The Shadow Library: Elementary, My Dear White/Strunk

 

The Elements of Style, by William Strunk, Jr. & E. B. White (Macmillan Paperbacks)

There are many covers and editions of this book; this is the cover that was most popular when I was in high school, and the edition that I had. And yes, this is the same E. B. White who wrote Charlotte's Web. I don't know when I passed it on; anyone reading my prose could argue I should have kept it and referred to it more often. I still have problems with lay and lie, especially in the past tense, no matter how many times I've looked up the rule. The color was pinker, more like this copy:

Friday Fiction: Immortals Among Us?

 

[Not exactly a proper illustration for this fragment, but I like it; this is Science Fiction Writers of the 1950's]

Download from the Santonio Flash

Nov. 15, 2142

 

IMMORTALS AMONG US?

 

     They first came to public attention almost a hundred years ago, and stories about them have surfaced on and off through the decades since. A family possessing the unique genetic attributes to resist most diseases and to cease aging once reaching maturity, living for the most part in obscurity among ordinary folk. Now on the verge of adding its 1000th member, the Family has consented to grant us interviews with the original First Five, and we'll look at the impact this phenomenon has on the world today.

     In a sense it all began in the dark days of the early 21st Century, after the destruction of the original World Trade Center. In the aftermath of terrorism, a virulent form of anthrax was loosed on the world, the ancestor of the mild childhood disease now, but then a deadly killer. For a short time, it looked like every member of the Family was in danger, but all survived, and indeed thrived afterward.

     It wasn't until the 2040's that they began to suspect something unusual had happened, and they were right. All were remarkably healthy and well-preserved, as were their children and grandchildren. Analysis indicated that in reaction to the anthrax, an unusual dormant gene sequence had activated, giving their immune systems and regenerative cycles extreme vigor. This condition has been inherited by all their genetic heirs, but, of course, not by their spouses, a melancholy condition that affects One, the eldest, deeply.

     "Yes, I've had three wives," said One, who, at 180 years, is the oldest human alive today. "All in all, I've had five children, and the doctors say there's no reason why I couldn't father more. But it's just too sad; I've had to watch three very good women grow old and die. Nowadays I have relationships, but they don't last very long. Most of my time is spent on my writing."

     One has written over 200 books over the years, with over 40 on the Universal Bestseller Lists and 80 made into films. He is a lecturer on Popular Culture at several universities in the area.

     Two, who has had only one wife and two children, has been the least procreative of the Five. "I think people who think that we're going to breed like rabbits and take over the world are quite wrong. I'm proof. The personal angle is greatly misunderstood." Indeed, fate has had its way with a percentage of the Family, although the First Five still all survive. "There have been seven suicides; two at least I know did it because they 'couldn't take' the longevity," says Two. "Twenty-five were killed in combat, a real tragedy. There has been a scattering of accidents: hit by cars, drowning, falling downstairs; about seventeen in all. So, Nature still has its way of pruning us back."

     Two runs his own church, Mere Christendom. Over the front door is the text, "If this one shall tarry until I come again, what is that to you? Follow Me." It expresses his basic philosophy. "No matter how long or short a life is, it's only experienced in the Now, in the instant. That's when we have to act, to decide."

     Three has been married twice and has four children. He deals with his virtual immortality with art, using skills he has honed for over a century. "There's an old saying that to learn art takes a long time, and life is brief," he chuckles. "But I'm working on it." He makes incredibly detailed, fanciful works of art, using methods from the latest computer-generated imaging to traditional paint and canvas. He has had several shows, and some of his paintings are acknowledged masterpieces, but he still prefers producing popular art and keeping favorite classics alive. "Why should Schulz and Disney be relegated to dusty corners of history?" Three asked. "They are new to each generation."

     Four is probably the most famous of the Five, however. He had already starred in fifteen movies before he realized his condition. "It certainly prolonged my professional life," he states. "Fifty years of leading man's roles, and ten Oscars. Then they stopped giving me any, to give everyone else a chance." Four retired from film, but still does theater, and is a historical consultant on many pictures. He has been married seven times and has 26 children, with one--"the 1000th family member"--on the way.

     Five is a businesswoman, and easily the richest of the lot. She, too, has been married twice, but has had only three children. "I'd have to bake 'em, not just put 'em in the oven," she wryly quips. She handles most of the Family business as well as her own personal empire, which has grown over the years. She is the one who organizes the reunion on her 20,000 acre ranch every year, when the clan gathers to celebrate. At 169 she still looks like a beautiful woman in her 20's.

     Although science has studied the Family's condition and to a certain extent understands it, it has come no closer to duplicating it than it did 100 years ago, when genetics was in its youth. "It just happened to happen, and doesn't seem likely to happen again," says one gene doctor, a third-generation member of the Family who has studied it for almost a century now. "Go figure."

    Notes

This little fragment exemplifies a little genre I self-indulgently putter around with now and then, where I put myself or my family into speculative situations and ponder what it would be like. An alternate biography. I try to give us the best outcomes while adhering to the probable circumstances; even so, there's a certain amount of wishful thinking that creeps in. Go figure. 

The Book Schnook

 

"Real bibliophiles do not put their books on shelves for people to look at or handle. They have no desire to show off their darlings, or to amaze people with their possessions. They keep their prized books hidden away in a secret spot to which they resort stealthily, like a Caliph visiting his harem, or a church elder sneaking into a bar. To be a book collector is to combine the worst characteristics of a dope-fiend with those of a miser."

Robertson Davies

I was dusting another bookshelf this morning, and the volumes were rather large and heavy and hard to handle. The fugitive thought flitted through my head of whether I really needed or wanted so many books, some of them books which I hardly ever look at these days, some books that are so hard to get to that they almost might as well not exist in my library.

The answering thought came back almost immediately. Yes, I really need and want all my books! In fact, I need even more. I want every book I once owned and lost or had to sell. I want every book I ever read and forgot the title of. A copy of every volume I ever read from a library, every book I ever saw in a bookstore and couldn’t buy, every book I borrowed and had to return to brother or friend.

But then, of course, I’d have to have somewhere to keep them. I am haunted by a character in Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle’s Inferno, a book collector who is condemned to a circle in Hell as a ‘hoarder and waster;’ not only does he hoard rare books, but he does not have adequate funds left for a place to store them. As a consequence, they rot and decay unread. There is a fine line between a bibliophile and a bibliomaniac, and I fear I sometimes tread that line. But I do love my books and I give them what care I can. And I do read them. I like to have them at hand if I wish to enjoy them anew.

If I could suddenly have any books I wanted, there are several expensive selections I would like. Highest on the list would probably be Tolkien’s The Old English Exodus (1982; edited by Joan Turville-Petre), which goes for about $2000. It is an obscure work of scholarship, totally unrelated to Middle-earth, but, you know, -- Tolkien. A runner-up would be another scholarly work, Shakespeare’s Boy Actors (1939) by Robertson Davies, $250, and again, Davies. I have three volumes of Pogo: The Complete Syndicated Comics Strips. There are at least five more; each goes for about $50. And, of course, there are all the other books in the Ballantine Adult Fantasy Series that I don’t have.

I’ve made a pretty successful effort at getting many of the books I’ve wanted. But there are always new books being published, while older books grow rarer and more expensive. I doubt if I’ll ever be satisfied, and that’s alright. As The Very Big Corporation of America in Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life says, “which brings us once again to the urgent realization of just how much there is still left to own.” A dream unfulfillable lasts an entire lifetime.

Wideo Wednesday: Well, Poop, Neil

I decided, early this morning, that the ‘nook’ I would dust today would be the top one of the shelves to the right of my desk. It holds many graphic novels and collected comics volumes, including all of the Neil Gaiman Absolute boxed volumes of The Sandman. The dust was very thick behind the books; perhaps I’ve not completely disturbed them since July 2020, when I was cataloging my library. It brought to the forefront of my mind the recent disturbing accusations against Gaiman; just this week particularly disgusting allegations have emerged.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hZEN2rcQp7o

Critics are pointing to certain disturbing passages in his work as possible indications or proof of his depraved nature. I’m not sure (can anyone be sure) if this was his personal character always bleeding out, or if his imaginative considerations and work caused the development (some would say ‘corruption’) of his character. Chicken or the egg?

And what of the veritable hero worship many fans (no doubt seeking something to believe in) have lavished on him? Tolkien has said that ‘even the nose of a very modest idol cannot remain entirely untickled by the sweet smell of incense.’ But even Tolkien could not have imagined the extent and fervor of the cult of personality that has formed around Gaiman. Could any man – especially unsupported by any solid faith in a higher power – resist the temptations and authority such slavish adoration places before them?

It places me into something of a quandary. I have at least forty books by and about Neil Gaiman in my library; most of them are quite good and I’ve enjoyed them (on one level or another), and I do not think they advocate anything downright vicious (if sometimes disgusting). I’m not the kind of person to judge the work by the character of the author, but by what it actually says; I think most authors try to put the better part of themselves into their work, anyway. But I might reread them with caution; and only recommend them to others with a caveat.

In short, I’ve always been a little sus about Neil in person, especially in the sinuosity in his efforts to avoid telling his fanbase anything they didn’t want to hear. Perhaps, in retrospect, this might explain part of his refusal to take a firm stance.

The Lord of the Rings: The Muster of Rohan (Part Two)

 

The Tale

They reach Harrowdale. ‘The paths out of the narrow gorge fell steeply. Only a glimpse, as through a tall window, could be seen of the great valley in the gloaming below. A single small light could be seen twinkling by the river.’ Theoden says he will ride in the morning to Edoras and the gathering of the army.

Eomer advises the King that once they are there, Theoden should stay there, for safety’s sake until the war is over, for good or ill. Theoden smiles, and calls Eomer son, but tells him not to speak the words of Wormtongue again. If the war is lost, it won’t do him any good hiding in the hills. And even if it is won, but he falls in the fight, it will be no grief. But he wil lie in the Hold of Dunharrow tonight ‘One evening of peace at least is left us.’

In the deepening dusk they descend into the dale. Soon they come to a ford across the Snowbourne where they are met and challenged by many guards. But when they see it is the King returning a shout of joy goes up, and he is welcomed by one long horncall that turns into a chorus of trumpets throughout the valley. Theoden’s company is met by a company of the captains of his remaining forces, led by Dunhere, chieftain of the folk of Harrowdale.

Dunhere tells the King how three days ago Gandalf on Shadowfax came to them, bearing the news of Theoden’s victory, but also the King’s order to hasten the gathering of the Riders. And then came the winged Shadow.

Theoden says they had seen this Nazgul before, when Gandalf was still with them, but Dunhere says it came again, ‘a flying darkness in the shape of a monstrous bird’ flying over Edoras, swooping down almost to the gables of Meduseld, screeching a freezing cry. Gandalf advised them not to meet in the fields but to bring the army to Dunharrow, and light no more fires than needed, to mask the size of their host. The advice seemed good, as no such evil thing has been seen in Harrowdale, and since Gandalf spoke with authority, they obeyed him, and hope they have done what the King wishes.

‘It is well,’ said Theoden. ‘I will now ride to the Hold, and there before I go to rest I will meet the marshalls and captains. Let them come to me as soon as may be!’

Notes

Dunharrow is a fortress hidden high in the White Mountains, south of Edoras, built on a level upland. It was occupied even before the Men of Numenor came over the Sea in the second Age. Its name means “the heathen fane(temple) on the hillside.”

The name Dunhere translates to “hill-warrior”. He was Erkenbrand’s nephew. He will be one of those who fall at the Battle of Pelennor Fields.

In this passage we are given a foretaste of the stirring horns of the Rohirrim.

Tolkien Tuesday: It's Still Coming

 

The next part of "The Muster Of the Rohan" is coming today; it just will be postponed until later. I have a doctor's appointment this morning, and that will take a lot of my energy and focus right now. You'd think I'd have it ready to go but no. I usually compose it on the same  morning I post it, and I couldn't bring myself to prepare it any earlier. 

2020 Diary: Turgenev and Kung Fu Panda

 

1/7/2020: Up at 5:30 AM from a complicated dream (which I write down), after my usual risings in the night to go to the bathroom. Prayers, catechism, and Bible. Today I’ve felt pretty good; maybe because of no tension over the wash. Decide to wait to buy Lotto until tomorrow. About 7:30 AM I went out to put fish pan in the recycling bin, but they’d already come! Watched Perry Mason, then went in at 9 AM to make Kam’s bacon and eggs. Clean up and watch some House. About 10 AM go out to check the bins, and then pray my rosary. Lay down for a nap and then up about 12:30 PM. DW shows.

Sent John e-mail at 3:45 PM: What a difference a day makes! And what's the difference? Today, I don't have a malfunctioning washing machine bedeviling my time. Nothing else. I still have all my other troubles, but today for some reason I can bear them, and even feel chipper.

I wonder sometimes if anyone ever dreams of ME, and if so what sort of part I play, and if so, why nobody ever says anything. Do they think it will bore me, or that I might think it weird, or even insulting? Probably most people don't think their dreams significant enough to talk about. Or maybe I'm just so dull I never make enough impression on anyone's brain to appear. Do I angle for attention? Probably to a certain degree; to a certain degree I am interested in data, in feedback on myself, to analyze my position in the world. As a married man, I'm sure you get plenty of that every day.

John to me: You appear in my dreams from time to time, but I don't remember you doing much of anything out of the ordinary- no fights, no big drama. I think maybe because there aren't any particular loose ends between us, you tend to occupy, rather than haunt, the spaces in my subconscious.  Now that I say that, you'll probably be flying behind me with a butcher knife in my dreams tonight!

Me: Perhaps that's so. When someone has passes away, rather than being a living presence, they might become more symbolic. The living presence might be more of a check on the imagination. That being said I do remember you and Joey saving me by shooting at some bears that were chasing me. Or were they wolves?

Went in at 4 PM and started supper, fed the pets, grassed the Chis. Turkey chili, fiesta corn, corkscrew pasta. Susan called me at about 5:30 PM; she had taken Kylo walking down in the Cove and heard Vader howling way across the neighborhood! I checked and he was just fine; probably lonely, was my analysis. Watched some more House.

Me [to my publisher]: I've kind of been avoiding this question over the holidays, but I suppose I have to face it: any more copies sold?

Kris Jerome: I’ll have to check the print report. Digital copies have not sold anything in 90 days. That’s normal. My stuff goes through long droughts too. I’ll start going through the short story collection so we can get you another title up there.

Went in at 8 PM, made Kam some supper, and cleaned up. Went back in, worked on organizing my YouTube bookmarks, and after a while went to bed.

 

1/8/2020: Up about 5 AM, prayers, catechism, Bible, and rosary. Got dressed. At 6 AM prayed the Chaplet of St. Michael on EWTN. Ready to set out at 7 AM. Did so, got to TX Cooler and bought Powerball ticket, and got home just as Andy came out to get the paper. If I was a minute earlier, I would have saved him the trip. Perry Mason at 8 AM.

Made Kameron eggs and toast at 9 AM. Went in at 10:10 AM to help get him on his way, cleaning up plate and pans, getting crate from school, etc. We went out at 10:20 AM and waited there until 11 AM; my leg was throbbing, and still hurts at 5 PM. Ramen at lunch; weather still clear, blue, sunny, and cool. Short nap from 2:30 PM, then went in at 3:30 PM and grassed Chis, fed cats, and started supper (cabbage and taters, sassages). Kam home about 4:10 PM. Now 5:13 PM, and Susan’s home.

Went in at 8 PM, made Kam taquitos and TX toast, washed up, and got some more taters.

1/9/2020: Up at 6 AM. Prayers, catechism, Bible, and rosary. Showered and dressed. Made and ate ramen. Seinfeld, then Perry Mason. Went in at 9 AM and made Kameron toast and scrambled eggs. Morning cloudy and damp. Bus got him a few minutes before 11 AM. Spent some time in the afternoon straightening the back yard and picking up rubber ball fragments. Drier and patches of blue; some wind. At 4 PM made supper of pork chops and sauerkraut. A little after 8 PM went in and cleared up. Feeling down and without energy all day. Read a lot of Turgenev. Watched some Kung Fu Panda.

 

1/10/2020: Up at 5 AM. Prayers, catechism, and Bible. Bus got Kam at 10:30 AM (on schedule at last). Weather damp in the morning, a little drippy, some flying sun in the afternoon, then a storm with lightning about 8 PM. Moody all day. Read Turgenev. Made ‘Taco Soup’ at 4 PM. Rosary about 7 PM. Unplugged computer.

 

1/11/2020: Up at 4 AM; weather calm so plugged in computer and recorded dream, caught up diary. Not much done all day. Read Turgenev.

 

1/12/2020: Up about 5 AM. Took a shower and dressed. Prayed, catechism, and Bible. Called S&A about 9 AM, and Andy took me to the Coliseum for the missionary fair. It was a good meeting, but I didn’t hang around much afterwards or eat. Started to walk home, found a penny, and a nice old couple gave me a ride home: Paul and Fran. When I told them my name Paul seemed to remember Pop; he called him a paperhanger. When I looked it up, I saw it was slang for a forger or con man. I wonder sometimes if these people are remembering Bobby, not Buddy. Called S&A and they said I could eat the rest of the tortilla soup.

Made Kam scrambled eggs and toast at 5 PM. S&A went for a walk at 6 PM; gave me a package of Christmas Tree Little Debbies and 2 Star-Kist salmon packs. Watched a lot of “Son of Godzilla” on and off. About 8 PM Andy brought out a chicken garippe for me to finish off. Rosary. Started reading “The Torrents of Spring”. Bed about 10 PM.

 

1/13/2020: Up at about 5 AM, after a lot of dreams, mild dreams, that I don’t remember the details of. Just that I had them. Prayers, catechism, Bible. Got dressed. Now almost 6 AM.

Wrote a couple of pages on Philo. Andy came in and asked me to check the pool at 10:10 AM, to make sure it is running. My schedule foreseen from 8 AM: go in and bring back the stuff to make Kam bacon and eggs at 9 AM; boil eggs and make chicken salad, make my breakfast ramen, check the pool, get Kam off to school. And do the wash.

And now it’s 12 noon, and I got all that done (including the complete wash). The only thing I need to do now before supper is make broccoli salad.

And I finished that at 1 PM. The usual schedule for the rest of the day, with Flintstones, Turgenev, and a look at The Owl House. It didn’t please me like some other Disney shows, as it had the girl out-and-out lying to her mother about where she was and what she was doing. It also had, in a degree exceeding that of but not unlike other shows, of outright witches and demons being associated with the artistic and interesting and down-trodden and empathetic. Made supper (fish rings, couscous, and the broccoli salad. Cleaned up at 8 PM, rosary, read a little, then off to bed.

 

1/14/2020: Woke up a little after 2 AM from a dream and got up to write it down.

The day went by, pretty much by rote. Weather in the morning was damp and slippery and clouded; warm and partly sunny later. I smelled the flowering Chinese jasmine and thought of Omi’s house. I smelled the falling oak leaves and thought of McQueeney Elementary and Seguin High. Managed to write 4 or 5 pages. And that’s all that’s worth recording. That’s Januree for you.

Notes

Garippe is an old family term for picking the last bits of meat from the skeleton of a bird or using it for soup stock; I do not know its origin. But I see that grippe is an old term for influenza; maybe it related to soup you feed someone with the flu. It was six months since my book came out, and sales (never very big) had slowed to a standstill. I grew to like The Owl House better and better for a while, but never watched it to the end. Januree and sassages are a couple of ‘folk pronunciations’ that amuse me.