In the Headlights

The Professor and the Madman

A Tale of Murder, Insanity, and the Making of the Oxford English Dictionary by Simon Winchester is the most recent book I finished.  In fact, I finished it in bed this morning, drinking coffee.  Bliss. 

I enjoy reading Victoriana, and this true story of Victorian genius and insanity, murder and madness is a joy to read.

I'd give a ***spoiler warning*** now, except you'll know what I am about to say before you've finished the first two pages.

Broadly, it is the story of the conception through completion of the Oxford English Dictionary, and of some of the people who made it happen.  It is the story of Dr. James Murray, a visionary whose life was dedicated to editing the dictionary.  More than that, it is the story of Dr. William Chester Minor.

Dr. Minor was trained at Yale, became a fine physician, and joined the Union army during the Civil War.  By the time the war ended, he was behaving in a very strange manner.  After a brief stay in a mental hospital, he went on tour in Europe, landing in London.  The Army had retired him with a pension.  While there, his monomania manifested itself very publicly when his demons drove him to shoot and kill a complete stranger.

He subsequently was tried and found to be mad.  He was incarcerated at Broadmoor (formerly Bedlam) for almost four decades.  While there, his money and status as a physician bought him favors like a two-room suite, and writing and painting materials.

During his time at Broadmoor, he learned about the O.E.D. and started corresponding with James Murray, and became one of the most prolific researchers and contributors to what was to become the largest publication ever.  He compiled a large library and spent his days researching words and quotes for the dictionary, and his nights piling furniture against his doors to keep demons out of his room, and , in his version of reality, being violated in an unspeakable manner by young girls.

Quite the Victorian schizophrenic.  His preoccupation with sexuality led to further shocking complications in his fractured life, but one thing was clear and true.  His intellect and interst in the dictionary is what makes W.C. Morris a tragic character, and The Professor and the Madman a compelling read.

[Image of Dr. Minor from Vauxhallsociety.org]

The Teachings of Don Juan

During dance lessons, Tom and I talk about books a lot, which inevitably leads to exchanging such books.

One he recommended is The Teachings of Don Juan, by Carlos Castaneda, published in 1968.  This book was very popular when I was in college in the '60's and '70's.  Now I can see why.

Castaneda was a graduate student at in anthropology at the University of California at L.A., when he met an old Yaqui Indian shaman named Don Juan Matus.

Throughout the book, Castaneda asks Don Juan a lot of questions, some of which Don Juan deigns to answer, others which he considers stupid (some of which I consider pretty stupid, too.)  It is very much a student-teacher relationship.  The quest is to become a man of knowledge, to follow the path with heart, and to experience non-ordinary reality.

In the beginning, Castaneda asks Don Juan to teach him about peyote.  Don Juan takes quite a bit of convincing, but eventually agrees to take Carlos under his wing, and teach him about hallucinogenic drugs, and the powers that they bestow, in the form of enlightenment and wisdom, and assistance from various allies, helpers, supernatural beings like Mescalito and the diableros.  I say assistance, though sometimes the trip is bad, and these beings don't assist, they terrorize and destroy, even kill. 

The taking of the drugs is very ritualized from the gathering to the preparation, to the rules of ingesting or smoking.  In the course of the book, Castaneda experiments extensively with peyote, the devil's weed (datura) and Don Juan's personal favorite, little smoke (psilocybin).

The drug trips are very interesting, as is Don Juan's philosophy.  I see it as a mythology developed to explain the experiences with the drugs, and the enlightenment that can accompany some drug trips.  A good experience would mean that the god in question liked you (apparently, Mescalito liked Castaneda, though if I'd experienced what he did, I might have had some doubts.  But Don Juan said he liked him...)

Many of his experiences involved terror, running around like a madman, and sometimes waking up far from where he started, nudity, and one memorable awakening took place in a ditch full of water with Don Juan holding his head above the water.  Other times, he is euphoric, sometimes flying.

(SPOILER) Ultimately, Castaneda gives up his apprenticeship when after several years of taking hallucinogenic drugs under the guidance of Don Juan, he finds himself experiencing "non-ordinary reality" without actually taking any drugs.

I recall some controversy about the book, questions about whether Castaneda had made up Don Juan (though I don't know about the drug experiences themselves).  Either way, it's an interesting look at how a body of belief can grow around what one experiences.

The book itself is interesting, though the forward, introduction, appendices and analysis (in other words, everything written for this new edition) get pretty repetitive and tedious.

[Peyote cactus from Wikipedia]

Weird Stuff: Chastity Belts

Someone recently remarked that someone needed a chastity belt, which got me thinking.  Do they still exist?  I think of them as something knights put on their ladies when the went errant...but apparently they really didn't show up until until the 15th century.

They were designed to prevent sexual intercourse, masturbation, and rape.  Early models were clunky metal  locking affairs.  There are male and female versions, usually with holes to allow urination. 

  Modern versions are used in some countries for their intended purpose.  Others are made for bondage and domination play.

Most units today are locked with a padlock, which may be secured to prevent its being attacked with bolt cutters...sheesh...

Recently in the news, from Wikipedia :

A British man spent over 160,000 Rand for one made in South Africa, as a wedding gift for his bride-to -be.  (I see this as a red flag for this marriage.)

One woman set off metal detectors in an airport.  Her husband made her wear the belt when she went on vacation without him.  (Another red flag).

[Images from Myrtus blog]

Venus in Copper

Venus in Copper is the third in Lindsey Davis's series about Marcus Didius Falco, Informer for Emperor Vespasian, and gumshoe in ancient Rome.

I haven't figured out whence the title, though Venus in this case, refers to the femme fatale Severina Zotica, a freed former slave whose several ex-husbands all died under slightly mysterious circumstances.  He is asked by partners of her latest fiance to investigate.

The "Copper" in the title may just be there because it is the third "metallic title" after The Silver Pigs and Shadows in Bronze.

  Zotica's fiance and his partners and their wives are also freed slaves who have become incredibly rich and successful, through somewhat murky means.

In a parallel plot, Falco moves to nicer digs, cooks a turbot given him by Titus Caesar, Vespasian's older son, and takes two steps forward for every one step back in his relationship with the senator's daughter, Helena Justina.

Throughout, he has problems with goons, landlords, and jealous palace spies.  As usual, he gets beaten up so often that it's a wonder that he keeps that mouth full of beautiful, straight, white teeth.

In the process, the reader learns about ancient jewelers, prognosticators, wild animal tamers and real estate scams.

It all sounds so old, and so modern.

[Image of the turbot, which typically runs 30 to 40 lb., from poissons.net]

Roman Polanski's Macbeth

The Tragedy of Macbeth is Polanski's violent version of the Shakespeare classic.  Filmed in 1971, three years after the slaying of Sharon Tate by the Manson family, the violence is thought by some to be a purging of Polanski's own rage.

Though it is 36 years old, it is so beautifully filmed and rendered as to be timeless.  Most of the dialog is straight from Shakespeare, yet the action enables the viewer to figure out exactly what is going on.  The costumes are lush and colorful, the action heated.

Macbeth is played by Jon Finch, Lady M by Francesca Annis.  Both are young and beautiful, a departure from how I had envisioned the pair, as middle-aged and slightly graying.  Finch plays the thane perfectly...initially brave and loyal, then seduced by the predictions of the witches.  When the first prediction comes true and he is made Thane of Cawdor, he and his wife conspire to make the rest of the predictions come true as well, as soon as opportunity affords.

The murder of Duncan leads to the assassination of his friend, Banquo, the only man who is likely to figure out Macbeth's guilt, followed by murder of the assassins, and on and on.

Mayhem, war and butchery.  And alongside all this, the growing, increasingly evident, madness of Macbeth and his lady.

I admire Shakespeare tremendously, but that admiration rarely translates into reading or viewing his work.  In this case, I feel virtuous, as if I had read and enjoyed something I had slogged through in high school.

The Silver Pigs

Not long ago, I wrote about classics Professor Mary Beard's post about Edward Bulwer-Lytton's novel, The Last Days of Pompeii, among other things.  In her column, she mentioned meeting Lindsey Davis, author of eighteen novels about ancient Roman gumshoe, Marcus Didius Falco.

  I was intrigued, and promptly ordered three of the novels from Amazon ($6.99).  While Davis says she writes her novels so that you can read them in any order, I thought since I had the first one, I should at least read that one first.  I'm glad I did.  It establishes the basic cast of characters pretty well.

The Silver Pigs moves right along.  In classic detective (known in ancient Rome as "informer") style, Falco has no money, has an abusive landlord, lots of women (and women problems), gets no respect, and gets beaten up by thugs on a regular basis.

The plot is coherent, fast-paced and plausible, making the book hard to put down.  There are scenes at the Forum and the Imperial Palace, references to the Circus Maximus, and Palatine Hill, and the Cloaca Maximus. The people seem remarkably modern in their emotions and moods.  The more things change, the more they stay the same.  At the same time, the setting and amenities are deliciously ancient.  And Ancient Rome, though full of police and military types, is indeed a treacherous place to live.  Falco knows his territory, though, and manages, sometimes just barely, to stay alive.

The silver pigs are ingots of silver, one of which turns up in Rome.  Heavy and hard to hide, Falco must secure the pig, then untangle a plot to smuggle in huge amounts of silver to finance the overthrow of the Emperor. Picking through the web of intrigue, he discovers a double cross.  Whom can he trust?  It is very hard to tell through much of the book.

On the journey, some horrible things happen, and some wonderful things happen, making for a very satisfying read. 

I have two more, which I think will accompany me on the trip to Roan.  The perfect summer books, they ask little of the reader, except to allow yourself to get pulled into into their world.

Meanwhile, I'm going to hit the library and see if they have any of Lindsey's other novels.  Given a choice, I think I'll try to read them in order.

[Image via Museum of London]

Cinco de Mayo

  It's Cinco de Mayo.  When we lived in Miami, it was a big party day, as it is in every Mexican restaurant in the country.  OK, it's a big holiday in Mexico, and has become a big one in this country as well, largely thanks to our huge Latino population.  It seems to get bigger every year:  what's not to like about eating, drinking, singing and dancing, after all.

I had it in my mind that it was Mexican Independence Day, but it's not (that falls on September 16, which tends to go by unnoticed).

On May fifth, 1862, Mexico defeated the French at the Battle of Puebla, throwing off the yoke of foreign occupation.   

There is a groaner of a shaggy dog story about this holiday, that looks to be the official joke of Cinco de Mayo. 

Caught With Their Pants Down

According to Uncle John's Curiously Compelling Bathroom Reader, here are some people who died in the bathroom:

In 1016, 27-year-old King Edmund II of England was murdered in the bathroom.  An assassin hid behind the primitive toilet and, as Edmund sat, the murderer stepped out and quickly shoved his sword twice "into the king's bowels." (I wonder if that's why they call it "the throne.")

Another English monarch, King George II died on the  toilet in 1760 at the age of 77.  He woke up at six that morning, drank some chocolate, and an hour later went to the bathroom, where he died of a ruptured aorta.

Evelyn Waugh, one of the greatest English novelists of the 20th century (Brideshead Revisited, The Loved One) had just returned from Easter Mass.  In recent years, the 62-year-old had put on a lot of weight.  He also drank a lot, smoked cigars and rarely exercised.  He died "straining at stool" in the bathroom, April 10, 1966.

Perhaps the most famous death-by-toilet is Elvis Presley's.  A combination of weight gain and too many prescription drugs gave the 42-year-old singer a heart attack while he was "takin' care of business." (At the time of his death, he was reading a book entitled The Scientific Search for the Face of Jesus.)

Movie producer Don Simpson (Top Gun, Flashdance) died in 1996.  While rumors persisted that he died of a cocaine overdose, the truth was more humble and embarrassing:  He died of a heart attack while going to the bathroom.

It's commonly believed that Catherine the Great of Russia died after being "crushed" by a horse.  True?  Na-a-a-a-a-y.  (But it makes a great story.)  On that fateful day in 1796, she suffered a stroke while sitting on the toile, but died in her bed several hours later.

*************

Moral of the story:  Stay out of bathrooms.  They're bad for you.

[Image via Yee Haw Adventure Farm]

Cartouche

Above is a cartouche of my name, from King Tut's Treasures, Inc.  Go there to see your own name in hieroglyphichs.  The squiggly bands represent water.

A cartouche is an oval band circling a god or pharaoh's name (my secret is out).  The band symbolizes continuity.

They were dubbed cartouche by French soldiers (I'm guessing Napoleon's) in Egypt who thought the ovals looked like gun cartridges.

Presidential Smarts

A think tank called The Lovenstein Institute recently spent four month determining president George W. Bush's I.Q.  They have done this for every president since 1973 as well as some from before that.  They use what is available to the public in the form of speeches written without the aid of staff, written material (articles and books), and vocabulary size, which they then use to determine I.Q. using a Swanson/Crain test. Republican Presidents of the last 60 have averaged I.Q.'s of 115.5, while Democrats have averaged 156.  Jimmy Carter was the only one to divulge his real I.Q., 176, which is one point off from the one determined by the institute, 175.

Read the whole thing for yourself here.

Listed in order, here are the presidential I.Q.'s:

182 - Bill Clinton
176-  Jimmy Carter
174-  John F. Kennedy
155-  Richard M. Nixon
147-  Franklin D. Roosevelt
132-  Harry Truman
126-  Lyndon B. Johnson
122-  Dwight D. Eisenhower
121-  Gerald Ford
105-  Ronald Reagan
  98-  George H.W. Bush
  91-  George W. Bush

This was sent to me by a friend.

Somewhat sadly, the whole thing appears to be a hoax, though it has gotten widespread dissemination via email and the net, and people seem to find it credible.