All posts by moonandjess@frontier.com

Today, My Inner Narcissist is a Happy Camper: Tomorrow, a Return to Despair

I’ve often thought that there is a certain degree of narcissism present in anyone’s decision to become any kind of artist. Just having the idea that I’ve got something to say, and I want as many people to hear it as possible, because it’s important to me and should be important to them too, strikes me as arrogant at the very least – of course in my case, it’s a charmingly self-deprecating sort of arrogance.

It is, however, really difficult to maintain that narcissism/arrogance/healthy self-confidence once you start sending your work out into the public. Take me for example – I spent waaaay too much money on research (I’m going to have to sell a lot of books just to pay for the books I bought to write my book*), and two years of my life thinking and writing and editing and rewriting and re-editing and so on, until I thought, “That’s it! That’s exactly what I want to say, and said as well as I can say it!” Then I started shopping my new baby around to agents and publishers, visions of accolades, best-seller lists, and movie deals in your head. “Hahahahahahahahahaha!” I thought (charmingly and humbly, of course), “This’ll show those naysayers who said I was dreaming/wasting my time!”

So I sent out a shitload of query letters and waited for the offers to start rolling in, for the agents to start slugging it out over representing me and my modest little book: “What? All this fuss over little ol’ moi?”

Except that’s not what happened. Responses start trickling in, but they’re all rejections – as of this writing, I’m up to 67 rejections from agents, with only a couple of tiny nibbles of interests. They’re almost all really, really nice, but still . . . I haven’t faced this much rejection since before I met the lovely and talented Jess . . . I’d kind of forgotten how much it stings.

It really gets kind of demoralizing but every once in a while, something happens that gives me hope. A few weeks ago, I learned that Frontier Tales wants to publish a chapter of my novel, which was a huge boost.

Last week, I entered my book in a Cinematic Novel contest. I broke down and paid an extra fee to get some feedback. I wasn’t hoping for much – after all, I’d sent my first novel, Thumperica, to Kirkus Reviews for an obscene (to me anyway) amount of money, and they trashed it. What made it even worse was that the reviewer clearly only read roughly the first half of the book (but at least I’m not bitter).

Anyway, today, I got the feedback from the contest. Here’s what the contest person had to say (by the way, IP stands for Intellectual Property – I’m guessing that by an “existent IP” they mean a character or story that is out in the world now, i.e. a franchise sort of character):

*****

Feedback (Cinematic Book)
TO BE FREE tells the action-packed, vivid story of Nate Luck, a Russian-Buriat immigrant to
America during the heyday of the “wild west.” As a rancher, a soldier, and a father, he transforms
effectively from a starry-eyed, adventure-craving idealist to a disillusioned but still principled
American in every sense of the word. The characters, plot and structure are all there to make this
a dynamic feature or limited series, and the storytelling should be noted as a standout. The
primary obstacle to adapting this work to the screen will be that it’s not based on existent IP, and
as a period piece may be expensive to produce.

One of the primary elements studios and streamers look for in adapting material is character, and
that is an area where this book really shines. Nate Luck is a captivating protagonist, driving the
action forward with his impulsive love of life, fighting spirit, as well as sunshiny optimism. Whether
he’s defending someone outside a brothel or battling the love of his life, Esme, the plot hinges on
his action and his character. He also is a unique protagonist in terms of his heritage, and the
specificity that brings to him navigating The West is truly wonderful. His strength as a horse-rider
due to his Mongolian grandfather and mother, his resistance to being seen as anything other than
independent, they are ripe for bumping up against this classic American setting. How he
transforms into someone who sees the cracks in the shiny marquee of The American Dream are
all the more heartbreaking for the great spirit he brings to fulfilling it.

The women characters are also refreshingly vital and active, which is all too rare in male-dominated
genres and historical stories. From the engaging way Nate’s mother is described to the feisty
Esme, there would unquestionably be desirable parts for actors of many different genders, ages,
and ethnicities. This diversity is a definite plus, but all the more so because it doesn’t feel on-the-nose,
but rather — simply — earned and factual.

Speaking of factual, the historical research would set this project apart for adaptation as well. They
add so much (seeming, at least) authenticity, whether talking about the cargo laborers traveling
on credit-tickets to the differences between the Cheyenne and the Nez Perce tribes. While at times
the line between reality and fiction is blurred, much like in the novel of The Princess Bride by
William Goldman, this only serves to plunge us deeper into the story and is effective. My only
caveat would be that some of the racial realities of the time, even if they are grounded, can be a
tough pill to swallow. For instance, Nate’s reaction to the Chinese as an “inherited prejudice” may
shut down some readers, even if he very quickly realizes the error of his ways in America.

My main word of caution is that, as the story is not based on existing IP, it will likely be more
challenging to get made. Typically, historical adaptations have had a well-known protagonist or a
connection to a specific, well-known event that can help sell the story. One thing to consider is
how Nate Luck can feel like a FORREST GUMP protagonist, traveling through many different well-known
events. Highlighting these instances structurally could perhaps help filmmakers connect
the dots. That said, this may be a challenge for the writer, no matter how well-told the story is,
particularly given the added expenses that come with any historical setting.

One quick thematic note: I really like the idea presented that, because Nate has a wealth of
memories to “draw on and remember,” that he can live as a “King of Infinite Space.” This poetic
counter to the ravenous demands of Manifest Destiny elevates the story into the arena of the best-themed Westerns, like NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN, TRUE GRIT or UNFORGIVEN. Overall, this is a
highly readable story that has the action-oriented, visual elements to translate well to the screen.

*****

Yes, you read that right – it gets compared to No Country For Old Men, True Grit, and Unforgiven! Feel free to go back and double-check it; I’ve probably read that thing six or seven times since this morning. I’ve got to say, this came out waaaaay better than I expected. To be honest, I had very low expectations. I certainly didn’t hope for anything this positive, and I’m not sure how to process it. I was really expecting something that would just make me feel worse for wasting the money (lookin’ at you again, Kirkus!).

Instead, I got feedback that made me feel like they really “got” what I was going for, and that I kinda hit that nail on the head. I’ve had some wonderful friends and family who’ve given me very generous and favourable feedback but, outside of my thesis committee (who also liked it, but mostly seemed impressed by my ability to eliminate 50,000 words in a couple of weeks while keeping it a coherent narrative), there hasn’t been much in the way of outside/objective validation until now.

It’s nice to feel this way, even for a little while!

So now I’m doomed to have hope again, at least for a little while. To quote some British Sports commentator, “It’s not the despair, it’s the hope that kills you.”

Oh well, I never expected it to be easy.

*On the other hand, is money spent on books and travel ever really misspent?

I’m Not Yet Abandoning All Hope – But It’s Getting Closer

The older I get, the less I understand the world or anything in it. I just spent about half an hour on the Facebook and Twitter trying to figure out how many “followers” I have – something that sounds just as stupid as it is. The idea that anyone is following me is, quite frankly, horrifying and – I’m pretty sure – one of the signs of the Apocalypse.

I do take some small comfort in the knowledge that the term “followers” does not actually denote any kind of discipleship, worship, or adoration, but is actually social media-speak for “people who are marginally interested in what I have to say OR are just “following” me in hopes I’ll reciprocate” – which would admittedly be hard to fit on a little “button” (or is it “icon”?) on a screen. I say small comfort because I’m a word guy. I like words. I hope to make a living with them. I also feel pretty strongly that they have meaning – or at least that they used to.

And why was I trying to figure out how many followers I have? Because I’m trying to find an agent or publisher for my book, and many agents/publishers want to know that stuff . In addition to how many followers I have, they want to know how active I am on social media, do I have a website, do I have a blog, etc., and how will all that fit into marketing my book, should they deign to represent/publish it.

Seriously? I thought all that marketing stuff was their job (just another thing I’m clueless about). Here I was, thinking all I had to do was spend a couple years’ worth of blood, sweat, and tears researching, writing, re-writing, workshopping, and editing my book, not to mention all the actual money I spent on research, find someone to represent or publish it, and then it was just sit back, put my feet up and wait for the checks to start flooding in.

I mean sure, I figured I might have to do some promotional stuff, like bookstore readings, interviews, talk shows, maybe walk a few red carpets (kidding. I’m stupid, but not delusional), but not actually come up with some kind of marketing strategy. I’m not anybody’s idea of a salesman. I couldn’t sell ice cubes in hell.

And that’s just on the “somebody PLEASE buy my book” front.

Employment is almost as bad. See, I had a master plan – I’d go to graduate school, get an MFA, and then I could get a job teaching at a college. Hahahahahahahaha. Sadly, there were two things I didn’t know: 1) Unless you’ve got tenure or are at least in a tenure-track position (which at my age is extremely unlikely), it is almost impossible make a living teaching at a college as an adjunct (unless you’re just phoning it it or willing to work yourself to death).

And 2) I kind of suck at teaching. I wasn’t really expecting that. I think I was probably at least adequate (marginally), but I just could not connect with the students. Naturally, I blame them. Okay, not really. At worst, it was a 50/50 split, but I think the bulk of the problem was me. At any rate, I care too much about teaching to be willing to do it badly. At my age, I think I’m too set in my ways, and don’t really have time (or the inclination) to change.

So, I’ve gone back to something I am good at: being a Writing Consultant, or Mentor, or whatever they’re calling it this week, at IU East. It’s a great job, and I’m working with great people, but it’s only part-time. Still, I’m hoping it’ll be enough for us to get by until those bestseller-level checks start pouring in.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining (well not a lot, anyway). I’ve made every decision that got me here, and honestly, I don’t know that I’d change any of them if I could. I’ve met some great people along the way, and done some cool stuff, and learned a lot of lessons (many of which weren’t even painful!). I didn’t go to college to get a job. I went to college to learn, and to grad school to get better at the thing I love, which is writing. In both cases, I feel like I succeeded.

I can’t even say I’m surprised at where I’ve ended up. Given my predilection for stubbornness, hard-headedness, and self-destructiveness, I guess I’m surprised that I’m doing as well as I am. I blame it on my wife, the lovely, talented, and long-suffering Jess. My decision to pursue her relentlessly until I wore her down and convinced her to marry me is probably the only good decision I’ve ever made, or at least the absolute best one. She really is the best.

So anyway, here I am, a wildly overeducated middle-aged man with no practical marketable skills and no real inclination to develop any, hoping to strike gold as a writer. Trust me, I know how stupid it sounds – roughly as stupid as it is – still, a dreamer’s gotta dream, right?

Besides, I figure if the writing doesn’t work out and worse comes to worst, I can always go into politics (taking up prostitution seemed like a more decent and honourable option, but I saw myself in the mirror, so that’s off the table). Looking at the clown show that our congress has turned into, I figure its the one field in which a guy like me, with no discernible talents other than bullshitting, can still really shine.

Please join me now in prayer that it doesn’t come to that (seriously, if I do get my book published, buy a copy. If not for my sake, then for the sake of the country!)

I think this would make a great author photo for the back of my book OR a great political ad. What do you think?

Info on the Upcoming Nape Na Si mission trip in June 2021

Okay folks, exciting news! We will be going to Pine Ridge this summer! The dates are June 11-20. The cost will be $300 per adult ($350 if you travel with the group). The fee covers necessities from the time we get to the Rez until we leave (except for lunch on Sunday). That means camping fees, food, fuel, and water, as well as building supplies and other necessities for the work. You are on your own to feed your own personal stuff (like my Diet Coke addiction).We do have some small construction projects to work on this year, in particular the building of 2 or 3 outhouses at the Sun Dance grounds, along with some other possible projects.

We will also be doing our usual routine: Sightseeing in the Black Hills(including Mt. Rushmore and Crazy Horse monument) and picking up supplies on Sunday, a trip to Wounded Knee, and devotions/exploring/climbing in the badlands one evening, along with as much other stuff as we can pack in, including hopefully a sweat and Ceremony.

If camping is beyond your limits, there are rooms/cabins to rent, but you are on your own for that expense. We plan to stay at Lakota Prairie as always, but they’re not open yet. Here’s a link to the trip advisor page so you can get some idea about the accommodations and pricing (a lot of people like to go in together on a room or cabin in order to keep the cost down – if you’re interested in doing that, this would be a good place to find folks to share with): https://www.tripadvisor.com/Hotel_Review-g54671-d678149-Reviews-Lakota_Prairie_Ranch_Resort-Kyle_South_Dakota.html. My advice right now would be to wait until you hear from me here before you make any reservations (just in case).

REGARDING COVID CONCERNS:

I’ve spoken to several folks out there, and the tribe made a big push to get everyone vaccinated, which is awesome! However, Dave and I have decided that a Covid vaccination will be required to go on the trip. We feel it is a necessary step in order to ensure (as much as possible) not only the health of our group, but maybe even more importantly, to ensure we don’t do anything to endanger the health of our friends on the Rez. I realize this may not fit in with your plans regarding the vaccine, and there’s no judgement here. You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do. It’s simply a matter of deciding which is more important to you – the trip or avoiding the vaccine. It is strictly up to you, and we’ll miss you but understand if this is a showstopper for you. I hope it won’t be.

At any rate, we’d like to get a rough count of who is planning (or hoping) to go, so if you are, please let me know in the comments below. More info will be forthcoming as necessary.

A New Story! Possibly the Most Wholesome Thing I’ve Ever Written!

Missed me? It’s been a long, long semester (I’ll be writing more about it soon). Anyway, here’s one of the good things (I hope) that came out of it. It’s a story I wrote for my 18th Century British Literature course. I think it’s pretty good, as well as funny. It’s an attempt at writing in the style of one of my literary heroes, Henry Fielding, author of Joseph Andrews, Tom Jones, etc.

It’s a first draft, because I ran out of time before I could add in everything I wanted to, like aliens, and the greatest satirist of the 27th Century, Anthrax McGillicuddy, but deadlines are tough. Hopefully someday, I’ll get around to putting in everything I want.

It’s an attempt at combining Fielding’s 18th Century style with modern academic criticism (it was for a course, you know), but the primary point was entertainment. Anyway, enjoy!

The Great Man Himself

The History of Samuel Richardson’s Afterlife Objections to Henry Fielding and the Character and Characters of his Novel Joseph Andrews;

AND

The Defense of Mr. Fielding, His Novel, and Its Characters;

AND

The Final Judgment of St. Francis de Sales in the Matter

BY

Lloyd Mullins

Chapter One

Of possibilities, both general and literary; of readers and the worlds of books; with a note on the difficulty in keeping a narrative on course, and literary judgment.

It may be considered surprising in some circles that the saying of that eminent philosopher Douglas Adams, “In an infinite universe, anything can happen,[1]” is true, and will no doubt be even more surprising within those circles that anything not only can, but more often than not, does indeed happen.  Even more surprising in those same circles (although it must be said that the more literary the circles one runs in the less surprising this will be) is that entire worlds, universes, dimensions, or what-have-you’s, are peopled entirely by and for the originally fictional characters, creatures, and environs of novels, both popular and literary.

While it will not be surprising to that group of people known to be of a literary bent, or more commonly known as readers, that those fictional characters that they love so well, be they human, animal, alien, historical, contemporary, futuristic, heroic, cowardly, or ordinary, occupy worlds complete and often overlapping, it may be surprising, and possibly even disappointing, to learn that those worlds are not entirely encompassed within those selfsame readers’ heads; that those characters, creatures, and creations also exist in worlds entirely independent of readers and the expectations, requirements, and emotional needs of those readers. However, if we posit that every book, or series of books, is a world complete unto itself, then it quickly becomes clear that they do exist independent of readers. Each book is simply an “undiscovered country[2]” to those who have not yet read it and, lest the reader think your humble narrator bends his literary allusion too far, what true reader ever does truly return from a much-loved book? Do they not always leave a piece of themselves in the world of that book, whether they be crossing swords with the minions of Richelieu, matching wits with Moriarty, Blofeld, or Elizabeth Bennett, trekking with Odysseus, or playing tricks and learning lessons with Sun Wukong, the Monkey King, and does not the leaving behind a part of ourselves in these literary worlds, far from diminishing the reader, rather increase them, at least in spirit? This is the magic of books. The magic of books however, is not the point, nor purpose, of this narrative. It also seems I have let the course of my discourse drift on a tangential current, and must, with sincerest apologies, return to the correct heading.

What will undoubtedly be surprising to even the most avid and philosophical of readers is that the actual world, or worlds, of books is not limited to either the readers’ heads, or the physical confines of the books themselves, but that they also exist on a temporal plane of their own as well, albeit a temporality encompassed in a strictly spiritual environment; to whit, the Afterlife, provided they are adjudged to be worthy of such existence. In these worlds, the characters are freed from the strictures of the limited imaginations of both readers and authors, and granted free will to live their lives according to their own lights, although influenced by their origins as lain down by their creators and, to a lesser extent, the readers who have loved them, much as children leaving their parental abodes, but subject to the genetic traits and philosophical and practical teachings of their parents. It is a situation highly desired by the inhabitants of all books, but granted to a very few for, just as species become extinct, so too do most books. Just as not all people are adjudged worthy of Heaven, not all books are found worthy of their own worlds; just as all people must face judgment day, all books must face judgment as well. This is the story of one such Judgment day.

Chapter Two

In which a crowd gathers and sides are taken; the proceedings begin; a note on verb tense; an unsolicited and surprising testimony; the prosecution begins

On this day (and since in the Afterlife, which is eternal and exists outside time and space there is neither method nor reason for numbering or tracking days, “this day” is used to delineate any given day), shortly after Tea (and it should also be mentioned here that judgment of books is reserved within cultures; while the proceedings are open to all, they are ordered according to the precepts of the author’s home culture), the literary Afterlife is abuzz with anticipation. Henry Fielding’s novel, The History of the Adventures of Joseph Andrews and of his Friend Mr. Abraham Adamsis to face judgment. Under ordinary circumstances these sorts of proceedings are met with very little fanfare, being largely considered a formality; if  a book is important enough to be remembered, much less continually read and/or loved two to three hundred years after publication, its passing judgment is virtually a given, and is generally treated like an inter-office birthday party; there are usually several sincere well-wishers and, inevitably, many who are only there for the cake.

Today however, there is an air of suspense; for there is an actual opposing counsel in the person of Samuel Johnson, long an avowed enemy of Fielding, and who has owned, perhaps not undeservedly, Fielding as his own Nemesis. Johnson stands at his appointed table arranging his papers, and practically salivating at the opportunity to visit doom upon Fielding’s beloved creations (for what pain is greater to a parent than the loss of his children). He is said to hold a number of other anti-Fielding literati in the wings as witnesses to the iniquitous nature of not only the book, but of the author, and even Andrews, Adams, and the other characters themselves. He nods, smiles, and gladhands his supporters, and sneers superciliously at his detractors, especially the tittering, catcalling, and hooting rowdier element slinging 18th, 19th, 20th and 21st century insults his way from the gallery, which is filled with the expected well-wishers, a small number of pro-Johnsonites and, as is inevitable at any gathering of this type, a large and boisterous mob of lookers-on who are only really there for the fun of it and hoping for at least a bit of good-natured violence in lieu of cake.

Fielding enters the courtroom with his wives Charlotte and Mary on his arms (and it must be said, neither of those ladies seemed particularly happy with him) as nonchalantly and confidently as if he too were really only there for the cake. Joseph and Fanny Andrews, and Parson Adams en famille, follow close on behind him looking somewhat less confident, with Lady Booby, Mrs. Slipslop, Mr. Booby and Pamela in train, alternating between indignance and nervousness in the fashion of those who consider themselves above judgment but are all too aware of what they’ve been up to and why, and finally Mr. Beau Didapper, Mr. and Mrs. Tow-wouse, Parson Trulliber, and the remainder of the company, many of whom are too deeply in their cups to fully recognize their peril.

Mr. Shakespeare, in his role of bailiff, strikes the floor thrice with his staff of office, calling for quiet. “My Lords and Ladies, Gentlefolk, and all others! Be silent and upstanding for His Honour, St. Francis de Sales!” The crowd lumbers to its feet, and the noise dulls somewhat as St. Francis enters and takes his seat, acknowledging Fielding and Richardson, both of whom bow, although it must be said that the latter bows much more deeply and elaborately, and holds it much longer than the former’s cursory obeisance. St. Francis nods to them both and rolls his eyes at the still-presented top of Richardson’s head; finally, he clears his throat pointedly, and Richardson straightens, somewhat puzzled by the titters and laughter from the gallery. St. Francis nods to Mr. Shakespeare and that luminary, unable to resist, strikes the floor again with his staff, strikes a dramatic pose, and exclaims, “Cry havoc, and let slip the literary dogs of war!” while the gallery erupts in cheers and laughter, for it is beyond the ability of any of that great literary mob to hear those words from the immortal Bard of Avon and remain quiet.

This time, the good saint’s eye-roll is for his bailiff, and he bangs his gavel. “Good people! Good people, please! A little less havoc if you please!” He bangs his gavel again, bailiff Shakespeare, grinning all the while, strikes his staff against the floor, and the crowd slowly relents. “Good people, let us remember ourselves, our stations, and our duty,” says the saint, “Pray conduct yourselves with at least a modicum of decorum.” “A maximum modicum or a middlin’ modicum, yer honor?” comes a voice from the gallery, accompanied by a minor modicum of laughter. “Gentlemen,” calls bailiff Shakespeare, “if you must interrupt, please have the courtesy to do so with at least a middling modicum of wit!” which generates considerably more merriment because when the bard makes a joke, however weak or uninspired, you laugh, don’t you?

St. Francis, clearly already bored, pounds his gavel once more and addresses the prosecution; “Mr. Richardson, is all this strictly necessary? Your antipathy for Mr. Fielding is well known, but the Afterlife is hardly the place . . . er, time? Plane, perhaps? . . . for carrying out personal vendettas – particularly in this essentially unprecedented fashion.”

Being completely outside – or perhaps entirely within? – time and space is a constant source of discomfort for writers in the afterlife, due to the human predilection for arranging things in chronological order, worrying about verb tense, and so on. Most writers have settled on simply using all three verb tenses, especially regarding things that happened on the temporal plane, since it is never really certain whether the events written from the Afterlife about actual life have occurred, are occurring, or will occur. Events occurring in the Afterlife are always referred to in the present tense.

“Hardly ‘unprecedented’, m’lord,” protests Richardson. “’Tis admittedly rare, but did not Mr. Fielding himself mount a simultaneous prosecution against Mr. Colley Cibber in both the Courts of Theatrics and Non-Fiction, based solely on personal distaste? I argue that I am instead mounting my prosecution based solely on literary, moral, and spiritual transgressions, completely unrelated to any personal feelings I may have regarding Mr. Fielding.” A chorus of disapprobation erupts from the gallery – primarily the traditional boos, and raspberries, along with a truly astonishing array of international and even intergalactic obscene gestures. “M’Lord, m’lord!” cries a plump, good-natured looking gentleman, beaming broadly, “May I be heard?” The crowd, delighted with how the proceedings have already left the rails, applauds in support.

St. Francis buries his face in his hands for a moment. “Very well, the court recognizes Mr. Cibber. Provided he provides succinct and relevant testimony. Very succinct!” The Poet Laureate and playwright bows. “Thank you M’Lord. Mr. Richardson speaks the truth, but truth only in the letter, and not the spirit. As we all know, there was very little love lost betwixt myself and my esteemed colleague Mr. Fielding during our brief tenure on the terrestrial plane . . .” “Succinctly, Mr. Cibber, succinctly, if you please!” calls the saint. “. . . Of course, M’Lord – my apologies. I merely wish to point out that while Mr. Richardson is indubitably correct that Mr. Fielding did indeed mount an opposition to both my play, The Careless Husband, and my celebrated memoir, An Apology for the Life of Mr. Colley Cibber, Comedian and Late Patenter of the Theatre-Royal, with an Historical View of the Stage during His Own Time, Written by . . .” “Succinct!” repeats the saint. “. . . Himself, apologies, m’lord, his opposition, rather than a mean-spirited attempt to further slander my good name (at this point, St. Francis leans back in his chair and covers his eyes with a hand) and cause irreparable damage to my creations, was actually all for show – a carefully organized, and even theatrical entertainment; possibly an homage of sorts – in the 20th century fashion of the Mr. Dean Martin Roasts, an hilarious celebration, however backhanded, in which so many of my contemporaries took part, including such luminaries as Messrs. Fielding, Swift,  Pope,  Shakespeare, Marlowe, Wilde, Shaw, as well as Mses. Austen, Bronte, Bronte, Bronte, Burney, Behn, Haywood, and many others, including Mr. Richardson himself, in an exhibition of good-natured bonhomie, followed by cake and champagne provided by Mr. Fielding. There was no actual objection to my works posited, merely a great deal of fun poked, which not only delighted the gallery, but indeed, caused a resurgence in interest in my work here in the Afterlife. It was entirely different from the current proceedings, and I must say I am personally saddened by Mr. Richardson’s meanness of spirit.” Mr. Cibber sits, and all is quiet. St. Francis remains unmoving until bailiff Shakespeare gently prodds the good saint with his staff of office. “Mmh? Oh . . .” he rights himself, “Ahem . . . very well, thank you Mr. Cibber, your point is well taken.” Turning to Richardson, he continues, “If you are still determined on your course, you may now present your charges sir.”

“Thank you m’lord. M’lord, I shall show that the novel Joseph Andrews, along with its attendant characters, occasions, and environs, represent a travesty and an offense upon British letters as cannot possibly in good conscience be rewarded by being allowed to inhabit a terrestrial plane alongside those of Burney, Defoe, Austen, Dickens, and even my own humble creations. While it is tragic that a book must be judged on the merits, or lack thereof, of its creator, they are nevertheless the only grounds on which it can be judged. The faults are the author’s. The evidence is the book. Joseph Andrews, both as a book and a character, stand as witnesses and accusers of Mr. Fielding’s immorality . . .” “I do not!” Andrews cries. “. . . his loathing of women and authority, both terrestrial and spiritual, and his crimes against literature itself.”

“Mr. Fielding, have you any response or rebuttal to offer?” asks the saint. Fielding gently smiles and quietly says, “At this time, m’lord, I would like only to categorically deny all charges. I request to hold my own case until last, when I can respond to all of Mr. Richardson’s ridiculous charges summarily and categorically. I have, however, no objection to any of my friends or creations addressing any of the charges, singly or otherwise, on their own behalf, if it please m’lord.” “Very well,” says St Francis, clearly relieved that someone at least was capable of getting to the point. “Mr. Richardson, you may begin.”

Chapter Three

A bad beginning; the importance of knowing your sources; the problem of cherry-picking literary criticism – particularly in the presence of the critic; a comeuppance; a further note on verb tense; a disturbance and the hazard of writing poorly behaved characters

“M’lord, I call the reverend Isaac Watts!” This causes quite a stir amongst the assembly, for numerous reasons, not least among them that Reverend Watts is not known to have any opinion on non-religious literature, was a Non-Conformist, and had died only a few years after Joseph Andrews’ publication. Indeed, the good reverend himself seemed very confused about being called. “Reverend Watts,” begins the almost visibly gloating Richardson, “did you, do you, or will you not write, ‘Fielding cannot be considered as having made quite so direct a contribution as Richardson to the rise of the novel?[3]” The cleric blinks. “I don’t think so. At least I have no certain recollection of ever having written, writing, or planning to write such, or indeed of ever writing, having written, or planning to write a word about Mr. Fielding.” Richardson continues, somewhat nonplussed, “But don’t, won’t, or didn’t you, in your classic work on the genre, The Rise of the Novel, mention Mr. Defoe five-hundred-and-seven times, and myself a whopping five-hundred-and-sixty-two times, while only commenting on Fielding a mere three-hundred-and-fifty-three times, clearly illustrating the inferiority of his effect on what would be, is, or will be, the English Novel?” The tiny man of the cloth, clearly uncomfortable and blinking in a staccato fashion replies, “No, I feel quite strongly that I have never, don’t, and will never have anything to say about Mr. Fielding, Mr. Defoe, or yourself, and if I ever do, did, or will, I certainly won’t count them.” “M’lord,” cries Richardson, “permission to treat the witness as hostile!” “That seems excessive,” says the saint. “He seems perfectly cordial. I suggest that Mr. Richardson get on with it and rely less on legal training apparently gained by watching too much Law and Order on Aftervision.”

A thin, dapper gentleman rises from the gallery. “Excuse me? I might be able to help.” “How so?” asks the saint. “Well you see sir, I believe Mr. Richardson is referring to my book, The Rise of the Novel. My name is Ian Watt, which I believe may be the source of confusion.” A chorus of laughter, derisive noises, gestures, and remarks along the lines of “Well that explains a lot,” are aimed at Richardson from the gallery. The good saint fixes a gimlet eye on the prosecution. “Yes. That would explain much. I presume you have no further questions for the good Reverend?” Richardson, white as a sheet and clearly not used to thinking on his feet in front of such an august company, mops his brow. “Ah . . . erm . . . well, um . . . no, no, I don’t. I would however like to call Mr. Watt.” While it is undoubtedly true that no battle plan survives first contact with the enemy, Richardson’s blunder was such an excruciating example of a legal “own goal” as to shake the confidence of even a seasoned barrister and indeed the portly author-cum-neophyte-prosecutor is clearly taken aback by his own now-obvious error but, game to the end, attempts to square his rounded shoulders and soldiers on, addressing the correct witness. “Mr. Watt, did you, do you, or will you not write, ‘Fielding cannot be considered as having made quite so direct a contribution as Richardson to the rise of the novel?’” “I did, but . . .” “and was your mentioning of the authors’ names in the aforementioned proportion?” “I have no idea . . .”

Richardson is getting his second wind now. Beaming smugly, he presses his attack, “Would you believe that according to a digital analysis of your text in the 21st Century, using Voyant tools, established, establishes, or will establish those exact numbers? Those numbers and that statement are later borne out in your own words, and I quote, ‘since it was Pamela that supplied the initial impetus for the writing of Joseph Andrews, Fielding cannot be considered as having made quite so direct a contribution as Richardson to the rise of the novel, and he is therefore given somewhat less extensive treatment here,[4]’ a statement that clearly places Mr. Fielding and his book on a much less important footing? ” “I suppose so,” answers the Stanford Professor Emeritus of English, “but I don’t . . .” “Thank you,” interrupts Richardson, “and did you not also write, in comparison of the works of Mr. Fielding and myself that, ‘the disparity between the two novelists and their works may therefore stand as a representative example of a fundamental parting of the ways in the history of English civilisation, a parting in which it is the urban Richardson who reflects the way that was to triumph[5],’ an obvious statement of the superiority of my work?” “Well, I don’t . . .” “Did you write those words or not, Mr. Watt?” “Well, yes, but . . .” “And did you not further write that, ‘Fielding’s argument here for ‘referring’ his novel to the epic genre is unimpressive: Joseph Andrews, no doubt, has five out of the six parts under which Aristotle considered epic; but then it is surely impossible to conceive of any narrative whatever which does not in some way contain ‘fable, action, characters, sentiments, and diction,[6]clearly pointing out Fielding’s totally unwarranted self-aggrandizement?” “Well, yes, I did write that, but what I was trying to say . . .” “And did you or did you not also write that Mr. Fielding also departs from any claim to ‘realism’ by the totally unrealistic characterizations of his characters[7]?” “Oh tosh!” exclaims Thomas Gray, the acclaimed poet, from the gallery, “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, Fielding’s representations of people, however exalted or lowly they may be are very good and perfectly natural – especially those of Parson Adams and Mrs. Slipslop![8]” “Truer words were never spoke, my friend,” agrees Rev. George Gregory, “I don’t know that any writer, not even the mighty Bard of Avon, has ever equaled Fielding in specific characterizations![9]

“Again, yes,” says the obviously frustrated, and now slightly embarrassed academic, “but I was speaking there of two specific characters in Tom Jones . . .” The gallery erupts with “What’s new, Pussycat, whoa-oa-oa-oaoa!” to the surprise of Mr. Watt, the chagrin of Mr. Richardson, and the slightly embarrassed amusement of Mr. Fielding. Mr. Watt takes a moment to recover his train of thought, “. . . er, um, heh,heh, where was I . . . oh yes, not in Joseph Andrews, and to make a further point . . .” “Thank you sir, that will be all,” Says Richardson, suddenly anxious to get rid of this accidental surprise witness.

Mr. Watt, however, appeals to St Francis, “Sir, may I please attempt to clarify my position on this issue?” The good saint is clearly beginning to enjoy himself finally. In a jolly voice, he says, “I don’t see why not.” “But m’lord!” calls Richardson. “You opened this door,” cautions the saint, revealing not only a fondness for fair play, but for televisual courtroom dramas at least equal to that of Mr. Richardson.

“Sir, I would just like to say that most of that was written to illustrate merely that Mr. Fielding’s work was more reliant on classical forms of literature than that of Mr. Defoe or Mr. Richardson . . .” “Exactly! Thank you Mr. . . .” interrupts Richardson, clearly desperate to stop Watt. Mr. Watt presses on, “. . . however, I also went on at length to make clear that ultimately Mr. Fielding gave the genre something far more important than the mere narrative technique of Mr. Richardson . . .” “M’Lord, I object!” shouts Richardson, drenched in flopsweat, while the intrepid educator continues unabated, “. . . he brought a clear-eyed examination of the entire world, or at least the entirety of his world, including, thanks to his narratorial method, his own faults and foibles[10],” and with that, the learned man of letters took his seat, to the applause of not only the gallery, but the entire company of Joseph Andrews.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” said Parson Adams, “although, it wouldn’t have hurt to have read in a few of the classics in support.” “My but don’t that gentleman have a way with words?” added Mrs. Slipslop, “So articled, he is.” “Indeed, Slipslop, and a fine figure of a man, as well. I must have him for dinner – or perhaps breakfast?” mused Lady Booby to herself. Fortunately for his peace of mind, the learned Mr. Watt was seated in the gallery with the other academics, and too far away from Lady Booby to hear her tentative designs upon himself.

The attentive reader will no doubt have noticed that your humble narrator, somewhere in the passages above, abandoned use of the past/present/future verb tense when characters are speaking of actions taken on the temporal plane. I have done this, not only for expediency, but for my own sanity, as well as the readers’. For, just as a slice of cake, or a single biscuit, is sufficient to satisfy the curiosity of the taster as to the general texture, scent, and taste of the snack in question and leaves them wanting more, eating the cake entire, or the whole dish of biscuits quickly makes the taster sick, and the necessity of baking more makes the chef tired of the whole thing and wishing he’d never started. So it is with humour, however true-to-life (or Afterlife, as it were). What is initially amusing quickly sours and wears on both the reader and writer and may eventually spoil both’s appetite for the narrative itself. As the reader has noticed, at some point previously, I have begun simply using the past tense for all events taking place on the temporal plain. No doubt, the mere memory of the earlier tensorial gymnastics will serve as a reminder of how it is really done, perhaps lending a soupçon of mirth without overly complicating the reading. If the reader is wondering why, in the midst of the narrative, I have bothered with this explanatory tangent, it is because of an uproar in the gallery which completely derailed these somber proceedings; an event which is only just now drawing to a close. It seems that Captain Mirvan’s and Sir Clement Willoughby’s attention was drawn to Madame Duval when that lady made their presence known by saying rather too loudly to Monsieur Du Bois, “What the devil are they going on about? I don’t see what all the fuss is about, bunch of poncey Englishmen prattling on about nothing. Ma foi, you’d never see this sort of thing in a proper French Afterlife, I don’t mind saying.” Captain Mirvan, encouraged on by Sir Clement, and after his own inimitable fashion, responded volubly and with unnecessary violence, calling down damnation on all French writing and writers, arousing the martial ardour of Messrs. Hugo, Balzac, Voltaire, Flaubert, Dumas, Moliere, and others. This in turn roused a number of English authors, not so much in defense of the captain, as in simple British disapprobation of all things French. Peace was finally restored when Mssrs. Sartre, Gandhi, Russell, Sakharov, Leroux, Roberts interposed themselves between the factions and bailiff Shakespeare crowned some of the more belligerent skulls on both sides with his staff. An embarrassed Ms. Burney/Madame d’Arblay, clearly out of patience with both the captain, and Mme. Duval, plucked Mme. Duval’s head-dress from her head and while that lady was panicking over her appearance and bemoaning the destruction of her curls, the valiant authoress belabored the captain with her parasol, demanding “Behave yourself!” to the general delight of everyone, but the particular delight of Sir Clement, who received a few licks of his own and, somewhat surprisingly, Mrs. Mirvan who has clearly been spending quite a bit of the abundance (or absence) of time in the Afterlife rethinking some of her life choices – as if she had actually had any choice, her marital status having been imposed on her by her creator; which brings up an interesting point on the subject of free will which, fortunately for the reader, I will now pass over in favor of continuing the relevant narrative.

Chapter Four

The proceedings proceed, after a fashion

Mr. Richardson clears his throat. “M’lord, I now wish to move on to a second, and possibly even more grievous fault of Mr. Fielding’s, made clear in his book, Joseph Andrews; to whit, his misogyny – his clear loathing of the female of the species . . .” “Yes, we all know what ‘misogyny’ means,” declares the eyerolling saint. “. . . his reduction of the female to their grossest physical attributes, his . . . his, um . . .” he shuffles papers furiously, searching for something, “. . . he . . .” finally, he drops his papers, “well, he clearly harbours a deep-seeded hatred for women; most of his female characters are loathsome, none are any better than they should be, and the few females in his book with any claim to virtue, however spurious, are subject to the vilest of assaults, brought on by their own deep-seeded wantonness . . .” “’Seated’,” interrupts Shakespeare. “. . . excuse me?” asks Richardson. “The term should be ‘deep-seated’ not ‘deep-seeded’,” explains the Bard, “I just thought a man of letters like yourself would want to be correct in his language.” This naturally brings on another wave of giggles and titters, and brings a rush of blood to Richardson’s face, for what esteemed writer of the English language would want to be corrected in public, and especially a public filled with a mixture of the leading lights of English literature and the literary equivalent of 20th Century football hooligans and yobbos, like Capt. Mirvan, whom, having recovered from his creator’s chastisement, issues both a raspberry and a two-fingered obscene salute toward Richardson. Mr. Dicken’s Sam Weller chimes in with a “’Tis true enough, a gen’l’m’n orter be familiar vith ‘is tools, as the butcher said arter cuttin’ off his thumb.”

“As I was saying,” Richardson continues, with a face red as an apple, “Fielding clearly is prejudiced against women and, as feminist literary criticism of the 20th and 21st century has shown us all, that is a . . . well, it’s a really, really bad thing. A case in point is his obsession with the female breast. Everything a reader needs to know about one of Fielding’s females can be ascertained by the description of their breasts, as the scholar Nina Prytula makes clear – by the by, Madame Prytula isn’t here, is she?[11]” Richardson is clearly relieved when there is no response, having apparently learned his lesson with Mr. Watt, and happy that, for the time being at least, he will not have to further alter his strategy. He continues, “For example, Fielding points out the bovinity of Mrs. Slipslop when he writes, “nor did she resemble a cow so much in her Breath, as in two brown Globes which she carried before her[12],” “He wrote WHAT?!” came an ear-piercing shriek from the lady in question, who had apparently never gotten around to actually reading the book. “Furthermore,” Richardson continues, “his females are all either grossly iniquitous and barbarously mannish, as in the cases of Lady Booby and Mrs. Slipslop, both of whom attempt to seduce Mr. Andrews – Lady Booby, not once but twice! – in the space of a mere twelve pages[13]!” “And who could blame us?” says Lady Booby breathily, “Just look at him!” “And not only were these two harpies . . .” “I object!” cries Lady Booby. “. . . behaving most scandalously, they are taking on a traditionally recognized masculine role by being the sexual aggressor!” “Well, he certainly wasn’t ever going to get ‘round to it, was he?” purrs Lady Booby coyly. “As Madame Prytula points out,” continues Richardson, “these actions are definitively Amazonian, in that “Amazons are figures of social and sexual inversion—women who render themselves unwomanly by defying the conventions of patriarchy,[14]” and what, may I ask you is the point of spending hundreds, if not thousands of years building up a perfectly good patriarchy if we are to allow a man, one of our own, to create women who openly defy it? This sexual inversion is increased when, instead of responding as any red-blooded man would, Mr. Andrews rather pleads his Virtue, showing himself to be inadequate and feminine both as a man and a servant! Even the supposedly female paragon of Virtue, Fanny, proves to be just as guilty of sexual inversion as the rest for, regardless of the fact that while she does find herself in the traditional role of rape victim saved from a fate worse than death by a man, namely Parson Adams, she would never have been in that situation if it weren’t for Fielding’s insistence on unnatural female characters! For if Fanny had behaved in a manner consistent with traditional literary femininity, she would have been safe at home. Instead, upon hearing of her beloved’s misfortunes, she abandons any claim to femininity when she strikes out on a quest – decidedly a man’s role – to save Mr. Andrews! We must face facts – she, or rather Fielding on her behalf, asked for it!”

“Mr. Richardson please,” protests Saint Francis, “surely you go too far sir!” “I – I go too far?” retorts Richardson, “’Tis Fielding’s gone too far! While I will admit that my own dear Pamela had to put up with an attempted rape or three, they were all in complete accordance with her role as a virtuous servant and young lady, not one of Fielding’s Amazonian buccaneers! Do not mistake me however, for I do not blame the characters themselves; they were simply written that way. All the blame lies with their creator. However, what might the damage be if these unnatural and malformed virtue-less viragos were turned loose in a real world, especially one filled with proper Ladies, gentlewomen, serving wenches, and even prostitutes, yes, prostitutes!, all fulfilling societal expectations, and behaving in the prescribed feminine fashion for females in their respective places. It would be catastrophic! Imagine if the delightful and innocent Evelina should follow their example and decide not to be ruled by traditional mores!” “Sir Clement certainly would’ve gotten a dainty knee in the wedding tackle at the very least, I imagine,” calls Mr. Bennett, while Mrs. Bennett blushes and hides her head in shame and Elizabeth nods in agreement. “Or what if,” Richardson continues, “Defoe’s Roxana were to suddenly stop worrying about the morality of her actions? Why, she might even decide to keep her children!” “Might work out better for them,” says Miss Amy, “certainly couldn’t work out any worse for them, and t’would save me and my mistress no end of trouble and grief.” “And what of the men in that world, m’lord, if robbed of the opportunity to repent their evil ways when finally inspired by the flawless virtue of a lady?” “Damme,” mutters Capt. Mirvan, “don’t he half go on?” before subsiding once more before a glare from Miss Burney. “M’Lord,” Richardson rants on, “only consider Fielding’s own version of an afterlife. It is one in which only the lowly, the criminal, and the undeserving are admitted to heaven, or Elysium as he styles it, and only those guilty of the most heinous crimes receive damnation in the pit. All others are simply returned to earth to ‘try again’, including clergy, statesmen, soldiers, virgins, and virtually all with any clear claim to morality[15]. Imagine creatures created by a man so bereft of morality, of religion that he could elucidate such an heretical view of heaven itself, turned out upon an unsuspecting world!”

An attractive woman dressed after the 20th Century fashion rises from that section of the gallery where the academics have been sitting, listening, and of course, arguing amongst themselves. “Excuse me, but may I say something?” “No!” snaps Richardson shrilly, “No you may not!” but he is overruled by both Saint Francis and Shakespeare, who, paraphrasing himself, declares, “The gentleman doth protest too much, methinks.[16]” “Pray continue, good lady,” says the saint, “but first, may we know your name?” “I am Regina M. Janes, former Professor of English at the University of California, Berkely. I’m sorry to dispute an author of Mr. Richardson’s eminence, but I believe he is at the very least mistaken regarding Mr. Fielding’s views on the Afterlife at the very least, if not also on his views on morality.” “How so?” “Well sir, I believe I proved conclusively in my paper, “Henry Fielding Reinvents the Afterlife”, that Mr. Fielding actually continues the tradition of Non-Conformist writers Isaac Watts and Elizabeth Singer Rowe[17], and that many of Mr. Fielding’s views on religion, and especially the Afterlife came, within an hundred years or so of his death, to be widely accepted[18], and that none of his views, or at least very few, even approached heresy. In my own words, ‘he hybridizes classic conceptions and Christian anticipations. Christian orthodoxy is not violated—the context is classical—but its sense of possibility is stretched.[19] In short sir, many of the ideas that Fielding elucidates in “A Journey to the Next World”, especially the reunion with previously departed family members, particularly children became, if not part of Christian Orthodoxy, then at least Christian tradition,[20]” after which she takes her seat to the applause of the assembly.

‘M’Lord,” says Richardson, “I would now like . . .”

“Mr. Richardson,” interrupts the long-suffering saint, “I believe you have made your point, at least as well as it’s ever going to be made – Mr. Fielding and his creation are immoral, irreverent, irresponsible, and a hazard to all right-thinking literature – is that not correct?” “Well, yes, m’lord, however . . .” “Does the prosecution intend to bring forth any new information? Anything that might smack of actual fact, and not simply misused statements and opinions clearly used in support of a personal animosity toward Mr. Fielding?” “If m’lord will grant me but a moment,” says the flustered Richardson, again pawing furiously through his papers, “I believe . . .” “Enough, Mr. Richardson,” the saint says gently, “your attempts to prove your various points have done rather more damage to your argument than good, and engendered, I imagine, a fair amount of ill will toward yourself.” “Indeed,” declaims Mr. Coleridge, “I’ve always felt Richardson as full of hot air as a blacksmith’s bellows, and he’s certainly proved it today! Let’s hear from Fielding, it’ll be like a breath of fresh air![21]

“Gentlemen, please,” says the saint, “all things in their time. Mr. Richardson, may I presume from your having collapsed into your chair that you are now at rest?” Richardson, a moistened kerchief over his face waves an enfeebled hand. “Very well, does anyone else wish to join Mr. Richardson’s position?”

I would like to say something,” announces Mr. Johnson in a sonorous, authoritative voice. “Very well, you may proceed Mr. Johnson.” “I wish only to say in support of my vaunted colleague Mr. Richardson, that Mr. Fielding was, is, and will always be an immoral, intemperate, dissolute Blockhead, who would have been of more service to mankind had he been employed in a stable, rather than inflicting his half-witted musings on a gullible, credible public. Indeed, I knew enough of the man to not need to bother reading Joseph Andrews![22]” The great man scans the room to see if anyone will be impertinent enough to dispute him. When there is not, he sits, with a look of supreme self-satisfaction.

Chapter Five

One last surprise witnesses; Fielding’s defense; At last, a verdict

When no one else rises to speak against Mr. Fielding, Saint Francis opens the floor to “any who would speak on behalf of Mr. Fielding or Joseph Andrews?” An uncomfortable hush falls over the assemblage, as it is one thing to crack wise in the midst of a Richardsonian raving, but quite another to openly disagree with the immortal and revered Dr. Johnson.

Finally, Miss Austen rises to her feet. “Much has been said here today about Mr. Fielding’s faults, as exhibited by both himself and his characters. For myself, I prefer not to think of his faults, whatever they may be – for who among us would favourably endure such examination? I would rather keep my focus on what, in this particularity is important; that is his, and indeed Mr. Richardson’s contributions to English letters. Both had a profound effect upon my own humble talent, for I absorbed much from each, and that absorption found itself wrung out onto the pages of my own writing. I must own that I am appalled at the public disrespect undeservedly poured out upon one of my literary heroes[23], the good Mr. Richardson (at which Mr. Richardson revives somewhat, while the assembly shifts uncomfortably, for who would not at finding themselves unexpectedly either praised or excoriated by possibly the most-loved lady in all of literature?), while admitting my own embarrassment on his behalf regarding his unwarranted and unbecoming attack on Mr. Fielding (at which the revival and discomfort switch places), also one of my heroes whose style inspired my own, despite what some critics may say[24].”

“After all,” she continues as sweetly as if she hadn’t just essentially torn strips off everyone present, though to no less effect, “one only has to look at the opening paragraphs of my own Pride and Prejudice to see Mr. Fielding’s influence. My own admittedly less “noisy” narrator also makes very unmistakably open appearances on pages 231 and 364[25].” “Hear, hear,” calls Mr. Collins, which prompts Miss Austen’s lip to curl slightly. “My own satirical style borrows much from his example, and I daresay that not only my own works, but those of countless other brilliant humorists and satirists would be much less dazzling had we not had the sterling example of social satire set for us by him.”

After Miss Austen takes her seat, the room is quiet, for none are foolish enough to follow both Dr. Johnson and Miss Austen, no matter how much all writers and scholars love to argue about books.

Saint Francis clears his throat. “I feel it is time to hear from Mr. Fielding himself. If you please, sir?”

Mr. Fielding rises to his feet and takes in the whole assembly with a wide grin, “Thank you m’lord. I would first like to thank all those who have spoken on behalf of myself and my children – for what are an author’s characters but his children? Your kind words have been most gratifying. I also say that while I agree – at least in part – with virtually everything Mr. Richardson has said, particularly in regard to myself, for I am an imperfect man, and an imperfect creator. However, I feel it all to be essentially irrelevant in these circumstances. I also cheerfully own my indebtedness to that worthy gentleman, for it is obvious that my first two prose works were entirely dependent upon his own work. However, I will say in my own defense, and on behalf of my children, that while Mr. Richardson’s Pamela provided the impetus for my writing, I was not writing about his Pamela. I merely took his creation as a starting point to make my own observations regarding our society. I was not mocking Pamela’s virtue, but the use Mr. Richardson – and by extenuation, society – makes of it. It has long been my observation that in most, if not all, societies, the idea that virtue is its own reward receives much lip service, but no more. That hypocrisy, which invariably manifests itself by harnessing virtue to the wagon of self-gratification, is really my target in my novels, including Jonathan Wild and Tom Jones.” “What’s new, Pussycat, whoa-oa-oa-oaoa!” “Furthermore, I maintain that the main difference between Mr. Richardson’s Pamela and my own Shamela and Joseph Andrews is not characterization, but intent – as the illustrious scholar David W. Toise so aptly notes in his “A More Culpable Passion”: Pamela, Joseph Andrews, and the History of Desire,[26]” – Mr. Richardson tells his readers what to think, while I trust the reader to think for themselves, and that they will come to a proper conclusion, and that, I think is the point of all this literature; not to tell people what to think, but to make them think. It is my belief and sincerest hope that I and my children have done so, at least in some small part. I also hope that they have found no small entertainment in my children’s antics, for the world can always use a good laugh, if nothing else. Thank you.” Fielding bows and sits.

At last, Saint Francis, satisfied that everyone with anything to say on the matter had been heard, says, “My Lords and Ladies, Gentle Men and Women, and all others, it is the considered opinion of this court that the charges, however sincerely felt, are unworthy of serious consideration. They are dismissed with prejudice, and the characters, creatures, and environs of the novel The History of the Adventures of Joseph Andrews and of his Friend Mr. Abraham Adams are to be admitted to the appropriate temporal plane as soon as it can be arranged. All reasonable effort shall be made to effect an adequate separation between the creations of Mssrs. Richardson and Fielding to avoid confusion, but since that is the problem, and much of the delight, with reality – that the unexpected so often happens – no extreme measures will be taken, and if it happens, then they can just lump it, like all of us had to do. Now . . . I was told there would be cake . . .” There was, indeed, cake.


[1] Douglas Adams, “Restaurant at the End of the Universe,in The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, (New York: Ballantine, 2002).

[2] William Shakespeare, The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Act 3, Scene 1, 86. http://shakespeare.mit.edu/hamlet/full.html

[3] Ian Watt, The Rise of the Novel: Studies in Defoe, Richardson, and Fielding. 238. http://www.ricorso.net/tx/Courses/LEM2014/Critics/Watt_Ian/Rise_Novel.pdf

[4] Ian Watt, 238.

[5] Ian Watt, 183.

[6] Ian Watt, 248.

[7] Ian Watt, 263.

[8] Thomas Gray. “Henry Fielding,” English Poetry 1579-1830: Spenser and the Tradition. http://spenserians.cath.vt.edu/CommentRecord.php?action=GET&cmmtid=6028

[9] George Gregory. “Henry Fielding,” English Poetry 1579-1830: Spenser and the Tradition. http://spenserians.cath.vt.edu/CommentRecord.php?action=GET&cmmtid=7996 

[10] Ian Watt, 287.

[11]Nina Prytula, “’Great Breasted and Fierce’: Fielding’s Amazonian Heroines.” Eighteenth-Century Studies, Volume 35, Number 2, Winter 2002, pp. 173-193. doi:10.1353/ecs.2002.0015. Apparently, Richardson is inaccurately alluding to the concluding paragraphs of Nina Prytula’s paper

[12] Henry Fielding, Joseph Andrews and Shamela. (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 27.

[13] Henry Fielding, Joseph Andrews and Shamela. 24-36.

[14] Nina Prytula, 175.

[15] Fielding, Henry. “A Journey from this World to the Next.” Chap.VII. Delphi Complete Works of Henry Fielding. Delphi Classics, Series 3, 2013. Nook.

[16] Shakespeare, William. The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark., Act III, Scene II, 219. http://shakespeare.mit.edu/hamlet/full.html

[17] Regina M. Jane. “Henry Fielding Reinvents the Afterlife.” Eighteenth-Century Fiction, Volume 23, Number 3, Spring 2011, pp. 497. doi:10.1353/ecf.2011.0001.

[18] Jane, 496

[19] Jane, 497.

[20] Jane, 499..

[21] Samuel Taylor Coleridge,  Specimens of the Table Talk of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 5 July 1834. Project Gutenberg. Kindle edition. 1 July 2005. http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8489. Coleridge something similar in 1834.

[22] Samuel Johnson, “Henry Fielding,” in English Poetry 1579-1830: Spenser and the Tradition. http://spenserians.cath.vt.edu/CommentRecord.php?action=GET&cmmtid=2248. Johnson says much the same here.

[23] Lynn Shepherd, interview by Laurel Ann, “Jane Austen and the ‘father of the novel’ – Samuel Richardson.” Austenprose – A Jane Austen Blog. 10 August 2010. https://austenprose.com/2010/08/10/jane-austen-and-the-father-of-the-novel-samuel-richardson/

[24] D. A. Miller’s Jane Austen, or The Secret of Style, pp. 408-9, qtd. in Jill Campbell’s “Fielding’s Style.” ELH, Volume 72, Number 2, Summer 2005. Mr. Miller refers to the “noisy narrators” of Fielding and Thackeray. It is probable that this is what Miss Austen is referring to.  

[25] Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice. (New York: Penguin Classics, 2014).

[26] David W. Toise, “A More Culpable Passion”: Pamela, Joseph Andrews, and the History of Desire.” Clio. Summer 96, Vol. 25 Issue 4, p 410. https://web-b-ebscohost-com.proxy.lib.miamioh.edu/ehost/pdfviewer/pdfviewer?vid=3&sid=8e7b8b58-07a3-4624-9f37-fa62ec8169fb%40pdc-v-sessmgr02

Bibliography

Adams, Douglas. “Restaurant at the End of the Universe.in The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, (New York: Ballantine, 2002).

Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice. New York: Penguin Classics, 2014.

Coleridge, Samuel Taylor. Specimens of the Table Talk of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 5 July 1834. Project Gutenberg. Kindle edition. 1 July 2005. http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8489

Fielding, Henry. “A Journey from this World to the Next.” Chap.VII. Delphi Complete Works of Henry Fielding. Delphi Classics, Series 3, 2013. Nook.

Fielding, Henry. Joseph Andrews and Shamela. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Gray, Thomas. “Henry Fielding,” English Poetry 1579-1830: Spenser and the Tradition. http://spenserians.cath.vt.edu/CommentRecord.php?action=GET&cmmtid=6028

Gregory, George. “Henry Fielding,” English Poetry 1579-1830: Spenser and the Tradition. http://spenserians.cath.vt.edu/CommentRecord.php?action=GET&cmmtid=7996 

Jane, Regina M. “Henry Fielding Reinvents the Afterlife.” Eighteenth-Century Fiction, Volume 23, Number 3, Spring 2011, pp. 497. doi:10.1353/ecf.2011.0001.

Johnson, Samuel. “Henry Fielding,” English Poetry 1579-1830: Spenser and the Tradition. http://spenserians.cath.vt.edu/CommentRecord.php?action=GET&cmmtid=2248

Miller, D. A. Jane Austen, or The Secret of Style, pp. 408-9, qtd in Jill Campbell’s “Fielding’s Style.” ELH, Volume 72, Number 2, Summer 2005, https://miamioh.instructure.com/courses/126579/files/folder/readings?preview=16580331

Prytula, Nina, “’Great Breasted and Fierce’: Fielding’s Amazonian Heroines.” Eighteenth-Century Studies, Volume 35, Number 2, Winter 2002, pp. 173-193. doi:10.1353/ecs.2002.0015.

Shakespeare, William, The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Act III, Scene I, 86, and Act III, Scene II. http://shakespeare.mit.edu/hamlet/full.html

Shepherd, Lynn, “Jane Austen and the ‘father of the novel’ – Samuel Richardson.” By Laurel Ann. Austenprose – A Jane Austen Blog. 10 August 2010. https://austenprose.com/2010/08/10/jane-austen-and-the-father-of-the-novel-samuel-richardson/

Toise, David W. “A More Culpable Passion”: Pamela, Joseph Andrews, and the History of Desire.” Clio. Summer 96, Vol. 25 Issue 4, p 410. https://web-b-ebscohost-com.proxy.lib.miamioh.edu/ehost/pdfviewer/pdfviewer?vid=3&sid=8e7b8b58-07a3-4624-9f37-fa62ec8169fb%40pdc-v-sessmgr02

Watt, Ian, The Rise of the Novel: Studies in Defoe, Richardson, and Fielding. 238. http://www.ricorso.net/tx/Courses/LEM2014/Critics/Watt_Ian/Rise_Novel.pdf

Another Post YOU Shouldn’t Read: Independence Day Edition

Well, another July 4th has come and gone. I’m sorry to say that in the last few years I’ve looked forward to it less each year. It’s not that I don’t love my country – I do. I just think that we should be doing better. At this point, I’m gonna go out on a limb and reiterate that most of you should just stop reading now. If you don’t, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Part of my antipathy regarding the 4th comes from being the owner of a dog who is terrified by fireworks. If it was only the 4th, I could deal with it, but for the last several years, it seems like the 4th runs from mid-June to about the 10th of July. Ralph is an old dog, and we have to keep him more stoned than Cheech and Chong for about 3 weeks, Ralph doesn’t really enjoy getting out of his head – if dogs were political, Ralph would be a staunch conservative.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a good fireworks display, but this yearly explodafest is just ridiculous. I mean, what’s the point? Does your willingness to blow shit up for an extended period of time somehow make you more patriotic than me? Or is it just another instance of our national conviction that more is always better (an attitude I also struggle with, particularly in regard to books and food)?

It seems to me that all this patriotism has gotten out of hand – or rather that actual patriotism is something we pay lip service to rather than actually living it. We’re big on displaying the flag. I had an old military friend who lives in Seattle tell me how he really liked how here in Indiana there are so many homes and businesses with American flags flying – apparently there’s not a lot of that where he lives.

In fact, there’s a nice big American flag, complete with solar-powered light so the flag can be seen even at night, at the end of my driveway -my driveway is on an easement, and the landowner is an old Marine. The thing is, I just don’t get it. I’ve lived overseas, and traveled quite a bit, and I don’t remember seeing anything like this flag obsession anywhere else. Everyone else in the world seems to know where they live without having to be constantly reminded, and I don’t believe that the British, Germans, Italians, Norwegians, Nigerians, Egyptians, South Africans, Mexicans, Canadians, etc. love their countries any less than we do ours. Here, it’s everywhere. On our houses, our cars, our car dealerships, our clothes, our tattoos – and I’m making allowance for military people’s tattoos. That’s a tradition I have no problem with.

I will admit that there are some instances where the flag thing might come in handy. Take, for example, the “Red Dawn” scenario that so many of us seem to be so looking forward to. It would be reassuring to the invaders to have such a glaring confirmation that they’ve invaded the right country. Conversely, if they were planning to invade Canada or Mexico, they’d be far more likely to realize their mistake before too much damage was done. They could just pack their gear back up, mumble “Excuse us, we must have taken a wrong turn,” and proceed peacefully to their intended target.

On the other hand, it seems like it could also work against us. Take all these immigrant “invasions”. It seems possible that, without all the visible confirmation that they have indeed reached the “Land of the Free, Home of the Brave”, they might just keep on going and accidentally “invade” Canada – since the U.S. is apparently so inconsequential that we have to constantly remind ourselves where we are. Just a thought.

Something else that troubles me is that so many of us can’t even manage to be consistent in our blatant patriomania. It’s not at all unusual to see people proudly displaying the American flag right alongside the flag of the greatest threat to our nation we’ve ever seen (for those of you who haven’t been keeping score, it’s the battle flag of the Confederacy). That one blows my mind, especially here in Indiana, given our state’s proud contributions to preserving the Union (of course, Indiana was also pretty much ground zero for the resurgence of the Ku Klux Klan back in the early 20th Century – that may be where the confusion comes in). Still, it seems odd that even people stupid enough to revere both flags can’t see the incongruity of it.

On a side note, in case there are any of those semi-neo-Confederates still reading who are bringing up the “heritage” argument, and insisting that destroying statues is tantamount to destroying our history, I would ask them why is your “heritage” more important than the heritage of those whose ancestors suffered so horribly under yours? Why should they “get over it” when you refuse to?

Anyway, back to the flag thing: Another thing that really bothers me is how the flag assumes prominence in places where, to me, it shouldn’t – like in church. It is my feeling that if you’re a Christian, that should take precedence over everything else, ie., love and worship of God takes precedence over love and worship of country. If that is true, then why is the American flag given the place of honor? Here’s a link to the VA’s guidance on flag display. Here are the rules, according to the American Flagpole and Flag Company, which are quite a bit more detailed: see Rule 6. It explicitly states, “When displayed from a staff in a church or public auditorium, the flag of the United States of America should hold the position of superior prominence . . .” So much for “have no other Gods before me”.

Frankly, it also creeps me out when we sing hymns that seem to focus more on worship of country than God as well. I don’t expect it to stop, especially in my little country church, which is home to an exceptionally large proportion of veterans (including my wife and I). In fact, I’m probably losing a lot of cool points with any fellow congregants who might’ve ignored my warnings and continued to read this. To them, I would just say that I’m not saying we can’t be both Christians and patriots – just that one needs to take precedence over the other.

I think what troubles me most about the whole flag thing is that it’s just too easy. Nothing important is ever easy. It seems to me that if all we have to do is put up a flag, or slap a sticker on our car, stick a flag pin on our lapels, or buy a t-shirt to show how patriotic we are, then that patriotism is useless, worthless. That sort of patriotism is all about us, not our country. It seems that if we’re actual patriots, then we ought to be actively working to make our nation better, and that’s hard work.

Finally, I just want to say that I don’t think there’s anything particularly wrong with displaying the flag, especially if it’s done properly, but if that’s all you’re doing to make this country better, then why are you even bothering? Just something to think about.

Another Post You Shouldn’t Read: Unless You Already Don’t Like Me.

Where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe – Frederick Douglass

I’ve been struggling with whether to write something about the murder of George Floyd (and by extension, all the others like him), the protests, and the riots. Like many of you, I’m outraged by what is going on in our streets.

I don’t like rioting and looting, but I like defenseless people being killed by those who are sworn “to serve and protect” even less. As far as I’m concerned, if you don’t think that systemic racism is an integral part of our judicial, economic, and political systems, then you don’t know our history and are not paying attention.

I feel like to not speak out against those things is to be part of the problem, and I don’t want to be part of the problem. On the other hand, pretty much everything I have to say has been said much more eloquently and capably by smarter people and better writers than I am.

I kind of feel like what the country doesn’t need right now is another 50-something, white, middle-class, Christian male chiming in with his special take on racism (it’s evil and pervasive in this country – sorry, couldn’t help myself).

So, I’m going with my “special take” on something that’s contributing to the problem that hasn’t been covered quite so completely – Christians.

Yup, Christians. We’re a big part of the problem, going back to the days of slavery when far too many of us were cherry-picking the bible to prove to ourselves that owning people was not only right, but OUR right, and what’s more, was good for those we owned. We used it to justify our evil actions to ourselves, and used it to make sure that those we owned stayed docile and manageable. Note that this also includes justifying our ongoing genocide against Native Americans.

Far too many of us are basically still doing the same thing.

I was heartened by the number of Christians who were disgusted and outraged by the murder of George Floyd. I felt like we were getting somewhere maybe. Then the riots started, and suddenly too many of those same people were saying, “What happened to George Floyd was wrong, but all this destruction of property is REALLY wrong,” and then went on to talk about how those people should be protesting the “right” way.

“Those people” have been protesting peacefully for years, decades even, and many of us Christians were outraged and ferociously outspoken about it, especially when we felt those protests disrespected our flag or our country.

We Christians are big on the bible, and we love it when we can slap a verse on something that’s going on today and sit back in our smug self-righteousness, point at “them” and say “See? God warned us about this, and now they’re gonna get it!”

Of course, it always seems to center around the idea that we’re supposed to be a Christian nation and, because of our misguided tolerance, us good Christians have allowed evil foreigners, unions, atheists, and liberals to hijack the country. It all adds up to manufactured outrage about things that just aren’t so. Things like “they” took God out of school – but what about the idea that God is with us wherever we are? Or, and this is another personal favorite, “they” have taken God out of our government – seriously? Take a look back at our history and tell me when God has ever been even remotely considered by our government when making decisions. That’s not to say he’s never been invoked. He has. All the time. Almost always in the most hypocritical, self-serving, manipulative way possible.

Like I said, we seem to think those verses only apply to “them”, but think about this. Up to, and including now, Christianity has been far and away the predominant religion in this country. All this systemic racism has flourished with Christians at the helm. Now, it seems to me that we are reaping what we have sown. We are watching our country tear itself apart while denying our complicity in our nation’s most fundamental sin – racism.

Because we are all complicit. We are all guilty. I’ve never thought of myself as a racist, but I look back now and see that I have repeatedly said things that were unquestionably, indisputably racist (and they weren’t all in the distant past), without even realizing what I was doing. That’s how ingrained our nation racism is. I’ve realized that I’ve been a racist all my life, without even knowing it, and I’m ashamed of myself.

Anyway, as often happens, my mind has gone off on so many tangents while writing this, that I’ve decided to break it up into multiple posts. I’ll try to title each one so that you’ll know from the title whether you should read it or not.

I’m going to close for now with this: Christ never seemed to value property over life. Why do we? It seems like focusing on the riots is like focusing on coughing up blood without bothering to cut out the cancer that is actually killing us.

Me and Covid-19: Stuff You Probably Shouldn’t Read.

I got a message on the Facebook the other day mentioning how I’d been “mysteriously quiet” on the subject of the recent pandemic. I’ve chosen to take that as an invitation to speak (or write), rather than a suggestion that perhaps I should be quiet on more things (Kim Waggoner, you have only yourself to blame – Everybody else, blame Kim!).

I’ve thought about writing something on this mess for a while now, but I’ve been alternating between rage, sadness, and a sort of locked-down ennui. There’s really no reason to go into the rage – if you know me at all you know what and whom I’m angry with, and why. If you have to wonder, you really don’t know me, and wouldn’t understand if I tried to explain it.

The ennui is pretty standard-issue right now. It seems like most of the country is in the same locked-down boat as I am. Sitting at home, killing our brains with Netflix. I do have one advantage that most don’t have – I’m locked down with the lovely and talented Jess. Sadly for her, that means she’s trapped with me.

The sadness is maybe a little less understandable, at least to those who know me – if you know me at all, you know that rage is really the only emotion I’m truly comfortable with.

I’m sad because we’ve got this thing going on, and I feel pretty confident that, when this is eventually over, we’re going to forget the things that we should be learning, and retain all the things we shouldn’t be. Our current love affair with the “heroic” teachers, fast-food workers, truckers, grocery store employees, and medical professionals will pretty quickly fade, once we are back to work.

Instead of insisting on a living wage for low-level workers, smaller classrooms and more teachers, better pay, benefits, and conditions for teachers, ensuring medical coverage for all, improving the lot of those medical professionals, including the lower-level carers like orderlies, CNAs, home healthcare workers, etc., and making other substantive changes to our country, we’ll soon be back to bitching about the service, saying “They want a living wage for this? Monkeys could do this job better!”, and wondering why they aren’t more motivated, all while whining about the treatment that “we” deserve.

They’ll be forgotten, just like the contributions of all the Rosie the Riveters were after WWII. Sure, we’ll pay lip service to it once in a while, and the politicians on both sides will outdo each other swearing allegiance to them, but once that big ol’ economy machine starts back up, we’re going to go right back to making sure we get ours, and feeling like anyone in a position “below” ours is trying to steal what’s ours.

One idea that I’d heard about even before all this happened, is that internet access should be considered a public utility. If nothing else, this pandemic should be causing some serious discussion about this. It has certainly demonstrated the necessity of the internet for education, for work, for communication, for dissemination of necessary public information.

Still, I haven’t seen much of anything about this lately, at least not from anyone who can do something about it.

Anyway, as a result of thinking about this stuff, I’ve been taking the social distancing thing a little too seriously, maybe. I’m not calling anyone, I’m not even answering emails.

It’s not that I have nothing to say, but more a matter of I don’t feel like shouting into a hurricane. Few will hear it, even less will understand it. There’s just too much noise, too little substance, and way too much spin.

There’s lots of things that I’d like to talk about, I’m just having a hard time seeing the point right now. Don’t worry though, by tomorrow, I’ll probably be hopefull enough to go back to my normal, angry, confrontational, and, mouthy.

Stop the Bullshit!: We’re ALL Part of the Problem – Part 1 – Stupid Generalizations

Disclaimer: One of my favorite writers, Joe R. Lansdale has said that to be a good writer, you have to write as if everyone you know is dead. That’s what I’m doing in this piece. I’m not calling anyone out, but I’m not going to tip-toe around either. If you’re offended, that’s fine, just be offended (maybe take a minute to think about why you’re offended). None of this is intended as a personal attack on anyone, but on certain types of behavior that we’re all frequently guilty of. You’ve been warned.

Disclaimer 2: The following contains some bad language. I make no excuses and offer no apologies. If that sort of thing offends you to the point where it takes precedence over what’s being said, then do yourself a favor and stop reading now.

Stupid Generalizations

Yesterday, I started writing a post about how words, and how we string them together have meaning. I’ve abandoned that post, since I’ve come to the conclusion that most people just don’t care, at least not in America.

That last sentence brings me to my first point: when I first wrote it, it said “. . . no one cares . . .”, which is a gross, and inaccurate generalization. Lots of people in America actually do care. The actual issue, the reason I’ve abandoned that post is that it’s pointless. The people who do care would hopefully read it and agree, but those it was aimed at wouldn’t even bother reading it. I’d just be preaching to the choir, and there’s enough of that kind of bullshit going on in this country right now (which is another point I’ll get to later).

But aren’t we all guilty of making those same kind of gross and inaccurate generalizations, even when we know them to be completely untrue. Every day I see videos, and read “news” articles and social media posts, and hear conversations doing this same thing. Keep in mind that I’m not talking about politicians, or the professional talking heads on the news networks, or internet “influencers” (whatever/whoever they are. I just found out that’s actually a thing), nor the websites of extremist propagandists of every stripe. For the most part, I believer those people are at best, extremely biased, and anything they say should be fact-checked, and at worst – well, I would say they’re whores, but as my dad would have said, that would be denigrating whores.

Nope, I’m talking about normal (whatever that is) people. For argument’s sake, lets say people like you and me (except for YOU of course – you know who you are*). People whom I know to be decent, reasonable, intelligent, caring, and basically good human beings. We’re talking liberals, conservatives, Christians, agnostics, atheists, and undeclared, gay, straight, trans, etc., about as broad slice of the human spectrum as you’re likely to get in rural Indiana.

People who, for all their sterling qualities frequently use the phrase “all conservatives”, “all liberals”, “all Republicans”, “all Democrats”, “all Christians”, “all Muslims”, “all fill-in-your-own-favorite-existential-threat-to-our-country/religion/way of life/etc. demographic”. You know; dipshits. The kind of people who if you were to claim something derogatory about their group would protest vehemently that you can’t attribute the worst whatever of the most extreme branch of whatever group they belong to, to every – or even most – of that group.

Lets face it: anyone who knows anything about people knows that generalizations are pretty much useless and provably false (although is that a generalization in itself?). But we insist on doing it anyway, shrilly and belligerently and as loudly as they can.

I know they’re not going to stop, so all I can say is that I’d appreciate it if you could stop doing that crap around me anyway? At least if you have any interest in me actually listening and considering whatever it is you have to say. On the other hand, I do have to say that it does save me a fair amount of time, since I’ve found that pretty much anything that starts with or includes “all conservatives/liberals/Christians/Muslims/etc. . . .” is basically bullshit anyway, so there’s no sense bothering to read it.

I know a lot of Conservatives/Republicans. Most of my “friends” on the Facebook, and in real life are Conservatives/Republicans. None of them wants to cage children, watch you die because you don’t have health insurance, want to send our troops to more endless wars, or block any legal voter from the polls. Are there some Conservatives/Republicans who either do want to do those things or at least are okay with it? Yes there are, but I don’t know any. The ones I know would give pretty much anyone in need the shirt off their back. At least that’s what I believe they’d do, and I like believing in people.

I also know a lot of Liberals/Democrats. None of the ones I know want open borders, or Soviet-style socialism, or to even get rid of capitalism, to force preachers to gay-marry people, or to destroy the country. Are there some that do want those things? Absolutely there are (although I’m not really sure about that “destroy the country” thing. Not sure what anyone stands to gain from that), but I don’t know any. The ones I know are just as decent and caring , and just as supportive of our country and rights as the conservatives I know.

I would go so far as to say that virtually all of the conservatives I know have way more in common with the vast majority of liberals I know, and vice versa. In fact, I believe that they have more in common with each other than either have with the extreme wing of their own group.

That’s why those bullshit generalizations just make things worse: They’re divisive, hateful, and destructive. That’s the sort of thing that no one who spends any time thinking about the people they know would say.

“All . . .” is the sort of phrase that tells the audience more about the speaker/writer than it does about whoever it is they’re talking about. Before you do it again, think about what it tells people about you.

*Just a joke. Not intended toward any actual person. Still, I have to say I’m curious to see if/how many people take it personally.

Some More Recommendations for Your Reading/Watching/Listening Pleasure

Hi folks, just a few entertainment recommendations for you. Well maybe not for YOU, (you know who you are), but for everyone else. Some of these you’ve probably heard of, many you probably haven’t. I highly recommend all of these (for what that’s worth).

Books:

The Shadow of the Wind

A great book, but kind of hard to describe: sort of a literary, book-based coming-of-age thriller about how books can affect our lives. Takes place in Barcelona, Spain after WWII. Amazing writing, great characters, very suspenseful. Some cursing, some sex, but nothing too graphic/explicit. Best thing I’ve read in a while.

World Made By Hand

A great post-apocalyptic tale: In the not-too-distant future, society has collapsed, wars, famine, and epidemics have drastically reduced the population, and those left are living in a technology-free, early 19th century kind of world. Modern medicines and technology are things of the past, but most people are old enough to remember them, which just makes adjusting harder. A small town reaches a crisis point where they realize they must either dig in and start over, or give up and sink even deeper. A new religious group moves into town. Are they a force for good, or evil?

A great read: Exciting but thoughtful, dystopian but ultimately optimistic, very non-political. Reads more like a western than a typical dystopian story. World Made By Hand is the first of a series of four. It’s followed by The Witch of Hebron, A History of the Future, and The Harrows of Spring, all of which are really, really good. Some bad language, some violence, some sex, but none gratuitous, exploitative, or graphic. Really not much worse than most Louis L’amour books.

Wyoming Range War: The Infamous Invasion of Johnson County

A non-fiction account of the Johnson County War of 1891-2. A great examination of a little-known range war in which the big ranches/cattle interests literally recruited an army of hired guns and invaded Johnson County Wyoming with the intention of killing numerous small ranchers and law enforcement officials. Goes to great depth in examining the events that led up to it, and the aftermath, in addition to recounting the events of the actual invasion. A little dry/very detailed, but really worth reading. A great tale of power run amok, and what can happen when the little guy stands up to it. Also an eye-opener to those who think that “fake news” is something new.

Augustus Carp, Esquire

A very funny and frequently hilarious “autobiography” of a man so convinced of his own righteousness that he writes the story of his life to serve as an example to others of how they should live their lives. Surprisingly relevant (at least I thought so). Not a very long read, and very entertaining, although the language is somewhat old-fashioned (first published in 1924). Definitely the lightest of these four recommendations. Nothing objectionable.

Movies

Flu

Great Korean thriller about a city struck with an especially virulent strain of flu. Not a horror movie, but if you liked Train to Busan, you’ll enjoy this. One of the most likeable and amiable heroes I’ve ever seen in a movie of this kind, and once again proves that there’s nothing more tear-inducing than a 7-year-old Korean girl crying for her mother. Gotta hand it to the Koreans, they give this type of thing a lot more heart, and ramp up the suspense way more than most American films of this type. Some cursing, violence. A lot of flu-based gore. Great movie. Available on Amazon Prime.

The Terror: Infamy

Season two of AMC’s series The Terror. History-based horror, this time taking place in the Internment Camps of WWII America. A great blend of actual historical horror and supernatural horror, with the historical horror coming off as scarier. Like the best of any genre, it’s about more than just horror. It makes you think about much deeper issues (at least it did me). A great show. Some bad language, some violence, but nothing too extreme or graphic. Just as good as season one The Terror, which was based on the Dan Simmon’s fictional account of the real-life Franklin expedition to find the northwest passage. That was one of the few programs that I felt was actually better than the book (and I love the book). This recommendation is kind of a two-fer.

The Terror season one takes place in 1845-6. Two ships, the Erebus and the Terror, under the command of Sir John Franklin, become frozen in the Arctic ice while searching for the Northwest Passage. Not one of the crew was ever seen again. That part is all true. The show (and book) provide a partly realistic/partly supernatural explanation. Some violence and a lot of suspense.

JoJo Rabbit

Hands-down the best movie I’ve seen in a long time. A hilarious, heart-breaking, thought-provoking look at Nazism and the end of WWII through the eyes of a ten year old member of the Hitler Youth who discovers a Jewish girl hidden in the walls of his house. Amazing performances by the entire cast, and especially from Roman Griffin Davis (JoJo), Thomasin McKenzie (Elsa), Scarlett Johanson (Jojo’s mother), and Taika Waititi (Jojo’s imaginary best friend Adolph Hitler. He also wrote and directed it). I can’t say enough good about this movie. Jess and I both loved it. I can’t think of any higher recommendation. WATCH THIS MOVIE!!!!!!

Hunters

An Amazon Prime series about a group hunting Nazis in America in 1977. The most difficult recommendation here. It has come under completely understandable, legitimate, and valid fire from a number of people and groups (like the Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum) for its historical inaccuracies regarding, and cartoonish embellishments of, Nazi atrocities in the camps (and, if that sounds stupid, read what they had to say, as well as what the show’s creator had to say in response.)

It is a very pulpy, cartoony show with overt nods to comic books, Quentin Tarentino (especially Inglorious Basterds) and other WWII fantasies like The Dirty Dozen and Kelly’s Heroes. I have a hard time taking anything seriously that includes the words “rag-tag group” to describe the heroes. That term pretty much always describes something that is basically a fantasy, and Hunters is definitely a fantasy.

What it comes down to, for me, is that it does what all good fiction based on historical “real events” does. Although it is, frankly, shitty history (and virtually anything based on “real events” is. If it wasn’t, no one would watch.), it asks the right questions (“was going to the moon worth doing if we had to smuggle Nazis in to do it?” and “What does the fact that we brought Nazis here and protected them to suit our ends say about us?” and “Was it worth it?” and “At what point do monster-hunters become monsters themselves?”), and it makes me feel the need to read more about the actual events, to try to understand not only what happened, but why it happened, and how those events affect us today, so that we can avoid/prevent repeats.

At any rate, it is the sketchiest recommendation here. Lots of violence, profanity, bloodshed, etc. However, I did find parts of it very moving and thought-provoking. If you can make it through the first 10-15 minutes, you’ll probably enjoy it.

Music:

I haven’t been checking out a lot of new stuff (and by that, I mean new to me), but I do have some recommendations for bands you might not otherwise hear about (and some you should already know).

The Bottle Rockets

A great Americana rock band that’s been around for almost 30 years. A lot of fun to listen to. Here’s one of my favorites of theirs, “Indianapolis“. If you like Uncle Tupelo, Son Volt, Lucero, or Drag the River, chances are you’ll like the Bottle Rockets. If you don’t know any of those bands, then you’re missing out. If you like Tom Petty, chances are you’ll like most of those bands.

The Old 97s

Another band that’s been around since 92. These guys fit in well with the Bottle Rockets and those other bands I mentioned. On the Cowpunk scale, they come down more on the Cow side, while the Bottle Rockets are more punk. If you’re a fan of Gram Parsons or The Flying Burrito Brothers, you’ll probably enjoy these guys. Great stuff with a great sense of humor to go along with that honky-tonk twang.

Jethro Tull – Thick as a Brick

Okay, I know that most of you have probably heard of this one. However, I’ve recently reconnected with Tull, and with Thick as a Brick in particular. I find it amusing that an album recorded in 1972 and intended as a parody of the concept album genre, with the standard prog-rock obtuse lyrics should suddenly be relevant again (or at least I find it so). Do yourself a favor and listen to the whole songhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X15PsqN0DHc, not just the radio edit, and read the lyrics. Then check out Aqualung, War Child, and Too Old to Rock and Roll, Too Young to Die.

And finally,

RUSH

Of all the musicians/artists who’ve died recently, the one that hit me the most personally is Neil Peart of Rush. Not only was he one of, if not the, greatest rock drummers of all time, he was also a brilliant lyricist whose humanity, and view of the world was always tempered with love and mercy. Songs like “Limelight“, “Spirit of Radio“, “Freewill“, “Far Cry“, “Bravest Face“, “Subdivisions”, “Lakeside Park“, “Fly By Night“, “Making Memories“, “2112” (of course), and too many others to list, show an intelligence and transcendence that is rare in any kind of music, much less rock, and a lot of that came from Neil Peart. When we lost him, we lost a giant.

Anyway, I guess that’s about it for now. Happy reading/watching/listening!

Undeserved Christmas Blessings: A Few Yule-tide Thoughts

The lovely and talented Jess and I have had a tough time getting into the holiday spirit this year. It’s not really that unusual for me (I’m kind of a natural-born Grinch), but Jess is usually pretty into it – always making me put up the tree and hang lights on the house.

This year however, we’ve decided to just forgo all that. The prevailing thought is that if we skip it this year, then we’ll miss it and really be into it next year. We’ll see.

But at any rate, Christmas isn’t about Griswalding the house, or the tree, or any of the paraphernalia. It’s about the birth of our Saviour, and the wonder of undeserved blessings – of which I have an abundance.

I’ve got the best and most beautiful wife in the world (sorry fellas, but that’s just the fact). I’ve got a few friends who see pretty much eye-to-eye with me on most things, and just as good, I’ve got a lot of friends who disagree with me on virtually everything, but still love me as much as I love them.

I’ve got so many friends who are so much more talented than I am at the things I love: writing, music, photography, but genuinely seem excited when I produce a new piece of writing.

I’ve got a great extended family, that loves me and accepts me for all my Uncle Buckness without the rejection that the actual Uncle Buck had to put up with (and that includes my awesome church family who take me for what I am, and love me despite myself).

I’ve been lucky that, even though my financial mistakes and fiascos are many and varied, none have been serious enough to keep me behind the 8 ball, and we’re able to live a pretty comfortable, low-key life.

My life is pretty short on want – I’ve got everything I need, and not enough of what I don’t need to weigh me down.

I’ve got kids who love me, even though they have every reason to hate my guts, and wonderful grandkids, and if we don’t see each other as often as we’d like, it’s not really anyone’s fault.

I’ve got a pack of unnecessarily over-enthusiastic dogs constantly trashing the house, getting underfoot, driving me crazy and reminding me of the rarity that is unconditional love.

I’ve got more books than I could ever read, a wide-ranging library of music, and a wife who doesn’t object to my constant, compulsive enlarging of both collections (told you she was the best).

I’ve also got you: the 19 or 20 people who take the time to read this blog – even when you disagree with me. I hope it’s worth the time.

Best of all, I’ve got a Saviour who loves me as I am – despite all my many weaknesses, shortcomings, and failures.

One of the things that occurred to me the other day at Church (and I realize I’m probably late to the party on this one) is that not only was Jesus born, lived life as a man, and died to pay the price for me that I could never pay for myself, and defeat death that I might live forever with him, he knew, even before he was born how it was all going to end.

To me that’s amazing. I mean I love my kids, but if I knew my kids were going to do to me what we were going to do/are still doing to him, I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t even think about it.

I might have gone along with the being born, living, and telling them how to get their shit together, but I’d have drawn the line waaaaaaaay short of allowing them to crucify me. That’s just nuts – or real love.

Talk about undeserved blessings.

Anyway, I hope you all have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Thanks for reading.