Category / Bunberry

by Sixer

Unwavering

I have been up to the blue, blue sky –
 beneath the arms of the trees –
and scrambled through the underbrush
 with never a “by your leave.”
I have brushed past the tickling pines,
 and the prickly vines as well,
to descend once more,
to my own front door,
with a new passion to quell.

I am here again, in this home-that-will–not-be-called-so, but my heart does not use words to name things and so is not troubled with the restrictions of the English language. Before I left, two or three days ago now, I finished Forever Hero, another Sci-fi book. Don’t worry, I won’t open that discussion again, not today. I will instead talk in pictures, in hopes that you, too, will somehow feel the peace that has been all around me.

I went for a hike today “up a misty mountain,” only there was no mist, only grass
and sky
And paths leading no where
Yet yielding treasures all the way
Just when I was feeling that no human foot had trod the ground I walked on (never mind it being in sight of my house) I was informed otherwise
              The sky was so open, and the air smelled so good, that coming back indoors was a little hard. But I made soup, and ate it with the delicious, thick, home made bread of one of my friend’s grandfather.
I ate it (oh, so good!) and finished up The Tale of Two Cities. It was a bit of a chore to get through the first parts – so much metaphor and death – but the end made up for it. Knowing Sydney Carton made up for it. More people should know him, he’s not talked of half enough for my liking. In fact, I don’t think a single person has ever mentioned him to me out side of a book club. It’s a real pity, for his is a story worth reading. It, along with some tender pieces of beef and carrot, have added another layer of warmth to my heart – another synonym, if you will, for Here.
by Sixer

Grounded

“It is a vale whose acquaintance is best made by viewing it from the summit of the hills that surround it…. An unguided ramble into its recesses is apt to engender dissatisfaction with its narrow, torturous, and miry ways.”                      — Thomas Hardy, Tess of the D’Ubervilles

It takes a contrived sort of reasoning to decide to “write up” both The Good Earth and Tess of the D’Ubervilles in the same post. In one sense I had the same recaction to both of them: they were wells of sadness that dwelled deeper than my comprehension; they were filled with strange custoums and assumptions,  many of which I still cannot grasp; they were are also both about nature (in the environmental sense), but in almost completely opposite ways. In Pearl Buck’s book nature is a constant, dependable source of life. In Thomas Hardy’s book nature reflects what is going on inside the different chacters. It is not good or bad, or always the same, it’s as Tess or Angels sees it. Comforting or cold, harsh or heartening – it all depends on what what’s going on inside the character’s mind.

The Good Earth chronicled the life and fortune of one Wang Lung, a poor chinese peasant. It starts with his procuring of a wife from the kitchens of the great house and ends with his death as the wealthy owner of the same. Wang Lung is neither amazingly smart nor touchingly compassionate – he’s just a normal guy. His experiences, most of them bad, repeatedly teach him that land is the most important thing. The most amazing character is probably O-lan, Wang’s first wife, who grew up as a slave until Wang paid her dowry. O-lan does not do much talking, so it’s hard for a reader to feel close to her, but she does an immense amount of work and is a clever housekeeper. The book offers very little to laugh at, but one of the amusing things that does occur comes from the brain of O-lan. When Wang Lung worries that his gangster uncle will eat them out of house and home, O-lan proposes that they drug him with opium, and so that’s what they do. It’s kind of bizarre to imagine opium being used to rid yourself of troublesome relatives.
Anyway, the book is pretty sad, as I hinted above. Wang Lung has a hard life when he’s young, is a bad husband when he gets rich, and has a horrible relationship with his three sons. I enjoyed learning about chinese culture, and the way that Pearl Buck hints at the cyclical nature of wealth was interesting, but after Wang stopped being poor I couldn’t bring myself to care for the characters enough to wonder how the book would end.

                                      Tess of the D’Ubervilles took some strength of will to get through too. At first this was just because of Hardy’s constant jabs at God. They were pretty subtle – or maybe I’m just dense – but nothing could hide his resentment when he made them, so that even though I didn’t pick up on his object right away I could tell he was lambasting someone. And then there was his descriptions of Tess. I hope I’m not so jealous that I can’t stand to read about a pretty girl, but come on. In order to defend her “innocence” Hardy felt the need to bring in proof of her overwhelming beauty every other page (as a side note, Tess’ beauty is the element of fate that should warn you this is a tragedy in the greek sense). This was especially true when she was at the dairy and falling in love with Angel Clare (here high literature meets Buffy and shies away). Don’t even get me started on Angel Clare, actually, don’t get me started on Tess. The former was awful, but the latter was annoying. I didn’t know what to make of her half the time. Sometimes I think I could hardly have made different choices than she did, but then I find myself scoffing at this notion. I’m sure someone else has already said this, but I’m glad that I have read so many sad and depressing novels so that if I’m ever in a bad situation I’ll know exactly what not to do.
As fun as Tess is to complain about, and as painful as the plot was to read, I enjoyed reading most of it. The style was delicious, the scenery was beautiful, and the secondary characters were worth knowing. I particularly liked the dairyman “to whose mind it had apparently never occurred that milk was a good beverage.” What really made the book worth it though was discussing it. I spent two weeks talking about it, and hearing other’s opinions of it, and watching a movie adaptation, and so on. Some interesting things turned up, like the rocks that come to light when you plow I suppose. Like how, despite Hardy’s prejudice against Christianity, Angels parents are both christians and kind, honest people. Or how about how Angel, regardless of his “progressive” and openly “pagan” outlook reacts so negatively to Tess’ admission of the past. These things make you wonder what Hardy was thinking when he wrote this book. Or if he even knew what he was thinking at all. In the end I’d recommend it, but only if you have a group of people to talk it over with.

There, that’s two books down. Now I’m going to enjoy the inch of snow that fell last night, and wallow in the peaceful emptiness of my last week of vacation. I hope you have peace to wallow in too,

Sincerely,
Ms. B.

by Sixer

Wow, I Haven’t Written Since……

Anyway, here’s my “literary” quote for the post:

“‘Names,’ she was saying. ‘Where would we woodtrolls be without them? They tame the wild things of the deepwoods, and give us our own identity. Ne’er sip of a nameless soup, as the saying goes.'”                                          —— Paul Stewart, Beyond the Deepwoods 

It seemed kind of relevant since last fall I studied the development of the novel which, interesting enough, outlined the rise of the individual. Naming was a big theme. The importance of what we associate our selves with stretches back even to Moll Flanders, where an ignorant little girl desires to be a gentlewoman. But enough of this, lets talk holidays.
Here is cheer, in the form of yarn:

Kindness, in the form of Fetching gloves, knitted by Theo:

And hospitality, in the form of food:

We had a big New Years party at our house (again) this year, and I decided to try Ms. Ree’s Chesse Puffs. My mom inisits on calling them fondue bread. I thought I’d photo-log the process, but the kitchen was a bit of a mess, here are the pictures I did take:

If you’re interested in making these (and you should, they’re not only easy and delicious, they’re also a nice change from candy canes) you might be interested to hear that when I doubled the recipe I neglected to double the butter. Bad llama. But seriously, the kitchen didn’t explode, the cheese didn’t curdle, and Ms. Ree did not hunt me down demanding that I strictly adhere to her fat content.
Maybe I’m being a bit dramatic.
After the Cheese puffs where in the frezzer my mom talked me into making carrot soup. Don’t laugh, but my carrot soup recipe comes directly from the Samantha cookbook – except mom dosen’t keep half and half on hand so I had to use heavy cream instead. I guess that was my karma for not doubling the butter.

Anyway, this was just a quick post to let everyone know I was still alive, and should be back tomorrow to review The Good Earth, which I finally finished yesterday. I’m also hoping review some of the books I was forced to read during the fall. I’ve realized that I’m really bad at talking about books. I either say too much (“Well, it was about this guy, a hobbit, who was forced into an adventure by a wizard, and, have you ever read Lord of the Rings? Okay, because it ties into that, and the man, his name is Bilbo, has all these adventures……) or I say too little (like “it was a good book” which means nothing).  Until tomorrow then, I remain,

Sincerely yours,
Ms. B

P.S. Just a follow up of the last post, I visited Pablo’s scifi poll and realized that I had left science out of my equation. I still think scifi is mostly about society, but there has to be some kind of science in there too, right? So here’s the big question, is Stargate science fiction?  What about the new Startrek movie?

by Sixer

Thought on a Freedom Friday

There is something about Friday’s that makes them always seem so much more casual, relaxed, friendly even. No matter how hard you work you can hear, issuing from the secret depth of your soul, that little voice of optimism singing “the weekend, the weekend, the weekend is here!” But today is not just a Friday, it is the Friday between classes and exams, and I have turned in most of my papers (the major ones, thank goodness), taken my first exam, and can now look forward to a light day of work today and a late morning tomorrow. On top of this, the air is clear, though nippy, and the clouds are doing wonderful wispy things in the sky. Oh, and did I mention it’s December and Yuletide spirits always make me feel creative?

A while ago my brother and I had a conversation about science fiction and fantasy. We were trying to figure out where comic books fell, and ended up having to define the two categories first. This is a debate that I’m hoping to get into again sometime, for I’m still not absolutely sure of my position. But I am convinced that, even though Superheroes like Spiderman use science to gain their powers and make their gadgets, comic books function as fantasy. This conviction does not come from any sort of ridiculing of the science found within their colorful pages, but from the focus on the hero and the hero’s place in the world. Fantasy, after all, usually revolves around some sort of unlikely hero who is good and just, and able, surprisingly enough, to conquer the powerful evil that threatens his world. Harry Potter certainly fulfills this, as do Frodo and Garion and so many other protagonist that have been inked into this world. Fantasy loves to see the struggle between good and evil, and it loves to let good win out.
Science fiction has always seem colder and more calculating. It should, I suppose, for it is not about the individual as much as it is about society. Keeping in mind that this is a unpolished generalization, think of the great classics. Asimov’s I Robot, for instance, which questions how man would respond to artificial intelligence. The series, too, provides a plot that seems almost like a canvas on which to display different ways of living so that we can better discover how we should live. Even Ender’s Game, which has a hero of sorts, is presented more as a social experiment than an excuse to talk about anti-gravity and aliens. It is how Ender’s government reacts to certain events, how Ender’s siblings use politics to manipulate the nation’s leaders, even how a person, perhaps you or me or a super smart child, might react if they were taken up into space to learn war.
Anyway, like I said, I haven’t really thought through it all yet, but I read a book over Thanksgiving that brought the conversation to my mind. It was the second imager book, and I was enjoying the complexity of the world the author had created, and thinking how much more I knew about this fictional world’s politics than my own, when it struck me. Imager is science fiction. Even though it is set in a different universe, and not on an Earth a thousand years from now, or some alien home world only recently discovered; even though the bad guys use poison and guns to attack the good guys, and people travel on wooden ships and trains; even though it’s main character is certainly a hero, one with magical powers no less; despite all these things, it is Science Fiction. It is Science fiction because it is about societies. It’s not about good conquering evil, it’s about how things are tied together and what would happen if they were tied a little differently. The former is why science fiction is called science fiction and not social fiction (jeepers, that sounds frightful doesn’t it?) – the “how things work” attitude of science is directly transfered to people. The latter is the “what if” of scifi – what if people were telepathic? or if the government could track us? or what if there was a world somewhere where some people had strange powers but most didn’t? Wouldn’t the people with these powers need to find a balance between respect and fear with the rest of the world? Wouldn’t they have to be careful in how they effected politics?
by Sixer

Living Arts

Don’t you just love this season? The air is delightfully brisk, as if it were alive, and the sky, when unadorned with clouds, is crisp and clear. And, best of all, everywhere you look there are signs of Christmas.

About three weeks ago I wasn’t thinking about Christmas at all. I was thinking of papers and thanksgiving, but only in a back-of-the-mind sort of way. What really filled my every thought was theatre. Specifically the Barter Theater. I have been developing a love of theatre ever since I went to New York and saw The Phantom of the Opera on Broadway. There’s something intoxicating about live performance. Since then I’ve been able to enjoy some well done college productions. In fact, the night before I left for Abingdon VA, where the Barter Theatre is located, I was able to enjoy Jane Eyre: A Musical. Having just completed reading the novel the week before, I found this adaptation amusing in some parts, but nonetheless spectacular.

But what about Barter? The Barter theatre has a really cool history, which my group and I found out on our tour. It was started by actor Robert Porterfield during the Great Depression. Since there was no money in New York, the usual home for stage folk, and more food than money in the country, the enterprising Portefield came down with a bunch of his friends and they proceeded to barter their acting skills. Thirty-five cents worth of food would buy you a ticket, and people from all over would come with their pails of milk, corn, and baby pigs. Now days the Barter theatre takes paper money and credit, but not livestock. They also have two stages, a gift shop, and an old collapsed tunnel in their basement that is supposed to be haunted.
We got to see three shows while we were there: Frankenstein, Tom Sawyer, and Heaven Sent. I had read Frankenstein back in October, and Heaven Sent was an adaptation of Silas Marner, which I read during the summer, but to my continual embarrassment I have yet to read Tom Sawyer. That didn’t effect the performance though, the plays were all amazing in different ways, though my group like Heaven Sent best of all.
Frankenstein had some impressive child actors. At one point the monster throws a little boy off the rocky mountain prop onto a thick, blue fall mat, marked with a huge white X. It’s a height of about sixteen feet, and the cushion is, of course, hidden from the audience. I had seen it on our tour backstage, but oh! The thrill that went through my heart when I saw that child slice through the air. Another cool aspect of this show was the stage. There were numerous tracks on the floor so that different props, like doors and beds, could slide on and off stage easily.
Tom Sawyer had so much energy. It was preformed by six adults, but it featured over ten characters, a troublesome bit of math on paper but not at all a problem for Barter. Most of their plays feature few actors playing several parts. Tom Sawyer was performed on the second “stage,” though this was more like a floor, with the seats rising up around it. I rather wish I could have gone with my younger siblings, I think they would have enjoyed the wonderful creativity of it.

Heaven Sent, though, that was the cream of the crop. It was almost a musical, but not really. Set in Kentucky during the Great Depression, and therefore filled with the smartest period clothing (there are aspects of that era’s style that I just love to pieces). It featured the most adorable little girl, and an equally endearing crotchety old man. It kept us in smiles, while sometimes wandering close to tears, and I wouldn’t mind watching it again.

The whole trip was enjoyable. Abingdon is a beautiful little town, amid equally beautiful rolling green hills. If you’re you’re ever traveling through Virginia and find yourself with an extra day or two do yourself a favor and check it out. Everyone’s better with a little theatre.