tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74042432763559958462024-02-20T17:02:50.711+00:00Edge Of the DiceShanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-56244413447150452442011-09-09T09:15:00.002+01:002011-09-09T09:21:56.629+01:00Review: The Reapers are the AngelsJust cross-posting a review I wrote for <a href="http://civilian-reader.blogspot.com/2011/09/another-look-reapers-are-angels-by.html">Civilian Reader</a>. If you're looking for the cliff notes - I liked this book a lot. Many thanks to CR for the opportunity to review!Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-53982572546430856892011-03-10T12:13:00.004+00:002011-03-10T12:43:55.183+00:00The Adjustment Bureau and BoethiusI recently watched George Nolfi's enjoyable <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1385826/"><em>The Adjustment Bureau</em></a>. I won't offer a full review here, and I don't particularly want to create a blog-post full of spoilers [***although be warned, some discussion of the film's conclusion lies ahead].<br /><br />I felt from the beginning that the movie's central concern for destiny and free-will would not be out of place in one of its many medieval predecessors. When Richardson tells his colleague that<br /><blockquote><p>The chairman has a plan, we only see part of it.<br /></p></blockquote>it seemed clear that the Boethian undertones had to be intentional. Book V of Boethius' <a href="http://etext.virginia.edu/etcbin/toccer-new2?id=BoePhil.sgm&images=images/modeng&data=/texts/english/modeng/parsed&tag=public&part=5&division=div1"><em>Consolation of Philosophy</em></a> outlines a similar argument. Boethius complains of the apparent contradiction between divine foreknowledge and human free-will. Lady Philosophy responds:<br /><blockquote>The cause of this obscurity is that the working of human reason cannot approach<br />the directness of divine foreknowledge.</blockquote>In other words, God can see the whole plan, we can only see part of it.<br /><br />Nolfi's approach to the problem is rather different to that of Boethius. After all, like Chaucer in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Knight"><em>Knight's Tale</em></a> he proposes a situation in which the divine plan is maintained on an ongoing basis by miraculous intervention. I don't wish to spoil the movie's outcome, but when it finally progresses to its conclusion it becomes apparent that while for most of the story the audience is encouraged to share a Boethian dismay at the divine plan, by the end they are in fact encouraged to share in Lady Philosophy's view that there is a rational order underlying human experience. <em>The Adjustment Bureau</em> explicitly locates expression of such divine order, however, in every individual's attempt to decide their own fate.<br /><br />[If you'd like a full review of the movie itself, see Slate's opinion <a href="http://www.slate.com/id/2287187/">here</a>]Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-80717959700572611212011-02-22T12:48:00.003+00:002011-02-22T13:50:25.106+00:00Walk UnafraidIn my late teens I suffered the rite of passage that is the Leaving Cert. I have had to learn more since, I've had to take harder exams, and I've had to spend more hours at my desk. Yet this remains the most stressful challenge I've ever experienced. I suspect that, wherever you come from, your twilight years of schooling felt similar. And so my coping mechanism was to walk. I walked every night, sometimes twice or three times in an evening, down to a nearby lake and back. It was probably just a mile or so, but I found it calming, and whatever I had tried to cram into my brain during the day seemed to sort itself out on the way. I thought of my brain as a box of lego, being shaken about so each piece could settle into place. As I remember it, these walks always took place in night-time darkness, and I'd pace along with my silver Discman (how I loved it) and one of two albums; <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tracy_Chapman_(album)">Tracy Chapman</a> or <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Up_(R.E.M._album)">Up</a>. I'd like to say I selected these albums specially, but in fact I wasn't really one for music, and I think these CDs were lying about in our house. They became the dedicated soundtrack to my evening journey through repeated usage, and if I closed my eyes the track I was on could tell me how far I was from home.<br /><br />Recently I've been coming to the end of another project. The walking has started again. I was surprised how the same feelings of clarity returned to me so easily. I've heard dedicated runners talking about the 'zone' they enter when they run - I had never really understood it but I've always thought of it as being akin to meditation. Perhaps I'm simply much less fit than my marathon-running friends, so counter-intuitively I'm finding my way to the zone with much less effort. Whatever is happening, it works. My brain feels more rested after a decent length walk, with music or a good <a href="http://www.themoth.org/podcast">podcast</a>, than after hours of sleep. <em>Mens sana in corpore sano</em> I guess.<br /><br />I had heard of Dickens' long walks (<a href="http://www.walksoflondon.co.uk/30/charles-dickens-biography-2.shtml">apparently you can follow them if you wish</a>), and as a child I was a great fan of a <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Little-Pilgrims-Progress-Helen-Taylor/dp/0802449263">children's version </a>of Bunyan's <em>Pilgrim's Progress</em>. I've studied Chaucer's pilgrims for years without paying much attention at all to the walking itself that underlies their pilgrimage. If you look for it, walking is a very common theme indeed in writing, and there's a nice article <a href="http://www.celsius1414.com/2009/03/11/walking-poetry/">here</a> and a fantastic blog <a href="http://walkingandwriting.blogspot.com/">here</a> on the subject. Walking is one of our fundamental activities, so it is no surprise it brings us comfort. I like to think the great road song is just an extension of the walking verse - perhaps that explains why <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Orv_F2HV4gk">Fast Car</a> suits a long walk so well.<br /><br />Walking and writing are good analogues for one another. Your progression is linear, you're often alone, you arrange your thoughts along the way, you build up a rhythm, and more often than not you'll find yourself back where you <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qGeq5v7L3WM&playnext=1&list=PL3036B64B9090FC24">started</a>.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-18215601492012815772011-02-21T16:44:00.001+00:002011-02-21T16:45:25.012+00:00So long since I last posted, but more frequent posting will return soon. I've been tied up with a rather long essay for the last few years and I hope to return to blogging once all that nonsense is over with.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-90011215028526165222010-01-19T20:11:00.003+00:002010-01-19T20:47:51.584+00:00Talking HeadsIn the spirit of starting this blog anew about once a year, I thought I'd introduce you to (or perhaps remind you of) one of Henryson's rather more macabre short poems, <a href="http://www.lib.rochester.edu/Camelot/teams/deidfr.htm">The Thre Deid Pollis</a>. A friend reminded me this evening that I hadn't written anything for quite some time - what better way to herald a new beginning than a consideration of a poem on terrible endings...<br /><br />Fox's commentary tells us that the poem, in which three talking skulls warn us of our impending doom, is likely influenced by the legend of the Three Living and the Three Dead (Fox, Denton, ed. <i>The Poems of Robert Henryson.</i> Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1981. p.487). Suffice to say here that the chorus of three dead voices (not literally heard in this poem , but well represented) proves chilling to the extreme. It is perhaps the feeling that the solitary reader, the <span style="font-style: italic;">sinfull man</span>, is outnumbered that gives their number some extra power.<br /><br />The skulls warn us to flee <span style="font-style: italic;">fra wicket vycis</span>, and in the poem the florid language of growth and life is juxtaposed with grizzly descriptions of the decayed empty skulls. One gets the feeling that despite the moral tone, Henryson must have rather enjoyed the alliterative death-descriptions:<br /><br /><blockquote>Full laithly thus sall ly thy lusty heid,<br />Holkit and how, and wallowit as the weid...<br />... As we ly thus, so sall ye ly ilk ane,<br />With peilit pollis, and holkit thus your heid. (20-21, 31-32)</blockquote><br /><br />The poem neatly reminds us of the folly of human pride; beautiful <span style="font-style: italic;">ladeis </span>and <span style="font-style: italic;">perfyt palmester</span> alike will some day join this chorus. Henryson's message is not stunningly original and he does not labour the point. The poem is to the point, and unsettling.<br /><br />We are left with a rather shocking image however. It is one which leads one to ask whether Henryson really intended the inevitable comparison, as the three skulls pray in the name of the holy trinity:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span><blockquote>With the hie Fader be eternitie,<br />The Sone alswa, the Haly Gaist conding,<br />Thre knit in ane be perfyt vnitie. (62-64)</blockquote><br />The image of three skulls chanting seems familiar to me but I'm not sure why. I'm sure I've seen an old cartoon with just such an image (the film version of Orwell's <span style="font-style: italic;">Animal Farm</span> has an image of pigs which seems quite similar). A Youtube hunt lies ahead.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-6131417423123386902009-06-21T21:04:00.002+01:002009-06-21T21:26:06.978+01:00There are few undergraduates in the arts and humanities in the last twenty-five years or so who have not become interested in power and oppression. I was no different, and found myself very interested in questions of gender. I struggled with feminism; as a man I felt like an outsider, one who didn't really belong in the discussion in the first place. I know I wasn't the only man who felt like this, but I also know that to a large extent my feeling of exclusion was somewhat self-imposed; my lecturers certainly never made me feel like my contribution was unwelcome. So if you want to speak about power-relations, does a position of privilege undermine the extent to which you can say anything meaningful? Not an uncommon question, but I recently read Bob Connell's attempt to explain why he feels he can talk about gender theory, when he is a self-described "heterosexual man, married, middle-aged, with a tenured academic job in an affluent country". His five point argument is clear and it is important that it has been said. None of these points may come as a shock to any of us (especially twenty years or so after they were made), but it is nice to see them in writing, and to remember why heterosexual men <span style="font-style: italic;">can </span>and <span style="font-style: italic;">should</span> worry about gender theory:<br /><br /><blockquote>(1) Even the benificiaries of an oppressive system can come to see its oppressiveness, especially the way it poisons areas of life they share.<br />(2) Heterosexual men are often committed in important ways to women - their wives and lovers, mothers and sisters, daughters and neices, co-workers - and may desire better lives for them. Especially they may see the point of creating more civilised and peaceable sexual arrangements for their children, even at the cost of their own priveleges.<br />(3) Heterosexual men are not all the same or all united, and many do suffer come injury from the present system. The oppression of gays, for instance, has a back-wash damaging to effeminate or unassertive heterosexuals.<br />(4)Change in gender relations is happening anyway, and on a lage scale. A good many heterosexual men recognize that they cannot cling to the past and want some new directions.<br />(5) Heterosexual me are not excluded from the basic human capacity to share experiences, feelings and hopes. This ability is often blunted, but the capacity for caring and identification is not necessarily killed. The question is what circumstances might call it out. Being a father often does; some political movements, notably the environmental and peace movements, seem to; sexual politics may do so too.<br /><div style="text-align: right;">Connell, R.W.<span style="font-style: italic;"> Gender and Power. </span>Cambridge: Blackwell. 1987. p.xiii</div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br />Connell's final point seems almost apologetic, and his attitude does seem one of the 1980's. Later in the book he questions notions of innate capacity for violence or caring in men or women, yet hear he seems to make the assumption that such innate qualities are present (albeit through social production). His last point is an apology of sorts, reaching towards opportunities for men to escape their oppressive selves. Do we need special circumastances to 'call out' our capacity for caring and identification today?<br /></div><blockquote><div style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div></blockquote>Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-56106597875256305702009-06-15T14:26:00.003+01:002009-06-15T14:28:58.185+01:00A welcome review of the expenses scandalI don't have a whole lot of comment to make about <a href="http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n11/raba01_.html">this</a> article by Jonathan Raban in the <span style="font-style: italic;">LRB</span>, except that I welcome his sensible overview of the expenses scandal in the UK. It certainly helped me to make sense of the storm and put it in perspective.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-638324243572369882009-06-03T14:19:00.001+01:002009-06-03T14:19:49.642+01:00Fonts and Cultural DifferenceI was recently in the US for a short trip, and had some time to wonder about my own sense of otherness here. I stayed on the East coast for a short while (three months) in the past so it shouldn't have seemed completely alien, and yet there were many brief moments when I realised just how different things look because of the way they are printed. And that is just it: looks. I don't consider myself to be very observant, visually speaking (I suppose how else might one mean it), but my own language jumped out at me wherever I saw it written in public. The voice of authority in the USA has a very different printed tone to that in the UK, and both are different to the written rules as you see them in Ireland. Apart from differences in formality (toilets are for WOMEN in the USA, but for LADIES in the UK), there is a consistent difference in the kinds of font used. It threw me every time. I had hoped to give some systematic examples of the kind of fonts I'm talking about, but found them very hard to track down online - I'll have to just hope some of you know what I mean. Traffic lights spring to mind, as do signs insisting on quiet in libraries and lecture theatres (the irony of a loud font demanding quiet never fails to amuse me). If you do come across any examples online please do link them in your comments below - and in future I will remember to bring my camera on holidays.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-91725171624449352242009-05-29T14:42:00.005+01:002009-05-29T18:26:52.732+01:00Things fall apart.A friend of mine sent me <a href="http://icanread.tumblr.com/post/113820064">this link</a> recently, and I rather liked it. Here's the text of it below:<br /><br /><blockquote><span style="font-weight: bold;">It's sad when people you know </span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">become people you knew.</span><br /><br />When you can walk right past<br />someone like they were never a<br />big part of your life. How you used<br />to be able to talk for hours and<br />how now, you can barely even<br />look at them.</blockquote><br /><br />Do check the link - the layout seems to add to the effect of the quote. It put me in mind of a particularly poignant moment in Henryson's <span style="font-style: italic;">Testament of Cresseid</span>. Henryson 'finishes' Chaucer's <span style="font-style: italic;">Troilus and Criseyde</span>. In Henryson's sequel, Criseyde is punished for her infidelity to Troilus (well, more properly, for blaspheming against Venus and Cupid), and a harsh punishment it is too. Awaking from a dream in which the gods pass judgement on her, she finds herself to be afflicted with leprosy. Henryson creates a poignant scene - the noble Troylus passes by a leper on the road, not recognising her as his former lover, Cresseid. Though he doesn't know her, an image of the Cresseid he knew flashes into his mind, and he shows the leper charity:<br /><blockquote><br />Than vpon him scho kest vp baith hir ene,<br />And with ane blenk it come into his thocht<br />That he sumtime hir face befoir had sene,<br />But scho was in sic plye he knew hir nocht;<br />Yit than hir luik into his mynd it brocht<br />The sweit visage and amorous blenking<br />Of fair Cresseid, sumtyme his awin darling.<br /><br />Na wonder was, suppois in mynd that he<br />Tuik hir figure sa sone, and lo, now quhy:<br />The idole of ane thing in cace may be<br />Sa deip imprentit in the fantasy<br />That is deludies the wittis outwardly,<br />And sa appeiris in forme and lyke estait<br />Within the mynd as it was figurait...<br /><br />For knichtlie pietie and memoriall<br />Of fair Cresseid, ane gyrdill can he tak,<br />Ane purs of gold, and mony gay iowall,<br />And in the skirt of Cresseid doun he swak;<br />Than raid away and not ane word [he] spak,<br />Pensiwe in hart, quhill he come to the toun,<br />And for greit cair oft syis almaist fell doun. (<span style="font-style: italic;">Testament of Cresseid</span>, 498-525)</blockquote><br /><br />Cresseid herself later discovers who her generous benefactor was, and falls into great grief. She gives all she owns (including Troylus' gift) in testament to the '<span style="font-style: italic;">lipper folk</span>', and dies in sadness.<br /><br />There are a few things about this passage that make it deeply human. Cresseid and Troylus' mutual misrecognition says something about the tragic mutability of love; not only are they no longer lovers, but they cannot even recognise one another. Each, in their own way, have been changed by the experience of love and loss. Cresseid's new invisibility as a leper is not surprising; the weak often become invisible, and Henryson makes much of the connection between female beauty, wealth and power. Her loss of beauty renders her unknowable. And Henryson's Aristotelian comment on the possibility that one can think what one sees is just an image is an interesting inversion of the common feeling that when one has lost a beloved, one sees them everywhere; in a face in every crowd. For Troylus and Cresseid, it is sad when people you know become people you knew, and sadder still that their experienced selves cannot even recognise each other.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-68763920492937463732009-05-26T14:31:00.003+01:002009-05-26T14:47:02.130+01:00Flights of EmotionIt has been far too long since my last post, so I'll start off slow. <a href="http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n10/runc01_.html">This</a> recent article in the <span style="font-style: italic;">LRB</span> is well worth a read for anyone interested in Wikipedia and its all-over-the-placeness (not a word, you might argue, but if you do I'll put an entry for it in Wikipedia).<br /><br />In the same issue, I found a suprising reference to a particular experience of travel that I thought was a personal quirk, one that others didn't share and would think me a little crazy for having. I find travel, particularly travel by plane, an emotional experience. Sitting on a long flight by a window seat can bring me to tears - not good tears or bad tears, just tears. I couldn't tell you why; it is not an unpleasant experience, in fact it is a welcome release. Perhaps one feels cocooned in the long metal tube, flying through the air. Anne Enright mentions in <a href="http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n10/enri01_.html">this</a> article that "a long-haul flight is a very emotional place: it is something to do with the air". I couldn't agree more.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-7736458338046944252008-07-09T17:17:00.001+01:002008-07-09T17:20:02.804+01:00Pseudonymic BloggingJust a quick post - I've just read a very good <a href="http://www.oenewsletter.org/OEN/essays.php/hurley41_1/">article</a> by Mary Kate Hurley about academic blogging and issues like anonymity (thanks to <a href="http://unlocked-wordhoard.blogspot.com/">Unlocked Wordhoard</a> where I found this).Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-52040958559353013192008-06-20T15:51:00.003+01:002008-06-20T15:56:36.875+01:00Wikipedia BritannicaI think my <a href="http://edgeofthedice.blogspot.com/2008/06/wikipedia-and-truth.html">post on Wikipedia last week</a> must have been inspired by some odd premonition, for in today's Guardian <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/2008/jun/20/wikipedia">I read an article</a> reporting that the venerable Encyclopedia Britannica is planning to "allow users to write their own articles".<br /><br />Jim Giles, who wrote the article, makes some pretty insightful comments on the differences between old media and new, though I was interested to see that a survey he conducted found three errors in Britannica for every four in Wikipedia. Not bad for Wikipedia then...Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-20617771612885880822008-06-17T15:15:00.003+01:002008-06-17T15:33:53.574+01:00Academic atheism, or the Death of God.The <em>TLS</em> <a href="http://www.timeshighereducation.co.uk/story.asp?sectioncode=26&storycode=402381&c=2">reports</a>, this week, on a study by a University of Ulster Academic: Professor Lynn suggests that academics report higher levels of atheism than average bacause they have higher IQ's.<br /><br />I have no idea if this is true or not, but have two comments to make.<br /><br />1. I'm just not convinced that academics have higher IQ's than average (although I'd be happy for someone to direct me towards some evidence). Some are profoundly brilliant but I think acadamia benefits more from the doggedness and hard work of many, combined with long training, rather than from a better average rate of intelligence.<br /><br />2. On the other hand, Professor Lynn says that academics <em>do</em> have higher IQs, so I assume there is some evidence to support this (otherwise he would hardly say it?)<br /><br /><blockquote>Professor Lynn told Times Higher Education: "Why should fewer academics<br />believe in God than the general population? I believe it is simply a matter of<br />the IQ. Academics have higher IQs than the general population. Several Gallup<br />poll studies of the general population have shown that those with higher IQs<br />tend not to believe in God."<br /></blockquote><br />In the <em>TLS</em> report, the idea that there is a causal relationship here is immediately questioned (and I suspect with good cause). I myself was amused by Professor Lynn's statement that he <em>believes</em> it is simply a matter of IQ. I think it is pretty honest of him to say so - and makes me a lot more inclined to listen to his opinion.<br /><br />On the spectrum of belief I find myself close to atheism, but I find a link between intelligence and belief hard to buy. Doubting received wisdom is surely a good sign of intelligence, but what a person does with that doubt, whether it leads to belief or non-belief, or something in between, seems little linked to their intelligence. Non-believers sometimes imply that belief is a result of not thinking about the big question. It strikes me that non-belief can as often as not result from the same reluctance to wonder.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-58730650777905766852008-06-17T13:34:00.002+01:002008-06-17T13:45:44.062+01:00Stuck in the middle with youThere's an interesting post on the relevance of the study of the Middle Ages to modern life <a href="http://modernmedieval.blogspot.com/2008/06/blog-forum-1-cybermedievalist-on-why-i.html">here</a>. It is worth a read, but I'd love to see some arguments from those who think that the study of the Middle Ages is not worth the time of day. They must exist, because I read plenty of arguments in defence of our discipline, but to be honest I'm yet to come across that student of say, the Enlightenment, who comes right out to accuse us of wasting our time (In my experience students of almost any 'Arts' subject tend to be more than a little concerned with how relevant their particular topic is to anything). These arguments defend the discipline against mostly unstated perceptions which we assume exist in other disciplines. As such they are to be applauded - and I am a fan of the particular blog mentioned above; it is a fine champion of medieval studies. On the other hand, I'm lucky enough to work with lots of other students of fairly diverse disciplines who treat my area with about as much respect as they would any other discipline which is not their own. That will do for me.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-24290082790886895192008-06-11T17:36:00.004+01:002008-06-11T17:54:24.182+01:00Wikipedia and the TruthA couple of years ago I had a very bad experience with Wikipedia. I was writing an essay and needed some interesting filler-fact to flesh out a discussion of a person I was mentioning in a fairly minor way. I ran to Wikipedia. This historical personage, it informed me, was the first to do something of fairly low importance in English history. Perfect, I thought, that will do! Oh how I erred... my supervisor at the time smiled at me when talking through the essay with me, and asked where I had discovered this wonderful fact. I hummed and hawed, and eventually mumbled "somewhere online I think". It turned out that this historical personage of minor importance was by no means the first to do what Wikipedia said he did. He wasn't even the second.<br /><br />At the time I was outraged. How could the internet lie to me? A new slogan I decided, should be "Wikipedia: putting the <em>con</em> in <em>context</em>". I wondered how such untruths could find their way on to what seemed a fairly good-willed open encyclopedia. But the fault, I now see, was not with Wikipedia, but with myself.<br /><br />I've read a few articles over the last months that all say roughly the same thing; Wikipedia is fine, but of course you muct always check that the information you use is correct. The common opinion seems to be that Wikipedia should be treated as you would treat facts given to you by a friend over coffee - a useful starting point, but then go and look in <em>books</em>. I think this hard to argue with; Wikipedia is a wonderful resource, and I suspect is the first point of call for many when they touch on some totally unfamiliar subject, but it has to be used carefully. Since that embarrassing mistake I've been careful to double check everything (something, let's face it, I really should have been doing anyway).<br /><br />I wonder, however, whether this is in fact the case for all our factual resources, whether they appear online or in dusty old pages? Surely the advice given to those who dare use Wikipedia holds true for all scholarly endeavours? Who are we to believe? This must seem a fairly obvious point, but I suspect that Wikipedia is open to such criticism as much because of the number of readers as the number of contributors. As an open source encyclopedia there seems little doubt that much of what it contains is open to question. Were standard traditionally edited encyclopediae read as frequently as their open-source online cousin, however, I wonder whether they would find themselves being treated with the same caution? Furthermore, if the readers of a traditional encylopedia could correct errors at the touch of a button, perhaps their infallibility would seem more fragile. Wikipedia's weakness may be that it contains errors, but in comparison to traditional volumes a strength may be that, at least for Wikipedia, changes can be made visible to all.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-74438281038841120152008-05-20T15:45:00.002+01:002008-05-20T15:56:29.393+01:00Under the skinThere's rather tough <a href="http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/the_tls/article3930776.ece">review</a> of Simon Swain's <span style="font-style: italic;">Seeing the Face, Seeing the Soul:</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> Polemon’s “Physiognomy” from classical antiquity to medieval Islam</span> in this week's <span style="font-style: italic;">TLS</span>. I'm very much looking forward to reading this - and I'm keen to see whether I agree with M. F. Burnyeat's comments.<br /><br />My own contact with theories of physiognomy is fairly limited. Like everyone else who decided to look at science and natural philosophy in Chaucer while an undergraduate, Walter Clyde Curry's <span style="font-style: italic;">Chaucer and the Medieval Sciences</span> (now quite dated but an important book nonetheless I think) was the first book that jumped out at me from the library shelf (actually it was the second, but I decided, wisely, that Lynn Thorndike's multi-volume <span style="font-style: italic;">A History of Magic and Experimental Science</span> would take rather more than an afternoon's work; it's an overwhelming study that still defeats my mental stamina). Curry's book focuses on the physical descriptions of characters in the <span style="font-style: italic;">General Prologue, </span>and the physiognomical implications of each. It is really a very entertaining read - and it's hard not to start to see physiognomical description everywhere once you become interested in it. I dread to think what my out-of-shape body says about me... perhaps a trip to the gym will give me better character.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-74654242701633066332008-05-14T18:36:00.004+01:002008-05-14T18:52:13.868+01:00Against War: Some Counsel from The Tale of Melibee<span style="font-size:85%;">(Erm... my third post today. You'd know I'm in the middle of writing a chapter and am hungry for distraction!)</span><br /><br />I'm rereading Chaucer's <span style="font-style: italic;">Tale of Melibee </span>at the moment, and came across a little gem I had forgotten. The last time I read it I was paying very close attention to what Prudence, Melibee's wife, had to say. This time another piece of counsel stood out for me, that of "oon of thise olde wise" who advises that there are many who call for war, and know nothing of what it really entails:<br /><br /><blockquote>"Lordynges," quod he, "ther is ful many a man that crieth 'Werre, werre! that woot ful litel what werre amounteth. Werre at his bigynyng hath so greet an entryng and so large that every wight may entre whan hym liketh and lightly fynde werre; but certes what ende that shal thereof bifalle, it is nat light to knowe. For soothly, whan that werre is ones bigonne, ther is ful many a child unborn of his mooder that shal sterve yong by cause of thilke werre, or elles lyve in sorwe and dye in wrecchednesse..."</blockquote><br /><br />This is a passage full of wisdom to my mind. How many children unborn today will suffer because of the wars we are fighting at this moment? It is a disturbing reminder that there are consequences to our actions.<br /><br />This is by no means the only view on war in <span style="font-style: italic;">The Tale of Melibee</span>, but to my mind it is the most sensible. The untold consequences of war are as big a concern today as they were in the Middle Ages. Let's hope our leaders listen to the right advice.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-50072592452408339312008-05-14T12:42:00.003+01:002008-05-14T12:53:23.213+01:00Nuala O'FaolainI was going to post a quick note on Nuala O'Faolain's passing - instead I think I'll direct you to <a href="http://miglior-acque.blogspot.com/2008/05/nuala-ofaolain-1942-2008.html">this</a> post by Miglior Acque. It says everything I would have wanted to say.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-41782294556195751572008-05-14T11:53:00.003+01:002008-05-14T12:10:33.707+01:00Dan ChiassonIt's not often I get really excited about a poem - I love poems that feel familiar at first, and then turn to strangeness. I want them to coax me away from my comfort zone. <a href="http://www.theparisreview.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/5837">This</a> poem, <span style="font-style: italic;">Where's the Moon, There's the Moon (A Story for Children)</span> by Dan Chiasson is one such piece. It's long enough (from previous posts you might notice I normally like poetry to be bite-sized), but I think it needs it.<br /><br />I'll need to read this poem again and again. It's full of half familiar images - images that seem to come from other poems, images that might be half-remembered too. The opening stanza is almost Dantean, by the third I was thinking of Kavanagh's <span style="font-style: italic;">A Christmas Childhood</span>. So what's the poem about? Memory, perhaps, or bits of memory; who knows...<br /><br />Sometimes it could almost be a response to other poems, to other genres even. These lines sound to me like the other half of an <span style="font-style: italic;">aubade</span>, the half we never hear, in which the forces of nature that force lovers up from their beds finally reply to whichever lover-poet is cursing them that <span style="font-family:georgia;">mornin</span>g:<br /><br /><span style="line-height: 1.4em;font-family:Georgia,Times New Roman,Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:10;" ><blockquote>but I am proud of him as was his master-keeper proud<br />of him, this noble, endless line of moonkeepers<br />who hang the light that lights the moon and take it down<br />every morning, meaning that it is morning, get up,<br />that’s not a pie plate over there in the east,<br />sleepyheads, lovers climb down off of your beloveds; </blockquote><span style="font-size:100%;">But I've only read this poem twice; so I'm off to read it again, and see what else I can find. I think I'll be keeping an eye on Dan Chiasson.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-84015063749507977912008-05-12T08:57:00.003+01:002008-05-12T09:02:56.642+01:00More Science and Art!Well, just a day or two since I last posted on this topic, and now the Guardian throws more science / art interdisciplinarity at us. <a href="http://blogs.guardian.co.uk/books/2008/05/write_some_formulaic_verse.html">This post</a> on science in poetry is certainly a very welcome discussion, and its nice to see the cosmological focus of Dante (and indeed many other medieval poets) getting a mention.<br /><br />I'm a little puzzled by many of the poems which are actually posted, however, and have to say I was most intrigued by the genome illustration (or representation I suppose) at the top of the page. It reminds me of the long rolls that fed some old self-playing pianos - the music of life?Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-25544084070131104132008-05-09T17:29:00.003+01:002008-05-09T17:34:38.204+01:00I can't get no.... light refraction...As a 'science and the arts' type person (sort of, for the moment I'm going to allow myself to include medieval science/ natural philosophy into the argument) I feel obliged to direct you to <a href="http://blogs.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/05/readers_recommend_9508.html">this post</a> on the Guardian website. Readers discuss their favourite science songs. Any medieval songs about science out there?...Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-62906672436044695372008-05-08T20:08:00.002+01:002008-05-08T20:22:59.688+01:00Doctors in The TudorsI recently started watching <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0758790/"><span style="font-style: italic;">The Tudors</span></a>. It is a show I find thoroughly entertaining. I don't expect my entertainment to be historically accurate (too often fiction is made dull by being a slave to the authentic) and I like glossy American dramas. It's like watching an early modern <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0077000/"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dallas</span></a>.<br /><br />I've just watched episode four (season one). It contains a scene in which Henry needs to be bled following a seizure. Yet again, like so many other renderings, the premodern doctors are shown in the background mumbling to one another nervously. They grovellingly enquire whether the king gives his permission to be bled. A bowl is placed under his arm, a strap is tied around his upper arm, and he is bled using a surprisingly clean looking knife.<br /><br />It's led me to wonder where this image of early modern doctors came from. It's certainly a familiar one from literature; think of Moliere's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Le_Malade_imaginaire"><span style="font-style: italic;">Le Malade Imaginaire</span></a>. I'm sure there are many more examples. What strikes me as interesting is the nervousness of the doctor as seen in these imaginings. They are often self-serving, inexpert showmen.<br /><br />Does this reflect reality I wonder? Moliere can write about doctors as he does because he has no faith in their expertise. Modern imaginings of early modern and medieval doctors will share a disbelief in their Galenic medicine. But surely in eras when such medicine was trusted, or at least was the only option (leaving 'folk remedies' aside for a moment), it's doctors may have, in fact, had a more self assured manner? A project for a time-traveller perhaps; bedside manners throughout the ages...<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></span>Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-77150987934907272092008-05-06T16:00:00.001+01:002008-05-06T16:02:29.151+01:00AllegoryI've got a post on allegory on the way. But first, I was very amused by <a href="http://saintgasoline.com/comics/2007-03-04.JPG">this</a> comic strip. Hopefully I'll get on to the allegory tomorrow.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-36145094101860547932008-05-05T17:42:00.004+01:002008-05-08T16:42:23.670+01:00Misogynistic LyricsApologies for the slight obsession with posting lyrics of late. It's simply that I have a couple of books of lyrics in my bag at the moment and it's been years since I've looked at them properly. They seem like perfect material for a blog-post; short, sweet and usually focussed enough for a brief but not over-complex discussion. Here's today's lyric (again from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Middle-English-Lyrics-Norton-Critical/dp/0393093387">Luria and Hoffman</a>):<br /><br /><blockquote>A yong wyf and an harvest-gos,<br />Moche gagil with bothe;<br />A man that hath them in his clos,<br />Reste schal he wrothe.</blockquote><br /><br />I must (with shame) admit a certain affection for lyrics of the misogynistic variety. Lyrics against women, like the above, seem very human (or very male?). They communicate a very domestic sort of sexism. I wrote a little once on the use of Latin in bi-lingual texts to exclude women (lyrics of the <a href="http://www.bartleby.com/212/1606.html"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cuius contrarium verum est</span></a> variety), and again found myself much more amused than perhaps I should have been.<br /><br />So why do I find myself enjoying these poems so much? Am I a closet sexist? I think perhaps these lyrics contain something more than what we now call sexism. They sound like private complaints, like the basic humour of the changing room. In these lyrics you hear men speaking to one another, and of course complaining about women. Men's complaints about women have not disappeared - but a major source of modern comedy tends to be women's complaints against men (think of <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0207201/"><span style="font-style: italic;">What Women Want</span></a>). There are plenty of complaints against men in medieval literature, but I am yet to find one which is funny. Perhaps the reason is this; humour stems from experience, indeed from shared experience, and medieval complaints against men are rarely written by men, but rather are the imagined female complaints of male writers.<br /><br />So my hunt begins, are there any funny medieval complaints against men? Have I over-looked anything obvious (apart from the Wife of Bath)?Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7404243276355995846.post-87788899428611372692008-05-02T11:20:00.002+01:002008-05-08T16:42:08.122+01:00Lyric for the day that's in itIt's a beautiful sunny day, and I feel I need to post a lyric to match it. Spring brings happiness and love, and this short (fourteenth century?) lyric says a lot about the way we all feel in the summertime when the weather is fine. It's nice to know the good weather has always put people in a loving mood! This is another lyric from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Middle-English-Lyrics-Norton-Critical/dp/0393093387">Luria and Hoffman:</a><br /><br /><br /><blockquote>Of everykune tree,<br />Of everykune tree,<br />The hawethorn blowet swotes<br />Of everykune tree.<br /><br />My lemmon she shall be,<br />My lemmon she shall be,<br />the fairest of erthkinne,<br />My lemmon she shall be.<br /></blockquote>Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00009143978808072197noreply@blogger.com0