From Tom Regan's "The Case for Animals Rights":
"the animal rights movement is a part of, not antagonistic to, the human rights movement. The theory that rationally grounds the rights of animals also grounds the rights of humans. Thus those involved in the animal rights movement are partners in the struggle to secure respect for human rights - the rights of women, for example, or minorities, or workers. The animal rights movement is cut from the same moral cloth as these."
It is important to note that those of us who strive for better treatment of animals do not place animals above humans. For me, I don't see treatment of animals and treatment of humans as wholly unrelated. I fit my own attitudes toward animals into a larger progressive mission (which includes striving against homelessness, poverty, war, genocide, racism, sexism, and all sorts of other evils and cruelties and injustices). It is not, for me, a matter of priorities--it is, as Dustin Hoffman's blanket in I Heart Huckabees, all connected, all the same.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Decision
As many of you know, I have often (especially in the last year, but stretching further than that) wrestled with the question of the proper moral treatment of animals. Since early October, I've been vegetarian--then I was a vegan from Dec. 27 until May 17--and now I'm a vegetarian again.
But now I have the internet at home, and many of the fundamental writings on animal rights--including some of the works of Peter Singer and Tom Regan--are out there. So I'm--mostly--going to refrain from comment or argument on these issues for now. I will instead devote my time to reading some of these foundational philosophical works. This, I feel, is a better use of my time: it's a chance to read, to grow, to develop, to think, to learn. It's a positive use of my online time--better, anyway, than discussing animal rights issues in forums like sports blogs and sites (where lately I've too often found myself in these discussions, but always for topical subjects, at least).
It's a good decision, I hope.
But now I have the internet at home, and many of the fundamental writings on animal rights--including some of the works of Peter Singer and Tom Regan--are out there. So I'm--mostly--going to refrain from comment or argument on these issues for now. I will instead devote my time to reading some of these foundational philosophical works. This, I feel, is a better use of my time: it's a chance to read, to grow, to develop, to think, to learn. It's a positive use of my online time--better, anyway, than discussing animal rights issues in forums like sports blogs and sites (where lately I've too often found myself in these discussions, but always for topical subjects, at least).
It's a good decision, I hope.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Athol Fugard's "'MASTER HAROLD'...and the boys"
Most summers I have piles of free time to read; this summer, I'm taking care of my son and so my reading time is limited. Rather than try to read long novels and be disappointed in how few I read, I'm going to primarily read plays and poetry. Poetry I can read in short bursts whenever I get a chance, and drama reads very fast. So my summer will be spent familiarizing myself with some drama I haven't yet encountered. I'll try to give at least a brief comment on each play I read.
The challenge of a one-act play is that the relationships between the characters must reveal themselves, naturally, in the dialogue taking place during one scene. That is also the strength of the one-act play--in such a brief piece of literature or performance, the larger realities and significance of relationships between characters reveals itself. It's like a small grape that tastes so rich because all the flavor is compacted; the energy from a well-written (and well-performed) one-act play reveals everything you need to understand.
"'MASTER HAROLD'...and the boys" succeeds in this regard. The relationships between the characters are clear; the meaning of it all reveals itself in the conversations and conflicts. And perhaps more--rather than just showing us the relationships between Hally, Sam, and Willie, Fugard might be showing us the greater reality of Apartheid society.
The challenge of a one-act play is that the relationships between the characters must reveal themselves, naturally, in the dialogue taking place during one scene. That is also the strength of the one-act play--in such a brief piece of literature or performance, the larger realities and significance of relationships between characters reveals itself. It's like a small grape that tastes so rich because all the flavor is compacted; the energy from a well-written (and well-performed) one-act play reveals everything you need to understand.
"'MASTER HAROLD'...and the boys" succeeds in this regard. The relationships between the characters are clear; the meaning of it all reveals itself in the conversations and conflicts. And perhaps more--rather than just showing us the relationships between Hally, Sam, and Willie, Fugard might be showing us the greater reality of Apartheid society.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
What made the Romantic poets Romantic poets?
From Andrew Marvell's "The Garden":
The mind, that ocean where each kind
Does straight its own resemblance find;
Yet it creates, transcending these,
Far other worlds, and other seas;
Annihilating all that's made
To a green thought in a green shade.
I love the British Romantic poets of the early 19th century; Wordsworth, Coleridge, Keats, and Shelley are among my favorite reads. However, as I look back at other poetry, I keep seeing the threads of the Romantics: love of nature, celebration of the imagination, joy of solitude. While I find the Romantics brilliant, I must delve harder to find just what it is that made the Romantics romantic. Was it something new, or was it a stronger point of emphasis? Was it a matter of style?
But so, too, with all intellectual or literary eras--the threads go back far.
The mind, that ocean where each kind
Does straight its own resemblance find;
Yet it creates, transcending these,
Far other worlds, and other seas;
Annihilating all that's made
To a green thought in a green shade.
I love the British Romantic poets of the early 19th century; Wordsworth, Coleridge, Keats, and Shelley are among my favorite reads. However, as I look back at other poetry, I keep seeing the threads of the Romantics: love of nature, celebration of the imagination, joy of solitude. While I find the Romantics brilliant, I must delve harder to find just what it is that made the Romantics romantic. Was it something new, or was it a stronger point of emphasis? Was it a matter of style?
But so, too, with all intellectual or literary eras--the threads go back far.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Mulholland Dr. as poem
The film Mulholland Dr. is rich thematically: it's about the loss of innocence, the corruption of the film industry, the existential hell of guilt and memory. Of course, the actual content of the film is secondary to David Lynch's trademark chaotic, random, senseless absurdity.
Or is it absurd?
When I first read a complicated poem, I occasionally have no idea what it means at all: it is simply musical sounding words. Then I'll read it again, and the substance becomes clearer. Another reading gives me further understanding of the poem's structure and subject. I can read other commentaries on the poem to brace my own insights, and further readings simply illuminate the poem further. Eventually, what was once a jumble of words becomes a precise, clear expression: not a single line, not a single word, escapes understanding or interpretation.
That is how I feel about Mulholland Dr. Eventually, it is not chaotic or random at all. Eventually, nearly everything in the film makes a certain sense (or at least can be fit into a comprehensive interpretation). What begins as Absurdity becomes a film that seems obtuse but actually fits together a little too precisely.
Or is it absurd?
When I first read a complicated poem, I occasionally have no idea what it means at all: it is simply musical sounding words. Then I'll read it again, and the substance becomes clearer. Another reading gives me further understanding of the poem's structure and subject. I can read other commentaries on the poem to brace my own insights, and further readings simply illuminate the poem further. Eventually, what was once a jumble of words becomes a precise, clear expression: not a single line, not a single word, escapes understanding or interpretation.
That is how I feel about Mulholland Dr. Eventually, it is not chaotic or random at all. Eventually, nearly everything in the film makes a certain sense (or at least can be fit into a comprehensive interpretation). What begins as Absurdity becomes a film that seems obtuse but actually fits together a little too precisely.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Summer Reading: Son of a Witch, and what is Romanticism?
Gregory Maguire's Son of a Witch
If you check my profile, you'll see that Maguire's Wicked is listed as one of my favorite books, right there among Hamlet and Crime and Punishment.
As you might imagine, I looked to Son of a Witch, Wicked's sequel, with high hopes. For the most part, these high hopes were disappointed. Why?
The protagonist is rather dull; there's nothing terribly interesting about Liir at all. As I neared the end of the novel, I began to see that Liir's lack of personality throughout may have been intentional, a critical element of the themes of maturation and growth into individuality. However, it remains that he is dull.
The middle portion of the book, "The Service," is very, very boring. It was during this section I considered giving the book up.
But I could live with that. The sad thing is, what worked in Wicked just didn't work in Son of a Witch (or wasn't attempted). The ambiguities are there, but whereas Wicked's mysteries feel like deep, soul-wrenching truths, Son of a Witch's mysteries feel like forced ambiguity. The lack of action through large portions that helps give Wicked its strength was Son of a Witch's weakness.
Still, it has its good points. It is frequently surprising, the last long section of the book is very good, and there seems to be a parallel in the Apostle Emperor to the way Christianity is fused with American imperialism. But if Wicked is an A, Son of a Witch is a C: enjoyable in parts, but often dull, some good writing and interesting theme, but without the stirring depths.
pre-Romanticism
The typical narrative of literary history has British Romanticism beginning with the publication of Lyrical Ballads by Wordsworth and Coleridge. Of course, as in all intellectual history, there can be an arbitrary nature to how we define epochs of thinking. I've heard critics say that the threads of Romanticism appear in Gray's "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard," which is true. I can also see its threads further back, in a poem like Sir Edward Dyer's "My Mind to Me a Kingdom is" (which seems to have deliberate correlation to Shakespeare's "I could be bound in a nutshell and count myself king of infinite space). But of course, given that the Romantics adored Milton and often fused the spirit Milton's poetry into their own poetry, Romanticism can go further back.
Defining literary eras has a certain usefulness; the generalization helps us to make sense of literary history in a broad sense. But of course, we have to remember that we are partly CREATING these eras; it's not that they exist in and of themselves, but we examine the work produced in an era and decide what is significant, what should be read now, what had influence. There were non-Romantic poets writing in early 19th century England, I'm sure--it's just that we haven't deemed them worth the study in a survey of English poetry. As with history, we create it--we pick and choose what is worth defining an era by.
If you check my profile, you'll see that Maguire's Wicked is listed as one of my favorite books, right there among Hamlet and Crime and Punishment.
As you might imagine, I looked to Son of a Witch, Wicked's sequel, with high hopes. For the most part, these high hopes were disappointed. Why?
The protagonist is rather dull; there's nothing terribly interesting about Liir at all. As I neared the end of the novel, I began to see that Liir's lack of personality throughout may have been intentional, a critical element of the themes of maturation and growth into individuality. However, it remains that he is dull.
The middle portion of the book, "The Service," is very, very boring. It was during this section I considered giving the book up.
But I could live with that. The sad thing is, what worked in Wicked just didn't work in Son of a Witch (or wasn't attempted). The ambiguities are there, but whereas Wicked's mysteries feel like deep, soul-wrenching truths, Son of a Witch's mysteries feel like forced ambiguity. The lack of action through large portions that helps give Wicked its strength was Son of a Witch's weakness.
Still, it has its good points. It is frequently surprising, the last long section of the book is very good, and there seems to be a parallel in the Apostle Emperor to the way Christianity is fused with American imperialism. But if Wicked is an A, Son of a Witch is a C: enjoyable in parts, but often dull, some good writing and interesting theme, but without the stirring depths.
pre-Romanticism
The typical narrative of literary history has British Romanticism beginning with the publication of Lyrical Ballads by Wordsworth and Coleridge. Of course, as in all intellectual history, there can be an arbitrary nature to how we define epochs of thinking. I've heard critics say that the threads of Romanticism appear in Gray's "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard," which is true. I can also see its threads further back, in a poem like Sir Edward Dyer's "My Mind to Me a Kingdom is" (which seems to have deliberate correlation to Shakespeare's "I could be bound in a nutshell and count myself king of infinite space). But of course, given that the Romantics adored Milton and often fused the spirit Milton's poetry into their own poetry, Romanticism can go further back.
Defining literary eras has a certain usefulness; the generalization helps us to make sense of literary history in a broad sense. But of course, we have to remember that we are partly CREATING these eras; it's not that they exist in and of themselves, but we examine the work produced in an era and decide what is significant, what should be read now, what had influence. There were non-Romantic poets writing in early 19th century England, I'm sure--it's just that we haven't deemed them worth the study in a survey of English poetry. As with history, we create it--we pick and choose what is worth defining an era by.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Short Downpour
The New York Times reviews new biographies of John Donne and Ralph Ellison.
Sadly, The Onion might have professors nailed here.
Via 3quarksdaily, The Nation comments on The Simpsons hitting 400 episodes.
Sadly, The Onion might have professors nailed here.
Via 3quarksdaily, The Nation comments on The Simpsons hitting 400 episodes.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
When do you give up on a book?
Just because you start a book doesn't mean you are going to finish it. Sometimes the thorns of life get in the way. However, when do you consciously choose not to finish a book?
It's easy to stop reading a boring book after a few pages, or a few chapters. But several times I've gotten around halfway through a book and wondered whether it was worth finishing (sometimes I did, sometimes I didn't). If you are halfway through a book and not enjoying it, do you owe it to yourself to finish (lest your previous reading be wasted--one of the reasons I'm still vegan)? Or, if you are halfway through a book and not enjoying it, do you owe it to yourself to STOP reading it and go on to read something better?
It's easy to stop reading a boring book after a few pages, or a few chapters. But several times I've gotten around halfway through a book and wondered whether it was worth finishing (sometimes I did, sometimes I didn't). If you are halfway through a book and not enjoying it, do you owe it to yourself to finish (lest your previous reading be wasted--one of the reasons I'm still vegan)? Or, if you are halfway through a book and not enjoying it, do you owe it to yourself to STOP reading it and go on to read something better?
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Colossal Downpour
At Pacifist Viking, links posts are called "Blizzards." At Costanza Book Club, we'll call them Downpours. These link posts are sort of a pain in the ass; I don't know if you'll find the links interesting, but they at least remind me what I want to read later.
Manohla Dargis at the NY Times talks about blockbuster films in "Defending Goliath: Hollywood and the Art of the Blockbuster."
According to Matea Gold of the LA Times, "'Law & Order' may move to cable." It's only on TNT about 46 times a day; why not air new episodes there?
At The New Yorker, Elizabeth Kolbert talks about the new particle collider in "Crash Course."
Zadie Smith's short story "Hanwell Senior" is also in The New Yorker.
Cherie Miner explores "The Reagan Myth."
3quarksdaily has a post on Coppola's "Marie Antoinette," the film that officially created the PV household blacklist: "Monday Musing: The New Mannerists." In the PV household, we decided we've sat through enough boring or awful movies, and now if we see two awful movies amd zero good movies by one filmmaker, we will blacklist that filmmaker. The list currently includes Sofia Coppola, Eric Rohmer, and Jim Jarmusch (though we've never even seen a Jarmusch film in its entirety). I seem to think I'm forgetting one more person, but neither Possible Flurries nor I can think of the other person. Do any of you have any blacklisted directors?
Via 3quarksdaily, the always fun Neil DeGrasse Tyson gives us "The Cosmic Perspective" in Natural History.
Via Arts & Letters Daily, in the Philadelphia Inquirer Carlin Romano does some reviews and talks about what makes Shakespeare great in "The readiness to deconstruct is all."
Manohla Dargis at the NY Times talks about blockbuster films in "Defending Goliath: Hollywood and the Art of the Blockbuster."
According to Matea Gold of the LA Times, "'Law & Order' may move to cable." It's only on TNT about 46 times a day; why not air new episodes there?
At The New Yorker, Elizabeth Kolbert talks about the new particle collider in "Crash Course."
Zadie Smith's short story "Hanwell Senior" is also in The New Yorker.
Cherie Miner explores "The Reagan Myth."
3quarksdaily has a post on Coppola's "Marie Antoinette," the film that officially created the PV household blacklist: "Monday Musing: The New Mannerists." In the PV household, we decided we've sat through enough boring or awful movies, and now if we see two awful movies amd zero good movies by one filmmaker, we will blacklist that filmmaker. The list currently includes Sofia Coppola, Eric Rohmer, and Jim Jarmusch (though we've never even seen a Jarmusch film in its entirety). I seem to think I'm forgetting one more person, but neither Possible Flurries nor I can think of the other person. Do any of you have any blacklisted directors?
Via 3quarksdaily, the always fun Neil DeGrasse Tyson gives us "The Cosmic Perspective" in Natural History.
Via Arts & Letters Daily, in the Philadelphia Inquirer Carlin Romano does some reviews and talks about what makes Shakespeare great in "The readiness to deconstruct is all."
Monday, May 07, 2007
Television as Great Art
You may or may not know this, but I have utter and complete contempt for about 90% of what is on television. However, even while recognizing the medium provides a lot of awful material, there are gems of beautiful art provided by television. I think we need to recognize this: contempt for the medium itself, or for the majority of the material provided by the medium, is no reason to abandon everything the medium provides as schlock.
So here is a list of television shows that I consider "great art" (as problematic as that phrase may be). I think other TV shows are art (like Star Trek or The Twilight Zone), but I can't think of other shows beside these that I'd call great art (barely missing the cut is The Kids in the Hall).
Seinfeld
The first show to really bring an artist's precise analysis to the everday, mundane, commonplace facets of our society.
Arrested Development
If the sitcom can aspire to the title of art, that it is necessary to place the greatest sitcom ever made into our list.
The Sopranos
Every TV critic already agrees.
Nip/Tuck
This would probably be the inclusion that would get the most disagreement, but I believe it is great art.
Six Feet Under
There aren't a lot of shows so focused on the realities of death.
Deadwood
Possibly the greatest work the Western genre has offered us.
The X Files
The pinnacle of its genre.
The Simpsons
So brilliant, so all-encompassing: if Fox ever asks me what America was like in the 90s, I'm going to tell him to watch this show.
Curb Your Enthusiasm
Larry David takes Seinfeld up a notch.
That is my current list: now I want some of your opinions.
So here is a list of television shows that I consider "great art" (as problematic as that phrase may be). I think other TV shows are art (like Star Trek or The Twilight Zone), but I can't think of other shows beside these that I'd call great art (barely missing the cut is The Kids in the Hall).
Seinfeld
The first show to really bring an artist's precise analysis to the everday, mundane, commonplace facets of our society.
Arrested Development
If the sitcom can aspire to the title of art, that it is necessary to place the greatest sitcom ever made into our list.
The Sopranos
Every TV critic already agrees.
Nip/Tuck
This would probably be the inclusion that would get the most disagreement, but I believe it is great art.
Six Feet Under
There aren't a lot of shows so focused on the realities of death.
Deadwood
Possibly the greatest work the Western genre has offered us.
The X Files
The pinnacle of its genre.
The Simpsons
So brilliant, so all-encompassing: if Fox ever asks me what America was like in the 90s, I'm going to tell him to watch this show.
Curb Your Enthusiasm
Larry David takes Seinfeld up a notch.
That is my current list: now I want some of your opinions.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
From defunct to re-funked
I'm back, baby!
I'm resurrecting Costanza's Book Club. I started this blog as a chance to share ideas about ideas, and I feel that I failed. In v. 2.0 of the Club, I intend this to be much more accessible. Yes, I'm going to talk about books and literary theory, but more often I'm going to try apply literary theory to cultural productions like television shows. It will be a place to discuss ideas, but it will be a place to discuss ideas within the context of popular culture.
Right now, I'm the only contributor: I'll be setting the agenda of discourse. But if you'd like to join the Club, just prove your chops in the comments. I would like more contributors: I want this to be a place where others can share ideas on whatever cultural productions we wish.
I've got high hopes for this reborn blog. Please read, please comment, and perhaps, please join.
I'm resurrecting Costanza's Book Club. I started this blog as a chance to share ideas about ideas, and I feel that I failed. In v. 2.0 of the Club, I intend this to be much more accessible. Yes, I'm going to talk about books and literary theory, but more often I'm going to try apply literary theory to cultural productions like television shows. It will be a place to discuss ideas, but it will be a place to discuss ideas within the context of popular culture.
Right now, I'm the only contributor: I'll be setting the agenda of discourse. But if you'd like to join the Club, just prove your chops in the comments. I would like more contributors: I want this to be a place where others can share ideas on whatever cultural productions we wish.
I've got high hopes for this reborn blog. Please read, please comment, and perhaps, please join.
Does Authorship Matter?
When considering my syllabus for this past semester, I wondered if I included enough women and minority writers. I teach three novels, two of which were Ernest Gaines' A Gathering of Old Men and Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eye, so I had the feeling I had given minority writers a voice (sadly, this semester I did not teach David Henry Hwang's M. Butterfly, an omission I don't plan on making again). I teach many works by women writers (including works with obvious feminist themes like "The Yellow Wallpaper" and "Trifles"). But I still felt there might be a lack of women writers.
But then I looked at the works by men that I taught. Lysistrata is a play primarily about women's role in society. King Lear is a play I first read in a Women in Literature course, so it clearly has issues of women involved. When reading One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, we talked about misogyny. When reading Death of a Salesman, we talked about Linda's role. Over and over again when reading books of either male or female authorship, we examined the roles of women in the works and the perspectives of women in the works.
I should add that in my literature course, I barely discuss the author at all. I focus the class primarily on the text, the text, the text (and the reader's experience with the text). I do recognize that the perspective of the writer matters: Aristophanes may give women a voice in Lysistrata, but it is still a man's voice in the woman's mask.
But if we're talking about the roles and perspectives and issues of minorities and women in the works, how important is it that the actual writers be minorities and women? I ask this not in a canonical sense (I do think more minorities and women need to be read and taught), but in a pedagogical sense. For the purpose of my class, for the students' experience with the text and the ideas, for their reading and our discussion, does authorship matter?
But then I looked at the works by men that I taught. Lysistrata is a play primarily about women's role in society. King Lear is a play I first read in a Women in Literature course, so it clearly has issues of women involved. When reading One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, we talked about misogyny. When reading Death of a Salesman, we talked about Linda's role. Over and over again when reading books of either male or female authorship, we examined the roles of women in the works and the perspectives of women in the works.
I should add that in my literature course, I barely discuss the author at all. I focus the class primarily on the text, the text, the text (and the reader's experience with the text). I do recognize that the perspective of the writer matters: Aristophanes may give women a voice in Lysistrata, but it is still a man's voice in the woman's mask.
But if we're talking about the roles and perspectives and issues of minorities and women in the works, how important is it that the actual writers be minorities and women? I ask this not in a canonical sense (I do think more minorities and women need to be read and taught), but in a pedagogical sense. For the purpose of my class, for the students' experience with the text and the ideas, for their reading and our discussion, does authorship matter?
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