Winner of the National Book Award for Fiction recently, Lord of Misrule is an odd book. It isn't so much that the setting or the story arc are unorthodox; the story is set in a broken down horse racing world on the east coast and populated by characters with names like Medicine Ed and Suitcase. What makes the novel unusual, at least in contemporary fiction, is the narration. Where dialogue is concerned, dialect or vernacular has long been acceptable and at times preferable. But in narration, the deal with readers has always been that authors would revert to standard English usage. This is not the case here. The narration is rendered in half syllables, run-on sentences, and dropped suffixes. As well, the dialogue traffics in the relatively modern convention of not using quotation marks. I'm not sure the work isn't influenced by the style of Cormac McCarthy or Mark Twain.
In his slim treatise on the relationship between readers and writers, B.R. Myers, takes to task the new lords of fiction, criticizing McCarthy, Don Delillo, and others for their ventures into the ridiculous. I keep wondering what Myers will have to say about Lord of Misrule. I keep wondering what average readers will have to say as well.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
The Golden Mean
In the early part of Anabel Lyon’s new novel “The Golden Mean,” Aristotle proclaims, “In the ideal state, the education of children will be the highest business of the government.”
That the book takes as its narrative arc the relationship between the famous teacher and his most notable student, Alexander the Great, offers a creative look into their well-known relationship, if not for a careful examination of his maxim.
Approaching middle age, Aristotle is summoned to Pella by his boyhood friend Philip, King of Macedonia. Along with his young and less than worldly wife Pythias, the philosopher embarks on a course that has long been considered a crossroad of history; the teenage Alexander and the aging thinker shadow box through their lessons, sometimes working together, other times at odds.
The novel is much more, however, than the simple amalgam of teacher and student. Aristotle’s heritage shades the story. He longs to return to Athens, to the Academy, where he can put aside the worry of daily life, the quotidian complications of maintaining his household, navigating the pitfalls of marriage, his young wife’s pregnancy, his king’s expectations, as well as his own desires.
This simplicity is not to be, however, as Philip leaves to expand his empire, expecting Aristotle to remain in Pella to provide some ethical stability and philosophical inspiration to his son and his mates. This maturing cadre of aristocrats challenges the old thinker.
For his part, Alexander suffers blackouts while in battle, committing atrocities on the battlefield he is later unable to recall. His behavior, recalled by others, clearly abhorrent, is a counterpointed by Aristotle’s own ignoble foray into battle. He serves with the medics, where he continues to develop his conclusions. He recognizes, “There is, too, the matter of purpose; can one say the soul is the purpose of the body? I feel a wooliness there, a gap in the teeth of my logic.”
Alexander and Aristotle find in each other their own aspirations, but also their own failures. Aristotle wishes for more worldly experiences, but knows these are fleeting, and because of his lineage traced from Socrates, he knows is constantly in pursuit of restraint.
This equilibrium is the golden mean, the balance between access and excess; the tipping point between mania and moderation. For his part, Alexander, raised by an ambitious father and a doting mother, wants for a more cerebral existence, but recognizes his inability to hold temptation at bay. Side by side, the two demonstrate both the height of human possibility, as well as the depth of human suffering.
“The Golden Mean” is Lyon’s first novel. Her writing blends an earthy diction with a
That the book takes as its narrative arc the relationship between the famous teacher and his most notable student, Alexander the Great, offers a creative look into their well-known relationship, if not for a careful examination of his maxim.
Approaching middle age, Aristotle is summoned to Pella by his boyhood friend Philip, King of Macedonia. Along with his young and less than worldly wife Pythias, the philosopher embarks on a course that has long been considered a crossroad of history; the teenage Alexander and the aging thinker shadow box through their lessons, sometimes working together, other times at odds.
The novel is much more, however, than the simple amalgam of teacher and student. Aristotle’s heritage shades the story. He longs to return to Athens, to the Academy, where he can put aside the worry of daily life, the quotidian complications of maintaining his household, navigating the pitfalls of marriage, his young wife’s pregnancy, his king’s expectations, as well as his own desires.
This simplicity is not to be, however, as Philip leaves to expand his empire, expecting Aristotle to remain in Pella to provide some ethical stability and philosophical inspiration to his son and his mates. This maturing cadre of aristocrats challenges the old thinker.
For his part, Alexander suffers blackouts while in battle, committing atrocities on the battlefield he is later unable to recall. His behavior, recalled by others, clearly abhorrent, is a counterpointed by Aristotle’s own ignoble foray into battle. He serves with the medics, where he continues to develop his conclusions. He recognizes, “There is, too, the matter of purpose; can one say the soul is the purpose of the body? I feel a wooliness there, a gap in the teeth of my logic.”
Alexander and Aristotle find in each other their own aspirations, but also their own failures. Aristotle wishes for more worldly experiences, but knows these are fleeting, and because of his lineage traced from Socrates, he knows is constantly in pursuit of restraint.
This equilibrium is the golden mean, the balance between access and excess; the tipping point between mania and moderation. For his part, Alexander, raised by an ambitious father and a doting mother, wants for a more cerebral existence, but recognizes his inability to hold temptation at bay. Side by side, the two demonstrate both the height of human possibility, as well as the depth of human suffering.
“The Golden Mean” is Lyon’s first novel. Her writing blends an earthy diction with a
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Finders Keepers
Each summer, my Mackinac Island backyard gives up a few archeological treasures. The site of a former blacksmith shop, the soil is rich with historical castoffs.
Though no one else is ever vying for these finds, Craig Childs’ book “Finders, Keepers” put me in mind of how tenuous is the relationship between searchers and their finds.
Childs, author of “Animal Dialogues” and “Soul of Nowhere,” trades on his experiences of the desert southwest to frame his thesis. However, what might appear obvious to some, namely that the dead do not continue to claim their castoffs, is not as obvious as Childs navigates the ethics of archeology.
“Spitting potsherds” as a youngster, Childs graduated to “unaffiliated backcountry aficionado,” and eventually backcountry guide. All the while, Childs was honing his finding skills, while developing his keepers’ ethos.
His conclusions are derived from his own experiences, as well as the experience of others, both those Childs applauds and those he loathes. One of the latter is Jack Haralson. An insurance salesman, Harelson was also an amateur archeologist, who once dug up “a 2,000-year-old sealed torso-sized basket, heavy with objects inside.” Among the objects inside is “a mummified boy who had been about four years old when he died, and below his leathery corpse was another mummy, that of a girl about ten years old.” Harelson kept the loot and buried the mummies in his backyard. For his pains, he spent eighteen months in prison and a $2.5 million fine.
On the other side of the equation are Emil Haury and Julian Hayden, also archeologists who explored the southwest, also discovered mummified remains, but who donated their finds to science. “The distance between these two ends of the spectrum,” Childs writes, “seems like forever, but it is not.”
Guiding a reporter, who is interested in the subject, Childs confronts the questions of ethics as they search for artifacts in the Arizona desert. “I did not want to force my own ethic on her,” he states. “We want to be the first ones to bridge the gap,” he says, “clearing the dust away and letting in light.” What he understands, however, is “if we opened it, the seal would be broken. It would be forever changed.”
This, of course, is the rub. “There is a difference between finding and keeping,” Childs warns. “The two are often lumped together in one action, but there is a blink that comes in between.” This blink is the territory where Childs finds questions that do not necessarily have clearly defined answers. “We have no single agreed-upon way of treating the past,” he reasons. “Behavior varies from person to person.” This variation can be problematic, causing either derision or adulation.
Childs suggests a direction, courtesy of James O. Young, of the University of British Columbia, who believes, “Artifacts ultimately belong to the cultures that made them…if they are proven to have had a genuine, substantial, and enduring significance to the people. If they aren’t so significant, it’s finders keepers.”
Though no one else is ever vying for these finds, Craig Childs’ book “Finders, Keepers” put me in mind of how tenuous is the relationship between searchers and their finds.
Childs, author of “Animal Dialogues” and “Soul of Nowhere,” trades on his experiences of the desert southwest to frame his thesis. However, what might appear obvious to some, namely that the dead do not continue to claim their castoffs, is not as obvious as Childs navigates the ethics of archeology.
“Spitting potsherds” as a youngster, Childs graduated to “unaffiliated backcountry aficionado,” and eventually backcountry guide. All the while, Childs was honing his finding skills, while developing his keepers’ ethos.
His conclusions are derived from his own experiences, as well as the experience of others, both those Childs applauds and those he loathes. One of the latter is Jack Haralson. An insurance salesman, Harelson was also an amateur archeologist, who once dug up “a 2,000-year-old sealed torso-sized basket, heavy with objects inside.” Among the objects inside is “a mummified boy who had been about four years old when he died, and below his leathery corpse was another mummy, that of a girl about ten years old.” Harelson kept the loot and buried the mummies in his backyard. For his pains, he spent eighteen months in prison and a $2.5 million fine.
On the other side of the equation are Emil Haury and Julian Hayden, also archeologists who explored the southwest, also discovered mummified remains, but who donated their finds to science. “The distance between these two ends of the spectrum,” Childs writes, “seems like forever, but it is not.”
Guiding a reporter, who is interested in the subject, Childs confronts the questions of ethics as they search for artifacts in the Arizona desert. “I did not want to force my own ethic on her,” he states. “We want to be the first ones to bridge the gap,” he says, “clearing the dust away and letting in light.” What he understands, however, is “if we opened it, the seal would be broken. It would be forever changed.”
This, of course, is the rub. “There is a difference between finding and keeping,” Childs warns. “The two are often lumped together in one action, but there is a blink that comes in between.” This blink is the territory where Childs finds questions that do not necessarily have clearly defined answers. “We have no single agreed-upon way of treating the past,” he reasons. “Behavior varies from person to person.” This variation can be problematic, causing either derision or adulation.
Childs suggests a direction, courtesy of James O. Young, of the University of British Columbia, who believes, “Artifacts ultimately belong to the cultures that made them…if they are proven to have had a genuine, substantial, and enduring significance to the people. If they aren’t so significant, it’s finders keepers.”
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Princess Noire
By many estimations Nina Simone was the height of cool. She was also the height of narcissism, as well as paranoia and pride.
Simone, the classically trained pianist from Tryon, North Carolina who wanted to be a concert performer but instead became an jazz and blues icon, is the subject of Nadine Cohodas’ biography “Princess Noire: The Tumultuous Reign of Nina Simone.”
A child prodigy born Eunice Waymon to enterprising parents in 1930s South, Simone caught her first musical break when she found the ear of a local white woman who agreed to sponsor the girl. Sent to another local white woman for piano lessons, Eunice progressed quickly. She regularly played her way through the heavyweights of classical composition as a child, demonstrating a keen affection for Bach.
From Tryon, Eunice made her way to Philadelphia, then a summer at the famed Julliard School in New York. Her goal was admission to the prestigious Curtis School of Music, where she intended to study classical piano, then go onto a career on the philharmonic stage.
What happened instead was a simple twist of fate. Cohodas provides a combination of speculation, hyperbole, and legend, retold by those who knew Simone best, to show the trajectory of her subsequent career. Rejected by Curtis, a now teenage Eunice Waymon earned money the only way she could, playing piano wherever she could.
Cohodas suggests the Curtis snub cut Eunice to the quick. “Over the ensuing half century that moment of despair would resurface, sometimes unexpectedly, with all the anguish of a fresh betrayal, and it would shape forever how she viewed her past.”
Over the next 50 years, navigating the civil rights movement, befriending literary luminaries such as Langston Hughes and Lorraine Hansberry, Simone earned a reputation as a champion of black rights, but also as a diva who could subject her audiences to both scorn and diatribe. She rarely started a show on time, and never missed a chance to speak out on race.
“Princess Noire” plumbs these musical and social depths of one of America’s most compelling voices.
Simone, the classically trained pianist from Tryon, North Carolina who wanted to be a concert performer but instead became an jazz and blues icon, is the subject of Nadine Cohodas’ biography “Princess Noire: The Tumultuous Reign of Nina Simone.”
A child prodigy born Eunice Waymon to enterprising parents in 1930s South, Simone caught her first musical break when she found the ear of a local white woman who agreed to sponsor the girl. Sent to another local white woman for piano lessons, Eunice progressed quickly. She regularly played her way through the heavyweights of classical composition as a child, demonstrating a keen affection for Bach.
From Tryon, Eunice made her way to Philadelphia, then a summer at the famed Julliard School in New York. Her goal was admission to the prestigious Curtis School of Music, where she intended to study classical piano, then go onto a career on the philharmonic stage.
What happened instead was a simple twist of fate. Cohodas provides a combination of speculation, hyperbole, and legend, retold by those who knew Simone best, to show the trajectory of her subsequent career. Rejected by Curtis, a now teenage Eunice Waymon earned money the only way she could, playing piano wherever she could.
Cohodas suggests the Curtis snub cut Eunice to the quick. “Over the ensuing half century that moment of despair would resurface, sometimes unexpectedly, with all the anguish of a fresh betrayal, and it would shape forever how she viewed her past.”
Over the next 50 years, navigating the civil rights movement, befriending literary luminaries such as Langston Hughes and Lorraine Hansberry, Simone earned a reputation as a champion of black rights, but also as a diva who could subject her audiences to both scorn and diatribe. She rarely started a show on time, and never missed a chance to speak out on race.
“Princess Noire” plumbs these musical and social depths of one of America’s most compelling voices.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Not For Profit
Martha Nussbaum makes an assertion in her new book that not all educators believe. Her premise is that liberal arts are necessary for a strong democracy, but the shift in the educational paradigm over the past fifteen years or so is toward outcomes that can be measured on multiple choice tests. This is antithetical to the notions espoused in liberal arts classes that counter the student should construct meaning from a variety of sources, presented with the idea that while bias is always inherent, prejudice is to be avoided.
As professor of Ethics at the University of Chicago, Nussbaum no doubt knows first hand the dilemma many students face in classes where the quest is for the right answer rather than for a strong argument. This dichotomy has long vexed educators and students alike, as we play at school, when what is valuable is shunted into a corner because it cannot be quantified.
Building her own argument on the work of Bronson Alcott, Rabindranath Tagore, and others, Nussbaum believes this marginalization of the arts is indeed a "silent crisis." Her remedy? A renewed investment in the arts and in the Socratic Method, which provides a student centered approach to education that is in keeping with the educational theorists she champions, such as Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Johann Pestalozzi.
Nussbaum goes to great lengths to state that math and science are valuable commodities in the marketplace of education, but argues more vehemently that democracy, with its insistence on providing advantage for all, can only be bolstered with a vigorous infusion of art, music, theatre, history, and literature.
As professor of Ethics at the University of Chicago, Nussbaum no doubt knows first hand the dilemma many students face in classes where the quest is for the right answer rather than for a strong argument. This dichotomy has long vexed educators and students alike, as we play at school, when what is valuable is shunted into a corner because it cannot be quantified.
Building her own argument on the work of Bronson Alcott, Rabindranath Tagore, and others, Nussbaum believes this marginalization of the arts is indeed a "silent crisis." Her remedy? A renewed investment in the arts and in the Socratic Method, which provides a student centered approach to education that is in keeping with the educational theorists she champions, such as Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Johann Pestalozzi.
Nussbaum goes to great lengths to state that math and science are valuable commodities in the marketplace of education, but argues more vehemently that democracy, with its insistence on providing advantage for all, can only be bolstered with a vigorous infusion of art, music, theatre, history, and literature.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Shadow of the Wolf Tree
Joe Heywood has a good thing going, and in his new installment, Shadow of the Wolf Tree he keeps it going.
Conservation officer Grady Service and his military buddy Tree are after a bit of r and r on the banks of a remote upper peninsula river when their tranquility is blasted by the work of what appear to be militant eco-warriors. With the discovery of two long dead bodies, the brutal murder of an out state fisherman, and the prospect of a long forgotten gold mine, Shadow of the Wolf Tree quickly catapults Service back to the front lines of environmental law and order.
After recently losing the woman he loved, Maridly Nantz, the aging woods cop now finds himself pursued by his new partner, Tuesday Friday, a new mother and a state trooper. When he figures he has the expectations worked out, he finds his perspective turned sideways, providing for some tension that is neither professional nor imagined.
Tramping through the north woods once again, Grady Service makes his way along the trail of loose ends, piecing together the clues of more than one eco-mystery.
Along for the ride are a host of regular Heywood characters, including the lovable but despicable Limpy Allerdyce, perhaps the Yoop's most notorious game violator. Back too are many of Service's allies, including Captain Lorne O'Driscoll and Simon Del Olmo.
Before its conclusion, Shadow of the Wolf Tree finds Service in typical Heywood form, angling through a messy swamp of convoluted clues, intent on once again restoring order.
Conservation officer Grady Service and his military buddy Tree are after a bit of r and r on the banks of a remote upper peninsula river when their tranquility is blasted by the work of what appear to be militant eco-warriors. With the discovery of two long dead bodies, the brutal murder of an out state fisherman, and the prospect of a long forgotten gold mine, Shadow of the Wolf Tree quickly catapults Service back to the front lines of environmental law and order.
After recently losing the woman he loved, Maridly Nantz, the aging woods cop now finds himself pursued by his new partner, Tuesday Friday, a new mother and a state trooper. When he figures he has the expectations worked out, he finds his perspective turned sideways, providing for some tension that is neither professional nor imagined.
Tramping through the north woods once again, Grady Service makes his way along the trail of loose ends, piecing together the clues of more than one eco-mystery.
Along for the ride are a host of regular Heywood characters, including the lovable but despicable Limpy Allerdyce, perhaps the Yoop's most notorious game violator. Back too are many of Service's allies, including Captain Lorne O'Driscoll and Simon Del Olmo.
Before its conclusion, Shadow of the Wolf Tree finds Service in typical Heywood form, angling through a messy swamp of convoluted clues, intent on once again restoring order.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
A Thousand Sisters
I can't think of anything clever to say about this new book by Lisa Shannon, save that it has captivated me and become the book I'm recommending to all who read. There is no new history here, as the catalogue of events leading up to the current situation in African Congo is well established. From the days of Belgium's Leopold to the current political configurations, Congo has long been what others dub "a vampire state." The corruption is equalled only by the resources that have long drawn outsiders to this heart of darkness.
Shannon nonetheless finds reason for hope in the stories of Congo's women. Subtitled "The Worst Place on earth to be a woman," Shannon's book chronicles her own odyssey of altruism as she organizes regular Run for Congo Women events around the country. She donates the proceeds to Women to Women, an international aid organization with outreach projects in Congo. Shannon's efforts are noble, but what makes the book compelling are the stories of the women in Congo who have endured years of brutality. In a place where there are no old people because no lives to see 50, Shannon manages to showcase the intersection of hope and despair played out in the daily lives of women like Generose, who lost a leg to marauding Rwandan militants. There is also Marie, a girl of only seven, who suffers from traumatic fistula because she was gang raped at five years old.
The power of Shannon's story is not simply the heartbreak of women like Generose and Marie, but in the resilience of others, who proclaim, "I feel somehow a person in life, a woman in life," because of the commitment of those like Shannon.
A Thousand Sisters is a book that belies clever commentary. Instead it encourages personal involvement.
Shannon nonetheless finds reason for hope in the stories of Congo's women. Subtitled "The Worst Place on earth to be a woman," Shannon's book chronicles her own odyssey of altruism as she organizes regular Run for Congo Women events around the country. She donates the proceeds to Women to Women, an international aid organization with outreach projects in Congo. Shannon's efforts are noble, but what makes the book compelling are the stories of the women in Congo who have endured years of brutality. In a place where there are no old people because no lives to see 50, Shannon manages to showcase the intersection of hope and despair played out in the daily lives of women like Generose, who lost a leg to marauding Rwandan militants. There is also Marie, a girl of only seven, who suffers from traumatic fistula because she was gang raped at five years old.
The power of Shannon's story is not simply the heartbreak of women like Generose and Marie, but in the resilience of others, who proclaim, "I feel somehow a person in life, a woman in life," because of the commitment of those like Shannon.
A Thousand Sisters is a book that belies clever commentary. Instead it encourages personal involvement.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Everything Old (and Classic) is New Again
Sometimes the best stories are the oldest stories. Such is the case with Zachary Mason's new collection The Lost Books of the Odyssey, a re-imagined version of Homer's original. Mason, a computer scientist and first time novelist, has hit the mark with this group of stories that take Odysseus from the shores of Ithaka to Ilium, and back again. Rather than wed his new tales too closely to the plot lines of Homer, Mason instead wanders wider as Odysseus makes his way to war and home again.
Mason's best bits come in selections like The Iliad of Odysseus, where the hero, instead of the fully formed epic manifestation of Homer's twin books, animated by equal parts hubris and heroism, shrinks from conflict. Instead of taking up his damaged men to make for Ithaka, this suspect character begins by wondering "whether all men are cowards like me." In quick succession, this Odysseus sneaks through the carnage of the battlefield, stealing away into the night in shame and anonymity. Not the quintessential character of high school classrooms, this new Odysseus is rather a more human configuration.
In Mason's rendering, the story also radiates in widely different arcs. There is no clearly defined point of reference. The collection rather shows Odysseus, whether running toward a challenge or withering in the face of adversity, as a still evolving character, quite a feat for a creation more than 3,000 years old.
Mason's best bits come in selections like The Iliad of Odysseus, where the hero, instead of the fully formed epic manifestation of Homer's twin books, animated by equal parts hubris and heroism, shrinks from conflict. Instead of taking up his damaged men to make for Ithaka, this suspect character begins by wondering "whether all men are cowards like me." In quick succession, this Odysseus sneaks through the carnage of the battlefield, stealing away into the night in shame and anonymity. Not the quintessential character of high school classrooms, this new Odysseus is rather a more human configuration.
In Mason's rendering, the story also radiates in widely different arcs. There is no clearly defined point of reference. The collection rather shows Odysseus, whether running toward a challenge or withering in the face of adversity, as a still evolving character, quite a feat for a creation more than 3,000 years old.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Reflection
I've been home a week now, and am still reeling from the experience of my trip to Ukraine. I returned to school on Monday and was made aware that while I have been changed for the better by my travels and by meeting many new friends, my students did not change and they are basically the people I left back on March 15. This was somewhat of a let down, as I wanted everyone to change with me. This is of course impossible and I must simply revel in the wonder of what I've seen and what I've learned. I must acknowlege the power of the exchange I was a part of and work to keep that wonder and power alive in my own work. The week at home has solidified for me how important such opportunities are.
The final couple days in Ukraine were a marvel, as Halyna, Ievgeniia, and Anastashia and I traveled by train from Lutsk to Kiev, where we wandered the city for hours on a beautiful spring day.
Kiev was incredible. The architecture and the colors knocked me out. Everywhere we turned there were monuments, both new structures dedicated to the relatively recent independence of Ukraine, as well as those more historic, a result of Kiev being one of the oldest cities in Europe.
We saw Independence Square, as well as Saint Sophia's Cathedral, built in the eleventh century. We shopped for souvenirs and ate a hearty lunch. Through it all, the best part was sharing it with new friends. Halyna and Ievgeniia were wonderful hosts through my entire stay; they were there when I arrived and they were there to see me off at Borispol Airport. Throughout they helped me with the language, shared their families and friends, and made certain I was always where I needed to be and that I was comfortable.
Anastashia is hoping to be an exchange student in the U.S. this next school year, and I will be anxious to hear positive news about this.
Still can't believe it is over.
The final couple days in Ukraine were a marvel, as Halyna, Ievgeniia, and Anastashia and I traveled by train from Lutsk to Kiev, where we wandered the city for hours on a beautiful spring day.
Kiev was incredible. The architecture and the colors knocked me out. Everywhere we turned there were monuments, both new structures dedicated to the relatively recent independence of Ukraine, as well as those more historic, a result of Kiev being one of the oldest cities in Europe.
We saw Independence Square, as well as Saint Sophia's Cathedral, built in the eleventh century. We shopped for souvenirs and ate a hearty lunch. Through it all, the best part was sharing it with new friends. Halyna and Ievgeniia were wonderful hosts through my entire stay; they were there when I arrived and they were there to see me off at Borispol Airport. Throughout they helped me with the language, shared their families and friends, and made certain I was always where I needed to be and that I was comfortable.
Anastashia is hoping to be an exchange student in the U.S. this next school year, and I will be anxious to hear positive news about this.
Still can't believe it is over.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Random Thoughts
A few random observations:
I had to check in at the same two ticket counters twice each upon my arrival in Kiev because my bag was overweight. While shopping today for a t shirt, we had to buy the shirt, then return to a photo processing store where the shirt will be printed. We had to speak to four different people at the photo shop before we had it right.
I’ve seen Soviet era dump trucks and men sweeping sidewalks with brooms feathered with willow twigs. These men work for the city government. I’ve been in grocery stores where I had to bag my produce, then have someone else weigh it. There are large high rise apartments being built next to small neighborhoods of squat houses, fenced in tight to keep the chickens and pigs from wandering into the street.
On buses, passengers in the back pass their fare to the front, and their change is passed back to them. Riders are given a ticket, but no one ever checks the ticket. At school, all records, including grades and attendance are kept by hand in notebooks that are then shown to parents at parent teacher conference time.
At the school canteen, bread sits on every table through each of the lunch periods, and the canteen is sometimes occupied by nearby construction workers, who find the fare cheaper than restaurants. This summer I’m told the canteen will be repaired, but the school administration will have to ask wealthy parents for assistance with the costs.
That all said, the students might not participate in school organized extra curriculars like our students in the U.S., but these students can often times speak four languages by the time they graduate after the eleventh grade.
I had to check in at the same two ticket counters twice each upon my arrival in Kiev because my bag was overweight. While shopping today for a t shirt, we had to buy the shirt, then return to a photo processing store where the shirt will be printed. We had to speak to four different people at the photo shop before we had it right.
I’ve seen Soviet era dump trucks and men sweeping sidewalks with brooms feathered with willow twigs. These men work for the city government. I’ve been in grocery stores where I had to bag my produce, then have someone else weigh it. There are large high rise apartments being built next to small neighborhoods of squat houses, fenced in tight to keep the chickens and pigs from wandering into the street.
On buses, passengers in the back pass their fare to the front, and their change is passed back to them. Riders are given a ticket, but no one ever checks the ticket. At school, all records, including grades and attendance are kept by hand in notebooks that are then shown to parents at parent teacher conference time.
At the school canteen, bread sits on every table through each of the lunch periods, and the canteen is sometimes occupied by nearby construction workers, who find the fare cheaper than restaurants. This summer I’m told the canteen will be repaired, but the school administration will have to ask wealthy parents for assistance with the costs.
That all said, the students might not participate in school organized extra curriculars like our students in the U.S., but these students can often times speak four languages by the time they graduate after the eleventh grade.
Teacher Training
Another whirlwind day. Two classes at school, including one on diversity and civic education. It seems the English teachers are the teachers who are spearheading discussion of civics, rather than the government or history teachers, as we might expect in the U.S. The teachers tell me this became their task about 15 years ago and they still struggle to get students to understand that citizenship means engagement.
During the lesson, the teachers discussed planning for the future, then showed a short video clip from the U.S. about a high school that organized the building of a handicap accessible playground. The students then discussed how they might do the same in Lutsk, and created an action plan. I worked with a group of boys to answer several questions.
Students then asked me about the student government in the United States. At Gymnasium 18, students have such a government, but it is largely ineffective because it operates outside the normal school day. I explained that our student government is a class, therefore has responsibilities tied to their progress in the class.
Next up was a discussion with eighth grade students, one of whom wanted to know if there were any crack houses near my house. After this lesson, Ievgeniia and Halyna whisked me to another large lunch in the school canteen, and then downtown to a play. I couldn't understand the dialogue, but recognized the emotion and the drama. It was a famous Ukrainian play; a sort of Fiddler on the Roof meets Grease. The end was tragic and that was easy to see, when the love triangle created out of a misunderstanding was broken with the death of one of the girls.
Next was some shopping, which is a completely separate story, then a few groceries, and back to the hotel.
During the lesson, the teachers discussed planning for the future, then showed a short video clip from the U.S. about a high school that organized the building of a handicap accessible playground. The students then discussed how they might do the same in Lutsk, and created an action plan. I worked with a group of boys to answer several questions.
Students then asked me about the student government in the United States. At Gymnasium 18, students have such a government, but it is largely ineffective because it operates outside the normal school day. I explained that our student government is a class, therefore has responsibilities tied to their progress in the class.
Next up was a discussion with eighth grade students, one of whom wanted to know if there were any crack houses near my house. After this lesson, Ievgeniia and Halyna whisked me to another large lunch in the school canteen, and then downtown to a play. I couldn't understand the dialogue, but recognized the emotion and the drama. It was a famous Ukrainian play; a sort of Fiddler on the Roof meets Grease. The end was tragic and that was easy to see, when the love triangle created out of a misunderstanding was broken with the death of one of the girls.
Next was some shopping, which is a completely separate story, then a few groceries, and back to the hotel.
Friday, March 26, 2010
The End, almost
Sitting in the Amsterdam airport after a nine hour walking tour of Kiev and an all night train trip from Lutsk to Kiev. My internet has five minutes to go, so will simply say there is so much more to report and so many more images to post. Couldn't do either the past four days as the internet at the hotel quit and there was no one to ask, and even if there was couldn't speak the language. What a long strange trip it's been, however. More soon.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Wax Romanovs
So today after lessons, two of my Ukrainian colleagues escorted me to a wax exhibit of the Romanov dynasty Russia. The figures represented all the czars from Ivan the Terrible through Nicholas II. The final scene depicted Nicholas and his family being assassinated. It was gruesome because it was life like. The eyes for each figure were made by a famous Ukrainian doctor who specializes in prosthetic eyes and teeth. We had a guided tour, but after the guide explained each figure's history in Ukrainian, my hosts explained again in English. The exhibt cost the three of us the equivalent of $6, but then I had to pay another three for the right to take photos. I've forgotten to bring my camera to the public place where I must connect to the internet, so will post some of the photos later. The most interesting figures were Ivan the Terrible, Gregory Rasputin, and Tolstoy.
Later we visited the largest grocery store in Kiev, Tam Tam, which means "there, there." It was the equivalent of a Sam's Club or Costco, except there is no membership fee. At the fish counter there were large oxygenated tanks filled with swimming carp and catfish. You tell the counter person which fish you want, and they scoop it out and clean it for you before wrapping it up and sending you on your way. I was satisfied with some local candy, a few containers of yogurt, some pastries, and of course the local beer.
Tomorrow I'm accompanying a class to a local theatre to see a drama, and while I won't understand a single word, the action will be universal I'm certain. Back in my room later I will watch German television, which broadcasts for part of the day in English, or Ukrainian football, which requires no translation, as soccer is the same the world over.
Later we visited the largest grocery store in Kiev, Tam Tam, which means "there, there." It was the equivalent of a Sam's Club or Costco, except there is no membership fee. At the fish counter there were large oxygenated tanks filled with swimming carp and catfish. You tell the counter person which fish you want, and they scoop it out and clean it for you before wrapping it up and sending you on your way. I was satisfied with some local candy, a few containers of yogurt, some pastries, and of course the local beer.
Tomorrow I'm accompanying a class to a local theatre to see a drama, and while I won't understand a single word, the action will be universal I'm certain. Back in my room later I will watch German television, which broadcasts for part of the day in English, or Ukrainian football, which requires no translation, as soccer is the same the world over.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
History
Another wonderful meal at the flat of a colleague and her family. What was most intersting was discussing Ukrainian history with the family. The parents are my age, so were born under Soviet rule, but witnessed independence and all the turmoil this has brought. Viktor, a local policeman who certainly does prefer independence, did point out however how some public services were better under the Soviets. College for example, was free if you passed the right exams, whereas now, like at home, the student or family must pay a steep price. His son is a first year university student, and for agreeing to work for the government for three years after graduation, the government provides tuition assistance, but does not pay the total costs. Ukraine means "borderland," and it has truly been a changing border for a thousand years. To hear this from the people who live here and know the stories intimately is moving.
Hard to Believe
Svitlana said many amazing things to me last night. For example, she had to spend a year teaching in Poland several years ago because the Ukrainian government had stopped paying the teachers. Several enlisted with a private organization and traveled to Poland for a year to teach. She told also about how last year she and Sasha could not take their money out of the bank as the government closed the banks. Between them, Svitlana a teacher and Sasha a policemen, they make approximately $500. They bought their flat for $5,500 several years ago. They do not own a car and Sasha often has to pay for the fuel to gas his police car. He sometimes has to take a bus to the village where he is a police officer.
She also told about how in the past the government forbid the teaching of Ukrainian history. "We really don't know our history," she said. The history was not taught, and then was replaced by a government version of the history that had been lost. These are all amazing statements for American to hear. We think of our history as unmalleable.
She also told about how in the past the government forbid the teaching of Ukrainian history. "We really don't know our history," she said. The history was not taught, and then was replaced by a government version of the history that had been lost. These are all amazing statements for American to hear. We think of our history as unmalleable.
Cultural Highlights
Yesterday was the most full day yet. To start, I visited old Lutsk, including Lubert, or Lutsk, Castle. Built in the middle to late 14th century, the structure is a combination of wood and brick and looks out over the city from on high. Nearby is the Cathedral of Saint Peter and Paul, which we were unable to visit due to a funeral.
From the castle, we made our way to the center of the city, where I bought a few souvenirs and simply took in the sights and sounds. Lutsk has an obvious European feel, with few private cars and many busses and trolleys. Women in the latest fashions hurry by, while men dressed in dark colors with serious eyes move more slowly or occupy street corners drinking beer.
We walked along the main pedestrian boulevard, stopping for lunch at a small cafe, where latkes, green salad, and beer for three was just short of $11.
The highlight of the day trip was a visit to the house of a local artist. He is a neighbor of Ivgeniia, my host teacher, but keeps this second house in the city to work on his sculpture. We chatted briefly and walked about his courtyard, strewn with various works of marble and stone in various stages of completion. The house sits at the end of a cobbled street that butts up to the riverbank. The locals call it "The House of Chimera." Our host was disappointed when I couldn't produce American coins, but I do have some in my hotel rooom I'll pass on to him.
After our day, where I was accompanied by Ivgeniia, Gollia, and Andrew. Andrew is the son of one of the English teachers at Gymnasium 18, and he spent last year as an exchange student in Leadville, Colorado.
Next up was dinner at the home of Svitlana, the English department chairwoman, and her family. Her husband Sasha does not speak English, but when he and I discovered our mutual love of fishing, we seemed able to communicate regardless of the language barrier.
The family is impressive, in that Sasha and Svitlana communicate in Russian, while Svitlana and her daughter Anastasia communicate in Ukrainian and English. They treated me to baked Hake and my first taste of salo, a sort of pig fat that is salted and cooled. It tasted like meaty bacon and it was suggested I eat it on a piece of dark bread. There was also plenty of good Ukrainian vodka.
After a long day of sightseeing and much good food and conversation I slept well.
From the castle, we made our way to the center of the city, where I bought a few souvenirs and simply took in the sights and sounds. Lutsk has an obvious European feel, with few private cars and many busses and trolleys. Women in the latest fashions hurry by, while men dressed in dark colors with serious eyes move more slowly or occupy street corners drinking beer.
We walked along the main pedestrian boulevard, stopping for lunch at a small cafe, where latkes, green salad, and beer for three was just short of $11.
The highlight of the day trip was a visit to the house of a local artist. He is a neighbor of Ivgeniia, my host teacher, but keeps this second house in the city to work on his sculpture. We chatted briefly and walked about his courtyard, strewn with various works of marble and stone in various stages of completion. The house sits at the end of a cobbled street that butts up to the riverbank. The locals call it "The House of Chimera." Our host was disappointed when I couldn't produce American coins, but I do have some in my hotel rooom I'll pass on to him.
After our day, where I was accompanied by Ivgeniia, Gollia, and Andrew. Andrew is the son of one of the English teachers at Gymnasium 18, and he spent last year as an exchange student in Leadville, Colorado.
Next up was dinner at the home of Svitlana, the English department chairwoman, and her family. Her husband Sasha does not speak English, but when he and I discovered our mutual love of fishing, we seemed able to communicate regardless of the language barrier.
The family is impressive, in that Sasha and Svitlana communicate in Russian, while Svitlana and her daughter Anastasia communicate in Ukrainian and English. They treated me to baked Hake and my first taste of salo, a sort of pig fat that is salted and cooled. It tasted like meaty bacon and it was suggested I eat it on a piece of dark bread. There was also plenty of good Ukrainian vodka.
After a long day of sightseeing and much good food and conversation I slept well.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Sights to see
Yesterday was filled with several hours at school, followed by a trip to the center of the city for a sort of cultural concert. It seems several local government workers were being honored for their efforts, and in between announcing names and giving out certificates accompanied by red carnations, there was dancing, singing, and even an orchestra. Ivgeniia, my contact teacher at Gymnasium 18, was one of the dancers. I was accompanied by Olga and Ilya.
The festivities were colorful, cheery, and loud.
Afterwards, as ever, the ladies accompanied me back to the hotel, with a stop first at a local market, where I bought my provisions for breakfast; some green tea, some yogurt, and a couple pastries. They then walked me to the hotel, where they informed the restaurant staff I would not be dining in, and left me. I spent the rest of the night updating on the internet, watching Ukrainian television and reading Anna Reid's fascinating history of Ukraine, "Borderlands."
Today I am to accompany Ivgeniia and Gollia to a local castle, do some souvenir shopping, then have dinner with Svitlana and her family. Svitlana is the chair of the English department at the school. Her husband doesn't speak English, but her daughter does, so I should be able to communicate just fine.
Am going to try and attach a couple photos here before signing off.
The festivities were colorful, cheery, and loud.
Afterwards, as ever, the ladies accompanied me back to the hotel, with a stop first at a local market, where I bought my provisions for breakfast; some green tea, some yogurt, and a couple pastries. They then walked me to the hotel, where they informed the restaurant staff I would not be dining in, and left me. I spent the rest of the night updating on the internet, watching Ukrainian television and reading Anna Reid's fascinating history of Ukraine, "Borderlands."
Today I am to accompany Ivgeniia and Gollia to a local castle, do some souvenir shopping, then have dinner with Svitlana and her family. Svitlana is the chair of the English department at the school. Her husband doesn't speak English, but her daughter does, so I should be able to communicate just fine.
Am going to try and attach a couple photos here before signing off.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Eastern Rising
Finally updating from Lutsk, Ukraine. Have been struggling with internet troubles, but they seem to be okay at the moment. The trip in was long and tiring. Pellston to Detroit, to Amsterdam, to Kiev, then Lviv, and finally Lutsk. The trip took some 30 hours with three time changes and daylight changing to darkness, then back through the entire cycle. I am now a phenomenon at Gymnasium 18, where students greet me with part wonder, part awe, and part disinterest. The staff has been incredibly warm, and each day a new teacher becomes my guide. I have been to the bank with one, the supermarket with another, and today to an art museum with two more. I am living in a small hotel that looks more like an office building, but is literally a 200 meter walk from the school.
Each day lunch at school consists of soup, bread, meat, pasta, and cabbage salad of some type. The head of the canteen thought I didn't like her food because I didn't eat it all the first day I was there, but there was simply too much. I have made peace with her now.
My hotel room is small, but comfortable. The television didn't work the first three days, so I read and listened to Ukrainian radio. Music is soothing whatever the language.
Tomorrow more school, more culture, and hopefully more internet coverage.
Each day lunch at school consists of soup, bread, meat, pasta, and cabbage salad of some type. The head of the canteen thought I didn't like her food because I didn't eat it all the first day I was there, but there was simply too much. I have made peace with her now.
My hotel room is small, but comfortable. The television didn't work the first three days, so I read and listened to Ukrainian radio. Music is soothing whatever the language.
Tomorrow more school, more culture, and hopefully more internet coverage.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Eastern Horizon
Off to the Ukraine in a week, where I'll be reading and writing with mostly middle school students in a school in Lutsk. In the west, the town is staunchly Ukrainian, I hear, unlike its western cousins who are more likely to be pro Russian. After the recent election, however, the entire country might be undergoing a Russian revolution. I will be there two weeks, speaking to students and working with teachers of English. I've been reading Borderlands by Anna Reid for some background. A history of Ukraine, the book winds back to the Cossack period and before, eventually wending forward to the late 20th century.
I'm also slowly working into Taras Bulba by Gogol, as he's the West's version of a Ukrainian classic. This might be more of a plane read, as I've not made it deep into the story as of yet.
Stay tuned.
I'm also slowly working into Taras Bulba by Gogol, as he's the West's version of a Ukrainian classic. This might be more of a plane read, as I've not made it deep into the story as of yet.
Stay tuned.
Dark Evening
I've been through Idaho, and read much about its wonderful trout fishing. I even met a teacher from Moscow, Idaho who I found to be perfectly intelligent. I am glad to say I have no experience with the Idaho depicted in Brian Hart's new novel Then Came The Evening.
Hart's characters are meth fueled and pain marked, oppressed by family strife that runs deeper than any trout stream and is harder than any mountainside.
When Tracy Doerner shows decides to reclaim his dead grandparent's failing homestead, he finds the work is not as hard as the emotional upheaval he must endure. His father Bandy, incarcerated and without prospects, never knew the son he shared with his estranged and drug addled ex-wife Iona.
When Tracy falls off the roof of the dilapidated farmhouse, the family's sharply divided trajectory angles back on one another, bringing the past to weigh on the future. Bandy, banged up in prison, finds himself drawn to Tracy, the son he didn't know, as well as to Iona, the meth-head who's traded drugs for a shot at restoration.
Hart, a first time novelist, gets bogged down in minutia on occasion, but drags the story out of the dirt long enough to outline believable characters mired in regrettable circumstances.
Hart's characters are meth fueled and pain marked, oppressed by family strife that runs deeper than any trout stream and is harder than any mountainside.
When Tracy Doerner shows decides to reclaim his dead grandparent's failing homestead, he finds the work is not as hard as the emotional upheaval he must endure. His father Bandy, incarcerated and without prospects, never knew the son he shared with his estranged and drug addled ex-wife Iona.
When Tracy falls off the roof of the dilapidated farmhouse, the family's sharply divided trajectory angles back on one another, bringing the past to weigh on the future. Bandy, banged up in prison, finds himself drawn to Tracy, the son he didn't know, as well as to Iona, the meth-head who's traded drugs for a shot at restoration.
Hart, a first time novelist, gets bogged down in minutia on occasion, but drags the story out of the dirt long enough to outline believable characters mired in regrettable circumstances.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
3000 Year Echo
Homer is alive and well in David Malouf's new novel Ransom. Told in dispassionate third person, the crux of the tale is the competing emotions of Achilles and Priam. Between them lays the body of dead Hector, killed when Achilles' rage boiled over, pushed to action after the death of his cousin Patroclus.
For his part, Priam is defeated at Troy, worried that his family will think ill of him, and aged in the face of conflict. Taking possession of his son's body drives the old King, hoping he can reclaim some small portion of what has been taken.
The two men come together in a choreography of grief that Malouf orchestrates with a deft touch, the language at once powerful and tender.
That Homer is alive some 3000 years after his death is a testament to the power of story. Any reader, or non reader, who cannot hear this echo, is likely deaf in other ways as well.
For his part, Priam is defeated at Troy, worried that his family will think ill of him, and aged in the face of conflict. Taking possession of his son's body drives the old King, hoping he can reclaim some small portion of what has been taken.
The two men come together in a choreography of grief that Malouf orchestrates with a deft touch, the language at once powerful and tender.
That Homer is alive some 3000 years after his death is a testament to the power of story. Any reader, or non reader, who cannot hear this echo, is likely deaf in other ways as well.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Resonance
What literate male of my age wasn't affected by J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye? The acerbic Holden Caufield, short on patience and long on insight, insinuated himself into the culture as a wit and a wonder. He couldn't abide rules, but he also couldn't abide phonies. Holden, his sister Phoebe, and his acquaintances from Pency Prep established Salinger as the conscience of rebellion from the 1950s on. Holden was a thinking man's malcontent, an intellectual rogue who wanted nothing more than to be left alone, as the world had turned to mush all around him.
Salinger, like his pint sized protagonist, turned away from the larger world as well, settling in tiny Cornish, New Hampshire. The story is well established, though the truth will never be out.
Salinger insulated his life with more than 50 years off the literary map. His passing is a mark that will go little marked after a brief run up of publicity about his most famous character. Salinger could have embraced the world, but in the end his legacy would have been determined the same way, as a result of his work. This is what resonates when the voice has fallen silent.
Salinger, like his pint sized protagonist, turned away from the larger world as well, settling in tiny Cornish, New Hampshire. The story is well established, though the truth will never be out.
Salinger insulated his life with more than 50 years off the literary map. His passing is a mark that will go little marked after a brief run up of publicity about his most famous character. Salinger could have embraced the world, but in the end his legacy would have been determined the same way, as a result of his work. This is what resonates when the voice has fallen silent.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Lynch Delivers, Finally
Readers, particularly those in Michigan, have been waiting for several years now for Thomas Lynch's new collection of fiction. Author of poetry and essays, Lynch is well known for his non fiction, particularly that focused on his other career, funeral home director. Lynch's The Undertaking has been buzzing since its publication. A National Book award nominee, Lynch has long promised a work of fiction. Apparition & Late Fiction brings together a single novella and four short stories, all of which showcase Lynch's poetic tendencies. His prose is lyrical and large.
Conclusions will arrive soon about how well his command of the essay translates to his new fiction. Longtime Lynch readers will, however, be pleased to at last have the chance to assess the possibilities.
Conclusions will arrive soon about how well his command of the essay translates to his new fiction. Longtime Lynch readers will, however, be pleased to at last have the chance to assess the possibilities.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Happy New Year
Happy New Year of reading, with new books about Greg Mortenson's ongoing efforts, the centennial of the University of Michigan Biological Station in northern Michigan, some fiction, and a new collection of Wendell Berry poetry. There is never a shortage of good books to read and never a shortage of reasons to open them, particularly this time of year, when the days are short, the nights, long, and the light more appropriate for reading than for running.
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