#because i look at these texts as literature from a particular historical context and have no interest or belief in spiritual aspects of it

[finnlongman]

Hey, I was wondering if there’s an Irish polytheism equivalent to the Delphic maxims of Hellenic polytheism? I have a lot of Hellenic friends reading into the Delphic maxims a lot and it has me wondering if we have something similar, basically “universal” truths or a list of guiding principles for the Irish polytheistic faith. Kind of scared to look myself because it seems like exactly the thing to fall prey to Celtomanic Victorians and I’m still working on my research skills 😅

I'm afraid I don't know anything about Irish polytheism, since it falls outside of my remit as a medievalist, being primarily a modern phenomenon (because we know virtually nothing about historical pre-Christian Irish beliefs).

There are various medieval Irish 'wisdom' texts, including of the 'mirror for princes' variety which are basically about being a good ruler, but these are all written within the medieval Irish Christian tradition, even if they're sometimes put into the mouths of non-Christian characters. It doesn't sound like that's what you're looking for, though.

To be honest, I'm the wrong person to ask when it comes to religious engagement with this material, as I've never had that kind of relationship to it. I study it as literature, and my main focus is late texts which are very self-consciously constructed as literature and often explicitly as fiction (a concept that isn't really around at the time that the earliest stories are written, but definitely is by the 15th-18th centuries when a lot of my corpus was written). I have no connection to / knowledge of modern polytheistic practices or ideas beyond what I've picked up in passing, I'm afraid.

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Rereading The Fellowship of the Ring for the First Time in Fifteen Years

The previous chapter was all grouchy wizards and atmospheric walking...and this one opens with the return of Professor Tolkien medieval literature scholaring all over the page. So let's just jump in and talk "The Bridge of Khazad-Dum."

So finding the tomb of a comrade always sucks, but context is EXTREMELY required in such cases. Unfortunately, this is the moment where Professor Tolkien rears his ugly head once again. I'm a Shakespeare scholar, and moreover I was a Shakespeare scholar at a reasonably broke school in Alaska, so I designed my thesis to not require me to go look at extant original texts. When I got to my PhD, some fuckery at an administrative level meant that when my first supervisor retired, I was dumped into the lap of a film scholar, so my dissertation because EXTREMELY about film adaptations. So I don't have firsthand experience with extant historical documents and texts, but I am aware of the process. As an undergrad, I once questioned why my text said "safety" while another text said "sanity" (and was very scoffed at before the professor actually understood the question, because I phrased it poorly). The good answer though?

Extant texts from Shakespeare's day and older are PLAGUED with slipperiness that makes them difficult to read and reproduce. They come from a time before standardized spelling, and printers often weren't that careful setting type. If they come from before the printing press, you have issues with handwriting legibility and misspellings. Then there are issues with extant documents being damaged or torn or missing pages or faded by the time we get to them, especially if they've been in private hands without the experience to properly preserve them. So the difference between "safety" and "sanity" was some editor or academic's educated guess because they had a word that started with "s," ended in "y," and was probably about six letters.

Tolkien, as a scholar with an interest in medieval texts, would have understood these issues because I'd be willing to bet hard cash that his academic work required using primary sources and original extant texts. And I'm willing to bet that because we get EVERY SINGLE GODDAMN ONE OF THESE ISSUES with the Book of Mazarbul. In no particular order, here are the issues Gandalf calls out while trying to read this thing:

multiple pages are missing from the beginning

blurred words

burned words

staining (probably blood)

edged blade damage

deteriorated pages that break off

shitty handwriting

partially visible words and guesswork that goes with it

a total lack of context for any of the words you CAN make out

This book is every book scholar's worst goddamn nightmare, because you'll never recreate the whole thing, your guesses are likelier to be wrong than right, and if you don't have plot armor preserving the important stuff, you might literally end up with a description of someone's breakfast but nothing else.

I will say though, there's one thing in here that Tolkien SHOULD have been familiar with in extant texts that isn't represented here. Marginalia. Humans were humans even in the 11-1400s, and scribes and apprentices got bored while copying out books by hand. They doodled. They wrote snarkastic comments in the margins. They had to scratch things out and redo. They had cats around and sometimes little paw prints are found in old manuscripts. Like...ancient books had personality. I get where the dwarves might not have done this in their log book, especially towards the end, but I would have loved some marginalia too.

Because the first few pages of this chapter feel less like Gandalf reading the final account of the attempted Moria colony to me and more like Professor Tolkien having a moment because WHY IS THIS GODDAMN PAGE MISSING I JUST NEED THIS ONE PAGE BUT NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, ITS FUCKING MISSING...

Academia some days, I swear.

But we get knocked out of the academic and into the adventurous pretty fast when the drums in the deep start tolling "doom, doom." And everyone loses their goddamn minds, as any reasonable person would, because we just finished hearing about the dwarves being trapped while the drums in the deep boomed.

Aragorn isn't going down without a fight though. He and Boromir get their asses on securing the door from which the immediate danger will come, with a bit of an assist from Frodo and Sting when some ballsy Uruk puts a foot through the door.

We also get badass good guy Samwise Gamgee:

When thirteen had fallen the rest fled shrieking, leaving the defenders unharmed, except for Sam who had a scratch along the scalp. A quick duck had saved him; and he had felled his orc: a sturdy thrust with his Barrow-blade. A fire was smouldering in his brown eyes that would have made Ted Sandyman step backwards, if he had seen it.

Our boy took out an ORC all on his own!!! Sam is more than capable of taking care of business and apparently he gets scary when you back him in a corner. I entirely approve, and I cannot believe we didn't get this in the movie. GIVE ME SAM SINGLE-HANDEDLY TAKING OUT AN ORC, PETER JACKSON!!!

We also get an Orc chieftain stabbing the hell out of Frodo, which was an honor given to the cave troll in the movies. This goes by pretty fast though, even for a Tolkien battle. It's kind of a one-two stab and grab before everyone makes a run for it. We do get Sam freeing Frodo by chopping the spear haft in half, but if you're reading quickly, it's easy to miss that this should ABSOLUTELY have killed Frodo. The language is pretty clear that it doesn't, and Tolkien only kind of tokenly tries a fake-out death here, since we literally just got the mithril reminder at the end of the last chapter. But I guess technically we get a fake-out death here.

It is very quickly confirmed that Frodo is alive though, with everyone being like, "Wait, you're NOT dead?" and Aragorn and Gandalf both going, "jesus christ, hobbits are tough as nail."

As we keep running from the hordes of Orcs, Uruks, and cave trolls, things start to get hot and there is firelight in places firelight SHOULD EXTREMELY NOT BE. But it does cue Gandalf about where they are, and he points everyone toward the titular Bridge of Khazad-Dum, and the exit. Now it's just a matter of hauling ass and getting out.

Unfortunately, when Legolas turns around to shoot some bitches and buy time, this happens:

Something was coming up behind them. What it was could not be seen: it was like a great shadow, in the middle of which a dark form, of man-shape, maybe, yet greater; and a power and terror seemed to be in and to go before it. It came to the edge of the fire and the light faded as if a cloud had bent over it. Then with a rush it leaped across the fissure. The flames roared up to greet it, and wreathed about it; and a black smoked swirled in the air. It's streaming mane kindled, and blazed behind it. In its right hand was a blade like a stabbing tongue of fire; in its left it held a whip of many thongs. "Ai! ai [sic]!" wailed Legolas. "A Balrog!"

And I just need to take a second here, because like I've said, I was more familiar with the movies than the book. And I just need Tolkien to EXPLAIN HIS DAMN SELF with this description. It's maybe man-shaped, but it has a mane? Like that does give adapters a lot of room to get creative, but WHERE THE HELL DID THEY GET HORNED SHEEP LAVA THING from??? Because that ain't in the text. I do love the drama of this description though. Like, the Balrog knows it's freaking magnificent and is going to play to all the drama that being wreathed in fire and smoke gives it. Which...ngl, I love for it. This thing is damn cool.

And I appreciate that we have FINALLY met a foe that makes Gandalf just kind of stop and go "...fuck me." Because he was starting to feel a bit OP and bored, and now he's taking it seriously, which means I as a reader should be FUCKING TERRIFIED right now, and I appreciate that.

From there, this goes down basically as the movie does, with the sliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight deviation that Aragorn and Boromir get BACK on the bridge to have Gandalf's back, so they're like, within arm's reach of him as the Balrog falls and drags Gandalf down with it. But even the dialogue was lifted almost exactly from the page, so I don't feel like I need to go over this bit in much detail. It's badass, it's tragic, and it happens FAST.

And then, of course, everyone else has to haul ass out of there because the Balrog just took out your OP wizard with a flick of its wrist.

So they run, and they run a LOT for a LONG time. They run until they're out of bow-shot of the walls. And as readers, we are left with this final image:

They looked back. Dark yawned the archway of the Gates under the mountain-shadow. Faint and far beneath the earth rolled the slow drum-beats: doom. A thin black smoke trailed out. Nothing else was to be seen; the dale all around was empty. Doom. Grief at last wholly overcame them, and they wept long: some stand and silent, some cast upon the ground. Doom, doom. The drum-beats faded.

So my little headcanon here? Those drumbeats stop being harbingers of doom in that final paragraph and transform to metaphorical heartbeats for Gandalf. We know--because Pippin established it--that falls in Moria can be LONG. They take a while. The Fellowship got out of immediate danger range, and Gandalf could still have been falling. But all they have to go on is those faint, distant, slow drum-beats. The heartbeat/drumbeat comparison is so easy it's not a reach, and when they finally fade and stop, the sense is that there is nothing else for the army of evil to attack. That is--as far as anyone knows or can reasonably assume--the end of Gandalf. It's the literary equivalent of a jump cut and sudden stop of the drumroll in film execution scenes. It cues everyone that something has ended.

Well, this chapter was ABSOLUTELY not more atmospheric walking, and even though it cost us our wizard, I appreciated the tension, the fear, and the pacing in the chapter at large. The mix of breakneck action and still or slow moments to let everyone react or comment was really well done, and finally having something that actually managed to shake Legolas and Gandalf was genuinely scary.

We're going to leave it there for now, and next time we'll pick up with the aftermath of almost getting eaten by a Balrog and losing the mentor wizard of the party. We've only got four more chapters to go, so let's see what the pacing and party dynamics do as we head for Lothlorien sans wizard.

[soracities]

have you read ulysses by james joyce? ive been wanting to for a while but im a bit intimidated by its reputation of being hard to get through

I haven't, but I know a little about it and I do think, as with all difficult works, context & background is going to be your best friend; there's an ask by @days-of-reading from a few years back here that has some very good recs for annotated additions / supplementary material that may help guide you and make the book (or the idea of approaching the book) less daunting since you will know what went into it or the meaning behind various episodes or terms.

That said, I think an important thing to remember, and what has helped me with other challenging books / authors, is to remind yourself that, if they're difficult, they are so for a reason, and that this isn't automatically a bad thing—a book's difficulty isn't necessarily there to alienate you, scare you or threaten you, or make you feel inferior, as though you could never be up to the task (that said, some books probably do want to alienate you & attempt to do so in an aggressive or provocative manner but even then that aggression is a commentary on something; the question they pose is whether you will examine that commentary or not); more often than not it's to invite you into (often radically) different ways of experiencing a text, a language, a way of thinking and digesting / exploring the world. It's asking you to check what you know, what you think you know, and what you expect to know at the door and meet the text on its own terms.

After all, what do we mean when we say a book is "difficult"? "Difficult" compared to what logic, whose logic? What does that logic demand, and is that demand always reasonable? Is this logic actually as inviolable as we think it is? Let's say a work "doesn't make sense", but is that a problem with the work, or what we've demanded it be, without pausing to consider what it actually is, in its own words? Why has the author decided to construct their narrative like this, when they easily could have done it differently—and the natural follow-up to that question being: could they, really, have done it differently? The option was there but they chose not to. Texts that are trying to break the limits we impose on works of literature are often a commentary on those very limits themselves. Why are they there and who put them there? But most crucially: what's on the other side?

Understanding the social, cultural, and historical context that informs a particular writer's view of the world and they way that expresses itself in their work is obviously massively important, but I think there's also a lot to be said for surrendering yourself to a particular work's own logic and letting that take you wherever it will. That means accepting some parts will feel utterly nonsensical (some are meant to be) or understanding that maybe you will only read it at a pace of 3 pages an hour, or that one page will be re-read 10 times before you feel ready to move on. And it means taking that as an inherent trait of the work and learning to examine and move through it as it is exists because without it, it would be a completely different book altogether; and if you are treating / reading it as though it should be or you want it to be a different, easier, book then why are you reading it in the first place? The question of "what does it all mean?" is not necessarily the question that you have to answer when reading something, and not having an answer isn't a bad thing; sometimes finding an answer isn't even the point. Sometimes I think it's not unlike when a toddler finds something utterly benign looking—like a pebble, or a stick, and runs excitedly towards you in order to present what, to them, is probably something immensely fascinating. And maybe you don't see what they see but you kneel down and accept what they give you regardless and take part in the experience with them, because that is what the real intention behind that gesture is.

I don't know if any of this will help, but I hope you get something out of it, anon x

[goatsandgangsters]

There's... really nothing that weird or crazy about those books though. They're both perfectly coherent narratives that tie into the broader literary trends at the turn-of-the-century. They're much better understood as products of their social and literary context than as..... arsenic wallpaper fever dreams.

Common themes in horror/gothic fiction during the 1890s were fear of regression and a duality between civility and the Other: the thoroughly modern Mina vs the "devolved" vampire hordes; Dorian vs his portrait; also throw in Jekyll & Hyde as another contemporaneous example. You'll note all three involve anxiety about degeneration within the self.

These texts are written in a period wracked with social anxieties related to rapid technological innovation, the decline of the British Empire, the New Woman, and a preoccupation with "degeneration." (Though it's worth noting that Stoker and Wilde were both queer Irish writers, which influenced their writing as well.)

Dracula reflects many of these social anxieties of the 1890s. It can be interpreted as an early example of invasion fiction, representing the fear of the foreign "other" as threat; or about the feudalism of a declining aristocracy vs the modern London; or as a complicated depiction of women's sexuality and the New Woman; or reflecting Stoker's own sexual anxieties, given that he was likely queer and that Dracula was written in the wake of Wilde's trial which had a significant impact on literary circles. Note, too, that in period marked by rapid technological innovation, many then–cutting-edge technologies such as the typewriter and the phonograph act as tools to fight the ancient Dracula. (For more on different readings of Dracula and their historical context, see Maud Ellmann, preface to Dracula, Oxford World's Classic edition.)

While nowadays Dracula might be the most widely known early vampire text, it certainly wasn't the first, and Stoker "came up with" much of it not by licking the wallpaper but by studying folklore and expanding upon earlier vampire stories that were already shifting the vampire figure into the cunning aristocratic archetype we know today.

Oscar Wilde was a prominent figure in both the Aesthetic and Decadent literary movements, which challenged Victorian values of art needing "moral instruction" by instead valuing beauty, intensity, excess, artifice, and "art for art's sake." The Picture of Dorian Gray is part of that tradition and draws on the works of his Aesthetic predecessors such as Walter Pater. Dorian Gray's dramatization of Aesthetic values and exploration of themes such as excess, the role of art, duality, and Faustian bargains were probably more inspired by Wilde's active involvement in the Aesthetic literary circle and as a known social commentator than it was by, y'know, lead poisoning or whatever.

I know this was just meant to be a "funny ha ha not that serious" tweet, but why do we have the impulse to dismiss art as the kooky byproduct of wallpaper and cough medicine, rather than look at works of literature for their actual content and in the context in which they were written? Why do we blame it on ~bonkers nonsense from people high on cocaine because they didn't know better~ instead of actually engaging with the works?

The less pithy truth is that they got their ideas by being... writers who lived in a particular context, whose works contain the influences of their contemporaries and predecessors, and who were writing in a particular social climate and belonged to specific literary schools of thought.

I realize the internet would prefer to believe the curtains are just blue or whatever and that literary criticism should be replaced with YA novels, but there is actually merit to analyzing a text for both its content and its context.

[theory-of-art]

3.2 Significant Form

Approaching Clive Bell’s theory of significant form as someone who has both a Bachelor’s and Master’s in English and has taught literature courses for five years (and counting) was actually quite easy once I made the connection between his significant form and formalism. In literary theory, formalism is a type of analysis that has to do with the structural purposes of a text, essentially viewing the piece in a cultural vacuum in order to pick out its modes, genres, discourse, and forms. It looks to the structures of the plot, the characters, the settings, and the themes as they are wholly within the text, ignoring the author’s cultural, economic, and historical context as acting upon the work. To give a very simplified example, a formalist analysis of Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird would focus primarily on the characters, the narrative structure, and the themes inherent in the text without connecting the experiences of the characters and events with Lee’s childhood growing up in Monroeville, Alabama in the 1930s and 1940s. Formalism implies that the author’s lived experiences have no effect upon the impact and messages of a text.  

Bell’s theory states that the significant form of a piece of art is its potential to provoke aesthetic emotion in the viewer. For the sake of expounding upon his theory, aesthetic emotions are the emotions that are felt during an aesthetic activity or appreciation which can include the base, everyday variety like fear or wonder or they can refer to more complex aesthetic contexts. Aesthetic contexts take the emotions a step further and compound them into experiences like the sublime or the kitsch. Bell specifically delineates significant form from beauty, stating that an object doesn’t need to be beautiful in order to elicit the emotional response that signifies significant form. For Bell, it is the composition of a piece that gives it the ability to evoke emotions; it is the “lines and colors combined in a particular way, certain forms and relations of forms, that stir our aesthetic emotions.” 

While it still seems to view the works in a manner that excludes the artist’s intent and contextual experience, the significant form seems to approach art in a manner more emotive than formalism approaches literature. This is probably due to the fact that art and aesthetics operate on a different cerebral level than literature. While literature can evoke aesthetic emotions (gothic literature attempts to explore the sublime by triggering fear responses), it is a drawn-out process that takes the length of the piece, which even in the shortest of stories can be several minutes to an hour. Art, on the other hand, is able to trigger aesthetic emotions almost instantly, so there isn’t a period of waiting to experience significant form. 

Let’s look at the difference between formalism and significant form, especially in the immediacy of the aesthetic emotional response. In order to do this let’s look at Pablo Picasso’s 1937 painting Guernica and Stephen Vincent Benét’s 1937 post-apocalyptic short story “By the Waters of Babylon.” I specifically chose this short story because I know for a fact it was written in response to the exact same April 1937 bombing of Guernica, a town in northern Spain, by Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy at the request of the Spanish Nationalists that inspired Picasso to paint his piece. 

Benét’s story is presented through a non-linear plot where the reader is grasping at straws trying to place the events in the historical timeline. The narrator, John, is the son of a priest and is training to be a priest himself, though priests in their society are simply those who can handle the metal collected from the Dead Places belonging to the long-dead gods. He ventures on a spiritual journey without revealing his destination is the Place of the Gods because it is a forbidden place. As he reaches the ruins, he sees a statue of a “god”-- a human-like figure that says “ASHING” on its base; he continues through the ruins and is chased by wild dogs into a large building where he finds the body of a dead god. **SPOILERS** That night John has a waking dream of a bustling city, bright with neon lights, and humans living their lives before they are destroyed by fire raining down on them from the skies. John realizes that the gods were just humans whose technologically advanced society led to their own eradication. The short story finishes by stating: 

“Nevertheless, we make a beginning. it is not for the metal alone we go to the Dead Places now—there are the books and the writings. They are hard to learn. And the magic tools are broken—but we can look at them and wonder. At least, we make a beginning… We shall go to the Place of the Gods—the place newyork… They were men who were here before us. We must build again.”

The piece creates a feeling of unease and foreboding that emphasizes the theme of advancing technology past our ability to compromise and cohabitate on the planet. Taken in a vacuum as formalism dictates, the aesthetic emotions of fear and unease are developed over the course of the short story, roughly forty minutes. Thus there is significant form, but the story does it over a longer period of time. 

Contrast this with Picasso’s Guernica, which is instantly unsettling upon viewing it. The chiaroscuro of the piece emphasizes the sharp lines created by the forms which configure in a confusing and unsettling composition evoking the aesthetic emotional response of fear and despair. The figures in the piece include a gored horse, a bull, several screaming women, a dead baby, a dismembered soldier, and flames all rendered in black, grey, and white. While the primary emotion evoked is fear, the lack of color emphasizes the despair at the violence wrought.    

While both of these pieces are inspired by the horrors of the same bombing of Guernica, the aesthetic emotions evoked by each piece happen in different ways over different lengths of time for the audiences. Thus significant form can be applied across the full range of artistic expression be it visual, auditory, or written.

[jadbalja]

The Aftertaste of all Sweetness

posted Wed, 29 Mar 2006 00:40:28 -0800 On March 28h, 2006, the famous Internet journo-dadaist shashkin (aka jadbalja) was interviewed by Wintermute from the webzine forlorn.envy.nu. This is an excerpt from the transcript. Wintermute (W): Thanks for coming. Let's start with your latest work, You Incomplete Me just out with Medium publishing. It seems to depart from your previous oeuvre. Does this signal a move into more character and dialogue-led explorations? Shashkin (S): Great to be here. The piece you mention has actually been referred to by some as an 'epistolary novel'. Though, neither are emails really epistolary, nor is it of novel length. It could be a 'micro-' or pico- novel. Novel, novela, the magazine short story, and then the micro-novel, I suppose tracking the shrinkage of our collective attention span in the wash of pop-culture. This isn't meant to be derisive though - I've always believed that pathos can and will be conveyed if required from the most succinct of prose, and a character can be fleshed in sentences rather than chapters. Whether that's successful or not - you'll all tell me, right. Going back to the idea of the 'epistle', it's always been a literary device which writers have used to peel back layers of intimacy between characters. Anything which wouldn't be rendered adequately in common dialogue. Then you have the entire collections of the letters of historical figures, say Virginia Woolf, or Sylvia Plath.  There has been a certain valorization of the literary and sentimental value of the physical letter, what we now call snail mail, though to me that image spoke of a trail of slime rather than emotion. So, my challenge here, or what I've felt challenged to do, is to see if that similar significance in terms of intimacy, and as a literary device could be extended to the most banal of communications, though I guess less banal than chatting - the email. How dada would I be if I didn't raise something utilitarian to an artform? So, to really answer your question, I'm not actually moving into 'novel' territory, if you pardon the involved pun, that is, I'm not doing anything new in terms of characters. Just trying to tell stories in new ways, with new methods. As I think you see, just a few emails is all it takes for Vahe to make a very long personal journey and there's enough hidden context and substance, I hope, in the added details. W: What kind of detail should we be looking at? S: I can't give too much way...haha. You're asking me to give a normative reading of your subjective experience of the piece! But I think, if I were to go back to it again today - and I don't really re-read what I write except when I feel the mood strike me which resonates with each work, because to me every work is the aborted child of a particular moment and mood - well, then I'd look at the dates, and the arcana of the structure of the email, the error messages. The project of uplifting emails to literature isn't easy, and the language - which I at least try to instinctively keep to what we might think is 'business English' slants heavily to the utilitarian and the prosaic, so to add what I feel are the important elements, deepening the fiction in time and in mordancy I have to play with what is happening outside the text. So, in a sense, my canvas is both the email text and its attendant trappings. But sometimes, as in the stolen 'real' exchange between Pat and idali [Ed: entry 'Nevertheless, dear'], the people writing the emails provided me with everything I'd need in the texts themselves, so when I put them together, edited in a certain way, they transcend, i.e., I have the gestalt. W: I think I see. This is a continuing theme though, for you - this experimentation with the 'trappings' of our communication culture, mediated as it is by machines and software? I was thinking especially of the piece about the French girl and the hacker.. S: Yes, The Girl and her Hacker [Ed: entry 'Arpanet']. I am very interested in the linguistics of software interfaces, the way there is a new grammar in online forms, and checkboxes and other widgets and knobs of our surfing experience. I think that story isn't the best example of that kind of experimentation though. It just happens that I chose to present certain communications in the text in what I think are approximations of actual software interfaces. But in a sense, what I am saying is that checkboxes, buttons and scrollbars are now ubiquitous in our reading of the electronically generated word, but we don't see them as part of our language because we still think in sentences and paragraphs and these elements are outside those modular linguistic forms. So, what happens when I insert them in a sentence with an attempt at syntax, and fill them with a word, or emboss them with some meaning, do they become just placeholders for letters, independent semiotics, or a blend? This is for me the continuing element of evolution in the way we conduct the business of writing... W: There's another theme, isn't there - not in terms of subject or experimental focus, but the emotional core of your work, that is, the sense I get that you're really the only poet of urban alienation of a certain kind, of apartments and chatrooms and cubicles. It resonates with me, and I'm sure with anyone who lives alone in a metropolis, it's really an unique kind of vibe. I know you've said before that your work is not directly autobiographical - but do you want to explain if it is indirectly, that is, where are you channeling this from? S: Haha, I hope you're not feeling this resonance only because you're a figment of my imagination, or well - my creative imagination. W: No, please don't trivialize my response - I think there is individuality even in those who are not individuals. S: I'm sorry, I didn't mean that you're not self-contained. Well, this really brings me to an interesting response, because I was going to talk of the author-text-character-reader distances, and the whole system of reflected selves, but that would all get too post-structuralist a discussion and I like to keep it more general. What you are right about is that the sense of alienation which I am definitely channeling is a deeply felt thing, even if I didn't feel all that those in my pieces feel. In the apartment arc of texts [Ed: entries 'Department of Ennui' & 'Chaque Jour'] I was involved in a particular kind of funk, a Los Angeles moment which I haven't quite tapped ever again. But I am sure in some way, what that protagonist is saying in first person is vocalizing some of my interiority, and that is the kind of schizophrenia - Whitman's 'I am large, I contain multitudes'- kind of thing that I revel in. You, me, we're all split off from the same deep core of shashkin-itude, that frothing bubble of textual gold. Though, in retrospect, a good schizo is someone who isn't aware he/she is schizophrenic, so I guess I've overanalyzed myself out of the real fun. W: Over analysis is always a dreadful shame. Still, there is this amazing diversity in your published work, which is startling. You've covered ground as an urban fantasist, symbolist poet, 'found text' artist and something which I can only term as 'conceptual blogging'. But in general, even amidst the diversity, there is more than just the alienated apartment-dwellers, but a sense of genuine sadness, and loss. Were you abused as a child? S: Sadly, I had a reasonably content childhood and terrorized the local neighborhood children as a bully, so there's not much material there. As an adult male I think have more troughs than I have crests, but I think all artists choose over a certain emotional territory that which they feel most comfortable in. I'd be wary though if you find me only working with the sad bricks. You only get typecast into a certain emotional bracket if you're a bad artist. I guess I'd produce happy work if I felt happier, but I'm not sure if that would be readable. Sadness is a more complex emotion than happiness, isn't it? I just read somewhere that as humans we're more evolved to be sad than happy.. W: Perhaps what I meant was wistful, or longing. Something the Germans call 'sehnsucht'. The addiction to longing. S: I like that word. There is definitely a lot of longing in my characters, but sometimes it's just involved satire or allegory, as in the God in the Midwest piece [Ed: entry 'Neon Summer']. I think allegory is sorely underappreciated in literature today. I am tired of dry conceptual formalism. I thought Dada was fun when it was happening - and the recent exhibition in the city sort of goes into that - but rebels aren't always the most emotionally sensitive. The rabble aren't roused by weeping. I think some of those political-artistic battles are won, but to continue the war, I think the emotional core is important in today's conceptual prose, or whatever goes as the avant-garde. In fact, since so much of the stylized conceptual art is so diminished of the sensual or the emotive, to show that one has sentiment as a writer, the affliction of 'humors' as Victorians would call it, is positively revolutionary. And I like that. W: Sensitive, but without becoming a neo-confessional. We don't want you to be the male Anne Sexton.. S: No worries. W: We're nearly done here, but I did want to hear more about your process of creation. You're hardly regular in your output and some of us wonder what process you've got there, as a writer? You mentioned moods, and how they reflect in the pieces, and you're right, you do have some of those angry pieces tucked away, and the prose poems, and also the stuff I can't categorize, like the incomparably beautiful Howling for Sade.. S: Thank you. I'm not sure how I wrote that one, because it seems uncharacteristic in retrospect. I'd also reconsider the gratuitous French today, especially since I don't speak it, but at the moment I was very into Messiaen and it seemed to stick. All my titling, at both levels, are matters of serendipity that way. I don't have a set process, and the days you could just sit down before a typewriter and bang away for some hours and have something just doesn't work. Working with a laptop is somehow more organic, though Baudrillard has argued for the opposite, about how he feels there is a distance between the electronic text and him, which lacks the immediacy of the paper, the typewriter hammers and the pins.. Sometimes my moments of greatest lucidity - when my muse is closest to me - are when other voices fall silent, when my inner horror at myself stops singing its Lethean hymn, and I stop doing - everything. A moment of stillness. Mostly when I am lying in bed, curled and heart stopped because that ineffable thing has happened, the idea has sparked. That's how I get my poems. And I haven't 'received' a poem for a long time. For prose, I do need to sit down and work through it, and I usually do not make many changes. Something about the moment has to be right. W: Yes, when the moment is right, just like sometimes when I am reading one of your pieces - like some of the shorter ones we published on forlorn.envy, which, in the atmosphere of the right music, the right hour, fills me with such a strange and overwhelming sensation of kinship, of shared experience. I feel very giddy telling you this, but considering you are my creator... I do feel that we are thinking the same great thought. My face gets that first flush of heat, that rushing behind your eyes which makes me wonder if I'll break into tears, how delicious it is to feel moved by a work of art - S: Ssh. You have to stop. W: Excuse me.. Even though I don't exist, I feel quite animated. S: It's a good thing. W: Just one more thing. Are you going to complete that 'Crossing' story [Ed: entry 'Strange light in your eyes']? What about new poetry? S: I'm not sure about that one. I never introduced the girl, and that had to have a poignant ending. I have the story in sight, but I think it's more useful to me right now, to let it spool out in the imaginations of the readers, the "hypocrite lecteurs".. Ah well, poetry. I only write poetry in the throes of mortal sadness, and I must not have been feeling it - so nothing has descended to me from the muse Calliope. Maybe I've crossed some threshold into apathy and apathy just doesn't do it for poetics. W: Fine. Thanks for the interview. Are you going to snuff me out of existence, since this conceptual farce is concluded? S: I was thinking about it. Do you mind terribly? W: No go ahead, after all I   [Ed: end of transmission]

[ridleymocki]

Another aspect of this I'd like to see used more is considering how the reader/viewer/audience augments the interpretation with the unique psychosocial setup that they bring to the table.

The way that we, as consumers of fiction, have lived in particular geographical, historical, social, political etc contexts shapes us and our mental makeup (situatedness) in such a way that makes interpretations of literature different person to person. Austen for me is very different to Austen for you.

I think early 'decoding authorial-intent' approaches were partly about counteracting the influence of situatedness; remove reader bias to get to the 'true' meaning. Then post-Barthes works started to say no, we don't need the authorial intent, we can have just the text.

But I still find few instances where literary criticism, or media interpretation generally, is humble enough to say 'look I interpreted it this way probably because of these experiences of mine'.

Lay people talking about representation are actually better at doing this. Like, it matters to me the hero is female bc so am I, etc.

But I think a lot of media critics still see their job as above that. Like to be a pro, you have to transcend your own subjectivity and situatedness and justify critique with evidence directly from the text. It's a sort of hubris we see often when intellectuals presume their rationality can just strongarm its way out of subjectivity.

But I think it would be very interesting for critics to instead note the elements of their own situatedness that made a text poignant for them, or if they catalogued their own biases for or against the text as part of critical rigour.

I tend to believe that art is not the text or the painting itself - is a statue sunk to the ocean floor still being art? - but that art exists in the multivalent interactions between creator, text, and viewer. So I'd like to see literary critics consider where they, themselves, interact with the text, because I think that is part of the generative activity of art.

When I took my literary criticism theory class in undergrad the professor told us that in modern literary criticism “The author isn’t dead but they are a ghost breathing down your neck”

Basically, the old way of thinking was that the point of literary criticism was to find the true original intentions of the author. Then death of the author was introduced and literary criticism swung hard the other way, saying that what the author thinks and the context they were in doesn’t matter.

Nowadays, it’s somewhere in between. Yes the author had intentions and yes the work had context. But the work also has context right now and a history of people reading it and interpreting it and sometimes an author puts meaning in something that they didn’t realize they were.

I can’t sit down and interview Jane Austin about every little decision she made in Pride and Prejudice but I can look at what we know about her life and the era and place she lived in. I can also ignore all that and look at what the book means right now to modern people. I can compare Austin to writers in her own time as well as writers now. I can speculate on what I think was on purpose and what wasn’t.

A lot of people go on about death of the author like that’s the only correct way to interpret fiction when modern lit crit moved past it years ago. Reading critically is a conversation between the author, the reader, and the various contexts surrounding both of them. Nothing exists in a vacuum but at the same time nobody can anticipate every interpretation their work might present with.

The question of analysis and separating art from artist isn’t a simple cut and dry issue. It never has been and it never will be.

[spanishskulduggery]

Do you know of any fossil words in Spanish, words that used to be common but fell out of use and are now only preserved in idioms? I tried looking on Google but all the results were English-only examples

I'll try and think of some others but here are the ones that come to mind; and I’m not sure all of these will be what you’re looking for.

si fuere menester = "in the event of" el menester used to be fairly common especially in the Medieval period, where it was another word for "need" or "necessity". Today you only see menester in si fuere menester which is an unusual construction as it is, since fuere is the future subjunctive - which is an obsolete tense - and so it literally means "should it be necessary". This expression only now shows up in contracts and legal contexts normally as "in the event of"

donde fueres haz lo que vieres = "when in Rome... (do as the Romans do)" Again, this is future subjunctive; literally "wherever you go, do what you see".. but in a more obtuse future subjunctive way "wherever you should happen to go, do whatever you may happen to see"

la urdimbre y trama = "warp and weft" The idea of this is related to "weaving", and though this phrase is rather antiquated or particular, it occasionally shows up as something like la urdimbre y trama de la sociedad or something where that's "the fabric of society". It's not the way you say that so much now [el tejido or la tela are more common], but urdir "to warp" was related to working a loom. You still do use tramar but it's not often that you see it related to weaving anymore... tramar is "to plot" or "to hatch a scheme", but you can see how "weaving" would go into "plotting"

so pena de = "under pain of" You don't often see so used in Spanish today, since it's a more direct link to Latin and Italian. And today la pena rarely means "pain" in the physical sense, it usually means "sorrow" or "anguish"... but again in legal cases, so pena de muerte is "under pain/penalty of death"

a diestra y siniestra = "all over the place" This expression literally means "to the right and left". The word diestro/a is still "right-handed" (also means "skillful" or "dexterous"), but siniestro/a used to mean "left-handed"... the idea that the left hand was more evil and "sinister", and "under-handed". In older contexts, siniestro/a means "left-handed", but in modern contexts you say zurdo/a for "left-handed"

al tuntún = "impromptu", "improvise", "on the fly", "by ear" This expression is derived from Latin, ad vultum tuum which is literally "to your face" in Latin. You never see tuntún anymore unless something is done al tuntún but it might be more regional; it just means you're making it up as you go

dormir como un ceporro = "to sleep like a log" Most people today say dormir como un tronco which is the same idea; el ceporro is a variation but it's extremely unusual to see it. Most people will use tronco if they have to

tuerto/a = one-eyed I'm actually not sure if people use tuerto/a still, since there are other ways to say "blind in one eye" or "one-eyed". In older Spanish, tuerto could show up as a "grievance", but in the expression en el reino de ciegos el tuerto es rey is still used sometimes, literally "in the kingdom of blind people, the one-eyed man is the king"

(el) haba = bean [technically haba is feminine] Not common to see el haba used much anymore except in certain contexts, and it's the root of la habichuela "bean". In Spain, sometimes haba is "idiot" so if you see el tonto del haba it's like "the biggest idiot that ever lived"

Vuestra Merced = "Your Lordship/Ladyship" This is the original form of it, but it eventually turned into usted "you" used for polite things. The title was Vuestra Merced and it was how you addressed someone without knowing their title, so it became very polite. In older Spanish you'd abbreviate it as Vd. which eventually became Ud. as the abbreviation for usted. Keep in mind that at a certain point in time, Spanish wrote the U sound as a V, and it followed more of the Latin pronunciation where the V had a softer U/W sound at times. Outside of Spain and works set in older time periods, you're unlikely to use vuestro/a - it even became informal plural "you all" in Spain - but you rarely ever see merced used. Chances are you're only going to see it was vuestra in front of it. But just know that vos has a very different meaning today than it did in the Middle Ages

meter/sembrar cizaña = "to sow discord" You're never going to see cizaña used in any other context unless you happen upon some botanical book. The literal translation is "darnel" which is sometimes called "false wheat"; basically la cizaña looks like trigo "wheat", and it grows close to wheat but it often has a fungus that's poisonous so you need to separate it. The idea behind it is that if you're deliberately planting cizaña you're actively trying to poison someone or make things worse

la celestina = "a go-between, a mediator" This word comes directly from La Celestina a novel written in Spain's Golden Age by Fernando de Rojas. In it there's a woman named Celestina who sets up meetings between women living in convents (who weren't always nuns) and men; acting as a go-between and chaperone for love affairs basically. The term was also la alcahueta but became celestina after the character in the book. Certain characters in literature are considered celestinas like the Nurse in Romeo and Juliet; basically the girl/woman can't risk her reputation so she has her maid or chaperone working to arrange things, and they're often the catalyst for things going wrong. In other contexts, celestina or una alcahueta is a "pimp" or "madame", or sometimes "a gossip"

pardo/a = brown, brownish-gray Today you’re only really going to see pardo/a used with animals. Specifically, el oso pardo is a “grizzly bear”, and pardo/a can be used with horses as “dun”. I don’t know if “grizzly bear” counts as an expression but anyway. In older Spanish pardo/a was another word for “brown” when it came to people too. Today, if you’re describing hair color as “brown/brunette” you’re using castaño which is literally “chestnut”, either castaño claro “light brown” or castaño oscuro “dark brown”. When it comes to things that are brown, the typical word is now marrón or sometimes you see it as color café which is “coffee-colored”

ser un caco = to be a thief Not commonly used as ladrón, ladrona “thief”, but un caco literally means “a Cacus”. Basically, Cacus was a mythological figure who stole some cattle and Hercules killed him. In some places people use un caco to mean “thief” as a euphemism

la Parca = the Grim Reaper Orginally, las Parcas were the Parcae in Roman (originally Greek) mythology. They were the sisters of fate who would measure someone’s life and eventually cut the thread. Today, it’s just one Parca and it’s typically a male figure, skeletal, with a scythe as the “Grim Reaper”, rather than it being a woman with scissors. That’s because during the Plague, people thought of Death as being a skeletal figure that held a scythe, the symbol for “reaping” wheat that was ripe.

manjar de los dioses = “nectar of the gods” / a delicacy el manjar is used in some places in certain contexts but it originally came from Italian as “food” or something “to eat”. Today, manjar is usually a “snack”, or in some cases it’s dulce de leche, but most of the Spanish-speaking world doesn’t use manjar so much. It is sometimes “delicacy”, but in older contexts it was code for “ambrosia”, the thing that the Greek gods couldn’t get enough of. The world manjar still feels very antiquated to me, but when it’s used it’s some kind of good food or eating a lot of food

valer un potosí = “to be worth a fortune” un potosí is pretty antiquated, but it came from the city Potosí in Bolivia which was famous for its silver mines that the conquistadores exploited. There are still some places that will use potosí as “something of great value”, though it’s not so common anymore unless you’re talking about the actual city.

moros y cristianos = “beans and rice” Usually it’s black beans and white rice, though this is literally “Moors and Christians”. You still use cristiano/a today but typically you only use moro/a in a historical sense

Also there’s the expression más sordo/a que una tapia where it means someone is really hard of hearing; literally “as deaf as a garden wall”, but I’ve never seen people use tapia ...only a muro or a cerca as “wall” or “fence”. The idea of tapiar is related to “mortar” and “masonry”

There are also some expressions related to metal and older words for it. For example, saturnino/a is an older word for “gloomy”, though it now refers to “lead-poisoning”. Saturn was linked to “moodiness” in alchemical society, and the symbol for Saturn was the older symbol for “lead”. 

This is similar to how áureo/a is “gold” but also linked to the “sun” because the Sun and gold are linked.

Another is el azogue which is the older word for mercury so it’d be “quicksilver”. You may see azogarse in some texts where it means “to be fidgetty” and it’s related both to mercury-poisoning, and probably to the idea of Mercury/Hermes being the messenger god so always on the move. 

There is also hidalgo/a which doesn’t have quite the same meaning it did originally. Today, hidalgo/a is sort of like “having noble blood”. It literally means “son of something/someone”, where originally in Spain hidalgos were the children of nobles - specifically, it tended to refer to the children of nobles who weren’t the firstborn male. Firstborn sons often got about 2/3 of the money and were expected to run the estates. The second or third or fourth children were usually on their own. It became a running joke that the firstborn became the lord, and the others would either join the army or the clergy. In Cervantes’s time, hidalgos could be among the poorest of society, even poorer than slaves in some cases. They were still “noble” in terms of blood though, and hidalgos couldn’t be tortured by the Inquisition because of it. So they were afforded certain rights, but usually tended to be poor or lower than you’d expect a noble to be. Today it just means “of nobility”, but in Cervantes’s time a hidalgo was the symbol of Spain under the Holy Roman Empire - wealthy and noble and glorious in theory, much poorer in reality.

I'd also add the phrases levar ancla "to raise anchor" or "anchors aweigh/away", where levar is rarely used today aside from nautical terms. Similarly, izar la bandera is "to hoist the flag"... not a lot of chances to use izar if it's not related to "flags" or la vela "a sail"

I also would say errar is less common today in Spanish. It's still used, but you normally say cometer un error "to make a mistake". Still, errar es humano, perdonar es divino "to err is human, to forgive divine". Also errar is weirdly irregular at times, it turns into yerro as present tense yo

And I’m also going to include when la manzana means a “city block”. Today manzana is not rare, it means “apple”. But manzana as a “city block” was originally mansana where it meant a “collection of manses/houses arranged in a block on a grid”. So there’s that. If you ever see manzana used for blocks in a city, it’s technically a separate word

Also depending on context el mar “sea” will be la mar with the feminine article. That’s usually more particular, usually meaning “open water” or deeper waters like alta mar “high seas”. The more poetic or open the water is, the more likely it is to be feminine, and so la mar isn’t quite so antiquated but it’s a little special

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Michelangelo’s The Risen Christ: Discovering the sacred in the profane.

The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine perfection.

- Michelangelo Buonarroti

While a visit to Rome’s grand squares like Piazza Navona is at the top of everyone’s list, there is much more to the Eternal City. The Piazza della Minerva, is one of Rome’s more peculiar squares and is a must-see for lovers of Bernini’s work.

As one of the smaller squares in Rome, Piazza della Minerva holds some interesting sites. Built during Roman times, the square derives its name from the Goddess, Minerva, the Roman Goddess of wisdom and strategic warfare. During the 13th Century, the decision was made to build a Christian Church on top of what was once a square dedicated to a pagan Goddess – and so the church of Santa Maria Sopra Minerva was born, a beautiful example of Gothic architecture and Rome’s only Gothic church.

In fact this is the only Gothic church in Rome. It resembles the famous Church of Santa Maria Novella in Florence. There are three aisles inside the church. The soaring arches and the ceiling in blue are outstanding. The deep blue colours dominate the structure while the golden touches promote the intricate design. There are paintings of gold stars and saints. The stained glass windows are beautiful too.

In the centre of the Piazza is an elephant with an Egyptian obelisk on its back, one of Bernini’s last sculptures erected by Bernini for Pope Alexander VII and possibly one of the most unusual sculptures in Rome. There are several theories which aim to decipher Bernini’s inspiration for the sculpture, some of which point to Bernini’s study of the first elephant to visit Rome, while others point to a more satirical combination of a pagan stone with a baroque elephant in front of a Christian church.

Tourists flock to see the elephant but more often than not they miss out visiting an almost forgotten marble masterpeiece by Michelangelo himself inside the church. This controversial statue has resided in the Santa Maria sopra Minerva Church in Rome for almost five hundred years. Indeed The Risen Christ by Michelangelo is one of the artist's least admired works. While modern observers frequently have found fault with the statue, it satisfied its patrons enormously and was widely admired by contemporaries. Not least, the sculpture has suffered from the manner in which it is presently displayed and from biased photographic reproduction that emphasises unfavorable and inappropriate views of Christ.

Around 2017 I was fortunate on a visit back to London to see once again Michelangelo’s marble masterpiece, The Risen Christ, which was being displayed in all its naked glory at an exhibition at the National Gallery.

This was another version of this great sculpture that no one has got round to covering up. It has just come to Britain. Michelangelo’s first version has been lent to the National Gallery, in London, for its exhibition Michelangelo and Sebastiano del Piombo in 2017. It came from San Vincenzo Monastery in Bassano Romano, where it languished in obscurity until it was recognised as Michelangelo’s lost work in 1997.

I found it profoundly moving then as I had seen the other partially clothed one on several visits to the church in Rome. It has always perplexed me why this beautiful work of art has been either shunned to the side with hidden shame or embarrassment when it holds up such profound sacred truth for both art lover or a Christian believer (or both as I am).

Michelangelo made a contract in June 1514 AD that he would make a sculpture of a standing, naked figure of Christ holding a cross, and that the sculpture would be completed within four years of the contract. Michelangelo had a problem because the marble he started carving was defective and had a black streak in the area of the face. His patrons, Bernardo Cencio, Mario Scapucci, and Metello Vari de' Pocari, were wondering what happened when they hadn't heard for a while from Michelangelo. Michelangelo had stopped work on The Risen Christ due to the blemish in the marble, and he was working on another project, the San Lorenzo facade. Michelangelo felt grief because this project of The Risen Christ was delayed. Michelangelo ordered a new marble block from Pisa which was to arrive on the first boat. When The Risen Christ was finally finished in March 1521 AD Michelangelo was only 46 years old.

It was transported to Rome and this 80.75 inches tall marble statue was installed at the left pillar of the choir in the church Santa Maria sopra Minerva, by Pietro Urbano, Michelangelo's assistant (Hughes, 1999). It turns out that Urbano did a finish to the feet, hands, nostrils, and beard of Christ, that many friends of Michelangelo described as disastrous). Furthermore, later-on in history, nail-holes were pierced in Christ's hands, and Christ's genitalia were hidden behind a bronze loincloth.

Because people have changed this sculpture over time; many are disappointed with this work of art because it is presently different than the original work that Michelangelo made. The Risen Christ had no title during Michelangelo's lifetime. This sculpture was given the name it has now, because Christ is standing like the traditional resurrected saviour, as seen in other similar works of art.

It was in discussion with an art historian friend of mine currently teaching I was surprised through her to discover the sculpture’s uncomfortably controversial history. There is no doubt Michelangelo’s marvellous marble creation has  raised robust debates about where beauty as an aesthetic sits between the sacred and the profane. And nothing exemplifies that better than the phallus on Michelangelo’s The Risen Christ.

For the majority of its time there, however, the phallus has been carefully draped with a bronze loincloth - incongruous at best, and prudish at worst, but either way a less than subtle display of the historic Church’s discomfort with the full physicality of Christ.

Indeed, it is worth noting that this attitude prevails, at least in some sense, into the twentieth-century: the version of the statue in Rome remains covered to this day, and much of the critical attention the sculpture has received after Michelangelo’s death has been grating. Romain Rolland, an early biographer, described it as ‘the coldest and dullest thing he ever did’, whilst Linda Murray bluntly dubbed the work ‘Michelangelo’s chief and perhaps only total failure’. But Michelangelo himself saw no such mistake. The censored statue seen in Santa Maria sopra Minerva is what we might call his second draft.

It’s interesting to note that when artist was originally commissioned to sculpt a risen Christ in 1514, he had all but completed it before realising that a vein of black marble ran across Jesus’ face, marring the image of classical perfection which he so wished to emulate. It had nothing to do with the phallus. Furious, Michelangelo abandoned this Christ - the one I saw at the National Gallery - and began again. Even given a fresh chance, he chose to retain Christ’s complete nudity.

Why was this of such importance to Michelangelo? Why did he so strongly wish to craft the literal manhood of Christ, as never depicted before? Part of the answer may lie in his historical context: the Renaissance in Italy was driven in the part by the remains of Roman antiquity discovered there; study of the classics became commonplace, and scholars tended to consider the Graeco-Roman world as a cultural ideal, with ancient art in particular being emblematic of a lost Golden Age. Famously, classical sculpture was almost always nude.

In his interview with The Telegraph in 2015, Ian Jenkins, curator of the British Museum exhibition “Defining Beauty: The Body in Ancient Greek Art”, attempted to explain this tradition. ‘The Greeks … didn’t walk down the High Street in Athens naked … But to the Greeks [nudity] was the mark of a hero. It was not about representing the literal world, but a world which was mythologised.’

We see evidence for this trend in Greek literature as well as sculpture: Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, considered by some to be the earliest known works of Western literature, were likely written between the 8th and 7th centuries BC, but their setting is in Mycenaean Greece in the 12th century. The Greeks believed that this earlier Bronze Age was an epoch of heroism, wherein gods walked the earth alongside mortals and the human experience was generally more sublime. In setting the texts at this earlier stage in Greece’s history, Homer echoes the belief held within his contemporary society that mankind had been better before (what we might now call nostalgia, or, more colloquially, “The Good Old Days syndrome”). There is a real feeling of delight present in the distance Homer creates between his actual, flawed society, and the idealised past.

Indeed, it calls to mind a line I once read in an introduction to L.P. Hartley’s The Go-Between, by Douglas Brookes-Davies: ‘Memory idealises the past’. Though modernist texts such as The Go-Between problematise this, in antiquity it was not only commonplace but celebrated to look back to a more perfect existence and relive it through art. The very fact that Michelangelo abandoned his sculpture after years of work on account of a barely noticeable flaw in the marble is evidence that he, too, was striving towards the classical ideal of perfection. ‘Unfortunately,’ Hazel Stanier has commented, ‘this has resulted in unintentionally making Christ appear like a pagan god.’

This opens up another question – why does such a rift exist between the way ancient cultures envisaged their divinity and our own conceptions of a Christian God? Why are we not allowed to anthropomorphise the deus of the Bible in the same way that the Roman gods were?

Christ, of course, makes this somewhat confusing, given that he is described in the Bible as ‘the Word made flesh’, a physical and very human incarnation of the spiritual being that we call God. Theology tells us that he is fully human and fully divine, and yet the Church have excluded him from many aspects of life that a majority of us see as typifying a human being. Christ has no apparent sexual desires or romantic relationships, and though not exempt from suffering, he does not play any part in sin (which, as the saying goes, is ‘only human’). I think that the enormous controversy caused by films such as The Last Temptation of Christ (1988), which explore the possibility of Jesus having a sex life, is reflective of the possibility that - though in theory the Christian messiah is fully human - we feel significant discomfort at the notion that he may have explored particular aspects of the human experience.

Purists and the prude and liberals rush to opposite sides of the debate. If purists run one way to completely deny Christ had any sexual desires or even inclinations as all humans are want to do, liberals commit the sin of rushing to the other extreme end and presuppose that Jesus did act on sexual impulses simply because it was inevitable of his human nature.

I think the truth lies somewhere between but what that truth might actually be is simply speculation on my part. It doesn’t detract for me the life and saving mission of redemption that Jesus was on - to suffer and die for our sins as well as the Godhead reconciling itself to sacrificing the Son for Man’s sins and just punishment.  

Of course, it is well-known that the classical gods had no qualms about sexual activity. It is difficult to make retrospective judgements about citizens’ opinions on this but, as it was the norm, we might assume that they felt it was rather a non-issue. I can empathise with some critics who reason that the Christian God is not entitled to sexual expression is because of the traditional Christian idea that sex is inherently sinful – that original sin is passed on seminally and so by having sex we continue to spread darkness and provoke further transgression. It is from this early idea that theological issues such as the need for Mary to have been immaculately conceived (she was not created out of a sexual union, much like her son) have stemmed. But here - the immaculate conception - the critics are profoundly wrong in their theological understanding of why God had to enter the world as Immanuel in this miraculous way.

Some Christian critics - and I would agree with them - assert that the vision of a naked Christ might make a powerful theological point in a world where sex still carries these connotations. They rightly point out that clothing - and I might extend this to mean the covering-up of the sexual parts of our body - was only adopted by humankind after the Fall, the nudity of Christ is making a statement about his unfallen nature as the second Adam. In other words, Christ has no shame, because he is sinless and has no need for shame. Perhaps what Michelangelo intended was actually to disentangle nudity from its sexual, sinful associations, instead presenting us with a pre-lapsarian image of purity taking the form of the classical Bronze Age hero.

There is another, less theological explanation for the sculptor’s obvious use of the classical form. It reminds us of a time when gods walked the earth alongside us, when they were fully human – us, only immortal. Maybe he wanted to emphasise that fully human aspect of Christ’s being. Questionable as much of their behaviour was, the classical gods were certainly easy to identify with. For Michelangelo, this may have been his own way of embodying John 1:14 in marble: ‘The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us’.

It is here critics may have gotten hold of the wrong end of the stick with The Risen Christ when they point out the odd proportions of the figure: that it has a weighty torso, or the broad hips atop a pair of tapered and rather spindly legs, or even a side or rear view of the figure that show Christ’s buttocks.

For a start, this ungainly rear view was not supposed to be seen. The statue was meant to go in a wall niche, so that the back of the statue was hidden. Michelangelo of course knew this, and shaped the statue so that it would appear well proportioned from the front. If we view the sculpture from the front left, perhaps its best side, then Christ is no longer a thickset figure. Rather, his body merges with the cross in a graceful and harmonious composition.

The turn of Christ’s body and his averted face suggest something like the shunning of physical contact that is central to another post-Resurrection subject, the Noli me tangere (“Touch Me Not”). The turned head is a poignant way of making Christ seem inaccessible even as the reality of his living flesh is manifest.

We are encouraged to look at not Christ’s face, but the instruments of his Passion. Our attention is directed to the cross by the effortless cross-body gesture of the left arm and the entwining movement of the right leg. With his powerful but graceful hands, Christ cradles the cross, and the separated index fingers direct us first to the cross and then heavenward. Christ presents us with the symbols of his Passion – the tangible recollection of his earthly suffering. Behind Christ and barely visible between his legs we see the cloth in which Christ was wrapped when he was in the tomb. He has just shed the earthly shroud; it is in the midst of slipping to earth. In this suspended instant, Christ is completely and properly nude.

We must imagine how the figure must have appeared in its original setting, within the darkened confines of an elevated niche. Christ steps forth, as though from the tomb and the shadow of death. Foremost are the symbols of the Passion, which Christ will leave behind when he ascends to heaven.

Why was Michelangelo compelled to portray Christ completely naked in a way that was bound to trouble some Christians? It was not out of a desire to blaspheme. On the contrary, this genius – poet, architect and painter as well as the greatest sculptor who has ever lived – was not only a faithful Christian but someone who thought deeply about theology. You can bet he had good religious reasons to depict Christ in full nudity.

But it would be complacent to think there was no tension in showing Christ nude. The fact that The Risen Christ in Santa Maria still has its covering proves how real those tensions are. The fundamental reason Michelangelo could get away with it was that he was Michelangelo. By the time he created this statue, he had the Sistine Chapel ceiling (with all its male nudes) under his belt and was the most famous artist in the world.

For centuries, the faithful have kissed the advanced foot of Christ, for like Mary Magdalene and doubting Thomas, they wish for some sort of physical contact with the Risen Christ. To carve a life-size marble statue of a naked Christ certainly was audacious, but it is also theologically appropriate. Michelangelo’s contemporaries recognised, more easily than modern viewers, that the Risen Christ was a moving and profoundly beautiful sculpture that was true to the sacred story.

[tuber-culosis]

I've been reading through a lot of radfem blogs and posts lately. and gotta say, i'm leaning a lot towards radical feminism. And im definitely gender critical.

but one topic I want to talk about in particular is the criticism of Islam.

Which I feel is totally valid considering the current state of mainstream islam and Muslims.

Mainstream Islam (is what you see on all social media, seemingly practised by a lot of Muslims) IS sexist. And homophobic. There's no use denying it, neither do I think I'm a bad Muslim for not supposedly defending my own religion. You have to recognise the flaws in your own system to improve and progress.

Then arises the question why am I still Muslim then/ why do I still practise Islam? If I recognise the way it is practised is sexist and homophobic, which are things I'm against?

The difference lies in my belief that "mainstream Islam" is much different from the root of Islam.

Many (read: a LOT, not all) modern Muslims have been influenced by ultra conservative movements that want to return Islam to the way they believe was practised during the time of the Prophet (pbuh), ie; some centuries back. This is propagated by the ideas of Salafism and Wahhabism that frankly, prevent progress, reform or any sort of growth in Muslim communities.

I personally have witnessed this in my own country, India, where women are increasingly wearing the hijab and even full body covering purdahs, not talking to the opposite gender, men not looking a woman other than their wives in the eye, etc compared to when my mother was a child, when almost all Muslim women dressed in normal comfortable clothes and there were no much gender segregations. (Gender segregation still existed to a certain degree due to conservative Indian culture ofc)

This radicalisation led to the development of ultra conservative Muslims who enforce sexist, homophobic and separatist policies in the name of God.

They claim to want to return to "true Islam" but they add so many unnecessary rules and regulations you have to follow in order to be a "true Muslim" that are almost so impossible to follow I can vouch I have unconciously broken like 50 of them in one day maybe. These "laws" are derived from:

1. The hadith

2. Arab culture

3. Poor translation of the Quran to fit these radical ideals.

Explaining each of these in a little more detail,

1. A lot of practising Muslims might come at me for this one, but I feel that considering the hadith to be a holy source of guidance and believing everything in the Hadith when there are so many contradictions and logical fallacies, is foolish.

For those who have no clue what the hadith is, Islam basically has the Qur'an, which is, as we believe, a holy book revealed by God to the Prophet (pbuh), which acts as divine guidance on how to live life as a good person. It has rules, suggestions, and guidance to take desicions on a lot of everyday matters we face. It was a godsend (hehe pun fully intended) to women, who weren't even allowed to own property back then. Muslims believe that the Quran is guaranteed againt corruption by God, as revealed in one of the verses. Therefore, to a believer, it is THE book to consult, and the verses will never change, no matter how many years pass. There's actually a really interesting way the Quran is coded, so people can know if it has been tampered with or not, if anyone is interested. But the bottom line is, for a Muslim, the verses of Quran cannot be challenged. There are various INTERPRETATIONS of said verses, but the core Arabic text is the same.

Now there is a secondary source of guidance in the form of Hadith, which is literature that claims to record things the Prophet (pbuh) has said in his lifetime. The problem I find, along with other hadith critics, is that it was compiled much later after the death of the Prophet. Muslims argue that these hadiths were passed down in a proper recorded chain of transmitters that can assure the message hasn't been altered or tampered with. The problem is, that the standard used then was just how reliable was a person's memory and how trustworthy they were, and they did not actually judge the actual content of the hadith. So even if a hadith hypothetically said "Kill all the disbelievers", (which, fyi, it does NOT) and it had a reliable chain of recorders, it would be accepted as "sahih" (trustworthy) hadith, even though it clearly goes against the guidelines of the Quran, where it says there shall be no compulsion in religion (which implies you cannot just murder anyone who refuses to believe/ believes another religion). If one actually examined the content of this imaginary hadith, it would be easy to see it's tampered with by people with or without malicious intent (for eg, it might've actually been "You can kill the disbelievers ONLY if they attack you and will not leave you and your family alone") or some may not even remotely be the words of the Prophet, as he only followed the Quran.

Also, the integrity of the Hadith isn't guaranteed by God anywhere in the Quran. To know more about this, I suggest you read this link , and this one.

So yeah, I take hadith with a (large) grain of salt. So I will not be including them in my discussion obviously.

Now a lot of these hadith have been fabricated, as established, or reflect something that was applicable specifically in that time and setting, seeing that the Prophet was an ordinary man who couldn't predict the future or know about all the different cultures of the world.

So even if the headscarf was a part of Arabian attire, that doesn't mean it has to be assimilated into our cultures now. Just because prostitutes used to pluck all their eyebrows out to signify that they are prostitutes (sex work is forbidden in Islam, because of the negative impact on women and society), doesn't mean that women are not allowed to pluck their eyebrows now.

Following these hadith blindly without considering for a moment that hey, these might be outdated, seeing it isn't meant for all time periods like the Quran, and half of these contradict themselves, maybe we shouldn't consider this as an authority on rules in Islam. Personally, I don't believe anything is forbidden that is mentioned as such solely in the Hadith, and not in the Quran.

But the staunch belief in all of these Hadith leads to micromanaging of women, and literally everyone else. Few ridiculous examples include:

women can't pluck their eyebrows

men can't wear silk or gold, and they need to grow beards

music and dance is forbidden (seriously???)

the Prophet married a literal child of nine years (no do not try to justify it as "it was acceptable back then". According to the Qur'an it wasn't. Girls had to be mature enough to reject or agree to marriages and literal children can't do that. There is plenty of research to prove that Aisha (ra), his wife, was at the very least 19 or 20. Again a case of unreliable and maybe purposefully manipulated Hadith. Scholars and people who uphold the theory that Aisha was 9, and hence, child marriage is legal are pedophiles through and through)

I feel that if anything, hadith should be considered with the authority of historical commentary, giving us more context to the times, and should never be blindly trusted just because a lot of scholars say it is a "sahih" (trusted) hadith.

Also a main feature of Islam is that you don't need an extra priest (no offence to religions who have priests) or a scholar to tell you things and intervene with God for you. You have a holy book, your own common sense and humanity, and you pray to establish a connection with God. Scholars are secondary OPINIONS who can provide insight from their knowledge and research to people who want it, but by no means any authority on things, just like hadith.

2. Arab culture and society, especially back the times that radicals want to emulate, was heavily patriarchal. Islam gave women rights and protection, but they were still limited by the cultural norms of that era.

What these people actually want is to return society to Arabic culture in that time period. (Exhibit A: the abaya/purdah for women and khandoorah for men. exhibit B: sex-segregated spaces)

Back then, women were expected to be caretakers and mothers, and men were expected to be the strong masculine protector.

Enforcing said cultural norms into modern day Islam is ridiculous. Saying that women rarely left the house back then, hence women shouldn't leave their houses now is the same as saying there weren't phones back then, so I shouldn't use one now. Would you ever give up your phones? So how about we do the same to women's autonomy and freedom? Adapt to modern times like regular humans?

If women were meant to stay at home, and meant to just rear children, and never meant to be seen in public, and never meant to be seen by the opposite sex, as extremists say "is God's will", then why is none of this found in the Quran? Do you seriously believe that God, describe multiple times as All-forgiving and generous and kind, would ever persecute women to such a fate? If you do believe that, then maybe you need to re-examine in the nature of God that you believe in. Also if you tell me the "it's for their safety" gimmick, I will flip out. It has been proved multiple times that a woman's dressing has nothing whatsoever to do with why men rape.

Sure, Islam advocates for modesty in dressing, for both sexes. Both are called to not stare rudely (many Muslim men seem to forget that part of the verse, strangely), both are advised to dress in modest, comfortable, clean and practical attire. Never once is anything remotely like "YOU'LL GO TO HELL IF YOU EXPOSE YOUR ELBOW, WOMAN". But the way modern Muslims enforce the dress code (some even going to the lengths of saying women shouldn't wear BRIGHT COLOURED CLOTHES, so as to not attract attention!!! I'm looking at you, Mufti Menk), you'd think that God says something much worse than that. Infact God pulls out Uno reverse, and encourages us to dress as beautifully as we want, especially when visiting the mosque.

3. A lot of English translations of the Quran come from Saudi Arabia. A country famous for its conservative practise of Islam. While the original Arabic text cannot be changed, a lot of these translations include information in parantheses that add "rules" based on the above mentioned factors, that a casual reader or a new Muslim who doesn't know Arabic will consider to be authentic rules of the Quran, extrapolated from the verse, and not extra additions that are often derived from hadith. A very good example of this is the headcover verse, which you can see in this link.

Even all the hostility surrounding homosexual people has been derived from cultural influences and one set of verses. From around 6000 verses, just a single set passingly mention homosexuality. Don't you think that if it truly were such a great sin, God would have explicitly forbidden it? Also why would he create such a natural variation in sexuality and then forbid it? Why isn't it forbidden for animals then? Is all-loving God that cruel to create this natural and healthy attraction in them and then explicitly forbid it when straight people get to marry and live life in bliss? (Please don't say that "God also created pedophilia, and that's natural, so by this logic shouldn't we allow that too?" because pedophilia IS NOT HEALTHY, AT ALL. IT'S IS A DISORDER. Unlike homosexuality) I'm also not picking and choosing things to fit my lifestyle, as some might say, as I am straight, and the only reason I support the LGBT community because I have basic humanity?? And they're humans who deserve rights and joy and freedom and acceptance just like the rest of us.

There have been reformed translations of Quran which examine the verse without prior bias against LGBT people, and they have presented an alternate translation, that the verse condemns sexual assault, which happened to be homosexual in the particular story. Check out this link too, which explains how closely examining the words used could change the meaning from one thing to another.

What I attempted to prove in this extremely long post is that the practise of a religion isn't necessarily the reflection of its true nature.

There are progressive open-minded people who believe in Islam because it gives them hope and solace. People who believe because core beliefs of Islam aligned with their own views and simple logic.

NOT to say there aren't religious bigots who will totally use religion to manipulate people into oppressing themselves or other people. There are, there are a LOT of people like that who call themselves "scholars". And there are a lot of people who follow these extremely harmful regressive version of Islam without critically thinking about what they are following.

I've seen a post discussing the meaning of the word Islam, which means submission to God. It said that it implies total submission, without questioning what we believe.

That is an argument used by both religious extremists to further their beliefs, and by the opposite side, who say the religion is oppressive.

I wish to present a view that Islam itself tells us to think critically, to use our brains to question everything and anything we believe. And then to arrive at our own conclusions. And if you're a decent, kind human, those beliefs maybe align with Islam (not saying that if you're not Muslim, you're horrible, that is not what I meant at all). And if the opinion between people differs, there's always logic and reasoning behind every rule that is presented in the Quran. Don't believe me? Here's the verse that tells people not to blindly follow their parents' religion. And here's a list of verses about critical thinking.

The reason we (atleast reformist Muslims) submit to God is because we questioned it, we came to the conclusion that Hey! This is right. I can submit to my Creator by, who is basically the consciousness that created everything and is the source of all goodness, love and strength, because the rules mentioned here make sense and they privde a moral framework for me to base important desicions on. They feel right. And there is logic behind everything written in this.

I don't mean to present Islam as an all-perfect amazing religion everyone should believe and that I'm right, everyone else, especially those liberal atheists who criticise my religion are wrong and WILL BURN IN HELL. I consider Islam a perfect moral framework, and that's my business only. Anyone can follow what they want and it's none of my business. In fact there is no compulsion in religion at all, and people who say Muslim or go to hell are wrong imo.

What I intended was to paint a picture of reformist Muslims who are still out there, who follow the religion because they questioned it. And not the religion as this stringent rule book we all have to follow down to a t, micromanaging every aspect of our lives and living in perpetual fear of hell, but rather this basic moral guide that teaches us tact, compassion and justice, to bring us closer to God spiritually. I wanted to show that the majority isn't always reflective of what I think is the true core of Islam.

I feel that many practises in the name of Islam are highly questionable and should be criticized, but I also want people to know that the people who seemingly represent the religion, are not representative of the entire mass of believers. That sometimes the practises you might criticize might have nothing to do with the actual religion, atleast according to some of us. It was also for fellow Muslims who might be in the same place I was a few years ago, questioning everything I had learnt was part of my religion.

This is also NOT to undermine struggles of people forced to follow Islam and its seeming requirements like hijab. This is not to claim that nope, every Muslim is fine and ok, and we're all peaceful progressive people. In fact I wish to do the exact opposite, to show that people who enforce oppressive policies in the name of Islam aren't actually backed by the religion and neither should they be backed by other Muslims. I'm also not trying to say no one should criticize Islam. Criticism helps us grow. Criticism is necessary to uncover oppression and eradicate it. So by all means, criticize.

I'm so glad I found the subreddit r/progressive_Islam when I did because it helped me a lot, and opened me to other like-minded progressive Muslims, who actively hope to counter the negative effects of Salafism and conservatism that is overtaking Islam.

So yeah, I think I covered almost everything I wanted to talk about and here's a final link that pretty much just states my position on things.

PS idk why this thingy is in different colours it just seemed cooler and less boring to read

[gringolet]

Oh, yay! I'm pretty passionate about making medlit accessible so I would be happy to provide you with some recommendations. I saw from the other replies that you've only read about seven of the more well-known/mainline texts; I don't know which specifically you've read so I'll stick more to texts that probably wouldn't be discussed in an introductory course. I don't know much about your personal tastes nor am I overly familiar with transformers lore but here is a selection of medieval arthurian works that you might enjoy, with links.

L'Atre Perilleux or The Perilous Cemetery Is a French epigonal (post-chretien verse romance) text which explores lost/confused identity and the supernatural world in the context of chivalry. It presents Gawain as a flawed hero who must redeem himself for a failure early in the story, and is genuinely suspenseful and even disquieting in a surprisingly modern way. The academic Keith Busby has written on this text and I recommend looking up his analysis to help understand and appreciate the complex metaphorical layers of this text.

The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle Is a fairly short and entertaining proto-feminist text; the TEAMS annotations make the middle english super readable and you can get into the beauty of the language. This one you might have read already, it's pretty well known, but I thought it was a nice way to showcase the interesting gender dynamics that run through arthurian literature, in a way that contrasts chretien's work.

Meraugis de Portlesguez is one of my favourite epigonal works; the treatment of the female characters is pretty interesting and complex, and it lampshades the trope of knights instantly falling in love with women just because they are beautiful. the adventure itself is quite fun and involves a dramatic rescue using drag, fake and mistaken identities, magical boats and courtly intrigue.

Most introductory courses would focus on the mainline traditions-- English, Welsh, French, and maybe Latin-- but there are arthurian texts from German, Dutch, Hebrew, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, Tagalog, Greek, Belarussian, Scottish, Irish, Breton, and many other literary traditions. The Dutch works in particular are very fun, though you may have to look up the name spellings to see who the characters are (Gawain, for instance, is Walewein in most of them).

Moriaen is a dutch text which features an african knight as the titular hero! The teenaged morien leaves his home for arthur's kingdom to find his british father, one of the knights of the round table, and force him to return to his mothers land and marry her. He meets Lancelot and Gawain who agree to help him and they go on an action packed adventure.

Roman van Walewein is another dutch text; this is basically an adventure novel who's protagonist is gawain. its very classic high fantasy with dragons and ghosts and magic swords. the main female character in this one is very cool and fun and active, and the whole text keeps you guessing; i never felt like i knew what was going to happen next.

De Ortu Waluuanii is a latin text about the childhood and youth of gawain, where he is raised in the roman empire, fights pirates, defeats huge monsters, and seeks to discover his true parentage. very much a coming-of-age seeking-identity type story but with wild settings and plot that takes you all over a mytho-historical late roman/early medieval europe and mediterranean.

You had also mentioned not understanding how de troyes' work, particularly knight of the cart, could be read as satirical; I've linked some articles and critique below that might help provide the context and analysis of that interpretation. It's a complex and divisive text, so I don't blame you for having trouble with it, but these should hopefully shed some light. These also discuss how the work grapples with the ethics and representation of adultery, which I noticed you were also interested in critiquing.

David J. Shirt, " Le Chevalier de la Charrette : A World Upside Down?"

Fanny Bogdanow, "The Love Theme in Chrétien de Troyes's "Chevalier de la Charrette""

If you have any other questions, or want more text recommendations, just let me know! this is just a small collection of texts; the corpus of arthurian works in incredibly vast and fascinating and many works are in conversation with another, so the more you read the more you understand them as a whole.

I am in a King Arthur class where we read and analyze Arthurian legend, and I can confirm that Transformers lore is more complex, more engaging and way more powerful than any Arthurian story ever made

[margridarnauds]

Things I Wish I Had Known About Being A Celticist (Before Becoming One):

1. If you’re North American, you’re going to have to work twice as hard to get the same level of respect as your peers from Europe. Get used to that now, because it won’t get any easier as time goes on. You’re also going to very likely be in classes with people who, while not FLUENT in Gaeilge, have at least some background in it. This can be a blessing and a curse - The curse is that you have less of an idea of what’s going on, the blessing is that the professors will focus a lot of the tougher questions on them, at least at first. 

2. “So, do you have any Irish family?” You will be asked that question. All the time. If you’re North American or English. Unless you have, say, a grandma from Tipperary, the safest answer is always “No, not at all! I just love the literature/history/language/etc.” 

3. Love languages? You’re going to! On average, depending on your program, it’s likely that you’ll at least be learning two languages. At enough of a level where you can get pretty in-depth when it comes to the grammar. Most Old Irish experts are expected to know Old Irish, Middle Welsh (at least enough for comparative purposes), and German, with Latin often being brought in. You’ll also be expected to be able to comment on the development of Old Irish, Middle Irish, Early Modern Irish, and Gaeilge - It’s essential if you’re going to date texts. There are also multiple other Celtic languages (Breton, Manx, Cornish, Scottish) that, while they might not be ESSENTIAL for whatever you’re doing, are still going to be cropping up at different times for comparison purposes - I’d be lying if I said I knew them WELL, and most people tend to stick fairly firmly to their area, BUT you will probably be learning at least a little of them. (Personally, no one asked me, but I honestly think that I couldn’t call myself a Celticist if I just knew one Celtic language, it’s why a longterm goal of mine is to build up as much knowledge of the others as I can.)  I’ve seen quite a few scholars go in thinking that the linguistics part won’t be important, only to be slammed by the program early on. Even if you just want to do literary analysis, you’re going to have to explain the meaning and development of individual words, as well as situating it in the broader scope of the development of your language of choice. (IE “This is a ninth century text, and we know that because it has intact deponent verbs, the neuter article’s dying out, and no independent object pronoun. Also everything’s on fire because Vikings.”)

4. You’re very likely going to have to move. This applies mainly for North Americans who want to do it (unless you happen to live directly in, say, Toronto or Boston, in which case ignore what I said and, Bostonians, polish off your GREs and prepare to listen to Legally Blonde the Musical on repeat because you’re going to be applying for Harvard). There are very few Celtic Studies programs in the world and, in general, most of the major programs, sensibly, are in Celtic-speaking countries - So, if you want to study Scottish, you go to Scotland, you want Irish, you go to Ireland, Welsh in Wales, etc. If you already wanted to move to Europe for a year or two while you’re doing your MA, then great (and for EU students this doesn’t apply, since they can relocate much easier...unless they were planning on going to the UK in which case.....my condolences), but if you didn’t have any sudden plans to move, keep it in mind. From an American perspective, it was literally cheaper to move to Ireland and do my MA there than to deal with the school system here, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other inconveniences associated with moving to another country. Even if you’re European, the field is fickle - An Irish scholar might find themselves moving to Scotland, an English scholar might find themselves moving to Ireland, etc. etc. These things happen when you have to take what you can get. 

5. You don’t need Old Irish to go for your MA in Celtic Studies. You do not need Old Irish to go for your MA in Celtic Studies. When I first applied for my MA, I thought I didn’t have a chance because I had a general Humanities degree and didn’t have any formal experience with a Celtic language, least of all Old Irish. As it turns out, most programs do not expect you to have a background in this sort of thing beforehand, and quite a few have different programs for those who have a background in this stuff VS those who don’t, so don’t feel, if this is what you REALLY want to do, like you can’t just because of that. Show your passion for the field in your application, talk a little about the texts you’ve studied, angles you’re interested in, etc., make it the best application you can, and you still have a shot even without Old Irish (or, for non-Irish potential Celticists, whatever your target is.)  

6. It’s competitive - Just because you get your MA, PhD programs are fewer and farer between. Academia in general isn’t known for its phenomenal job security, but Celtic Studies in particular is very fragile, since we generally are seen as low priority even among the Humanities programs (which, in general, are the first to be axed anyway.) If you focus on medieval languages as opposed to modern ones, you might very well find your program ranked lower in priority than your colleagues in the modern departments. Especially since COVID has gutted many universities’ income. I found that getting into a MA program was significantly easier than planning on what to do afterwards, since, for a PhD, you generally have to go someplace that can pay you at least some amount of money. Going into your PhD without any departmental funding is a recipe for burnout and bankruptcy, and there are very few Celtic Studies programs that can pay. Doesn’t mean you can’t try, and, when paid PhDs become available, they tend to be quite well publicized on Celtic Studies Twitter/Facebook, but keep in mind that you’ll be in a very competitive market. Networking is key - Your MA is your time to shine and get those treasured letters of rec so that you can get that sweet, sweet institutional funding for your PhD. 

7. You’re very likely not actually going to teach Celtic Studies. Because there are so few teaching positions available worldwide, it’s much more likely that you’ll be teaching general Humanities/Composition/etc. This doesn’t mean that you’ll be giving up Celtic Studies (conferences are always going to be open, you don’t have to stay in one department for your entire life and can snag a position when it becomes available, and, even if you go outside of academia, the tourism industry...well, it was looking for Celticists, before The Plague), it just means that if teaching it is what you REALLY want to do with your life, it might be good to check your expectations. A few programs even have an option where you can essentially double major for the sake of job security. (So, if you always wanted to be the world’s first French Revolution historian/Celticist/Gothic Literature triple threat......................the amount of reading you’d have to do would likely drive you insane but................)

8. Make nice with your department. Make nice with your department. Celtic Studies departments tend to be small and concentrated, so you’re going to be knowing everyone quite well by the end of your first grad degree, at least. You don’t have to like everyone in it, but they aren’t just your classmates, they’re your colleagues. You will be seeing at least some of their faces for the rest of your life. I can say that my MA department remembered students who left the program a decade ago. Your department is supposed to have your back, and they can be an invaluable source of support when you need it the most, since they understand the program and what it entails better than anyone else can. You’ll need them for everything from moral support to getting you pdfs of That One Article From A Long Discontinued Journal From The 1970s. I’ve seen students who made an ass of themselves to the department - Their classmates remembered them five years later. Don’t be that guy. Have fun, go to the holiday dinners, get to know people, ask about their work, attend the “voluntary” seminars and lectures, and do not make an ass of yourself. That is how you find yourself jumping from PhD program to PhD program because your old professors “forgot” your letter of rec until the day after the deadline. Also, since your departments are small and concentrated, it’s a good idea to prepare to separate your social media for your personal stuff vs your academics as much as you can, since it won’t be too hard to track you down if people just know that you do Celtic Studies. 

9. Some areas of the field are more respected than others. If you want to do work on the legal or ecclesiastical aspects, excellent. If you want to focus on the linguistic elements, excellent. If you’re here for literature.....there’s a place, though you’re going to have to make damned sure to back it up with linguistic and historical evidence. (There’s less theory for theory’s sake, though theoretical approaches are slowly gaining more acceptance.) But if you’re here for mythography or comparative approaches...there is a PLACE for you, but it’s a little dustier than the others. There are fewer programs willing to outright teach mythology, mainly because it’s seen as outdated and unorthodox, especially since the term itself in a Celtic context is controversial. Pursue it, God knows we need the support, but just...be prepared to mute a lot of your academic social media. And, really, your social media in general. And have a defense prepared ahead of time. With citations. Frankly, I think my Bitch Levels have gone up a solid 50% since getting into this area, because consistently seeing the blue checkmarks on Twitter acting like you’re not doing real work while you’re knees deep in a five volume genealogical tract tends to do that to you. If it ever seems like I go overboard with the citations when it comes to talking about the Mythological Cycle, this is why - I have to. It’s how I maintain what legitimacy I have. I’d still do it if I’d have known, but I would have appreciated the heads up. (On the plus side - It means that, in those few programs that DO teach mythology, you’re golden, because they want all the serious students they can get.) 

10. If you really, really love it, it’s worth it. After all this, you’re probably wondering why anyone would sign on for this. The work’s grueling and often unrewarding, you might or might not get respect for what you do based off of where you were born and what your interests are, and you’re subject to an incredibly unpredictable job market so you might never see any material compensation for all of it. But, if you can check your expectations of becoming rich off of it, if all you REALLY want to do is chase it as far as it can go, then it’s worth it. There’s a lot of work to be done, so you don’t have to worry too much about trotting over the same thing that a dozen scholars have already done. You might get the chance to be the very first person, for example, to crack into a text that no one’s read for over a thousand years, or you might totally re-analyze something because the last person to look at it did it in the 19th century, or you might get to be the first person to look at an angle for a text or figure that no one’s considered. If finding a reference to your favorite person in a single annal from the 17th century makes you walk on air for the entire day, then you might very well be the sort of person the field needs. 

[drsilverfish]

Understanding the Closet in Narrative - Healing Hands/ Holding Hands in 15x08 Our Father Who Aren’t in Heaven

The best theoretical book on this subject, in my view, to date is Eve Sedgwick’s Epistemology of the Closet (1990). It’s not that easy to read without a grounding in post-structuralist theory (it’s from that period in the academy when that was fashionable) and it has its flaws (one being that it only theorises the historical male closet, not the female one). But it’s still great :-) 

Essentially, she reads nineteenth and early twentieth century literature by European and North American authors, who were, or, scholarship suggests, may have been, queer (that term is anachronistic for the time-period, but I used it as a shorthand) e.g., Oscar Wilde, Henry James, Herman Melville.

But Sedgwick’s readings are situated in the political context of the AIDS crisis in North America of the 1980s. And her attempt to unravel the significance of the closet, in narrative and culture, is predicated upon a passion about the cruel times she, and her many queer friends, were living in.

She attempts to delineate how queerness was written about, by male queer authors, in times when they could not be openly homosexual/ bisexual/ otherwise queer, nor felt able to write openly about queerness (because homosexuality between men was a criminal offence).

As she carefully elucidates, that meant that often, themes of horror, rejection, criminality, deceit, even evil, were projected by these authors onto characters they were (in a coded manner) delineanating as “queer”. This was about expressing what culture made these authors feel about themselves and, about, somehow, finding a way to present queerness, or the queer experience, in a manner which would be “acceptable” (because heavily coded, and depicted negatively) to the mainstream audience. Internalised homophobia also fed into these depictions. You can see all of that in Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897).

This is why the monstrous has always been “ours” in a special and specific way in narrative (here, in relation to Sedgwick’s discussion, in fiction) and later, as cinema developed, on screen, because it has often been a site of queer-coding. Of course, that’s a bit of a double-edged sword as a symbolic history. So pervasive did those codes become, that they are still used today, sometimes, as a short-hand for villainous, as in Scar in The Lion King (1994) (much discussed in pop-culture YouTube videos about queer-coding) or SPN’s Crowley (who for instance drinks “fruity” cocktails as part of the historic repertoire of male queer-coding as effeminate and therefore, untrustworthy/ villainous). But, of course, Crowley is also written as deliberately drinking those fruity cocktails because he knows what they “mean”, and not only does he not give a shit, he flaunts drinking them as part of his particular combination of transgressive bravado and demonic viciousness (an “I may drink a fruity cocktail but I will also rip your heart out and chop you into tiny pieces” vibe). Crowley remains, however, queer-coded [not unequivocally bisexual/ homosexual/ pansexual] for most of his SPN screen-time. He refers to his relationship with Demon!Dean as a “bromance”, even if the way he utters it sounds as if he’s sarcastically calling that word for it out. We see him kiss men on the lips as part of doing cross-roads demon-style deals with them, but it’s played as him fucking with those dudes (notably Bobby) rather than fucking them. 

Finally, we do see Crowley participate in a a mixed-gender orgy in 11x01 Out of the Darkness into the Fire (well, we see the before and after). He has a four-way and then slaughters them (I really hate that particular scene; there’s a shitty menopause “joke” in there too) but Crowley is smoked into a different vessel from the one we are used to, a female vessel, for that orgy. So, although we do “see” it, Crowley’s pansexuality, we also don’t “see” it, because Crowley’s usual male-embodied vessel is missing from the scene. It’s out there (I’d say it does semi-“out” Crowley) but it’s, on the part of the SPN text, kind of a chicken “out” because dude-Crowley is not present. Moreoever, the context is horrible and murderous rather than tender or intimate. So, there is a classic, historical, on-screen queer-coding residue. Because, in terms of our still powerful cultural norms, it would have been more shocking for the audience if dude-Crowley had been present and the scene was a tender, loving orgy, rather than the gender-swopped and slaughtery scenario Carver gave us. 

Sedgwick develops the useful concept of the “glass closet”. Which means, that, deliberately, in a text, a queer reading is at once available (clear) to some readers and opaque (unavailable or rejected/ denied) by others. She writes, of Oscar Wilde’s famous story The Picture of Dorian Gray, that it...

“.... occupies an especially symptomatic place in this process. Published four years before Wilde's "exposure" as a sodomite, it is in a sense a perfect rhetorical distillation of the open secret, the glass closet, shaped by the conjunction of an extravagance of deniability and an extravagance of flamboyant display. It perfectly represents the glass closet, too, because it is in so many ways out of the purposeful control of its author. Reading Dorian Gray from our twentieth-century vantage point where the name Oscar Wilde virtually means "homosexual," it is worth reemphasizing how thoroughly the elements of even this novel can be read doubly or equivocally, can be read either as having a thematically empty "modernist' meaning or as having a thematically full "homosexual" meaning.” (Sedgwick, 1990: p165-66). 

So, what she’s saying, is that the closet as a narrative structure, has a double structure. It makes queerness at once visible and invisible, “there” and “not there”. Another way to put this is that the “there” is queer subtext, and the “not there” is all the other available readings provided by the built-in ambiguity that delineates the narrative closet. Such queer subtext IS part of narrative, but its nature is to contain a plausible deniability. 

This shot from 15x08 Our Father Who Art in Heaven, epitomises Sedgwick’s “glass closet”:

There’s no doubt this is (in its context) an intimate gesture between Dean and Cas, and a loaded one, because the SPN text has made it clear (not subtextual) that Dean and Cas are not in a good place with one another emotionally or communicatively, following Jack’s (apparent) murder of Mary WInchester. We see them fight, and Cas leave, in 15x03 The Rupture. 

However, in its subtextual context (meaning in the context of all the other queer subtext in SPN in relation to Dean and Cas’ individual sexualities and their relationship) this gesture (for those taking the text’s invitation to read it queerly) is also a gesture which begs for the space between those hands to be closed, for those fingers to be entwined, for those hands to clasp one another, in a manner that cannot be understood as between “bros”. The narrative negative space screams, in this register, “Hold hands, you idiots, we know you love each other!” 

It’s loud, but the fact that it’s clear AND opaque (visible to some, and “don’t see it” to others) means that is still follows the structure of Sedgewick’s glass closet, i.e., it’s still subtext.

Other readings of it are available:

1) Yes, the negative space is there between their hands, but it symbolises how they are not as close as they usually are, because of the rift between them.

2) This healing gesture, in which Cas uses his fading power (and it costs him to do it) to heal Dean’s wound, a wound which Dean initially keeps hidden, curled inside his clenched fist, is symbolic of something at the core of their relationship- pain and healing.

The wound on Dean’s palm, is almost a stigmata, or a wound-from-the-cross; healed by an angel.

Cas fought his way to Dean in Hell and, in their initial (off screen) encounter put him, body and soul, back together, from his half-Demon, broken-on-the-rack, state. In other words, Cas healed a wound in Dean’s soul and restored him to humanity.

Cas: “Good things do happen, Dean”

Dean: “Not in my experience”

4x01 Lazarus Rising

Cas ended up himself being a good thing which has happened to Dean, the best thing (outside of his brother and his mother’s return from the dead) Dean’s ever had in his life.

It hasn’t all been roses. Far from it. Cas has hurt Dean deeply as well as healed him, particularly during the Godstiel/ Levi!Cas arc.

And Dean, in turn, has hurt Cas deeply too, particularly when he was vulnerable and human after the Angel Fall, and now, since Jack’s (apparent) murder of Mary Winchester.

But, this healing gesture, palm to palm, which is vulnerable for both of them, in the midst of their painful period of miscommunication, tells us, in spite of all that, that at the core of what Dean and Cas are to each other, or could be to each other, is a place of healing.

These readings make sense, whether we consider Dean and Cas to have a deep fox-hole type, bestest buddy in the world friendship, or that they are sexually and/ or romantically desirous of one another as life-partners.

This is the structure of the glass closet - healing hands/ holding hands; the gesture is both, but the holding hands reading (because of that physical space in between those hands) is subtextual. The romantic/ sexual reading is visible/ invisible, for different segments of the audience. 

The history of heterosexuality as visible and coded as “normal” and homosexuality/ bisexuality/ queerness as invisible and coded as “abnormal”, means that we don’t yet have a narrative level playing field for queer and straight characters even simply in terms of recognition.

In general, audiences are socialised to be excellent “readers” of the codes and gestures on-screen that signal heterosexual intimacy. So, a man and a woman can just look at each other on-screen in a certain way and the audience knows they are being written and performed as desiring one another, sexually/ romantically. 

Straight audiences have become, in the last fifty years of activism which have precipitated LGBTQ social and political changes (moving from decriminalisation to gay marriage) better readers of queer subtext, because they have been “invited in”, to some extent, to these codes, which were previously themselves opaque (and often written as a coded bat-signal between queer creatives and queer audiences). It would be hard to watch Freddy Mercury’s video for “I Want to Break Free” (1984) which he sings whilst doing the hoovering in drag, without understanding him to be queer today, but trust me, at the time, those codes went straight (ha ha pun) over the heads of thousands upons thousands of his fans, who saw him as a macho rock God (who must be straight by default). 

 However, more subtle and complex forms of queer subtext can and do still remain opaque for the “mainstream”. Because, you have to learn to read queer subtext; it’s not something LGBTQ folk are automatically born with either, not some inherent textual kind of gaydar. Queer people, certainly those of a certain age, just tend to be socialised into it to a greater extent, because it’s been our hungry experience to search deeply for characters that reflect us, given the slimmer pickings. 

So, the standard of “proof” that a character is, without ambiguity, understood by all (not some) of the audience as homosexual/ bisexual/ queer is still higher than the standard of “proof” that a character is straight, because straight remains the default. 

Is that fair? No.

Is it the deal? Yes. 

And whether that full recognition (full audience recognition) is there or not has political implications for a text. It changes its impact in the world. 

That doesn’t mean a queer-coded text has no political impact in the world, however. In some ways it can be more persuasive, e.g that “love is love”, because a queer label isn’t there up-front, kicking in (some) people’s automatic resistance. 

So the fact that Dean and Cas are still queer-coded, not textually “out”, doesn’t mean Dean and Cas are not queer, unless the whole audience knows it. Dean has been queer-coded since S1, so I’d say, that, to me, he’s been queer all along. But, it does mean that Dean and Cas’ queerness is still structured by the glass closet - it’s there (for some of the audience) and not there (for others of the audience). It remains visible/ invisible.

A complex additional question, is whether it is ethical, in this time period in which we can (in some, but not all, parts of the world) show LGBTQ characers on-screen, to continue to tell queer stories in subtext. That is essentially what lies at the root of the contemporary, popular “queerbaiting” debate. 

The answer to that is complicated too, and I think, varies from text to text, but this post is long enough.

If you want more, you can browse my “reading subtext” tag for some of mine, and others’ further musings on that topic. 

[the-busy-ghost]

Hi! I hope you're well - I was just wondering if you had any recommendations for interesting & engaging "introductory" texts about Scottish history (particularly between 500 and 1500 AD, although I know that's really broad!) No worries if you don't have any ideas or don't feel like answering such a vague question though! Have a lovely day :)

Hi! 

Apologies for the delayed response on this, I have no real excuse except being anxious that I wouldn’t be able to answer it perfectly. So I’ve decided to bite the bullet and answer somewhat imperfectly. This answer also depends on just exactly how much knowledge you already have of Scottish history, so if I’m being patronising and assuming too much ignorance, or alternatively if I’m not being clear enough, please let me know. 

The first thing I would always recommend before diving into serious literature is having a basic framework in the back of your mind. It may be an inaccurate framework but given that mediaeval Scottish history really isn’t taught or known to the same extent as say mediaeval English history, it is essential that you know where you are on a basic level, so you can both enjoy and learn from the texts that go into more detail. This basic background can come from almost anything- Braveheart and blatantly inaccurate novels aside. 

This is quite freeing because basically reading almost ANYTHING can be useful at first, and also first and foremost if you’re going to devote a considerable amount of time to something, you should work out how to make it fun and understandable.

I always had some idea of Scottish history since I was a kid but I got more into it in my late teens and I’ll be honest, though I probably don’t agree with anything in it pages now, one of the first books I picked up at the age of about sixteen was Neil Oliver’s ‘History of Scotland’ (released alongside the documentary series). Any basic ‘History of Scotland’ of that type (if it looks reasonably reputable) should give you a basic framework that you can build on- in the same way some people learn the kings and queens of England. Wikipedia could also work this way, though it may be more patchy. Other, slightly more reputable and in-depth but not really textbook, works of this kind include Stewart Ross’ “The Stewart Dynasty”; Alistair Moffat’s ‘The Borders’; popular (if coloured) biographies of people like Robert the Bruce, William Wallace, and Mary Queen of Scots (she’s post-medieval but still a relevant example); and even some of the older Victorian histories of people like Tytler (watch out though, they get weirdly ‘ethnic’ in their interpretations of some historical events and processes- some were convinced that there was a centuries-long feud between the “Celt” and the “Teuton”/”Saxon”). Even novels and songs- though sometimes highly inaccurate- can help with this, even if they’re Walter Scott. 

So I’m not going to be a purist and get snobby about Neil Oliver or Walter Scott even if I would never set store by any of the above works in an academic context (or even just a drunken argument). The first step in my view is literally to get a basic feel for what we *think* our history is (and enjoy learning about the different regions and cultures a bit!), and then you can set about dismantling all these stereotypes and misconceptions with better books. 

If you DO want a reasonably trustworthy general overview though, I believe that Fiona Watson has written one called “Scotland: From Prehistory to Present” and there must be a few others written by academics, it’s just been so long since I’ve read completely general histories I can’t really comment on this accurately.

Assuming you’re already aware of the above though and have a pretty good idea of what you’re dealing with then there are two next steps I would recommend.

The first are the series of texbooks/overviews that are often published by universities. Obviously since these are textbooks they are more introductory and general, but they do often cite academic articles and books that are more detailed. I have found a couple of series particularly useful and outlined the main titles below:

- The “New History of Scotland” series. This is a good series as most of the books were initially A5 sized or slightly bigger (so quick to read and easy to carry). Sadly this means that they do not employ footnotes/citations to any great extent, usually only providing a ‘Further Reading’ section at the end of the book. You can usually find old copies of these online for a reasonable price. This series includes, among others:

- “Warlords and Holy Men: Scotland, 80-1000”, by Alfred P  Smyth

- “Kingship and Unity: Scotland, 1000-1306″, by G.W.S. Barrow 

- “Independence and Nationhood: Scotland, 1306-1469″, by             Alexander Grant. (This one has a particularly good basic overview of diet, trade, e.t.c.)

- “Court, Kirk, and Community: Scotland, 1470-1625″, by Jenny Wormald

- “Power and Propaganda: Scotland, 1306-1488″, by Katie Stevenson (note- the previous titles listed were written in the 1980s and 90s, but this one was added to the series in 2014, so it’s more up to date in some ways though it’s up to you whether you think it’s more persuasive).

- The “New Edinburgh History of Scotland” series. These are bigger books than the previous series and are complete with on page citations and bibliography. They tend to all come in matching blue jackets, and I thought that secondhand copies of these would be slightly more expensive than the above but a quick search on amazon has surprised me, since a copy of Oram’s “Domination and Lordship” is several pounds cheaper than Grant’s “Independence and Nationhood”. Anyway these are slightly more in-depth than the above series, but work very well in tandem with those shorter books. The series includes:

- “From Pictland to Alba: 789-1070″, by Alex Woolf (it is a very long time since I read this, so I have to admit I have very little memory of its contents but I put it here for balance)

- “Domination and Lordship: Scotland, 1070-1230″, by Richard Oram (good used along with Kingship and Unity)

- “The Wars of Scotland, 1214-1371″, by Michael Brown

- “The First Stewart Dynasty In Scotland, 1371-1488″, by Stephen Boardman (full disclosure I have not read this one yet, but I have read some of Boardman’s other books).

- “Scotland Reformed, 1488-1587″, by Jane E.A. Dawson

- The “History of Everyday Life” series. These books are collections of essays on some selected aspects of day to day life in medieval Scotland and can provide some interesting reading and insights. Only one of the books in this series is relevant to our time period, but it may be worth checking out the other three since some customs and behavioural patterns from more recent times are worth comparing with the past. The volume covering the medieval period is “A History of Everyday Life in Medieval Scotland, 1000-1600″, edited by Edward Cowan and Lizanne Henderson.

- The “Northern World” series. This is not a series I’m particularly familiar with outside of some light reading while at university (mostly because these books can be really expensive compared to the previous ones mentioned). HOWEVER not only do they range across northern Europe (not just Scotland) but a couple of them help to balance out the Lowland focus which sometimes predominates in the above general overviews. There are quite a few interesting books in this series (identifiable usually by their purple jackets) but some that I know of include:

- “Kinship and Clientage: Highland Clanship, 1451-1609″ by Alison Cathcart.

- “The Lordship of the Isles”, edited by Richard Oram (this is a collection of essays)

There was also an older “Edinburgh History of Scotland” series published in the 1970s- some of the authors were better than others and they’re a bit dated now but they’re still a useful starting point. The series includes:

- “Scotland, the Making of the Kingdom”, by A.A.M. Duncan

- “Scotland: The Later Middle Ages”, by Ranald Nicholson

There are lots of other book series out there- the St Andrews Studies in Scottish History or the publications of old literature by the Scottish Text Society for example but I think I’ve listed enough to be getting on with. There are also a few books that I think make good general overviews (or are collections of interesting essays) that aren’t in a particular series:

- “Women in Scotland, 1100-1750”, edited by Elizabeth Ewan and Maureen M Meikle (this is a collection of essays rather than an overview of women’s history but it’s a good starter, and great if you only have fifteen minutes to spare)

- “Glory and Honour: The Renaissance in Scotland”, by Andrea Thomas (a beautiful coffee table book with lots of pictures of art and architecture). It starts in 1424.

- “The Kingdom of the Isles: Scotland’s Western Seaboard, c.1100-c.1336″, by R. Andrew MacDonald

- “The Black Douglases”, Michael Brown

- “Robert the Bruce’s Rivals: The Comyns, 1212-1314″, by Alan Young

- “The Northern Earldoms: Orkney and Caithness, 870-1470″, by Barbara E. Crawford

- “Scottish Independence and the Idea of Britain: From the Picts to Alexander III”, by Dauvit Broun

- “Virgins and Viragos: A History of Women in Scotland From 1080 to 1980″, by Rosalind K Marshall (Marshall has also written some good introductory overviews on Scottish queens, on Mary of Guise, and on the women around Mary, Queen of Scots, though these last two are sixteenth century).

- Any of Alexander Fenton’s books on agricultural history- they don’t deal exclusively (or even mainly) with the medieval period, and they’re not the most up to date but they are still useful handbooks.

There are also lots of shorter academic articles on JSTOR and elsewhere, as well as online networks for things like Scottish Women’s History and Environmental History. 

The second step I would recommend is using biographies- biography is not always the most useful form of historical writing, but they do have their own benefits. For this time period most of the full book-length biographies of individuals are royal figures (though lots of other people are covered in academic articles).

For some figures it’s wise to have several biographies on hand since they’re well-known or controversial- for example, for Robert Bruce, you could start with an older bio like G.W.S. Barrows “Robert Bruce and the Community of the Realm of Scotland” and then supplement it with a more modern biography like that written by Michael Penman or by Colm McNamee. In other cases, a historical figure may not be quite so well known so jumping straight into an academic biography of them, which hops around and analyses expenditure and parliaments, may be a bit confusing- for example, for King James IV, it may be useful to start with R.L. Mackie’s (admittedly dated and a bit romantic) biography to get an idea of the structure of the king’s reign before diving into Norman MacDougall’s more scholarly biography.

Other biographies/overview of royal reigns include Richard Oram’s works on David I and Alexander II; D.D.R. Owen’s bio of William the Lion (this is an interesting one, since it’s written by a French professor rather than a straightforward historian so there’s a big focus on the importance of literature); Andrew Fisher’s bio of William Wallace; Stephen Boardman’s survey of the reigns of Robert II and Robert III; the two biographies of James I written by E.W.M. Balfour-Melville and Michael Brown; Christine McGladdery’s ‘James II’ and Norman McDougall’s ‘James III’; and Annie Dunlop’s biography of Bishop Kennedy.

Lastly once you feel you’ve got a bit of a grip on some secondary source material (or really, as soon as you like) I do recommend checking out some of the primary source material as soon as possible. A LOT of primary sources of medieval Scottish history were printed during the Victorian and Edwardian periods and now thanks to digitisation projects many of them are available online- from chronicles like those of Melrose, John of Fordun and Andrew Wyntoun (and useful English chronicles like Lanercost and Scalachronica); to acts of parliament and accounts of royal expenditure (Treasurer’s Accounts; Exchequer Rolls); to letters of the nobility and poetry. Personally, I find that you learn as much from working directly with the words of historical figures themselves, even if you’re untrained in source handling, as you would from a whole host of textbooks (also it lets you get used to the languages- Scots is straightforward enough to pick up even if you don’t have Latin or Gaelic). If you ever have trouble finding these let me know and I might be able to point you in the right direction. 

It is also worth bearing in mind that sixteenth century sources may shed a lot of light on earlier periods.

Anyway hopefully this helped but if you have any other questions please let me know and I will endeavour to reply quicker this time!

*One last disclaimer, the above list of texts is based purely on my own experiences and what my brain could remember quickly- it is not to reflect a bias or to promote these texts above the works of other historians. It is also not an exhaustive or comprehensive list (and some dearly beloved books are not included- but I tried to stick to simple overviews/textbooks and a few other interesting surveys).

And people are very welcome to add to this since there’s lots I’ve missed!

Lastly try to have a bit of fun with it. Some of these books are very informative but can drag at times- on those occasions I highly recommend taking a break and trying to get outside to a hill or a castle, or if you can’t do that try putting an old ballad on on youtube, and physically look at or listen to the thing you’re studying.

[drac-kool-aid]

While this particular post was my own exploration into the common gothic literature trope of doubling and the forms its taking here, but I want to take the time to go into detail of the academic criticism I am basing it off of, cause it's actually very interesting and also important:

Dracula is a gothic novel, yes, but one of the sub-genres it is academically often connected with is that of the Imperial Gothic.

Here's a link to an article regarding it from the British Library:

It's an interesting read! CW for Racism though, cause this is all linked to British imperialism.

But it's important to note that one of the big themes of Dracula that has consistently been identified in academic circles is the Victorian fear of "reverse invasion." The British Empire was the biggest it's ever been, but a growing concern with Victorians is the fear of a loss of control of that Empire.

While we can't know for certain what Bram Stoker was thinking when he wrote the chapter, the entire book is based off the concept "Wouldn't it be fucked up if a monstrous foreign 'other' invaded Britain?"

And there is historical context and precedent! This isn't the only novel that deals with this paritcular question of the Imperial Gothic, although considering off the list in the link are such things as "The Beetle" and "She" which...look I haven't read them but from what I know they are VERY, VERY RACIST. So. Like....tread carefully.

Another, better known, an example of the fears of invasion in the late 1800s/early 1900s would be War of the Worlds by HG Wells. Yes. Foreigners = Aliens has been around that long.

Anyway, the importance of this is that Bram Stoker did base the premise of this novel on some very racist ideas and how those ideas appear in the text, and it's important to acknowledge that, cause otherwise we're losing a lot of historical context.

Also, because then, you have the tools to start noticing stuff about media today.

There's a reason that the War of the Worlds movie switched the setting from 1890s England to early 2000s America...

Ok, so more on the doubling aspect of gothic fiction, as I feel it important to bring up what Bram's intentions were with the act of impersonation he has Dracula commit.

Spoiler alert: It's Racism.

Ok, so the loss of identity is frightening, right? Even in the modern day and age, your identity being stolen and used to nefarious ends is a great concern. It is, of course, heavily tied with financial concerns nowadays, though, as it usually involves a loss of significant income and a long arduous legal battle to regain some of your losses, if any.

But in Dracula, well, on the surface, it's still about a loss of identity and the loss of control that comes with it. The one-two punch of Dracula using Jonathan's identity to post the letters and to steal the child, thus cutting him off from aid of the villagers, is, of course, a horrifying exploration of Dracula's continued abuse. We know that, at least for Dracula, his intent with these actions is to further trap Jonathan (mentally and physically) with him in the castle, cutting off any avenues of escape.

But that isn't exactly Bram's intent. See, the horror of Dracula's impersonation of Jonathan isn't just Jonathan's personal loss of identity, the horror (to your average Victorian) would also be that a non-British person, a foreigner, is able to seamlessly masquerade as a British man.

And, it's not just the supernatural doubling occurring in this one scene. Let us not forget that Dracula has a library of books on Britain, that he first engaged Jonathan in their nightly long conversations, so to practice his English. English, that he wishes to practice until his accent disappears.

Nowadays, our reading of those scenes in the beginning focuses on the xenophobia from a different direction, that of the transplanted person, sympathizing with Dracula in a way (based on the posts I saw circulating when those days were released). Now, our concerns center around how it is unfairly expected for those who become expatriates to perfectly don the guise of their new home, sanding off anything that might denote them as "other". This isn't the wrong read, and that is a very important thing to consider because it is a very real and valid concern. Also, cause it's a hell of a lot less racist than what the concern was for the Victorians.

The Victorians saw someone who wasn't British (and I am using British here deliberately, as this fear extended towards anyone not British, like the Irish) learning to become British, to seamlessly join their society, and therefore work whatever "evils" they may upon them from the inside. Their fear, simply, is that they might not be able to tell the non-British from the British anymore, thus erasing any sort of idea of being inherently extraordinary.

For context, London has developed into the melting pot of different cultures it is today (fuelled, of course, by the rapid expansion of the British Empire), and the Victorians were getting a little nervous with the idea that the "British Identity" was expanding. Y'know, classic racism.

(That is not to say that Britain wasn't home to people from all races and cultures before Victorian era, just that the average Victorian was starting to notice.)

Americans were sort of the exception, in that by this point, British aristocrats were marrying American heiresses in order to fill empty ancestral coffers. By exception, I should say, accepted to an extent and expected to drop some of their more American traits, and thus nominally become British, with the caveat that they were (of course) not truly British.

Notice how the Victorians assumed everyone wanted to be them?

(Not quite counting Quincy here as no one would ever mistake him as anything but Texan, and in fact, he plays up his non-Britishness and thus is not a threat)

Anyway, tl;dr, Dracula's symbolic doubling of Jonathn is actually steeped in racism and xenophobia, and the Victorians were kind of assholes about anyone who wasn't both white and born in Britain claiming to be British.

[lost-in-zembla]

On Metamodernism

It’s tough to grasp metamodernism as an artistic movement but most of us live lives strongly affected by the concepts of metamodernism every day. You’re having a serious conversation with your friend about her mental health; simultaneously, you and your friend are part of a groupchat where you are currently making fun of the very friend you are supporting. This isn’t necessarily disingenuous; you are witnessing two different instances of a person and those two instantiations of you happen to be different depending on context and medium. In part, metamodernism is a kind of acceptance of our multiple selves, our tendency to oscillate between states or even inhabit both in a sort of human superposition.

I taught my friends about metamodernism in our groupchat as my friend Jarett consoled me via one-on-one text after the sudden implosion of my five-year long relationship and the fact that my life is generally unbearable—a fact that is more embarrassing when one considers how easy I have it. It’s sort of a shame feedback loop. 

As I was explaining metamodernism for my own satisfaction, I thought that I might actually make an okay professor. I could teach American literature. Maybe. 

So I get a job teaching at the local community college and my life slowly comes back together like a cut that heals. I am relatively respected by my students and I have some abstract sense purpose, the cracks in the surface of which are only visible if one spends a long, existential period of time contemplating the practical or, god-forbid, spiritual uses of an education in American literature what with the reality of a global climate catastrophe and the approaching drumbeats of right-wing strongmen leaders reaching positions of power all around the world.

But things are pretty good.

I get a parking space. I get an apartment that looks bad, then looks better. I start to open the curtains. I don’t want to hide so much. A year or two down the line I lease a practical car and people treat me with a bit more respect when they see me step out of it. I smile at people in the grocery store. At this point I can see peoples’ mouths when I go outside. When I see their mouths, they’re smiling. They can see my mouth. I’m smiling.

I get to know people and people think I’m lovely. The faculty all look up to me. How young and handsome and intelligent he is! He’ll sure go places, they say. And I do. I quickly earn a raise and then I’m head of the department. And so young! When I’m not inspiring awe I inspire smoldering jealousy. Women? Naturally. And I treat each of them with utmost respect. I value these women for more than the thousands of hours of hot naked ecstasy they provide me. I buy more fresh produce. I throw none of it out.

I single-handedly save the English department at the community college. Funding comes pouring in. Eventually, it becomes one of the premier colleges for literary studies in the Midwest. They rename a building after me. I just turned thirty. Before long, I’m offered a job at the prestigious private university in town, with nods toward a proverbial shoe in the door when it comes to tenure. Unheard of! But he’s just that good. My wrists and forearms become perceptibly thicker. People cross the street in front of traffic to shake my hand. I learn what the fuck “ketosis” is.

Then there I am one day in my cushy office. Rows of leather-bound books fill the shelves around the ample perimeter of the room. I’ve read them all, naturally. My hair has started to grey in places but damn if it’s not as thick and lush as the heart of the Amazon. A knock on the door. My office hours ended at one. I answer and it’s, oh, Claire from this semester’s modern American literature course. Of course I’ve noticed her in class. How could I not? But I’d always maintained a professional and appropriately avuncular demeanor in front of her. She’s twenty-eight, French, gorgeous. Naturally.

We discuss her essay on Light in August and I say to her, you know, Claire, it was the French who were among the first to notice Faulkner’s genius. She puts her hand on my thigh. In her accent that itself somehow resembles a beautiful naked body she says, The French notice lots of things. I slide my attractively thick forearm over the crowded desk space and knock the books and pens and everything onto the floor and—well, let’s just say that my life of success and talent has enhanced me in other ways. And it’s hot and insane and weird and papers fly everywhere. And it sort of just goes on like that for weeks and then months—the relationship, not that particular sexual event. At my age, after all the sex and drugs and joy and tragedy, sometimes I think that it’s the clandestine nature of the thing that really gets me off. Like I need more and more secret or shameful shit to fire off those tired old neurons. I start to become cavalier in front of the students. I begin to, perhaps, show my hand. 

I get another knock on my office, sometime in the Spring. Bill, I say. Come in. He sits down and we engage in a tense discussion where every syllable is laced with a double entendre because he can’t just say it out loud, for Christ’s sake. That’s just not how these things are done. He’s old school, but firm, Bill. She’s graduating anyway, and something tells me when we can finally be together publicly then the thrill will already be gone. 

The students already know. I’ve seen the screenshots. I’ve been memed. Things are tense in class and they can tell that I’ve given up. The fire in my eye that led to my meteoric rise has dimmed to a pathetic ember. Sometimes I take my Audi out on a dark highway outside of town and I press on the accelerator until I can’t go any faster. I have to stop myself from shutting my eyes.

One day in class, I look up from my papers and all the students are out of their desks, standing over me. They’re holding pencils and yardsticks that have been modified into edged weapons. What’s the meaning of this? They use my Tom Ford tie to tie my arms behind me and to my chair. They put me in the center of the room. I knew they would betray me. I’d always known. For years this notion has haunted the deepest recesses of my mind: these people, these kids, are going to be the ones to put this old dog down. Is this because of Claire, I ask. They laugh. They laugh because they think I’m an old fool. I am an old fool.

No, professor, Shellie says. She seems to be the leader. It’s much more serious than that, she says. O life! Everything I’ve ever done. I’ve stomped on people all the way to the top and now it’s all coming back to me, some sort of holdup in the karmic clerical system that led to forty years of consequences all delivered at once. Things were so easy for so long, so fun, that I forgot what it was like to live a life with consequences.

Shut up, she says. You’re here for a reason. What could she know? How did she mobilize all of these students? When did they make the weapons? How many questions could I possibly pose in sequence?

Professor, she says, we have one question for you. Anything, I say. And answer truthfully, she says. And I say of course, of course I’ll be completely honest. Okay, professor, she says, do you consider yourself… a historicist? At this very moment I know it’s over for me. Well, I say, it’s not so simple, Shellie. The mob is in an uproar. A fair bit of verbal sparring ensues. Shellie and the other students in favor of the transcendent nature of literature—whatever that means—and me in favor of a more context-based approach. Sure, if I thought that novels were a good way to learn about history then I’d deserve this. I’d deserve all of this.

How can you read these works outside of their historical context? What about Light in August for God’s sake?  The mob lashes out again—not Faulkner fans, go figure—but Shellie shushes them until the classroom is as silent as the dusty hills of Jerusalem. Literature, she says, is timeless. And this essentially breaks me. I begin weeping openly. You might as well kill me, then, I say. They set upon me like a pack of hyenas. 

A moment or an eternity after my head is pulled off my body like the Bacchae in that Euripides tragedy, I hear waves lap against the rocks. I feel in my face the salty breeze of the ocean. I open my eyes to find a beautiful Mediterranean island. It feels neither hot nor cold. The breeze from the ocean feels perfect, as though there were no storms to be found in any corner of the Earth.

Behind me, inland, I hear the sound of approaching footsteps. I turn around to find Vladimir goddamn Nabokov of all people. It’s perfect. So I tell him the story, how I was murdered by my students over two reductive and non-mutually exclusive schools of thought in literature—two schools of thought that are both perfect lenses through which to view Nabokov’s work. When I tell him he laughs his big Russian laugh and slaps me on the shoulder, and I laugh. Then he hands me a butterfly net and we skip through pleasant hills in that vast and timeless place forever and ever.

No. What’s happening? It’s all slipping away from me now. All the memories, the moments, the time, leaking out of my mind to become something ghostly, an image half-developed, a thought unspoken. I lift my head and look at my hands and there I am, lying on a couch in a high school faculty lounge. My hands are unwrinkled. My body is young. There is no Humanities Wing in my name, no tenure, no Audi. No Claire. Was it all just a dream? Could it all have been just a dream? Is it within the realm of possibility that such an absurdly bad trope could have manifested into my life naturally? Or am I the subject of a cruel and untalented god who simply bats me about and writes hack narratives for me to tumble through like some Sisyphean Rube Goldberg machine? Coffee. Need Coffee.

It’s all silly, anyway. Nabokov and myself cavorting through some weird Elysium? Ridiculous. If that was what the afterlife had in store for me, then Nabokov would probably be hanging out with Pushkin and Tolstoy while maybe Dostoevsky and I build a sandcastle. Maybe. But then, in all likelihood, Nabokov, Pushkin, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, and the other cool kids would kick sand in my face and walk off with whatever beautiful ladies happen to inhabit this weird Russian-literary Elysium that I’ve somehow ended up in. I haven’t thought this out very well.

What was this all about, again? Metamodernism. Easy. Let’s think.

Okay.

As I write this now, behind my computer, watching Youtube videos about sushi, wondering how the sushi will make its way into my writing through mental osmosis (not subtly, it turns out), I look at these instances of me, with the meteoric success or the banal day-to-day life, and I wonder who exactly I am. I am a thousand selves. I am nothing. I am trying to remember into the future who I am. I am a metamodernist—no, I’m not.