Thursday, August 26, 2010

Literary Theory & Conjecture

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Every academic discipline has its share of debatable theories, to keep scholars on their proverbial toes. Physics has dark matter, which is theorized to exist in order to make gravitational models make sense. Historians talk about a theoretical Siberian/Alaskan land-bridge, which may have allowed ancient Asians to have settled the Americas and spawn, what we know as, Native American cultures. Mathematicians have Number Theory, which I can’t begin to summarize. Likewise, the realm of literature and writing owns its share of theories and debatable ideas.

I remember sitting in my creative writing class, at OSU, as our gray ponytail wearing professor explained that westerns are actually homo-erotic fantasies in disguise, the horse supposedly being a literary substitute for a male sexual lover. He was earnest in his conviction too, this is how things were. He was a professor, and he was professing the truth to us. He’s not alone in this belief, which was recently energized by a certain Heath Ledger film. Such theorists have pointed at the film and said, “Told ya so,” as if Annie Proulx had somehow let the cat out of the bag.

Equally steadfast in their convictions are the Oxfordians, Baconians, Marlovians, and Derbyites, who insist that William Shakespeare lacked the education necessary to produce the body of work which has been attributed to him. Not only will they tell you that Edward de Vere (17th Earl of Oxford), Sir Francis Bacon, dramatist Christopher Marlowe, and/or William Stanley (6th Earl of Derby) wrote the works, they’ll tell you that mainstream literary minds ONLY dispute the claim because they have a financial interest in promoting the collection as a single body of work.

Both theories have their fervent supporters and nay sayers. I have no doubt that some frustrated homosexual authors wrote westerns in order to express themselves without being lynched. Literature has a long tradition of metaphor and allegory, which could only be recognized by “those in the know.” Gulliver’s Travels and Animal Farm are superb, if obvious, examples of writers saying something without actually saying it.

Surely an oppressed population, such as 19th & 20th century gays, needed such a vehicle to express themselves. However, it doesn’t logically follow that westerns, across the board, are a form of gay literature. Louie L’Amour’s Sackett saga, was comprised of straight forward tales of settling the west. True Dime Novels and Story Papers were pretty one dimensional publications, written to whet people’s appetite for the west. A good portion of westerns are little more than good versus evil morality plays, with little, if any, room for hidden meaning.

As for the Shakespeare theory, Oxfordians, and others, maintain that without a formal education, William Shakespeare wouldn’t have known about the customs and habits of the aristocracy. I don’t find his lack of a documented formal education to be a compelling argument though. Setting aside the fact that home schooling has been around forever, the fact is that he was an actor. As such, his troop would’ve been invited into a variety of estates, where he would have been able to observe the upper class first had. Remember, these weren’t high brow plays when they were written. These were tales of violence, murder, and sexual intrigue which were written to appeal to a broad audience. They were the 90210 of their day.

Keep in mind as well, most of these plays painted royalty and the upper class as being jealous, selfish, and conniving. Lady Macbeth killed anyone she perceived to be a threat to her husband’s power. Claudius, Hamlet’s uncle, killed his own brother to steal his wife and throne. Othello couldn’t trust his wife enough to believe her claims of fidelity. Richard III was a tyrant pure and simple. Such a dark portrait of the ruling class is hardly a picture an Earl, or other member of the aristocracy, would wish to paint. Such a view would have been more likely to come from a disgruntled commoner.

Unless we find a cache of diaries, most literary questions will never be resolved. That’s OK though. Whether or not one man wrote all of “Shakespeare’s works” doesn’t really matter. It’s still a single body of work, which has inspired multiple writers over the years. As for what’s in a writer’s mind when they write a piece, we’ll never really know that either. Again, it doesn’t matter. Art is subjective. Once a writer publishes a piece, it belongs to the reader. The reader will attribute meaning to it, based on their own set of beliefs, thoughts, and experiences, which is as it should be.


Tuesday, August 24, 2010

The Horn Blower

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Josh shoved his hands into the pockets of his caramel colored slacks, once the button to the lobby had been pressed. He didn’t typically walk around that way, but he was afraid he might belt someone if his hands were free of his pockets.

“Happy place, indeed,” Josh thought to himself in disgust, as he stormed from the elevator. Asking him to close his eyes and visit his happy place, was like asking a quadriplegic to perform somersaults. Every time Josh shut his eyes, he relived the single most terrifying moment of his life.

He could clearly see himself leaving the Thrifty-Mart, with his bag full of frozen dinners and discount beer. He recalled mentally debating whether to nuke the Mexican Trio or the Turkey Feast for supper that night, when he heard the first loud crack. Two more cracks followed in rapid succession, chased by a searing pain in his back. He remembered the pavement racing toward his face an instant before everything went black.

Three years had past, and the memory was still as vivid as if it had happened a week ago. Now, the only psychiatrist who’d accept Medicare, was telling him to picture bikini strewn beaches in his head. He stormed from the skyscraper’s glass doors, fit to spit acid into the eyes of passers by.

At first, his rage hid the music from his consciousness. A trumpet, playing Serenade In Blue, served as soft background music to a tapestry of angry musings. As Josh approached the sidewalk of Market Street, the music began to tickle the fringes of his awareness. Each note drew him closer to their master, until he found himself staring directly down at the source of music.

The black man’s legs were folded into yoga’s bound angel pose, as he leaned his back against the cement dividing wall, and blew expertly into his shiny brass instrument. A set of dark, almost black, fingers protruded from a pair fair raggedy fingerless wool gloves and operated the sparkling keys with precision. His cheeks puffed into replicas of plump ripe tomatoes smudged with garden soil. The glistening horn made the blower’s long musty coat and hole ridden trousers seem all the more dull by comparison. Yet, as the horn blower manipulated the instrument, which almost seemed to be a part of the blower’s body, Josh could sense a contentment emanating from the man.

With his hands still firmly in his pockets, Josh leaned his shoulder against the wall and closed is eyes, really closed his eyes. As the music filled his pores, he allowed himself to rest in the moment.

Now Is Not Forever

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I’m living in my own future,
I’m living in my own past.
I’m trapped in this painful moment,
But I know that it won’t last.

There’s a me looking back at this,
Proud that I broke free.
There’s a me waiting for this moment,
Unsure of what’s to be.

I see only this painful moment,
Full of woes and frights.
Yet the moments exist together,
As a web of lefts and rights.

My future, past, a present,
Exist together as parallel streams.
Although what I see as now,
Is an eternity it seems.

I need a way to rise above this pain,
And quench this hurt somehow.
I need to shift my focus,
And look back on the now.

I’m living in my own future,
I’m living in my own past.
I’m trapped in this painful moment,
But I know that it won’t last.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

An Appreciation Of Literature

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In an attempt to increase my positive revenue stream, this week I added an Amazon book store to my blog. I figured that since I blog as often as I do, I may as well make some money at it. Along the top of the blog, readers can search for, and purchase, any book Amazon has to offer. In addition to this ability, readers can buy one of my favorite books with one click along the left side. Finally, each entry will feature a selection of topic related materials, which readers can purchase.

It was as I was choosing my favorite books, that I began thinking about books. More precisely, I began thinking about the books I choose to read. Since I write crime fiction, my list is, of course, heavily weighted with crime fiction. Scattered among my favorite mysteries, one will find cookbooks, the culinary musings of Anthony Bourdain, and a few non-genre offerings which have spoken to me over the years, including Young’s ”The Shack,” and Cather’s “My Ă…ntonia.” I read the blogs of “serious” writers though, and they tout Hemingway’s “The Old Man and the Sea,” Salinger’s “The Catcher in the Rye,” Fitzgerald’s “The Great Gatsby, and the works of Shakespeare as “must reads“.

Since Shakespeare’s plays were meant to be watched, rather than read, I’ve made it a point to partake of as many of the plays as possible. However I must confess, most of the other “serious” works simply don’t do it for me.

When I go to buy a book, I ask myself why I should care about this character? I have to be able to identify with a protagonist, on some level, to enjoy a book. Are they saving lives, solving crimes, dedicating themselves to a cause greater than themselves, or educating the reader in some way? Am I at least going to read about a strong intelligent character with some kind of moral fiber? If the answers are no, I’m probably not going to spend time or money on that particular book.

OK, Cather’s Jim Burden lacks a certain degree of self esteem, and comes across as wimpy, making the reader want to slap him and scream, “Tell her how you feel!” We’ve all loved unrequitedly at some point in our lives though, and therefore can feel Jim’s pain.

On the flip side, while “The Great Gatsby” oozes with imagery and metaphor, it leaves me flat. Yes, I get the whole eye of god in the billboard thing, but when the characters are oblivious of reality, I can’t find anyone to care about. Likewise, while I can appreciate Hemingway’s take on man versus nature, at the end of the day we have Santiago killing a marvelous creature to prove he’s still a man, without anything tangible to show for his effort. As for Salinger’s piece, I may have simply discovered this coming of age tale too late in life to get much out of it.

Thus, I’m forced to ask myself if my lukewarm reception of such classics prevents me from being a serious writer? It’s a question which I’ve wrestled with. In the end though, I think an appreciation of literature is merely a matter of finding subject matter that speaks to you. I’m hardly a religious zealot, yet “The Shack” challenged me to reexamine my beliefs, and thus became one of my favorite books.

I may, or may not, be a serious writer, whatever that really means. Nevertheless, I don’t think the question hinges on a specific reading list, or an understanding of certain key works. Readers, and writers, should focus on books they enjoy. If the “classics” truly excite and enthrall you, that’s great. If not, that’s OK too, as long as you’re reading something.


Wednesday, August 4, 2010

1,000,000 "Frenchmen" CAN Be Wrong

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Today California’s Courts overturned the people’s ban on same-sex marriage. I posted a link to the news on Facebook, hailing the decision as a victory for liberty and human rights. Yet, my cousin commented that the decision signaled an erosion of voters’ power to govern.

In 2008, Proposition 8, banning same-sex marriage, was passed by 52.24% of California’s voters. Some would argue that the courts have no business overturning “the will of the people.” I thought about this, it sounds like a valid point. After all, Democracy is supposed to be based on “the will of the people,” isn’t it?

No, I'm sorry, as much as I love my cousin, this argument doesn't hold water. "The will of the people" was never intended to be able to circumvent the country's founding principles of freedom and personal liberty. If mere elections had such an unchecked power, the ban on interracial marriage would've been kept in place in southern states by southern voters of the time. Human rights are not commodities to be granted and revoked according to the whim of the populace.

In the words of Supreme Court Justice Robert H. Jackson, "The very purpose of a Bill of Rights was to withdraw certain subjects from the vicissitudes of political controversy, to place them beyond the reach of majorities and officials and to establish them as legal principles to be applied by the courts. One's right to life, liberty, and property, to free speech, a free press, freedom of worship and assembly, and other fundamental rights may not be submitted to vote; they depend on the outcome of no elections."