would make the effort?
*
It is also quite funny--although not so intended--to hear a writer, or an actor, happily point out some scene where the film does correspond to the book, often accompanied by an inane comment about how “this should please the fans”--as though these “fans” were some group of exigent eccentrics who had from time to time to be propitiated before the writers could get on with their real job of mangling Tolkien. Take, for example, Sam grasping Frodo’s hand when he first sees him at Rivendell: What fidelity to the text! How ecstatic are the fans! As though such trivia matters, coming as it does right after Xena, I mean Arwen, has carried the moribund Frodo over the river and ruined his whole character develop-ment. They seem to think that “the fans” will overlook such betrayals because, for example, the director gave the hobbits huge hairy feet. I firmly believe “the fans” would have happily seen the hobbits wearing rubber boots had they been spared such things as Legolas skateboarding down stairs or Gimli saying, “Nobody tosses the dwarf”!
Matthew 23:24. (Ye blind guides, which strain at a gnat and swallow a camel.)
-------------------
Mr. Jackson’s co-writers may not deserve to be tarred with the same brush that must be so heavily applied to him. Some of the comments suggest that the two women feel embarrassed by at least some of Mr. Jackson’s depredations. Here is an excerpt from the commentary as Eomer arrives at Helm’s Deep: (PB = Ms. Boyens; FW = Ms. Walsh; PJ = the Great Director):

PB: Another slight departure from the book, but one, which I note with great interest, nobody ever worries about.
PJ: ‘Cause this is really Erkenbrand...
PB: ...and Éomer is always in Helm’s Deep and fighting side by side....
FW: It’s because we committed much bigger sins.
PB: I know... well...
PJ: That’s the whole plan. You commit a few big crimes and it takes everyone’s eye away from the small ones, like a clever little detour...
PB: We could do courses in criminal screenwriting.
FW: Crimes Against the Books
PB: Crimes Against the Books 101.
*
And here is a transcription of the commentary near the start of Disc 2 of ROTK, when the Corsairs of Umbar appear.

PJ: Don’t really need the scene at all. [!]
PB: (enthusiastically) No, not at all.
FW: I think ‘painful’ is a good and apt description.

PJ comments on his pirate cameo; a woman laughs as the ghost army attacks the fleet.

PJ: What? (Laughter continues)

FW: Now that’s the moment at which the film passed from being, you know, a fantasy movie into a Monty Python moment. (PB Laughs harder.) What the hell? Was that the most motley crew...

PJ: Nothing wrong with Monty Python, though.

FW: And the cheapest... (dissolves in laughter)

PB: I just want to say that while this was going on... what were we doing, Fran?

FW: We were trying to / FW & PB: save the film... / FW: from the …. clutches of the pirate.

Ladies, I am very sorry you failed.

Culture Corner: Star Wars III

2010-02-21T19:53:00.000-08:00

Here is the last installment of my serenely calm examination of the first three Star Wars films.

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STAR WARS III: REVENGE OF THE PLOT

Unlike I and II, III has at least a clear story line: Mr. Lucas had to accomplish definite things to link with IV. But with advances in CGI and SFX, this one is even more dependent on mere visual glitter than the first: the incomprehensible opening battle is a good example. Alas, Mr. Lucas and his coterie of animators and computerists have been seduced by the dark... I mean, have reached the point where in their minds flashy things on the screen are a desirable substitute for story and acting. The com-mentary is taken up by the usual technicians putting on airs, telling us how ingenious they are, preening themselves on their mastery of the “cutting edge” techniques of making movies without sets (or actors).
Look, you rude mechanicals, what you are doing is making cartoons. People have been making cartoons since the 1930s. Your cartoons are, indeed, more elaborate than, say, Steamboat Willie, but not inherently more moving or entertaining. Get over yourselves, computer boys. We do not stand in awe of your creations because making them uses some shiny new thingamajig. Illogic, nonsense, plot holes a mile wide, glitz for the sake of glitz, do not become great because they are confected on blue screens. You would be doing more service to movies by reminding Mr. Lucas of this fact than by praising to the skies his every idea and enabling his increasing dependence on whiz-bangs cover up his lack of substance.
*
My chief objections concern the end of the film.
Anakin joins the Sith primarily to save Padmé from death. But Palpatine finally tells him that this can be done only with additional research. (“If we work together, I know we can discover the secret.”) Since Padmé is to die in childbirth, however, and is nine months pregnant, it does not seem that there is much time to do this research, does it? Anakin should at this point have realized that Palpatine can do nothing to save his wife, and has been lying to him.
*
Padmé’s death is entirely unconvincing. She is in good physical health. She is conscious and rational: she names her children. Then she dies. Why? Of a broken heart? Would not her maternal desire to raise two healthy babies keep her alive? Would she die and abandon them? The real cause of Padmé’s death is the plot: Mr. Lucas has to get rid of her because she never appears in IV - VI (except for Leia’s now-obsolete comment that she remembers her mother, which is impossible). Surely our great auteur could have come up with a more convincing way to dispose of her.
*
“Hidden, safe, the children must be kept,” says guess who. Yes, fine. How shall we do this? Let’s give the girl to Bail Organa, one of the most conspicuous figures in the senate. No one will notice her then. As for the boy: “to Tatooine and his family send him.” (That will fool the Emperor and Darth Vader--they’d never think to look there, would they?)
*
Mr. Lucas should have hired a writer--several writers. He no longer has the imagination and skill to write good scripts. He is interested mainly in spectacle (and marketing. Several times I almost wrote Lucre instead of Lucas.) He has been seduced by... oops, there I go again.
*
One last, finicky note: I wish that Obi-Wan Kenobi did not look like Tsar Nicholas II. It is disturbing for any historians who happen to watch the film.
----------------------
It would be churlish, after this philippic, not to commend Mr. Lucas for Star Wars IV. A New Hope is a masterpiece. Mr. Lucas was inspired in his plotting and characters, and tireless in making the film in spite of all difficulties. He created a world we all love to see and heroes we love to root for. Bravo!

Perhaps Mr. Lucas started so very well that there was no way to go but down. Maybe, like Harper Lee in literature or Leoncavallo and Mascagni in music, he had only one great work in him. Maybe the crude state of Special Effects helped him: he could not use his glitzmeisters to cloud the screen with mere spectacle and he was thus forced to depend more on his talent and wits, which atrophied as it became easier to cover up poor plot and characters with bigger explosions.

How are the mighty fallen!

The Test of the Future

2010-02-15T14:30:00.000-08:00

A major trend in secondary (and, for all I know, primary and college) education is to downplay the acquisition of factual knowledge in favor of such things as "critical thinking," "relevance," and catering to supposed "learning styles." In a short time--perhaps already--we may expect to see certain modifications in traditional tests--insofar as "tests" are given at all, there also being some feeling among those advocating "alternative assesment techniques" that expecting students to know things is really quite an obsolete notion. Here is my contribution to more "user-friendly" examinations, a presage of what forms of traditional evaluation may survive into the next decade.

___________________________

EUROPE 1870-1945 (Senior Elective) / Dr. Libby
Final Exam, Winter Term / 20 Points

ESSAY. (4 points)

Write at least three sentences (or fragments) showing that Adolf Hitler was not a nice man.
(If you prefer, you may write about Joseph Stalin).

CHRONOLOGY. Arrange these important battles of World War I in the order they occurred by numbering them from 1 to 5 (1 being the earliest event, 2 the second, 3 the third, and so on all the way to 5, which is the last.) ( 5 pts.)

____ The 9th Battle of the Isonzo

____ The 3rd Battle of the Isonzo

____ The 7th Battle of the Isonzo

____ The 11th Battle of the Isonzo

____ The 5th Battle of the Isonzo

TRUE/FALSE. (1 point each.)

____ Russia is bigger than Belgium.

____ Benito Mussolini was Italian.

____ Germany and Japan lost World War II.

____ Many people died in World War I

____ Belgium is not bigger than Russia

IDENTIFICATIONS. Do any one. Skip any four. ( 4 points.)

1. The Battle of Caporetto

2. The Blomberg-Fritsch Crisis

3. The Beer Hall Putsch

4. The Reichstag Fire

5. Your mother

GEOGRAPHY. (2 pts.) Put these items on the accompanying map of Europe, using the numbers.

1. Land

2. Water

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Note: If this test is too "high stakes"--if it gives you a headache, causes convulsions, or induces a negative self-image--you may instead write 500 words on the topic "What hockey means to me." Note that for "hockey" you may substitute "soccer," "figure skating," or "Ritalin."

Kinesthetic students may, instead of taking the test, perform an interpretative dance on the Battle of Verdun or the Stock Market Crash.

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http://andiriel.blogspot.com

Culture Corner: Star Wars II

2010-02-07T19:29:00.000-08:00

A look at the second film in the series:

STAR WARS II: TACKY CLOWNS

This weak film features several very large plot holes. The most obvious is the inability of the Jedi Order to see Anakin Skywalker’s unfitness for his job.
Anakin is a precocious boy with little discipline. He is a hothead, a loose cannon, and emotionally involved with Padmé. He is not yet a good Jedi. But the Jedi Council--that collection of oh-so-sapient magi presided over by the Green Guru--ignores Obi-Wan’s explicit warning and sends Anakin to guard Padmé. (“The Council is confident in its decision.”)
A major source of Anakin’s anxiety is his mother. This problem could of course have been solved if it had occurred to anyone to buy her freedom and bring her to Coruscant, but nobody cares about poor Shmi. Even her loving son, with all his powers, is unable to come up with such a brainstorm as setting her free. And how limited communications seem to be in the galaxy: there have been no messages between Anakin and his mother for years. One thinks she would drop him a line occasionally--at least a postcard, if she can’t afford a hologram--to mention little things like her marriage. Anakin might even try to write to her.
*
Obi-Wan and Anakin go to tremendous lengths to run down Zam, the assassin. When Zam is killed, however, and the two Jedi see the killer take off via rocket-pack, they just sit there looking at the dart. Why not chase him?
*
The diner scene is what Mr. Lucas calls a “homage to American Graffiti,” but it is still idiotic. The resources of the Galactic Republic cannot discover where a dart comes from, but a short-order cook can (a cook who of course prospected “on Subterrel beyond the Rim”, but apparently without much success considering the job he now has). And how humble of Mr. Lucas to pay homage to himself.
*
Among all the bizarre fairy-tale creatures with which Mr. Lucas populates his universe, the Kaminians are the silliest. These effeminate giraffes hardly seem tough enough to run a war college, and they are so dumb they cannot see that Obi-Wan has not been sent to collect the clone army but is an intruder. (Jango Fett deduces this instantly.) Given such stupidity, one wonders how the Kaminians have managed to figure out how to clone humans. But they are very generous in granting credit to customers: they have never written anyone about the 1,200,000 clones they think the Jedi ordered; instead, they wait years for someone to show up and ask how things are going. (And who is paying for all this? Who’s writing checks to Kamino? Why don’t the Jedi try to find out?)
*
The comment track reinforces what I said before. The mechanics again bloviate on how clever they are. See how Sebulba’s tentacles move! Behold him walking on his hands! Lo! Lama Su brushes his knee! (“An extra level of acting and realism” says the commentator. Really.)
*
The weirdest scene in any of the films is Scene 23 in this one. Senator Amidala—who, we recall, is five years Anakin’s senior—tells her young admirer they cannot fall in love. [As Mr. Lucas mellifluously puts it in the commentary, “She’s obviously older and, and, you know, in a professional thing that a queen, a senator, a leader so that she’s much more reality-based in all of this…”] When giving Anakin this message, Ms. Amidala chooses to wear a strapless black leather bustier and shoulder-high gloves, and to meet her ardent bodyguard on a comfy sofa in a richly-furnished darkened room with a cozy fire burning on the hearth.
If this film had any depth, one would assume that the senator is actually trying to seduce Anakin, saying no with words but yes in every other way, or that she is setting him up for an assault charge when the overheated teenage Jedi quite understandably jumps on her.
But because the film has no depth, we may infer that this scene is a tiny serving of cheesecake made to the long-suffering daddies accompany-ing their tots to this kiddie flick—a motif that is repeated at the end of the film, when Ms. Portman, wearing a form-fitting body stocking, has her costume lacerated by a big ugly monster, exposing her cute midriff, after which her bosom unaccountably gets bosomier in subsequent scenes until she is very bouncy indeed at 2:10:26. The commentary track, usually so loquacious, does not specify if this involves CGI, although the effect is certainly more enticing than Lama Su brushing his knee. (The reader will understand my attention to such details is evidence only of rigorous scholarship.)

*
So farewell to Star Wars II, another testimony to Mr. Lucas’s inability to write any more decent or logical scripts, to the poverty of his mind, to the victory of appearance over substance. But let us close with a game. I was hoping to see, among all the wondrous machines shown on the bonus disk, the Alphabet Soup Generator that picks character names. From the list below, select the memorable names of real characters from among the silly names I made up.

1 - Fangor Pondictat

2 - Cronash Tal-Avarin

3 - Figraz Kloongarth

4 - Oppo Racisis

5 - Depa Billaba

6 - Pooja Naberrie

7 - Sio Bibble

8 - Plo Koo

9 - Ash Aak

10 - Elan Sleazebaggano

11 - Gilranos Libkath

12 - Triz Estonna

Answer: Nos. 1, 2, 3, and 12 are mine. The others are Mr. Lucas’s.

AND GLADLY TEACH --An Excerpt

2010-02-01T20:05:00.000-08:00

Here is a chapter from And Gladly Teach, my satirical look at life at a prep school. This is Chapter 5.
And Gladly Teach was published in 2001. It's set at St. Lawrence Academy (SLA), an entirely fictional location.

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V. THE MAGI
As part of the opening week’s meetings, the faculty was introduced to Dr. Rodney L. Glennis, the founder and president of the firm of Broad Horizons, Inc., educational consultants. SLA had hired Broad Horizons to study all aspects of school life and to recommend ways to attract more students, reduce expenses, and, in general, make more money. (As a non-profit organization SLA was naturally very concerned with making as much money as possible.)

What is a “consultant”? The dictionary says, “an expert who is called on for professional or technical advice,” but a far more comprehensive definition might be “someone who is paid a lot of money to figure out things you ought to be able to figure out for yourself.” Another definition, apt for the sort of consultant the educational world produces, is “someone who, not liking to be a teacher or an an administrator, now makes more money than either by telling them how to teach and administrate.”

The world of education teems with consultants, it seethes with them, it is lousy with them. There is probably no school in the country whose substance has not been drained by at least one of these academic lampreys. It is not easy to say why communities consisting of well-educated adults, with decades of experience in every aspect of their profession, shell out thousands of dollars to these self-proclaimed experts. But they do. In the private school world there are even consultants to whom parents can go for the purpose of finding the “right” school for their child. This is a particularly lucrative field, since parents driven to use such services are so desperate to get their kid(s) out of the house that they will pay any amount to find a school which will take them. Such consultants, with just a computer, a phone, a copy of the Bunting & Lyon guide, and a knowledge of which schools are in financial trouble, could place Jack the Ripper in a private school, for a suitable fee.

Dr. Glennis (exactly what he was a doctor of was not clear, but the title engendered confidence in his clients) was a tall, gaunt, balding man in his late fifties, with bushy brows and bright brown eyes. He had arrived with a staff of three and several suitcases full of charts, tables, graphs, and overheads. He spoke for two solid hours. He painted an unnerving picture of the future. He explained how American teenagers were with each passing minute becoming stupider, lazier, and more undisciplined, how their parents were becoming less and less competent at raising them, how independent schools would soon be inundated with these creatures, and how any school which hoped to survive would have to develop “new and innovative programs,” “a clearer vision of viable objectives,” and “a distinctive cachet to proclaim itself unique among the profusion of similar institutions.”
All the while he spoke, his aides were busy flashing transparencies on the screen and whisking them away before the squinting audience could deduce their meaning, if indeed they had any. One chart was displayed upside-down, but that really made no difference.
“Broad Horizons has been conducting an in-depth study of SLA, which will be concluded shortly. We will then be in a position to make further recommendations as to how you can improve recruitment and retention. You have already taken a great step forward by energizing your hockey program, as I recommended to the Board two years ago.”

“So it’s his fault,” whispered several of the teachers.

“SLA cannot rest on its academics. Remember, parents take for granted that every independent school has an excellent teaching staff, superb courses, unlimited individual attention, and fine college preparatory opportunities. That’s a given.”

Now many teachers were glancing at each other. Was this true? Were parents really that dumb?
“What you must have is a further extra-curricular, I mean co-curricular, ...” Dr. Glennis’s volubility momentarily stopped. The word he had almost used, “gimmick,” didn’t seem elevated enough. Then he went on, “... dimension. which will individualize your identity. You must not be thought of as a ‘plain vanilla’ school, but rather as a Neapolitan one, a sort of tutti-frutti, which offers things unique, distinctive, sui generis!”

The teachers didn’t clap, partly because they were mostly appalled, and partly because they did not know he was done. But he was done, for the moment.

In the back row Mr. Vetter turned to Mr. del Rey. “But I like vanilla,” he whispered plaintively.
Mr. Jones, the European History teacher, a crabbed and reactionary man who had a particularly low tolerance for consultants, and indeed for innovations in general, looked at his schedule and noted with regret that tomorrow another speaker would appear. Mr. Jones often wondered who did this scheduling. He thought it was done by the Senior Staff, or SS, at its weekly meeting. The term SS did not mean--as one might think--those members of the faculty who had been at SLA for the longest time. No, the SS was an ex officio group which did not include any full-time teachers. Exactly who it did include was hard to say. Mr. Jones had never seen any list which specified the members of the Senior Staff. The SS exercised power anonymously, like the Venetian Council of Ten, the Neapolitan Camarilla, and the Illuminati. Perhaps the members had a secret handshake or a special tie clip. At any rate, these ghostly councillors seemed to be responsible for bringing to the campus the succession of quacks, mountebanks, and assorted humbugs who periodically bedevilled the busy teachers with their crackpot theories and impractical advice.

On the morrow, the latest speaker turned out to be some sort of child psychologist, an adolescent development “expert.” His presentation was so bizarre that many of the teachers wondered if it was an elaborate practical joke, similar to the one at a convention some years before where the keynote speaker, billed as Margaret Thatcher’s educational advisor and the youngest pilot to have flown with the RAF in the Battle of Britain, turned out to be a comedian. Certainly the clouds of jargon which befogged the room had about them an aura of comic implausibility.

First came something called the “Optimal Environmental Conditions” (which made Mr. Jones think of seventy degrees and low humidity,) which were engendered by a teacher having “Congruent Anticipatory Sets” with his students. This led, somehow, to “Cognitive Behavioral Change.” Intervention in student discipline would succeed, said the speaker, only if “environmental conditions” were “appropriate.” One had to “assess the lethality” of a situation so that one could provide “value-added opportunities” which students would “buy into.”
With everyone reeling from this barrage, the speaker--Dr. somebody, they were always “doctors”--physician, heal thyself--went on to the topic of “Gaining a Meta-Perspective.” A “teacher-student interaction” was something which happened on the “subjective level.” When the teacher then discussed this “interaction” with one or more colleagues, he gained a “meta-perspective.” A discussion of this discussion furnished one with a “meta-meta-perspective.” And ...
Mr. Jones quietly got up and went away. He knew that he might be reprimanded for this desertion, but he thought that a reprimand would be preferable to being jailed for murdering the speaker, which, given his state of mind, was his only alternative to departure. On his way home he marvelled, not for the first time, at his colleagues’ patience in tolerating these verbal assaults. He knew that SLA was not unique. All over the country, probably all over the world, these “experts” were going to and fro in the earth, and walking up and down in it, chanting their incomprehensible mantras to captive audiences at conventions, school openings, and faculty meetings, and being well-paid for doing so.

At least, thought Mr. Jones as he entered his apartment and sank into his easy chair, this guy hadn’t had us “break up into little groups.” That was a favorite technique of those people. The faculty would be divided into squads of five or six and sent hither and yon to discuss some problem concocted by the speaker. Often each group would be instructed to write its collective thoughts with a magic marker on large, poster-sized sheets of paper. When the faculty reconvened, the speaker would pin up the sheets of paper all around the room, so it resembled a kindergarten, and then everyone would compare the various ideas and try to find “congruence.” After it was found--and it always was--the now-congruent teachers could go home, the speaker would gather up the posters and throw them away, and no one would ever hear or speak of the matter again. This was called a “very productive meeting.”

Looking at the school calendar, Mr. Jones saw that in two weeks the faculty would hear from a firm of architects. He smiled wryly. This would be the third or fourth architectural presentation in about as many years. The Headmaster and the Board were always coming up with wonderful plans for renovating the dorms and classrooms, erecting new buildings, and generally modernizing the campus. This led (of course) to hiring a consultant, who, in return for a few tens of thousands of dollars, would produce plans of striking beauty and marvellous utility. These beautiful plans would be displayed at a faculty meeting and explained by a voluble expert who would make it seem as if paradise would come as soon as the school built the magnificent structures so carefully delineated on his expensive charts.

Mr. Jones recalled the plan for the huge field house connected to Laud Hall by an aerial walkway; the completely-renovated boys’ dorm, with its suites and lounges; the new main entrance to the school, which would have made coming to SLA an experience similar to that of arriving at Versailles. Ah, yes, they were all so wonderful...

The only problem was that none of them was ever built. SLA had barely enough money to perform the routine maintenance required to keep its existing buildings from falling to the ground. Starting work on the architects’ plans depended on a successful Capital Campaign, and this campaign, for which (of course) consultants had been repeatedly hired and paid more tens of thousands of dollars, never started. It never started because the consultants said that one does not start a capital campaign until after half the money has already been raised quietly and behind the scenes, so as to convince prospective donors that the whole amount would indeed be collected, and so far the SLA Board and alumni who were solicited had not promised enough.
And so the architectural plans remained, insubstantial and fairylike: pleasure-domes decreed but never built, until replaced by other, newer, ephemeral drawings and evanescent figments of imagination.

Mr. Jones reflected that if the Headmaster and the Board could remove the opium pipes from their teeth and come down to planet Earth, they might take all the money spent on these consultants and just do something useful with it, like repairing the scandalously decrepit boys’ showers. In thinking this, however, Mr. Jones was merely demonstrating that he would never be a Headmaster, because he lacked “Strategic Vision.” Strategic Vision is the ability to ignore mundane realities completely and to immerse oneself in a world of dreams. All great educational leaders have it.

As for Mr. Jones, well, he really felt, after being exposed to all these consultants, advisors, and experts, that a school in need of guidance would be better off if it hired an astrologer. The fees would be less, and the advice every bit as reliable.
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From the back cover:

And Gladly Teach is funny, sarcastic, poignant, outrageous, light-hearted, serious, and more realistic than you would wish to believe. It is also short and has a happy ending. It is highly recommended for reading on long plane rides, at the beach, and at dull faculty meetings (as long as you sit way in back so the Headmaster can't see you.)

The Newest Members of the U.N.

2010-01-28T18:40:00.000-08:00

Planning a vacation? Do not overlook these charming spots.

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GROSS KLEINREICH

Nestled between the Strumnitz and Flessgau Rivers, Gross Kleinreich, which seceded from Burgundy in 1422, is ruled by His Serene Highness Grand Duke Ottokar XXIX. The happy populace—by law, depressed and sulky people are hanged—lives in the only remaining Divine Right Absolute Monarchy in Europe. The duchy’s primary products are overpriced sweatshirts sold to tourists and elaborate postage stamps bought only by philatelists. (Gross Kleinreich welcomes visitors, but, since it is not very large, please park in Luxembourg.)

TOUGOUBOUGOU

The Peoples’ Democratic Republic of Tougoubougou was established in 1966 as a union of the Tougous and the Oubougous, two tribes on the lower Upper Volta River. Government is by coup d’état, and preserves the old Oubougou tradition that the new president cook and eat his predecessor. The national income is based on loans from the United Nations deposited directly into the president’s Swiss bank account.

CARAMBA

Formerly a strip mall in Tijuana, the Republic of Caramba declared its independence from Mexico in 1998, a move that was successful because nobody noticed. The chief industry is digging tunnels to the U.S.A. and charging 50,000 pesos apiece to people who use them. The population—Señor Martinez, his wife, and their thirteen children—hopes to join NATO this year.

GUANONIA

The Grand Republic of Guanonia consists of two archipelagos in the South Pacific, the Teeniweeni Isles and the Itsibitsi Group. The population is approximately 3,000,000, ninety-eight percent of whom are birds who provide the islanders’ cash “crop” and main export, from which the nation takes its name. This proud land—known in colonial times as the Gulldung Islands—is trying desperately to get some Western country to take it back.

Culture Corner: Star Wars I

2010-01-18T18:59:00.000-08:00

How about some film criticism? Would you like my learned insights anent The Maltese Falcon, or Battleship Potemkin, or even The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari? Perhaps an analysis of the use of shadow symbolism in Ivan the Terrible, Part II? Well... maybe we should start at a more modest level, and with a film that is more my speed. Here's a few opinionated words concerning that much-anticipated classic from a few years back, Star Wars I: The Phantom Menace.
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STAR WARS I: THE PHANTOM MESS

The immortal main theme begins. The orange words appear:“Turmoil has engulfed the Galactic Republic. The taxation of trade routes to outlying systems is in dispute. Hoping to resolve the matter with a blockade of deadly battleships, the greedy Trade Federation has stopped all shipping to the small planet of Naboo.... this alarming chain of events...”
Do we sit in wonder, our popcorn halfway to our mouths, as chills run down our spines? Good lord! A trade dispute. A blockade of a small planet. A chain of events (apparently a small chain, with only two links).
This is the stuff of which epics are made?
What is the purpose of the blockade? Shouldn’t the Trade Federation want to trade with Naboo? Perhaps the T.F. wants to charge higher prices? We never learn anything about the dispute, other than that it is legal and trivial. (“Something as trivial as this trade dispute,” says Qui-Gon; “Our blockade is perfectly legal” says Viscount Gunray.) Since the plot opening is a legal, trivial trade dispute, we might expect the first exciting scene to be a committee hearing by economists.
How could Mr. Lucas give us so lackluster a start to so eagerly anticipated a movie?
*
Queen Amidala... yes. Now, his films show that Mr. Lucas’s general knowledge of government and diplomacy could be engraved on the head of a pin, but in the polity of Naboo he has confected something particularly fascinating: a democratic monarchy, a queen who is elected and subject to term limits. This “queen” is required to wear preposterous costumes that change hourly and coiffures not seen since the court of Louis XVI. Surely she would have scant time to to do much governing, being too busy with her clothes and hair. But that might be a good idea, since the office of monarch apparently has no age qualification. In this crisis Naboo is governed by a girl of fourteen. That’s the best the voters of Naboo could do? (And she, we are told in Film II, is not the youngest ever chosen. One would like to see the youngest, who perhaps governed from a cradle rather than a throne.)
*
We arrive on Tatooine, where a serious difficulty arises: the hyperdrive is kaput. It is a matter of galactic importance that the ship get going ASAP. Only one dealer, Watto, an overgrown housefly, has the needed part, and he will not accept Republic currency.
What is a resourceful, masterful, intelligent Jedi to do? Here are some possibilities:
(A) Go to a bank and convert your money to the local stuff.
(B) Inform Watto that the Jedi Order is commandeering his hyperdrive and will wire him the money. If he refuses, take it by force.
(C) Wait and do nothing until you accidentally discover that a small child might get you the money by winning a race, although this child has never finished, let alone won, a race.
Guess what Qui-Gon does. We can only shake our heads.
A side note: Qui-Gon asks Obi-Wan if they have anything to trade with. He replies that they have little but “the queen’s wardrobe.” Folks, if that queen brought her wardrobe, it could be traded for most of the star-ships on the planet.
*
Anakin’s poor mother: here is the biggest, most glaring plot hole in the whole series. Why in heaven is she left as a slave? The Jedi are willing to take a nine-year-old boy away from his only parent and forget about her. There is never any effort to free her, not even after her son shows her a pile of cash and says, “Look how much we won.” Then he keeps it and leaves mom to the mercy of the giant fly.
*
“Gungans go to sacred place.” The Trade Federation has occupied the planet; they know about the underwater city. Yet thousands of not terribly inconspicuous or diminutive Gungans manage to move to a spot on the surface that the T.F. never notices. How did they do that? But of course we must reckon with “Lucas logic” as well as “Star Wars physics.” This also means that dei ex machinae can be produced as needed. Must you get into the city? Voilà, “the secret passage on the waterfall side.” Thank heaven for secret passages. And how we rejoice when Padmé produces necessary pistols from the arm of a chair in which Newt Gunray has sat for weeks without ever discovering the concealed weapons.
*
When the big metal door goes up and Darth Maul appears, the two Jedi say “we’ll handle this” and the others--over a dozen armed men--just leave (to “take the long way,” even though they are in a great hurry). Why? Why doesn’t everyone open fire and kill the Sith right there?
*
One could go on listing absurdities and inconsistencies in this silly movie, but enough. It is more important to ask why. Why is this film so badly written? Why are thoughtful viewers left feeling cheated?
I think that answer can be found on the commentary track, where Mr. Lucas and several mechanics talk to us.
My impression is of men so mesmerized by technology that they have lost sight of what really matters. These animators and CGI people--these hod-carriers of the movie world--are insufferable. On and on they go with details of how this or that shot was done, repeatedly telling us of their cleverness, their expertise, their great deeds. One feels a bit “wude” in saying this, but, folks, we don’t care how it’s done. You are but hewers of imaginary wood and drawers of digital water. Do your jobs, cash your paychecks, and be quiet. We, the audience, care only about the finished product. Save your war stories for other artisans. You deserve well of your master, undoubtedly other computerists will want to know the details of your craft, but don’t monopolize the commentary with one more description of how you created realistic-looking dust or inserted a suitable wobble into a puppet. Sheesh!
Mr. Lucas’s comments suggest he is an overgrown adolescent. One hopes in vain for insight on the government system of Naboo or what reaction he expected from the startling announcement of Anakin’s virgin birth (made before we hear of the “midi-chlorians.”) What he most often says--over and over, in all three films--is how much more he can do with CGI today that a few years ago. Incessantly he rejoices that he can now, at last, bring his ideas to life. But what ideas? Not moving or dramatic ones--just glitz. He often compares his work to that of a composer, referring again and again to “tone poems” and such things. I can only suggest that, if he thinks his films are like music, he should have let John Williams do the directing as well as the score. The result would have been superior. As it is, The Phantom Menace is useful mainly as proof that Mr. Lucas can no longer invent a coherent plot, or make a film that can be taken seriously. He is now merely a master of eye-candy, of the colorful cinematic façade with emptiness behind it.
*
Finally, a tribute to Jar-Jar Binks. I am not being perverse. I like him. He brings to the film some much-needed humor. He does not take himself too seriously. He is genuine. He is humble. He is grateful. He helps his friends as best he can. I bet he wouldn’t leave his mother in slavery. As for his language, I find it more refreshing and alive than that of a certain character who for no apparent reason always backwards speaks, whose verbs at the end of his sentences puts, and who so insufferably smug is that I almost wish Count Dooku his little green head had off cut.

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My apolgies for any inconsistencies in format, spacing, etc. I'm still learning how to use this blog.

Just What the Doctor Ordered

2010-01-07T19:21:00.000-08:00

One goes to the emergency room for succor in adversity: a nascent kidney stone, perhaps; pain in one’s extremities or bowels. One is treated kindly, examined, tested, reassured, and dispatched to a pharmacy with appropriate prescriptions for the alleviation of anguish and infection.

Like the people one sees on those signs in the post office, medicines go about under many names, and one wonders if pharmaceutical companies are staffed by people who write Heroic Fantasy in their spare time. (“When the tyrant Ketorolac sent his armies, under his ferocious vizier Meloxicam, to plunder the peaceful kingdom of Ativan, only the hero Celebrex, wielding the enchanted sword Lorazepam, stood between his people and subjection to the evil Flurbiprofen Empire…”)

Pharmacists now need printers as well as pestles, for, along with the cute little orange storage jars in which pills and powders are customarily dispensed, one receives also a page--two pages--several pages--of information on each medicament.

If one takes time to read these screeds--not always an easy matter, as some are printed in 6- or 8-point type--one may well decide to live with one’s pain and misery rather than risk the utter destruction that may follow if you dare to swallow one of those pills.

Here is a capsule to “relieve pain and swelling… treat headaches, backaches, tendonitis…, gout.” A worthy goal. But… but… “NSAID medicines may increase the chance of a heart attack or stroke that can lead to death”. “Serious side effects include: heart failure from body swelling; life-threatening skin reactions; liver problems including liver failure;” and six other things. Some are less serious: “Possible Side Effects… include upset stomach, nausea, vomiting, heartburn, gas, headache, diarrhea, constipation, drowsiness, or dizziness.” “Contact Your Doctor Immediately,” it says, “if they continue or are bothersome.” (If!? Evidently it is thought that nausea, vomiting, etc. are not “bothersome” to some people (Spartans, Stoics, masochists?))

You read these pages, nervously moisten your lips, and inspect the medicine jar. No, it doesn’t say Dr. Lucrezia Borgia. But look here… “Possible Side Effects” for another medication you were given to take along with the first one: “blue or purple skin color, yellowing of the skin or eyes…” “Check with your doctor as soon as possible” it adds helpfully: valuable advice indeed, as many might otherwise not think to do that for a trifle like turning purple.

Perhaps there is something to be said for illiteracy, or for just not reading these information sheets. After all, the basic instructions are on the label, e.g. Aqua Tofana: take one every four hours. Ignorance is bliss. Che sarà, sarà. Trust the doctor, be a man, take the pills and go about your business. Yes. Indeed. But… if you take Phenozopyrid (alias Pyridum, a.k.a. Phenazopyridine) without reading about it, and then go to the privy, you will suddenly discover that the water in the bowl becomes orange: vivid, almost neon, orange. Then you will wish, after you recover from your faint, that you had read “This medicine may cause the urine to turn orange or red. This is harmless but it may stain fabric.” And you will have similar feelings if your soft contact lenses turn orange because you wore them while taking Pyridium.

There is much other helpful advice. “Check with your doctor as soon as possible if you experience memory loss.” Hmmm, yes… now what was it I was going to do after I took that pill?

“If overdose is suspected, contact your local poison control center or emergency room immediately. Symptoms of overdose may include confusion, slow reflexes, clumsiness, deep sleep, and loss of consciousness.” Perhaps your unconscious self can make the call.

“Check with your doctor”--this mantra is incessant. Pharmaceutical companies seem to use it as a safety valve to excuse their inability to abolish potentially catastrophic side effects. Do they expect doctors to set aside a couple of hours a day to deal with patients who are swelling up, turning purple, or dissolving?

People who live alone, at least, might well decide to take their nostrums only where help is at hand: at parties or the theater, in church, or… why not right in the lobby of the emergency room? Just pop in two or three times a day with a glass of water, gulp down your pills, and sit there shuddering quietly, waiting to see if the Sword of Damocles will descend this time.

And now one can see why, along with Phenazopyridine and Naproxen, one was given Lorazepam (“a benzodiazepine used to relieve anxiety...”): If you had no anxiety before you went to the e.r., you will most certainly have it once you have read about your medicine.

“DO NOT EXCEED THE RECOMMENDED DOSE” it says emphatically on all the sheets. No fear. The challenge is nerving oneself to take the minimum dose.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go fill prescriptions for Mortufax and Thanatophilin. I hope they have no bothersome side effects.
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And Away We Go

2010-01-06T18:52:00.000-08:00

Well... um... ahh... Self-published authors need all the help they can get to market their stuff; I hope to post some humorous/satirical articles and some information on my books. I'm quite a novice at this, and not much of a self-promoter; for the moment I'll just say that you might like to take a look at And Gladly Teach, a little work about life at a fictional prep school, or Storm Approaching, the first volume in my adventure/fantasy Mercenaries series.