The Master and Margarita, Bulgakov

The Master and Margarita, Mikhail Bulgakov

King Lear, Shakespeare Theatre

King Lear, Shakespeare Theatre

King Lear at the Shakespeare Theatre. The play was well done. Of course, it was what we all know, a tragedy -- not just any tragedy, but a Shakespeare tragedy. That means that everyone was killed in the end. It was gruesome. It seems that in Shakespeare's time, with only men in attendance at the shows, it must have been popular to have a lot of blood and killing in the shows, and that is what Shakespeare gave his audiences in his tragedies.

All Shakespeare plays have at least one play within the play, and this one was no exception. The "inset" play was also a tragedy, making the overall play a double tragedy. In both, the protagonist makes the same mistake, which leads to his downfall. In both, the protagonist disowns a child for perceived lack of love, but the perception was mistaken, and the other children, who feign love of their fathers, are really the ones who are taking advantage of their fathers falsely. The moral of the play was not to throw away the love of your children because if you do, you may be sorry later. Of course, Shakespeare plays, especially the tragedies, are overdone in order to please the audience, and I suppose that was also necessary to make the points emphatically in those days. The play was really well done, and as always, I enjoyed going.

Delta of Venus, Anais Nin

Delta of Venus, by Anais Nin

Delta of Venus

To understand this book, I can add nothing better than what Anais Nin wrote in the Preface. This is a quote:

Preface

[April, 1940]
A book collector offered Henry Miller a hundred dollars a month to write erotic stories. It seemed Dantesque punishment to condemn Henry to write erotica at a dollar a page. He rebelled because his mood of the moment was the opposite of Rabelaisian, because writing to order was a castrating occupation, because to be writing with a voyeur at the keyhole took all the spontaneity and pleasure out of his fanciful adventures.

[December, 1940]
Henry told me about the collector…..
When Henry needed money for his travel expenses he suggested that I do some writing in the interim. I felt I did not want to give anything genuine, and decided to create a mixture of stories I had heard and inventions, pretending they were from the diary of a woman. I never met the collector. He was to read my pages and to let me know what he thought. Today I received a telephone call. A voice said, “It is fine. But leave out the poetry and descriptions of anything but sex. Concentrate on sex.”

So I began to write tongue in cheek, to become outlandish, inventive, and so exaggerated that I thought he would realize I was caricaturing sexuality. But there was no protest. I spent days in the library studying the Kama Sutra, listened to friends’ most extreme adventures.

“Less poetry,” said the voice over the telephone. “Be specific.” But did anyone ever experience pleasure from reading a clinical description? Didn’t the old man know how words carry colors and sounds into the flesh?

Every morning after breakfast I sat down to write my allotment of erotica. One morning I typed: “There was a Hungarian adventurer…” I gave him many advantages: beauty, elegance, grace, charm, the talents of an actor, knowledge of many tongues, a genius for intrigue, a genius for extricating himself from difficulties, and a genius for avoiding permanence and responsibility.

Another telephone call: “The old man is pleased. Concentrate on sex. Leave out the poetry.”

This started an epidemic of erotic “journals.” Everyone was writing up their sexual experiences. Invented, overheard, researched from Krafft-Ebing and medical books. We had comical conversations. We told a story and the rest of us had to decide whether it was true or false. Or plausible. Was this plausible? Robert Duncan would offer to experiment, to test our inventions, to confirm or negate our fantasies. All of us needed money, so we pooled our stories.

I was sure the old man knew nothing about the beatitudes, ecstasies, dazzling reverberations of sexual encounters. Cut out the poetry was his message. Clinical sex, deprived of all the warmth of love – the orchestration of all the senses, touch, hearing, sight, palate; all the euphoric accompaniments, background music, moods, atmosphere, variations – forced him to resort to literary aphrodisiacs.

We could have bottled better secrets to tell him, but such secrets he would be deaf to. But one day when he reached saturation, I would tell him how he almost made us lose interest in passion by his obsession with the gestures empty of their emotions, and how we reviled him, because he almost caused us to take vows of chastity, because what he wanted us to exclude was our own aphrodisiac – poetry.

I received one hundred dollars for my erotica. Gonzalo needed cash for the dentist, Helba needed a mirror for her dancing, and Henry money for his trip. Gonzalo told me the story of the “Basque and Bijou, and I wrote it down for the collector.

[February, 1941]
The telephone bill was unpaid. The net of economic difficulties was closing in on me. Everyone around me irresponsible, unconscious of the shipwreck. I did thirty pages of erotica.

I again awakened to the consciousness of being without a cent and telephoned the collector. Had he heard from his rich client about the last manuscript I sent? No, he had not, but he would take the one I had just finished and pay me for it. Henry had to see a doctor. Gonzalo needed glasses. Robert came with B. and asked me for money to go to the movies. The soot from the transom window fell on my typing paper and on my work. Robert came and took away my box of typing paper.

Wasn’t the old man tired of pornography? Wouldn’t a miracle take place? I began to imagine him saying: “Give me everything she writes, I want it all, I like all of it. I will send her a big present, a big check for all the writing she has done.” My typewriter was broken. With a hundred dollars in my pocket I recovered my optimism. I said to Henry: “The collector says he likes simple, unintellectual women – but he invites me to dinner.”

I had a feeling that Pandora’s box contained the mysteries of woman’s sensuality, so different from man’s and for which man’s language was inadequate. The language of sex had yet to be invented. The language of the senses was yet to be explored. D.H. Lawrence began to give instinct to a language, he tried to escape the clinical, the scientific, which only captures what the body feels.

[October, 1941]
When Henry came he made several contradictory statements. That he could live on nothing, that he felt so good he could even take a job, that his integrity prevented him from writing scenarios in Hollywood. At last I said: “And what of the integrity of doing erotica for money?” Henry laughed, admitted the paradox, the contradictions, laughed and dismissed the subject.

France has had a tradition of literary erotic writing, in fine, elegant style. When I first began to write for the collector I thought there was a similar tradition here, but found none at all. All I had seen was shoddy, written by second-rate writers. No fine writer seemed ever to have tried his hand at erotica.

I told George Barker how Caresse Crosby, Robert, Virginia Admiral and others were writing. It appealed to his sense of humor. The idea of my being the madam of this snobbish literary house of prostitution, from which vulgarity was excluded. Laughing, I said: “I supply paper and carbon, I deliver the manuscript anonymously, I protect everyone’s anonymity. George Barker felt this was much more humorous and inspiring than begging, borrowing or cajoling meals out of friends.

I gathered poets around me and we all wrote beautiful erotica. As we were condemned to focus only on sensuality, we had violent explosions of poetry. Writing erotica became a road to sainthood rather than to debauchery.

Harvey Breit, Robert Duncan, George Barker, Caresse Crosby, all of us concentrating our skills in a tour de force, supplying the old man with such an abundance of perverse felicities, that now he begged for more.

The homosexuals wrote as if they were women. The timid ones wrote about orgies. The frigid ones about frenzied fulfillments. The most poetic ones indulged in pure bestiality and the purest ones in perversions. We were haunted by the marvelous tales we could all tell. We sat around, imagined this old man, talked of how much we hated him, because he would not allow us to make a fusion of sexuality and feeling, sensuality and emotion.

[December, 1941]
George Barker was terribly poor. He wanted to write more erotica. He wrote eighty-five pages. The collector thought they were too surrealistic. I loved them. His scenes of lovemaking were disheveled and fantastic. Love between two trapezes.

He drank away the firs t money, and I could not lend him anything but more paper and carbons. George Barker, the excellent English poet, writing erotica to drink, just as Utrillo painted paintings in exchange for a bottle of wine. I began to think about the old man we all hated. I decided to write to him, address him directly, tell him about our feelings.

“Dear Collector: We hate you. Sex loses all its power and magic when it becomes explicit, mechanical, overdone, when it becomes a mechanistic obsession. It becomes a bore. You have taught us more than anyone I know how wrong it is not to mix it with emotion, hunger, desire, lust, whims, caprices, personal ties, deeper relationships that change its color, flavor, rhythms, intensities.

“You do not know what you are missing by your microscopic examination of sexual activity to the exclusion of aspects which are the fuel that ignites it. Intellectual, imaginative, romantic, emotional. This is what gives sex its surprising textures, its subtle transformations, its aphrodisiac elements. You are shrinking your world of sensations. You are withering it, starving it, draining its blood.

“If you nourished your sexual life with all the excitements and adventures which love injects into sensuality, you would be the most potent man in the world. The source of sexual power is curiosity, passion. You are watching its little flame die of asphyxiation. Sex does not thrive on monotony. Without feeling, inventions, moods, no surprises in bed. Sex must be mixed with tears, laughter, words, promises, scenes, jealousy, envy, all the spices of fear, foreign travel, new faces, novels, stories, dreams, fantasies, music, dancing opium, wine.

“How much do you lose by this periscope at the tip of your sex, when you could enjoy a harem of distinct and never-repeated wonders? No two hairs alike, but you will not let us waste words on a description of hair; now two odors, but if we expand on this you cry, “Cut the poetry.” No tow skins with the same texture, and never the same light, temperature, shadows, never the same gesture; for a lover, when he is aroused by true love, can run the gamut of centuries of love lore. What a range, what changes of age, what variations of maturity and innocence, perversity of art…

“We have sat around for hours and wondered how you look. If you have closed your senses upon silk, light, color, odor, character, temperament, you must be by now completely shriveled up. There are so many minor senses, all running tributaries into the mainstream of sex, nourishing it. Only the united beat of sex and heart together can create ecstasy.”

POSTSCRIPT

At the time we were all writing erotica at a dollar a page, I realized that for centuries we had had only one model for this literary genre – the writing of men. I was already conscious of a difference between the masculine and feminine treatment of sexual experience. I knew that there was a great disparity between Henry Miller’s explicitness and my ambiguities – between his humorous, Rebelaisian view of sex and my poetic descriptions of sexual relationships in the unpublished portions of the diary. As I wrote in volume three of the Diary, I had a feeling that Pandora’s box contained the mysteries of woman’s sensuality, so different from man’s and for which man’s language was inadequate.

Women, I thought, were more apt to fuse sex with emotion, with love, and to single out one man rather than be promiscuous. This became apparent to me as I wrote the novels and the Diary, and I saw it even more clearly when I began to teach. But although women’s attitude towards sex was quite distinct from that of men, we had not yet learned how to write about it.

Here in the erotica, I was writing to entertain, under pressure from a client who wanted me to “leave out the poetry.” I believed that my style was derived from a reading of men’s works. For this reason I long felt that I had compromised my feminine self. I put the erotica aside. Rereading it these many years later, I see that my own voice was not completely suppressed. In numerous passages I was intuitively using a woman’s language, seeing sexual experience from a woman’s point of view. I finally decided to release the erotica for publication because it shows the beginning efforts of a woman in a world that had been the domain of men. If the unexpurgated version of the Diary is ever published, this feminine point of view will be established more clearly. It will show that women (and I, in the Diary) have never separated sex from feeling, from love of the whole man.

Anaias Nin
Los Angeles
September, 1976

My Thoughts:

This book contains fifteen erotic vignettes. By today's standards, they are quite mild erotica. Remember that Nin wrote them in 1940-41. The thing that strikes me about these erotic vignettes is that they are so well written, containing developed characters and interesting stories. They contain emotional connection, which was so important to Nin in her feelings and in her writing.

Elton John and Billy Joel, Face2Face Concert

Elton John and Billy Joel Face2Face Tour
Saturday, July 11, 2009 at 7:30 PM at Nationals Park, Washington, DC

This was their fourth Face2Face tour; the first one was in 1994, and their most recent one was in 2003. I had never before attended a rock concert, and when this concert was advertised, I decided to get tickets. I paid about $200 each for tickets; I felt that if I were going to attend only one concert, I would get good seats. The traffic was far, far worse than traffic to a Washington Nationals baseball game, but at last I was able to find a parking lot for $40, and by the time I found it, I was happy to pay the price.

Here are some of my impressions of the concert:

o Seeing the two of them together, it was clear to me why Elton John has sold 250 million albums, and Billy Joel 100 million (according to Wikipedia). Elton John's voice was powerful and resonant, and his on-stage performance was completely engaging, completely connecting with the crowd. Billy Joel's voice was weak (he had to shout into the microphone), and his on-stage performance was scattered and distracting, almost frantic at times. The crowd sat through much of Billy Joel's performance, unengaged, and stood through Elton John's performance with roars of approval for his music.

o Adding to the difference in the power of their voices was the difference in the back-up musicians. Elton John had five musicians in his group, including no brass, and Billy Joel had eight musicians in his group, including a great sax player and other horns. Still, Elton John's musicians seemed more powerful. It seemed that the additional musicians, especially the sax player, were needed to add power to Billy Joel's performance.

o Having gone to many baseball games over the years, I was surprised at the difference in the behavior of the crowd at the concert. At baseball games, the crowd does not move about very much. They go to their seats and stay there for the most part, watching the game. One is not distracted by crowd movement. However, at the concert, the crowd was like an ant hill throughout the entire performance -- constantly in motion, with streams of people, like ant streams, never ceasing. I was surprised that people paid a lot of money to attend the concert, but then moved about constantly, not watching the performers much. Indeed, the music seemed almost like background noise against all the motion.

o At baseball games, almost everyone eats food, particularly hot dogs. A lot of beer is sold, but the food is the most important thing. At the concert, almost no one was eating food, but an incredible amount of beer was consumed. It seemed that almost everyone drank beer throughout the entire concert. I have no idea how the people got home from the concert; they could not possibly have driven safely.

o Because of the age of the performers, a lot of the crowd was middle aged (50s and 60s), although a substantial portion of the crowd was younger -- 40s and 30s and even a few 20s.

o I was surprised that the two performers wore heavy clothes (as shown in the photo). The evening was not oppressively hot, but it was very humid. Yet, both of them wore jackets. By the end of his set, Billy Joel was soaked in perspiration, although I could not tell about Elton John. There is a YouTube clip of their performance in Toronto, and they wore the same clothes at the performance on Saturday night.

o The performance was about three hours in length -- one hour for Billy Joel, one hour for Elton John, and one hour together with all back-up musicians on stage together except the final four numbers, which were performed with no one on stage except Elton John and Billy Joel. The Toronto site shows the set list for the performance, with the changes shown in the comment at the bottom. The performers knew that the crowd paid to see them perform their greatest hits, and they did not disappoint.

o At first, I was very distracted and annoyed by the crowd. I had gone to watch the concert, but it became clear that the crowd would not permit anyone to sit and watch the concert. The constant movement of the crowd, and the constant standing of some people, directly in front of those wanting to sit, would not permit simple enjoyment of the performance. After a time, I realized that the situation would not change, so I decided to become an observer of the scene, rather than trying to enjoy the performance. I became a scientist again, an observer. I saw very little of the performance directly, instead contenting myself with watching it on the huge screens. I would have heard better and seen better if I were watching it on TV at home.

o A word about the dress of the crowd. Men wore comfortable slacks and shirts. I saw no more than a handful of men who were "smartly" dressed. Although most women also wore comfortable clothes, many of the women were stylishly dressed. Many women wore "smart casual" clothing -- stylish fashions. Some wore very sexy clothes (like a see-through outfit with lacy underwear), and many wore party dresses or party tops with stylish pants. The women were much better dressed than the men.

I felt that the Washington Post review of the concert did not adequately describe the event. The Baltimore Sun review was a much better description of the concert. In addition, Paul from EltonJohnNews Blog wrote this review of the performance.

My Life So Far, Jane Fonda

My Life So Far, by Jane Fonda

I had not expected to read this book. Not because I have any problem with Jane Fonda’s antiwar activities, but because I have very little interest in celebrities. Usually, I find celebrities to be undereducated and shallow thinkers. However, I was in a situation in which I was away from home, with little to do, and this book was lying there; so I began to read it. After 50 or 100 pages, I found that I was drawn into the book, first by her writing abilities, and also by her thinking. Jane Fonda is a very smart woman, and she is also a very good writer. In addition, she has led an interesting life.

Fonda organized the book around her three marriages and called the parts of her life the acts in a play – Act I (for her first marriage to Roger Vadim), Act II (for her marriage to Tom Hayden), and Act III (for her marriage to Ted Turner). She calls the current part of her life Act IV. I found this organization to be very interesting, although I think of her life prior to her first marriage as Act I (in which her father was the principal male in her life). In her three marriages, she lived very different lives, almost as different people entirely, and yet, one aspect of her life was completely constant – her dependence on a strong dominant male figure. Her dad dominated her life early life, then Roger Vadim, Tom Hayden, and Ted Turner. Now, at last, she has let go of dominant men, and directs her own life.

The characteristic that I found most interesting about this book was her search for a paradigm to guide her thinking. Until her divorce from Ted Turner, her paradigm had been to rely on a strong man to guide her life. All her life, she was controlled by strong-willed men; to one extent or another, she let go of her own identity to accept the identity that each man desired for her. In each instance, she first accepted the identity that each man chose for her, but then eventually she found that identity unacceptable and moved on to another.

In each part of her life, under each dominant male, she found and developed a part of herself, her own identity. Under her father, she grew up, became educated, and began a career in acting in her own way, which was quite different from her father’s way. Under Roger Vadim, she became a star actress. Under Tom Hayden, she flourished as an actor, and also developed as an activist and then as a very successful business woman. Under Ted Turner, she developed as a philanthropist and human rights leader. And yet, under each of these men, she developed her own self-image almost in opposition to the desires of the man. In the end, she had to let go of each of her relationships in order to continue the development of a self that she wanted for herself.

Throughout her life, she lived in the present, working at the tasks that were before her at the time, taking direction from the dominant man in her life. She does not seem to have thought much about spiritual matters. Now, after letting go of the dominant men, she seems to be thinking of spiritual matters. She tried Christianity as espoused by one church, and now feels less comfortable in that paradigm. She does not seem to know where her thinking will go next, but she realizes that she is on a spiritual path. (Is she simply looking for the next dominant male to guide her?)

For me, I enjoyed reading this book. I enjoyed seeing her life as a spiritual journey. I was interested in the way in which she was guided by Spirit. I believe that all relationships are arranged by Spirit, and all relationships are helpful spiritually, which is the purpose of the relationships. With this thought in mind, it was interesting to me to try to find the way in which Spirit guided her, not only toward Spiritual thought, but also to success in life. She was guided to success as an actress under her father and Roger Vadim, and to huge success as a business woman under Tom Hayden. However, it was not clear to me how she was guided to success under Ted Turner; it seemed to me that his desire was for to give up herself completely and live only to give emotional support to him. Now Spirit has set her free from dominating men to complete her final Act.

In addition to finding her relationships and her spiritual journey interesting, I also found her career interesting. She is a very accomplished woman. She has won two academy awards, she established and ran for many years her own production company, developing a long series of very successful movies, and she invented the use of videos for home exercise. She has developed 24 home exercise videos, and her original Jane Fonda’s Workout is still the top grossing video of all time. I found her descriptions of making movies interesting.

Her deep emotional concerns for human issues first burst forth during her anti-war activities, and it has continued to the present. In 1994, she was named Goodwill Ambassador for the United Nations Population Fund. She founded the Georgia Campaign for Adolescent Pregnancy Prevention in 1995, and continues to be active in that organization. In 2001, she established the Jane Fonda Center for Adolescent Reproductive Health at Emory University. She is also a member of the Women & Foreign Policy Advisory Committee of the Council of Foreign Relations.

I recommend this book; it was interesting to me.

Tea Time for the Traditionally Built, Alexander McCall Smith

Tea Time for the Traditionally Built, by Alexander McCall Smith

Design for Living, Shakespeare Theatre

Robert Sella as Leo, Gretchen Egolf as Gilda and Tom Story as Otto in Noël Coward’s Design for Living, directed by Michael Kahn. Photo by Scott Suchman.



Design for Living, by Noel Coward
Shakespeare Theatre Company


Design for Living

The World According to Bertie, Alexander McCall Smith

The World According To Bertie, by Alexander McCall Smith




Alexander McCall Smith

Ion, Shakespeare Theatre

Lisa Harrow as Creusa and Keith Eric Chappelle as Ion in the Shakespeare Theatre Company’s production of Ion, directed by Ethan McSweeny. Photo by Carol Rosegg.

Ion, by Euripides at the Shakespeare Theatre Company.

Ion is called a Greek tragedy with a happy ending. It is the story of a woman who was separated from her son at birth and thought he was dead, but who found him again. Written by Euripides and performed about 412 BCE at the theatre of Dionysus in Athens. The play was written as a spiritual play about Greek Gods, as was expected of plays in that time. The Athenians knew the Ion myth well. Creusa was a teen-aged virgin who was impregnated by a Greek God, Apollo, and bore a son. Apollo warned her not to reveal that she was pregnant, and not to reveal the birth of the boy until he, Apollo, determined that the time was right for the son to be revealed.

The play is set at Delphi, at the temple of Apollo, where Ion was taken as a baby and raised by the priestess of the temple, and where Ion served happily as an acolyte of Apollo at the temple. Creusa, thinking her son was dead, comes to the temple to ask the oracle whether she will have other children. After almost 20 years, she is still in pain from the loss of her baby, and still angry at Apollo, questioning his motive and his treatment of her, not knowing that the time and place had come for Ion to be revealed and for him to take his rightful place as the son of a God, Apollo. Ion’s descendants established cities throughout the Aegean world, and those who settled in western Asia Minor were known as Ionians. Apollo's intent for Cerusa and Ion was not revealed by Apollo, but by an "angel", Athena, the Goddess of Athens, who comes to reveal the divine plan.

Although different in some ways, the play, Ion, has remarkable parallels with the Biblical story of Mary and Jesus. The Ion myth was well known throughout the region, and must have been known by those who wrote the books of the Bible, including Paul.

Note these similarities between the play and Biblical verses:

o At the temple, Ion says, "I will serve my master, Apollo, and never cease to worship the one through whom I live." And note the similarity in Acts 17:28 when Paul says, "For in Him we live and move and have our being."

o Ion tells Cerusa, "Dearest mother, here you see me in your arms, your son who was dead and yet was alive." And note the similarity in Ephesians 2:5, when Paul tells the Epesians, "Even when we were dead in our transgressions, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved)."

o Note that Apollo's plan for Cerusa was revealed by an "angel", Athena, and God's plan for Mary was revealed by an angel.

o Note also the prayer of Creusa to Leto: "O blessed Lady, mother of Apollo," which is similar to the prayer by many to Mary, the mother of Jesus.

o And finally, note that we are taught in the Bible, although we may not understand the "ways of the Lord", and at times we may in fact feel angry at Him, we must trust that He knows best. Similarly, Athena told Cerusa and Ion in the play that they were forgiven for their lack of faith in Apollo and even their anger toward him, "This I approve, thy former wayward thoughts resigned, with honour that thou name the god. Slow are the gifts of Heaven, but found at length not void of power."

Thus, the play was about not knowing what Spirit has in mind for us, but eventually learning after some time and hardship that events in our lives are for the best after all. Life is not random, not chance, but planned for our joy. I am reminded of this thought from "A Course in Miracles":

"What could you not accept if you but knew that every step you take, all events, past, present and to come, were gently planned by One whose only purpose is your good. While you made plans for death, He led you gently to eternal life."

"A Course in Miracles"

I am not a religious person in the sense of organized religion, but I am spiritual in the sense of letting Spirit guide my life. This thought often guides me, and it gives me peace of mind when things do not seem to be going the way I think I want.

Note the words of the play (as translated by Robert Potter, and the similarities to the Bible.

MINERVA (ATHENA)

Fly not; in me no enemy you fly;
At Athens friendly to you, and no less
Here. From that land I come, so named from me,
By Phoebus (Apollo) sent with speed: unmeet he deems it
To show himself before you, lest with blame
The past be mention'd; this he gave in charge,
To tell thee that she bore thee, and to him,
Phoebus thy father; he to whom he gave thee,
Not as to the author of thy being gives thee,
But to the inheritance of a noble house.
This declaration made, lest thou shouldst die,
Kill'd by thy mother's wily trains, or she
By thee, these means to save you he devised.
These things in silence long conceal'd, at Athens
The royal Phoebus would have made it known
That thou art sprung from her, thy father he:
But to discharge my office, and unfold
The oracle of the god, for which you yoked
Your chariots, hear: Creusa, take thy son,
Go to the land of Cecrops: let him mount
The royal throne; for, from Erechtheus sprung,
That honour is his due, the sovereignty
Over my country: through the states of Greece
Wide his renown shall spread;

For from his root
Four sons shall spring, that to the land, the tribes,
The dwellers on my rock, shall give their names.
Geleon the first, Hopletes, Argades,
And from my aegis named Aegicores:
Their sons in fate's appointed time shall fix
Their seats along the coast, or in the isles
Girt by the Aegean sea, and to my land
Give strength; extending thence the opposite plains
Of either continent shall make their own,
Europe and Asia, and shall boast their name
Ionians, from the honour'd Ion call'd.
To thee by Xuthus shall a son be born,
Dorus, from whom the Dorian state shall rise
To high renown; in the Pelopian land,
Another near the Rhian cliffs, along
The sea-wash'd coast, his potent monarchy
Shall stretch, Achaeus; and his subject realms
Shall glory in their chief's illustrious name.

Well hath Apollo quitted him in all:
First, without pain he caused thee bear a son.
That from thy friends thou mightst conceal his birth;
After the birth, soon as his infant limbs
Thy hands had clothed, to Mercury he gave
The charge to take the babe, and in his arms
Convey him hither; here with tenderness
He nurtured him, nor suffer'd him to perish.
Guard now the secret that he is thy son,
That his opinion Xuthus may enjoy
Delighted: thou too hast thy blessings, lady.
And now, farewell: from this relief from ills
A prosperous fortune I to both announce.

ION

O Pallas, daughter of all-powerful Jove!
Not with distrust shall we receive thy words:
I am convinced that Phoebus is my father,
My mother she, not unassured before.

CREUSA

Hear me too, now: Phoebus I praise, before
Unpraised; my son he now restores, of whom
Till now I deem'd him heedless. Now these gates
Are beauteous to mine eyes; his oracles
Now grateful to my soul, unpleasant late.
With rapture on these sounding rings my hands
Now hang; with rapture I address the gates.

MINERVA

This I approve, thy former wayward thoughts
Resign'd, with honour that thou name the god.
Slow are the gifts of Heaven, but found at length
Not void of power.

Chanticleer Singers, Strathmore Hall

Chanticleer Singers at Strathmore Hall

A joyful performance at a beautiful music venue.

Chanticleer Singers

The First Noel

Strathmore Hall

The Yacoubian Building, Alaa Al Aswany

The Yacoubian Building, by Alaa Al Aswany

Through five principal characters and numerous lesser characters, the author paints a portrait of life and culture in Egypt during the time of Nasser (and presumably continuing to the present time). The overriding theme of the book is one of hopelessness resulting from the corrupt political system that completely permeates all aspects of life. Meaningful and legitimate occupations are nonexistent; only through participating in personal or political corruption can anyone eke out a living or move forward successfully. The author shows the terrible toll of the corruption on individuals, leading some to break down emotionally, others to engage in whatever form of behavior they determine necessary to survive, and still others to seek peace of mind through religious extremism. No joy can be found; no peace can be found; mere survival is the most one can hope for. Fortunately for the readers of the book, in the end, two of the five principal characters find the possibility of joy with each other, although we know that even that joy can only be short term, for Zaki Bey is 65 and Busayna is only 18.

This book has been a best seller in the Arabic world since 2002, and a film was made of the book.

The Yacoubian Building

The Yacoubian Building (film)

The Dog in the Manger, Shakespeare Theatre

Michael Hayden as Teodoro and Michelle Hurd as Diana in the Shakespeare Theatre Company’s production of The Dog in the Manger, directed by Jonathan Munby. Photo by Scott Suchman.

The Dog in the Manger, by Lope de Vega

Translation by David Johnston

Written in 1613, the play is a romantic comedy about forbidden love between a Countess, Diana, who falls in love with her servant, Teodoro, her secretary. One of the best performances I have seen at The Shakespeare Theatre. The background information provided by The Shakespeare Theatre is complete and excellent.

Synopsis

Lope de Vega

Timeline of the Spanish Golden Age

The Washington Post review is excellent.

The Comforts of a Muddy Saturday, Alexander McCall Smith

The Comforts of a Muddy Saturday by Alexander McCall Smith

Book 5 in “The Sunday Philosophy Club” series.

In “The Sunday Philosophy Club” series, Isabel Dalhousie is Alexander McCall Smith’s voice in examining philosophical and ethical issues. In The Comforts of a Muddy Saturday, Smith examines the issue of dishonesty. Isabel/McCall Smith examines dishonesty in numerous situations, both real and perceived, the largest of which concerns the deaths of three patients who were prescribed a new antibiotic medication, and the disgrace of a physician who examined the data following the deaths of the first two of them and cleared the drug for further use, leading to the death of the third. As the philosopher/sleuth of the series, Isabel must find the dishonesty involved in the deaths, and the truth. In the book, Isabel is also faced with several other apparently dishonest situations. She must sort out the dishonesty of Eddie, a young assistant at the delicatessen of her niece, who asked her for money. She is confronted with the continuing dishonesty of Christopher Dove, the philosophy professor who tried to get her fired from her job as editor of The Review of Applied Ethics, and who now wants her to publish an inferior article in the journal. She meets a visiting conductor, who she suspects of dishonesty in dealing with her lover, Jamie. And most of all, she is wracked with emotion in dealing with apparent dishonesty by her lover, Jamie, himself.

McCall Smith examines these situations from several points of view, demonstrating their complexities. As Isabel confronts these situations, she learns of new information that leads her to differing conclusions, or to change her mind about the dishonesty and truth. Isabel/McCall Smith learn that the human mind is unable to perceive the difference between honesty and dishonesty. Perception of honesty and dishonesty is very unreliable. What seems honest is dishonest, and what seems dishonest is in fact true. Our ability to detect honesty and dishonesty is greatly affected by our feelings about others; we feel that sympathetic people are honest, while unsympathetic people are dishonest. In fact, dishonest people learn to portray themselves as sympathetic in order to fool us into believing their stories. Our perception is also greatly affected by our own fears and insecurities, leading us to perceive dishonesty in situations when we are most insecure.

McCall Smith examines these situations, but he does not resolve all of them. The reader is left wondering about several of them – both what was truth and what was dishonest, and how the situations were eventually dealt with. We are simply not told; the situations are left unresolved. McCall Smith can sometimes leave the reader wishing the story would speed up; sometimes the story wanders in extraneous thought, directionless. We want him to "get to the point". As in all of his previous books, McCall Smith is gentle and loving. He has Isabel taking the high road, overlooking past dishonesty, or even present dishonesty, and finding an honorable, even inspiring, way to set situations right again. As always, McCall Smith is “homey” in his writing, leaving the reader feeling that he has not strained in reading the book, and feeling safe and comfortable when the story ends, perhaps even inspired and happy.

Alexander McCall Smith's delightful official website

A Fine Balance, Rohinton Mistry

A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry

There is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
Julius Cæsar. Act iv. Sc. 3.

A Fine Balance is a spiritual book. It seems unlikely that the author intended the book to be a spiritual book and might not recognize it as such, nor would those who have reviewed the book. The author intended to write a book describing the devastating effects of some of the worst abuses of the “State of Internal Emergency” in India during the rule of Indira Gandhi. In some ways, the author succeeded in describing the corruption and brutality of that period. The book is unrelenting in describing acts of brutality that were administered on the poorest, weakest citizens of India both by the Ghandi government and by those who were empowered by the government. The book is extremely well written – so much so that we come to care deeply about the people who suffer so desperately. Indeed, the story is so depressing that it is very unpleasant to read.

However, the principal story of this book is about omitted opportunities, wrong choices, and the misery that ensued in the voyage of life. It seems doubtful that the author intended to write a spiritual book; he probably wrote a spiritual book subconsciously.

The story has four protagonists. Dina is in her 40’s and widowed. She lives alone and struggles to survive without asking for help from her elder brother, who she dislikes. Maneck is in his first year of college, from a good family, owners of a general store in the hill country, and whose mother is an old school friend of Dina's. Ishvar and his nephew Om are tailors from a small village and members of the untouchable caste. Maneck and the two tailors meet on the train on their way to Dina’s house, where Maneck has rented a room while in college, and where the two tailors hope to find work from Dina making dresses for five rupees per dress. The story describes how the four struggle together at first, and then come to care for each other deeply.

As the story unfolds, we learn the backgrounds of the principal characters, and how each came to be in the tiny run-down apartment. Dina was the daughter of a physician, a very bright girl who was also very headstrong and her father's pet. As a girl, her mother implored her to persuade her father not to go into a dangerous situation, but she refused. Her father went and became ill and died. She was not willing to accept direction from her elder brother, and she neglected her schoolwork. After she made failing marks in school, her brother refused to pay for her to continue, and she did not finish her basic education, much less college. She eventually married a very poor man who was killed in an accident after they were married only three years. Her decision not to study and become educated led her to a life of poverty and misery.

Like Dina, Maneck was given every opportunity to succeed. His parents loved him and wanted him to be educated. They sent him first to boarding school and then to college. He rebelled first at being sent to boarding school and then to college. While in college, he became friends with a young man who was a student political organizer against the government. During his year in college, he refused to study, and because of poor marks, was not accepted for further study. He accepted a job in air conditioning maintenance in Dubai, where he was miserable.

As boys, Ishvar and his brother Narayan were sent by their father away from home to a nearby town to learn to be tailors. Later, Narayan returned to his village and became very successful as a tailor. However, he defied the most powerful man in the village and was killed, along with his wife and three daughters as well as his mother and father. Ishvar and Om escaped death only because they were working in the nearby town. Later, when the tailoring business in the town failed, they went to seek work in the city. For a time, they were successful and happy with Dina, but Ishvar insisted that he and Om return to their hometown to find a wife for Om. While there, Om defied the same powerful man who had killed his father. When local police rounded up adults for forced sterilization, Ishvar and Om were given an opportunity to escape, but refused. As a result, they were sterilized, but then the powerful man insisted that Om be castrated as well, ending his chances of finding a wife. As a result of unsanitary conditions, Ishvar developed gangrene and had his legs amputated.

Thus, we see that the author created a story in which each of these four protagonists was actually responsible for his own suffering. In each case, the character made choices that led to his downfall. Each one did so knowingly after repeated warnings. In each case, the character knew at the time of his action that he was going against powerful, even brutal forces, and yet he did so anyway. In each case, the character was warned of the consequences of his action, as were others in the story who were not the principal characters, but who also suffered from the actions of evil forces. So while the author seems to have intended to describe the brutality of the Gandhi government, he actually described the consequences of defying the power prevailing in their lives at the time.

In the end, Dina was forced to move into the home of her brother and his wife and became their servant. Ishvar and Om were forced to become beggars, sneaking to the home where Dina lived where she fed them one meal each day. Maneck became despondent with life – the death of his father, learning of the death of his college friend, the political activist, and learning of the misery of Dina and Ishvar and Om. He killed himself. Dina and Ishvar and Om kept surviving somehow, kept alive by learning to maintain "a fine balance" between hope and despair. However, the book provides no "balance"; there is no hope, only despair.

Thus, this book reinforced a basic law of nature, the law of life – even though we do not agree with the rules laid down for us, we must accept those rules or face the consequences of our actions. In this story, the consequences were terrible and life-long. The characters knew in advance that they would face terrible consequences of their actions, yet they acted anyway. The suffering that they experienced was determined by their own actions; they invited the brutality that was wielded on them. They asked for it, and they got it.

The spiritual lesson is that we can try to move forward in life, we can strive for a better life, but we must act within the bounds that are laid out for us, or we will face terrible consequences. I am reminded of the Nelson Mandela quote regarding his sister – when she chose not to be educated, she chose a life of slavery. Her own choice led to her suffering. How often we see this law played out in life; how often we see people have much, but throw it away through unwillingness to accept existing rules.

Because this book had received such great reviews and such high praise, including being a finalist for the Man Booker Prize and also being included in Oprah’s Book Club, I decided to read it. If I had read the reviews more carefully, I would not have done so. Although I found this book terribly sad, terribly depressing, I also found the four principal characters to be the cause of their own misery. In life we are shown the path to happiness, and we are shown the path to misery. We must choose which path to take. We must live by the rules of life and be happy, or we will surely suffer and die by those rules. That is the law of life. Indeed, the title of this book could well have been, "Sad Consequences of the Law of Life".

Rickshaw, Lao She

Rickshaw, by Lao She

Lao She was a social novelist who chronicled life in Peking (now Beijing); Rickshaw was Lao She's eighth novel. Considered a classic in modern Chinese literature, this book describes the lives of people living in poverty in Peking and their struggle to survive. Lao She began the novel in spring, 1936, and it was published in installments in the magazine Yuzhoufeng beginning in January, 1937. Lao She was a great author, and his writing style and story -- the two essential elements of any great novel -- are outstanding.

The protagonist of the story is Hsiang Tzu, a young man who went to live in Peking from the countryside with dreams of achieving a good life through hard work and living a morally upstanding life. In the beginning, Hsiang Tzu is Michelangelo's David -- a perfect physical specimen and equally perfect morally. He has dreams of owning his own rickshaw and then perhaps other rickshaws to rent out, slowly building a good life for himself. He is determined not to be like other rickshaw pullers -- morally and physically corrupt.

Slowly, slowly, the book describes the decline in Hsiang Tzu's life and dreams, much like the chipping away at the David, until in the end the great statue crumbles and falls down. Similarly, at the end, Hsiang Tzu's life completely crumbles until he has no hope and survives only meal to meal, when he can get food at all. Along the way, the book also describes the wretched lives of others living in extreme poverty. The lives of girls was particularly dire; they had little means of support, and many resorted to selling their bodies in order to feed their families. Many girls were sold into prostitution by their parents, simply as a way to survive.

Lao She uses this story to argue that individualism does not succeed and leads to ruin, whereas people working together can succeed greatly. An old rickshaw man in the story sums up Lao She's point: "Any poor guy who thinks he can succeed by himself will find it harder than going to heaven. How far can one man hop? [A grasshopper] can go a long way in one hop by itself. Let a small boy grab it and tie a thread around it and it can't go anywhere. But if it joins up with a whole lot of other grasshoppers in a horde and they all move together, whew!"

Using all books to think about my own philosophy of life, I come to a different conclusion from that of Lao She. My own thought is that if if we rely on ourselves, our own instincts, our own decisions, we will fail. However, if we rely not on the masses, but on Spirit, we will succeed. Where Lao She thought salvation lay in working together with the masses, I believe that we must learn to follow Spirit. If Hsiang Tzu had only known to permit himself to be led by Spirit, he would have been fine. Perhaps he would not have been rich, but he would have had plenty, and he would have been happy. Spirit gives us plenty, and leads us to happiness. Following his own instincts, however, led him to ruin. As always, I look forward to the day that books are written about those who follow the guidance of Spirit, rather than their own instincts.

My Inauguration Day, January 20, 2009

The Inauguration was an incredible time for me and for all those who attended. It was a memorable day, an historic day, a very exciting day. My niece and her boyfriend had come to visit me for this occasion and our Inauguration Day actually started the previous day, January 19, when we went to the Mall and scouted out the situation to determine a location where we wanted to stand. We found a spot that we thought would provide a good view, was easily accessible, and would be good for photos.

Our Inauguration Day started early — we got to the Metro at 5:30 a.m., and we arrived downtown by 6:30. Although the trains were packed, we had no problem getting on the Metro; however, when we arrived downtown, we realized that the Metro system was not set up to handle such large crowds. Each passenger must pass through a turnstile to pay, and that takes time. As the trains emptied, passengers packed the platforms and the escalators leading to the turnstiles. The backup at the turnstiles and in the stations was massive and crushing, and some trains had to skip some stations because no more passengers could be discharged onto the platforms. We had planned to exit at one station, but had to exit at a different station because of the crowded platforms.

When we got off the train, we realized immediately that people should have been permitted to ride free, without needing to stop to pay as they passed through the turnstiles. Politicians run the Metro system, and they wanted the revenue more than they wanted to be helpful to passengers and visitors, so they required everyone to pay. Later we learned that approximately one million people used the Metro system on Inauguration Day. If the average fare was about $2.50, the revenue that day was about $2.5 million. With all of the expenses that day — totaling more than $150 million — surely $2.5 million could have been found to help people move through the Metro system without the massive backups.

As we exited the Metro, we faced darkness and cold with people everywhere quickly making their way to the Mall. Volunteers in red knitted caps were everywhere, guiding the crowds and making everyone feel happy. I stopped to take a photo of a food stand that was selling hot food for breakfast; hawkers of Obama souvenirs were everywhere selling buttons, banners, hats, calendars, and many other items.

When we finally got out of the Metro station, we headed quickly toward our preferred location, only to find that it was already filled, and the entrance was closed. We were directed farther away from the Capitol, and we ended up pretty far back from the podium. If you see the satellite map of the Mall, we were just across from the Hirschhorn Museum, about half way between the Capitol and the Washington Monument — perhaps 800-1000 meters from the podium.

We worked our way forward as far as possible. The crowd was crushing; people were standing shoulder to shoulder. I have never experienced such huge numbers of people. It was a complete crush of people. However, the mood was one of incredible excitement and celebration, so the feeling was very joyful. Huge “Jumbotrons” had been set up along the Mall, so everyone could see the ceremonies, and the sound system was really great. We were just not close enough to take good photos.

After we arrived at the location where we would stand, we realized that we would be standing in that location for six hours with very little movement. We soon learned how difficult it is to stand in one place for a long time. Backs hurt, knees hurt, freezing feet hurt until they become numb. One can stamp one’s feet, but that is not very helpful. As we made our way onto the Mall, volunteers handed out small American flags to wave, and everyone spent the day waving their flags. I think some of the waving was to provide a little motion as much as to cheer.

The cold was also painful. When we arrived at the Mall, the temperature was 19 degrees Fahrenheit (about -7 C); it warmed up to about 32 degrees F (0 C) by the time of the swearing in. The cold is painful to the face and to the hands, and particularly to the feet. We had dressed well, wearing long ski underwear and several layers of clothing. We had warm knitted hats pulled down over our ear muffs, and warm gloves. We also had chemical “hand warmers”, which were particularly helpful. One hand warmer inside a glove kept one’s hands warm the entire day. Some people put the warmers inside their shoes as well. The bigger problem was not the cold, but the standing in one place for six hours. At the end, we had problems making our bodies, particularly our knees, work again.

In the beginning, our standing was boring. We talked with people around us, and among ourselves, but it was boring just standing. After a time, the Jumbotrons began a replay of the Sunday concert at the Lincoln Memorial, "We Are One", that was televised on HBO. The entire show was replayed, and it was very, very good. The show ran about 90 minutes, which took us up to about an hour prior to the beginning of the ceremony. At that point, the Jumbotrons began to show preparations on the platform and then dignitaries arriving. It was interesting to watch famous people arrive, and to see the TV shots of motorcades bringing them to the Capitol. All of the entertainment being shown on the Jumbotrons really helped the time to pass in a more pleasant way, and greatly added to the happy feeling of the day. Any glimpse of Obama or his family brought huge, sustained cheers from the crowd, and the cheers did not stop during the procession of his motorcade to the Capitol.

As we passed the time during the six-hour wait, we talked with people around us, and we learned that virtually everyone in our area was from out of town, mostly from California. They had come to experience the historical event and also to celebrate Bush’s departure. When Bush was shown on the Jumbotron, boos went up from the masses. People from California and Texas and Maine around us all expressed deep relief and overwhelming joy at the change. The mood was one of great celebration.

One man from Houston had come by himself, just to experience the event. Another man from Orange County, California also came just to witness the historical event. The two men in front of us, also from California, were hopeful that Obama would have a more respected foreign policy, one that Americans could respect, as well as those in other countries. Several people said they believed that Obama would be more respectful of our Constitution. Everyone felt that he would be better for America in every respect than Bush.

As Obama took the oath of office, everyone noticed the mix-up in the wording of the oath, although we were not aware that Chief Justice Roberts was speaking from memory, and simply forgot the words. (We now know that he had to administer the oath again at the White House because the Constitution requires the oath to be certain specific words, and without those words, a Constitutional challenge might have been made about whether Obama was in fact the President.) However, a giant roar erupted as Obama said, “So help me God.” During his address, roars went up numerous times, and at the end of his address, the roar continued for several minutes. At that moment, everyone began leaving the Mall, without waiting for the final prayer, which we heard as we exited.

A huge problem arose at end of the ceremony as everyone exited the Mall. We all knew that the parade route was along Pennsylvania Avenue, north of the Mall. However, all through the day, messages were displayed on the Jumbotrons instructing everyone to exit through three places — 7th Street, 12th Street, and 14th Street, along Constitution Avenue. Being happy and willing to follow instructions, everyone did as they were instructed. However, when we got to the 7th Street exit, it was blocked by security. Everyone began to move to the 12th Street exit, but they found it to be blocked by security as well. An even larger mass of people formed at that exit, until they gradually moved to the 14th Street exit, which they found was also blocked.

Only after much time and frustration did people finally move farther west along the Mall until they found that they were able to exit at 17th Street. Even then, all streets heading north were blocked until 21st Street. If the Jumbotron messages had simply informed the crowd that the only exit would be as far west as 17th Street, there would have been no problem; everyone would have simply gone there in the first place.

Now we are into the second day of the Obama Administration, and polls show that about 75 percent of the American people are hopeful that he will bring improvements in our country and in the world. At long last, we can again be happy and even proud to be Americans. It is a great time, an exciting time, a hopeful time. Many in America are reminded of the words of Gerald Ford when he assumed the Presidency after Richard Nixon resigned: “My fellow Americans, our long national nightmare is over.” Thanks be to God.

The Terra Cotta Dog, Andrea Camilleri

The Terra Cotta Dog
by Andrea Camilleri

The Thai Amulet, Lyn Hamilton

The Thai Amulet
by Lyn Hamilton

Reflecting the Sky, S.J. Rozan

Reflecting the Sky
by S.J. Rozan

The Careful Use of Compliments, Alexander McCall Smith

The Careful Use of Compliments
by Alexander McCall Smith

This book is the fourth in the Isabel Dalhousie mystery series. Like all other Alexander McCall Smith books, this book is gentle, slow (sometimes too slow) and comfortable. Smith poses problems for the heroine to address, and we watch as he then addresses those problems through his heroine.

In the previous book, The Right Attitude to Rain, Isabel fell in love with Jamie, a younger man who had been the lover of Isabel's niece, Cat, who had broken off her relationship with him. In that story, Isabel found herself pregnant, surprisingly, but joyfully.

In this fourth novel, little Charlie has been born, and Isabel's relationship with Cat has become strained because of Cat's emotional problems with Isabel's relationship with Jamie. Even though Cat no longer wants to have a relationship with Jamie herself, she is deeply troubled that her aunt, Isabel, now has a relationship with Jamie, and they now have a son, Charlie. Much of the book concerns Isabel's difficulties in dealing with Cat.

Isabel continues to live in a large old house in Edinburgh, Scotland, and she continues to be the editor of "The Journal of Applied Ethics", a profession that is also her hobby, her vocation. Isobel is by nature a moral philosopher, who loves the thought of philosophy and ethics. Her work as editor of the journal is deeply personal, and she loves it even though the job pays only a pittance.

However, in this book, Isabel is faced with a problem that causes her deep personal distress -- she is shocked to receive a letter informing her that she is being replaced as editor of the Journal. She learns that she has is the victim of a coup by someone else who wants to become editor, and his protege who is on the Journal's Editorial Board. In the end, Isabel solves this problem through a direct use of the power of wealth. Because of her inheritance, she is independently wealthy, and she simply buys the Journal, ousting both the Editorial Board member and the new editor.

Isabel is also very interested in art, especially the work of one Scottish landscape painter who has been dead for several years, killed in a boating accident off the Scottish island of Jura. She learns that first one painting of this artist and then a second suddenly appear for auction. Because of certain inconsistencies between these paintings and his previous works, she becomes suspicious that perhaps the paintings are fraudulent and conducts an investigation. As in all Alexander McCall Smith novels, his heroine eventually discovers the truth through careful thought and some serendipitous and timely events, and the story ends happily.

Much of this book, like all Alexander McCall Smith novels, concerns the thoughts of the protagonist. Much of this story is Isabel's thoughts -- about Cat, about her deep emotional need to be editor of the Journal, and about her tracking down the answer to the recent paintings at auction. While some of the book concerns her thoughts about her deep love for Jamie and certain conflicts with him, little of the book concerns her thoughts about little Charlie. Thus her life has not changed completely with Charlie's birth; while she does think of him, she clearly is not the mothering kind. Isabel is a philosopher; her housekeeper, Grace, is charged with keeping little Charlie.