At least we can always agree that Sam is, indeed, a "Stupid, fat hobbit."

I'm on campus today for a graduate students association meeting that's in an hour and a half. So rather than spend that time doing anything useful, I'm doing a blog post.

More specifically, I'm doing a blog post that continues a discussion my roommate and i had over the weekend. He was watching the extended edition of The Two Towers, the second Lord of the Rings movie. And I was watching it as well, since doing so beat getting angrier at the DS game 999 for my inability to find an ending wherein I am not hacked to death by a teenager. (And believe me, you don't know angry until you've yelled "Goddammit, we talked through your homicidal tendencies at Door 6!" at a fictional videogame character.) We discussed various elements of the narrative, including the plausibility of shield surfing and Sam's general surly attitude, but it was the character of Haldir that really proved to be the dividing ground. Haldir, for the Tolkien afficiandoes in the audience, is the elf who guides the Fellowship to Lorien. (It's technically Lórien, but I'll be mentioning it a few times, and the inclusion of accents in Bloggger is kind of iffy, so...) in book 1. In the movies, his role is expanded, as he also appears in the second film to lead a battalion of elves to their deaths at the battle of Helm's Deep. (Yes, spoiler, but it's been 9 years; I hardly think I'm to blame if you haven't seen it by this point.)

Our argument centered around the elf's characterization: my roommate claims he is a badass, whereas I argue that he is, by and large, merely an asshole. (Yes, it's a heavily ass-oriented argument. The house is nothing but mid-twenties males, and our rhetoric reflects that demographic base.) He points to Haldir's heroic death, his daring in battle, his casual racism towards Gimli.

My evidence: His casual racism towards Gimli: "The Dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark."
His ability to state the obvious: "(to Frodo) You bring great evil with you."
And, most of all, the way the other elves treat him. To whit:
By the time he appears at Helm's Deep, we've already seen that the rest of the Elves are packing up shop. Whether the Fellowship ultimately succeeds or not, they are not sticking around. Whether it's a World of Man or all-Sauron, all the time, they know they don't want to be a part of their trainwreck. So they're packing up their civilization, they're busting out their favorite traveling lanterns...



...and they're getting the hell out of Dodge.

Now, imagine you're gearing your entire civilization up for an extended ocean voyage. I'd imagine you'd have to be pretty careful about the travel arrangements. Sure, you want to be well-stocked with everything you need to restart society, and you want enough food to get you from point A to point B, but you'd also be careful about exactly who is going with you on your boat. You want to be mindful of people's personalities, about who is best suited to accompany whom, and who can't be seated with Aunt Margaret because of that thing she said three centuries ago about Our Sally dating a hobbit. And don't think that the Elves are above this sort of petty bickering; if Haldir's previous comments are any indication, immortality just means you have that much more time to really nurse those grudges. And at the same time, while you're thinking about who you don't want to sit next to, you also want to consider the ultimate party line-up. You want to get a place with your society's best story tellers, the greatest conversationalists, the funnest drinking buddies. It's all about priorities, really.

And where does Haldir rate on this complex social ranking? While everyone else is getting ready to move and picking ship buddies, he's sent with a small squadron of other undesirables to honor a hundred year old treaty with a group of people the Elves will never be associating with again by participating in a suicide mission.

I imagine the decision to send Haldir was the Elfish equivalent of picking sides for a baseball team. Once you've cycled through the good players, the argument focuses on who gets the weird kid.

"All right, fine, I'll take the guy with halitosis, but then you've got to get the elf with that bad gas."
"All right. Maybe we can balance him out with an oat diet. So who's left... uh..."
"Well, there's... Haldir."
"Oh, well, you... you can have Haldir. That's... that's my gift. To you."
"Yeah, thanks. How... generous. But I couldn't... couldn't possibly deprive you. Of his company. Which would be a deprivation."
"Oh, but I insist. And... um... I'll--I'll also throw in this dwarf mail. And a bit of hobbit pipe weed."
"Dude, there is not enough hobbit pipe weed in all of Middle Earth to make me let that guy's ass on my ship." (Elves too have an anal fixation. Little known fact.)
"Honestly, if he's there, is really even a Second Eden at all?"
"Ugh. I know. He does that... thing, when he talks. Smacks his lips. It's like a fish is trying to bob for apples, or some damn thing. Tell you what--why don't we send him on the... "special mission"?"
"Yes... the 'special mission.' And if he comes back..."
"If he comes back, fish-lips can swim his way west."

Haldir: a guy that's such a big asshole that his own people would rather send him on a suicide mission than be alone with him on a boat.

Later Days.

Readers? What readers?

Ages ago, I stumbled onto a very, very long game article detailing someone's experiences playing a real-time strategy sci-fi game. It's perhaps the best encounter I've ever come across of someone transforming the act of playing a game into a compelling narrative--one that, by many accounts, is more compelling than the game itself. Sadly, I didn't think I'd ever be returning to the account at the time, so I failed to take note of either the game, the writer, or the site it was posted on. But through more serendipitous link lurking, I've rediscovered the lost diary. And so I never lose it again, I'm going to post the link and the follow-up report here on my blog:
The game is Galactic Civilization 2, the site is PC Gamer Blog, and the writer is Tom Francis. And secondary thanks to the archives at the PC gaming site Rock, Paper Shotgun for reminding me of the article's existence.
http://www.computerandvideogames.com/161570/blog/galciv-2-war-report-final-entry/?site=pcg
http://www.computerandvideogames.com/195920/blog/galactic-civilizations-diary-days-1-26/

You can click on the links if you want, I guess. But honestly, they're here for my benefit, not yours.

Later Days.

Friday Quotations: Stein Time

"It is very easy to love alone." --Gertrude Stein

Later Days.

Typography Fascist

Is that the appropriate equivalent of a grammar nazi? Well, we'll go with that, for lack of a better term.
Anyway, a friend of mine recently (i.e., within a month or so) posted a link to this article on his facebook feed: http://www.slate.com/id/2281146/.

For those too lazy to read two articles in one day, the essay's author essentially is arguing for the use of a single space after a period rather than a double space. The reaction to the article that I posted on Facebook was less than kind: "If I'm not going to listen to those elitist "manners" people when they tell me how to hold my fork and knife, or tie my shoes, or get out of a car, then a typographer with an ax to grind isn't going to get me to change my ways. Don't these people have better things to do? Like complain about lax spelling in text messages?"

I would like to apologize for that comment. It was flippant, dismissive, and rude. It's also ill-advised in terms of my research; a part of my study is on the design of text in video games, and thus it would behoove me not to upset any errant typographers who may be insulted by such comments. And finally, it's incredibly hypocritical of me to even imply that typographers are making a big deal over nothing, since my role as an English instructor has brought me to the point where I refuse to allow students to use "that" as a subject, use "quote" as a noun, and, if possible, avoid using the word "similarly" altogether.

So I apologize. I apologize to my friend, I apologize to anyone offended by comment, and I apologize to the article's writer.

I still think he's wrong, though.

Allow me to summarize his argument, and respond to each point in turn:
1) Typographers say it should be one space.
2) It's an unnecessary holdover (skeumorph!) from the typewriter.
3) Two spaces don't signal proper stops so much as eliminate the flow of the writing.
4)Using a single space isn't any more arbitrary than using a double space.

My response:
1) Elitism isn't an argument, it's an excuse. And a bad one at that. Just because the experts act in a certain way doesn't mean you should follow their lead--unless there's a good reason to do so. Personally, I'm in favor of viewing grammar and structure as concepts that are more fluid than they're generally held to be; I think, when there's no clear reason not to, such conventions such bend to common usage. I could, admittedly, be accused of hypocrisy here, since any student attempting a common usage argument in my classroom wouldn't get very far with me. To that charge, I offer two responses: first, I honestly think that most of the grammatical elements I insist on improve on clarity, and thus justify deviation from popular use. And second, writing should always take into account its context; certain rules of grammar should be more rigorously observed because of the purpose of the document. A scholarly essay is different in tone than a personal email, and grammar is one of the many indicators of that fact. If Manjoo is arguing for a single space in all cases, and I don't think there's grounds for such a universal rule.

2) This reason is better, but still not sufficient. If we're going to argue against the use of typewriter conventions, then we should start by fundamentally redesigning the keyboard and the basic presentation form of the computer document. Spacing figures relatively low on that list of priorities.

3)Yes, spaces create pauses; that's the point. The end of a sentence is a logical place to create a pause, and using just a period and capital letter to signal that pause isn't enough for me. To create a mental pause, a visible spatial pause is the most economical option. Personally, I don't find that the double space interrupts flow; that's what the paragraph break is for. Even in Manjoo's article, when I glance at it, it's the space between paragraphs that signal to me that he's starting a new idea, not a double space between sentences. (Not that he uses the double space, but please, work with me here.)

4)I don't even know if this argument needs dismissing--it dismisses itself pretty well. Arguing that the double-space argument might be arbitrary but so is the single-space doesn't really get us much beyond the "I know you are, but what am I?" sort of taunt.

I suppose what really bugs me about this article is that the author states right off right near the beginning that what really irritates him isn't just that others use the double space method, but that they insist that anyone who does otherwise is wrong--his exact stance on the single space. (Granted, he's not as extreme on this issue as some of the others he cites. "Type crimes?") Rather than insist this author should adopt the two-space method, I'm going to conclude with the same conclusion that someone posted to the comments of my friend's Facebook links:
"I don't care how many spaces you put into your own paper as long as you dont tell me how many to put in mine."

Tell it, sister. And since a Facebook post is an informal forum, I'm not even going to make a disparaging comment about the missing apostrophe.

...Oops.


Later Days.

Friday Quotations/Movie Buff: Adaptation

"Do I have an original thought in my head? My bald head. Maybe if I were happier, my hair wouldn't be falling out. Life is short. I need to make the most of it. Today is the first day of the rest of my life. I'm a walking cliché. I really need to go to the doctor and have my leg checked. There's something wrong. A bump. The dentist called again. I'm way overdue. If I stop putting things off, I would be happier. All I do is sit on my fat ass. If my ass wasn't fat I would be happier. I wouldn't have to wear these shirts with the tails out all the time. Like that's fooling anyone. Fat ass. I should start jogging again. Five miles a day. Really do it this time. Maybe rock climbing. I need to turn my life around. What do I need to do? I need to fall in love. I need to have a girlfriend. I need to read more, improve myself. What if I learned Russian or something? Or took up an instrument? I could speak Chinese. I'd be the screenwriter who speaks Chinese and plays the oboe. That would be cool. I should get my hair cut short. Stop trying to fool myself and everyone else into thinking I have a full head of hair. How pathetic is that? Just be real. Confident. Isn't that what women are attracted to? Men don't have to be attractive. But that's not true. Especially these days. Almost as much pressure on men as there is on women these days. Why should I be made to feel I have to apologize for my existence? Maybe it's my brain chemistry. Maybe that's what's wrong with me. Bad chemistry. All my problems and anxiety can be reduced to a chemical imbalance or some kind of misfiring synapses. I need to get help for that. But I'll still be ugly though. Nothing's gonna change that."
--Adaptation
So guess what film I watched last night? Adaptation is a film about... flowers, I guess. Also about screenplay writing. And loneliness. Man, is it about loneliness.
Yeah.... Let me try that again. The plot of the movie is that a screenplay writer, Charlie Kaufman (played by Nicholas Cage) , is hired to write an adaptation of Susan Orlean's (played by Meryl Streep)book, the Orchid Thief. Kaufman is a neurotic, balding, middle-aged man who can't seem to put his life together or barely even function from one day to the next. It doesn't help that his twin brother Donald (also played by Cage) is on the upswing: he's got a steady girlfriend and just sold his first own movie script for at least 5 figures. At the same time, we get Susan's story of a journalist who, in her own way, is as lost as Charlie is. Gradually, it becomes clear that the adaptation Charlie is writing is the movie we're actually watching. And thus the film becomes a bizarre meta-experience. The closest thing I can compare it to is the movie adaptation of Tristam Shandy, which was about the filming of the movie adaptation of Tristam Shandy, and also had a main character who was playing multiple roles. It's almost so aggressively meta at some points that it comes across as a cheap stunt or overly clever joke (I'm looking at you, "discussion on internal monologue" scene), but for the most part it works.

For the record, the movie's real-life writer, Charlie Kaufman, doesn't have a brother. And the real-life Susan Orlean never went to the lengths of the fictional one. Nicholas Cage does a fantastic job as the twin brothers--at points, it's possible to determine which brother you're watching just by their body posture--Charlie is haunched over and nervous, and Donald is wide-eyed and often oblivious. It's a wonderful performance. It's amazing that this is the same man who starred in Ghost Rider.

Oh: and in case anyone's wondering, the vote has been tallied for the most responses ever to my post yesterday, and it looks like I'll be reading The Road. My hopes for this post-apocalyptic story: more sentient dogs, less ridiculous blind men. (And as I look for the link, I realize I never did do that review of "The Book of Eli." Spoilers!)

Later Days.

Book List

Yes, yes, it's another book related post. Well, I didn't wind up with a career in the field of English (videogame focus notwithstanding) by reading tea leaves, after all.
At any rate, I keep a large portion of my personal library in my university office. The reason for this dates back to my bouts of house-moving last year. Knowing firsthand that transporting books en masse is a huge hassle, I slowly brought all my books, a half dozen or dozen at a time, from my apartment to my office. So instead of going through a single large imposition, I have dragged it out over weeks. And since most are still in my office, it's been dragged out indefinitely. The point is, my half of the office is a miniature library, albeit a very eclectic and scattered one. The story of the moment begins when my office mate recently remarked to me that a student who came to the office for an appointment didn't believe that I'd read the books on that shelf. Well, to that student I would like to make a reply:
You've got some attitude, mister.
The unmet student is also, sadly, largely correct. While I have done my best, large parcels of my personal paper possessions have gone unpenetrated. (I regret embarking on this alliteration.) I examined a single shelf, and came up with fourteen different books that I either failed to finish or haven't even cracked the spine:
John Barth Coming Soon!!!
John Bunyan The Pilgrim's Progress
Italo Calvino Mr. Palomar
John Gardner Grendel
Richard Garrett Starship Death
Stephen Hunt The Court of the Air
K. V. Johansen The Storyteller
Samuel Johnson History of Rabelais
Machievelli The Prince
Cormac McCarthy The Road
Karl Marx The Communist Manifesto
John Milton Paradise Lost
V. Sackville West The Land
Tolstoy War & Peace

Granted, that's a lot of books. But, in my defense, it's 14 out 84, which means I've read 5/7, or over 70% of the total--which isn't bad, when you're talking a few thousand pages of reading. And do keep in mind that this 84 is a single shelf--there are four more. Like I said, it's basically it's own library.
At any rate, in the interest of improving the ratio further, I will read one book from this list--whichever book is most often suggested to me in the comments thread for this post. Predicted outcome: not a damn person comments, and I pick one myself.

But I'd have tried, so I'd feel better.
And by God, if it takes me hundreds, even thousands of hours, it'll all be worth it, just so I can show that undergraduate student I'll meet what I'm made of.

Later Days.

Book Review: Tom Jones by Henry Fielding

"We are now, reader, arrived at the last stage of our long journey. As we have therefore travelled together through so many pages, let us behave to one another like fellow-travellers in a stage-coach, who have passed several days in the company of each other; and who, notwithstanding any bickerings or little animosities which may have occurred on the road, generally make all up at last, and mount, for the least time, into their vehicle with chearfulness and good-humour; since, after this one stage, it may possibly happen to us, as it commonly happens to them, never to meet more." --Tom Jones, Henry Fielding

I started reading Tom Jones last month, in my nine-hour stay at the Toronto airport terminal. (Why nine hours? Well, you know the little voice in your head that tells you that you should start a trip as early as possible in case something goes wrong? Well, sometimes, being as early as possible IS something wrong.) Sadly, it was NOT, as some may expect, the story of a Welsh-born crooner. Rather, Tom Jones is Henry Fielding's 18th century tour du force, a "history" (and more on that word choice later) of the foundling Tom Jones from his birth onwards. I'll be honest--I've read so much 18th century literature at this point of my scholarly career that I can't read a book such as this on its own terms, as either entertainment or moral instruction; instead, I'm approaching it as more of a cultural artifact. There's plenty to talk about on those grounds, so let's get started.

First, let's do an overview. The book is very, very long. Reading it felt like a marathon exercise, a struggle so epic that it doesn't compare to anything I've read since... since... well, since I read Infinite Jest last month. (Maybe I'll go for a "ridiculously long trifecta" and try another giant page turner in February. What should it be? War and Peace? Les Miserables? Atlas Shrugged? Write in with your suggestions!) Actually, the difference between the two, structurally, makes an interesting comparison. Infinite Jest didn't really have chapters; the book was divided into parts that ranged from a half dozen to twenty or so pages, often with paragraphs that overlapped multiple pages. Tom Jones is divided into 18 parts (called "books" by Fielding), each of which consists of ten or more chapters, which in turn are about 6 pages long. In other words, while Infinite Jest felt like an organic whole that I couldn't put down for long without losing the entire thread, Tom Jones was more of a regimented system that I could digest in chunks. The result, for better or for worse, is a less intense, but more structured reading experience.

Infinite Jest (and about six other books) happened in between starting and finishing Tom Jones, so I'm a little shaky on the early parts of the novel. As far as I can recollect, the book can be divided into three parts. In the first part, the characters and background are set up. Squire Allworthy (a classic example of 18th century subtlety in naming) decides to raise a bastard foundling alongside his sister's son, and to treat both as his own. The foundling, Tom Jones, grows up to be an exemplary young man, save that his passions sometimes overwhelm him. His foster brother, Master Blifil is the opposite--he's coldly calculating, but puts on the face of a dutiful relative when it suits him. Tom eventually falls in love with Sophia Western, the daughter of the neighbouring squire. However, said neighbouring squire gets it in his head that Sophia should marry Blifil. A series of unfortunate events lead Allworthy to assume Tom to be "no good," and he is soon kicked out of his childhood home and forced to make his way in the world. In the second part, he wanders through the English countryside, acquiring a loyal servant and supposed father in the form of Mr. Partridge. The duo eventually make their way to England in search of Sophia, who has fled there to avoid her impeding, unwilling nuptials. And in England, we have the third part of the novel. The two would-be lovers face a series of obstacles including ill-timed duels, potential suitors, willful relatives and a misplaced marriage proposal, but in the end, things turn out... well, largely as expected. (Spoiler Alert.)

Naturally, I'm glossing over a lot. 800 pages requires a fair bit of plot-jiggering on the writer's part. Since going over everything in detail would be rather exhausting, we'll go over a few of the issues I found particularly interesting: gender standards, exemplars, the use of letters, and the book sections' prefaces.

Let's start with the prefaces. Each of Fielding's 18 books start with what's essentially a nonfiction essay wherein Fielding waxes philosophically concerning some topic that, at best, is tangentially connected to the book's content, but usually corresponds nicely with his goals for the novel at large. Book 4, for example, starts with a justification for the use of ornament in writing; Book 9 begins with a description of the traits a writer should have under his belt before he is allowed to write a novel (He should, for the record, possess natural genius, book learning, and real-world experience). The essay chapters fulfill a number of different purposes. First, they explain what it means for a novel to be a history. A history carries with it an air of authenticity that comedies and dramas (according to Fielding, anyway)lack. And as it's supposedly based on the real world, it can serve as a source for proper didactic models. The prefaces also prove that Fielding fulfills his own definition of the ideal writer--they demonstrate his wit and learning, to an extent greater than the novel itself usually has opportunity. Finally, there were exactly two points in this book where I had a genuine, emotional reaction (besides frustration, anyway). The first I'll discuss in a moment with the novel's use of letters, but the second was during the quotation above. I had to admit, by the end of the novel, I agreed with Fielding; it's a little mawkish, but I felt like I had gone on a journey of sorts, with the narrator as a companion, sometimes willingly and sometimes not. The narrator of the book felt like a character in his own right by this point--better developed, in fact, than most of the characters in the actual novel proper. By that eighteenth hole, I was looking forward to the digressions almost more than the story.

Next up: the use of letters. I bring this up because it's an example of how media changes us. Throughout the novel, letters are basically the only way of communicating with someone not physically present. They're also a form of intimacy; a letter allows the gentleman and ladies of the novel to express themselves without having to worry about the formality of face-to-face conduct, or the difficulty of arranging a meeting. In essence, then, the writing of letters in Tom Jones is treated as a Romantic endeavor, with a capital R--it exists to further intrigue, or to make "exciting" plot revelations. And though it doesn't come up as often, it's also a clear indication of class--Sophia's maid servant, Honour (subtle naming again), sends Tom a letter at one point, and it's written in essentially the manner in which she speaks, only riddled with spelling errors; the implication is that writing, and the emotional tumults associated with it, are a privilege that only the upper-class and well-educated should practice. Incidentally, in terms of intimacy and romance, I think we still regard the written letter the same today. The difference is that it's also somewhat antiquated, and even quaint. We still have intimate person to person exchanges--in fact, we've got more methods of doing that than ever before, with phone-calls, texting, Skyping, emailing, instant messaging, and so forth. The difference is, as Virilio would point out, the speed. In the 18th century, you could send a letter, and the respondent could take hours to reply--perhaps even days. Now, with the possibility of near instant reply, the tenor and purpose of the message changes considerably. Crafting a long, involved message is still possible, but the expectations and meanings of that message shift greatly, especially in an online context (kind of like how no one wants to read a long convoluted blog po--ooooh).

I've got more to talk about, and the letters subject brings me to my favorite scene in the book, but a) the post is getting long, b) I left my copy of Tom Jones at the office, so I can't look the scene up, and c) after a week of essentially not posting, I feel like I should put up SOMETHING. So we'll make this part I, and I'll finish up at a later date.
Or should I say...
Later Days.