#it's impossible to convey the mood in which this passage is conveyed but

[child-of-hurin]

.

I’ve read/listened to a bunch of Ursula Le Guin books this year and it always gets me how (my impression) she will be writing something kinda bleak and then, suddenly, there are little bursts, or big explosions, of interpersonal feeling, and these moments completely disarm both the characters and ME, THE READER. 

I think everything I read of hers so far had this on one measure or another, but I’m specifically thinking of The Word for World is Forest, a violent, merciless, bleak little book about colonialism which hurt me page after page, word after word, but the passage that made me actually tear up was when the main character went into his dead alien friend’s war-beaten, abandoned office to get a chair, and

Before he left the silent room he leaned down and laid his cheek on the scarred, raw wood of the desk, where [his friends] had always sat when he worked with [him] or alone...

[rigelmejo]

as usual the learning stages are so weird. reading in particular Constantly feels like a rollercoaster of: i’m drowning in unknowns, oh cool i understand what i don’t understand and its a slog looking up words/interpreting but i’m managing, this is kinda doable and not exhausting anymore!, oh no i’m drowning in new unknowns

at each iteration, each step feels a little tiny bit easier. Like me ‘kinda doable and not exhausted’ feels much more relaxing/less mentally draining to me now than it did on month like 6. my level of overall ‘this is horribly hard’ is diminishing. Still though, when i forget the longer perspective, in the short term it keeps feeling like an up down rollercoaster. to be fair, each time it feels ‘easier’ for long enough, then i will move onto harder material. so it makes sense the up down rollercoaster of difficulty continues.

anyway it is. blowing my mind lately. Because i’m at the ‘doable and not exhausting anymore’ point again! Only this time, the reading material is 寒舍, 天涯客, 盗墓笔记 - novels I found horrifically difficult in the past. Yet now I can a few paragraphs in a row before I hit unknown words, and now I can sometimes go through whole sections without looking up words and probably follow the plot and just miss some details. Right now the only hard step is me getting into the ‘reading mood’ because the actual reading is bearable, just requiring dictionary lookup if I want to study all the new words. Which is just... very overwhelming as a concept to me. its so cool. its overwhelming.

at the same time though! i know eventually i’ll get through this patch, and start realizing what new things i DIDN’T notice i didn’t understand before. And then it will get hard and draining again. Still, I’m really excited about it while I am in this part of the experience.

It also makes me want to try some extensive reading again - where I read one of my physical books, and don’t use a dictionary at all. Or only for key words at the end if they kept popping up, and i desperately want to know them. I know every time i do extensive reading - particularly that kind, the hardest kind, i am exhausted easily. Its hard! At best I can strain to follow the main idea! But I think it does spark improvement! And maybe a harder challenge is what I need to become motivated. Or just what I need in general. Since eventually, reading that way is the goal, when I do it I’m practicing the final goal.

Also I feel like such a baby! Like?!!!! I tried extensive reading at month 5, 7, 8, etc!!! When it was MUCH harder, AGONIZINGLY harder!!! I STILL managed to endure it and read the Kunlun intro in Guardian, some paragraph passages in guardian, some chapters of MDZS, some chapters of Mo Du. Like??? I read through 2 chapters of mo du with no dictionary before!! I think it was back at month 8 or 10? But like i am being a chicken to be scared to do it now. When clearly i could suck it up and bravely do it before when i had less knowledge. In a way, I think its funny - the more you learn, sometimes the scarier things become, because you realize JUST how many details may be there that you could miss. When I tried to extensively read earlier on, months ago, just following the main idea was an accomplishment! Now that I should be able to grasp it, then i also expect myself to be able to catch the details - which is harder work, more focus, more expectations to meet. 

Anyway some mostly unrelated notes to self:

Parallel reading english and chinese is a quite relaxing/lower effort way to practice reading. I did that earlier today with an english and chinese translation of a fanfic - its easy to match up unknown words to their definitions, see how words phrase together differently to convey similar things, and the only hard part is when I run into unknown hanzi since I can’t pronounce them. Similarly - reading dmbj in chinese, within days after reading the english chapter, makes it much easier to read through. Because I know the general plot, when i encounter sentences with words i can’t figure out even with a dictionary or sentences with grammar i can’t interpret for certain, the general plot knowledge helps me know whats going on enough to continue reading. 

My speaking skills need some vast improvement. Just like with reading - the more experienced I get, the more i realize i haven’t even noticed i needed to do and learn! I was working on tones the past few months, and now that’s a touch better (still not much). But can i say a sentence quickly/fluidly? No. Can i say anything at a quick pace? Probably not. Do i still forget tones or screw them up when saying a sentence, especially one at a decently quick pace? Yep. I was watching John Cena speaking chinese of all things, and the language learning form was like ‘his efforts admirable but he doesn’t even have conversational ability.’ I listened to him, and his word choice was basic but sufficient for the conversation. He was able to respond immediately in chinese, which was the most impressive thing I think - no slowing down to think how to word it or which word. While he probably made some mistakes, it did show he has an active vocabulary and that he can actively put sentence together without delay. I didn’t necessarily hear tones well in what he said, but his pronunciation sounded recognizable to me. So if that’s not conversational? How good must one be to be conversational? For the conversation he had, it seemed fine? And so now, of course, I’m like “well my tones are weak anyway that’s just that. they’re even weaker in a sentence. my grammar’s weak when producing. my word choice usually requires me to pause to decide if i need to tone change based on surrounding tones in the sentence. i cannot talk as fast as him period. i cannot form sentences so confidently. mm.”

i probably know many more words? in comparison? since i know a solid enough amount now that chinese subtitles in shows i can usually read all hanzi now, its just learning some new words/sayings made with those hanzi. i can read manhua fine. i can read easier novels ok, and harder ones with a dictionary. i know i have a very long way to go, but i feel i know more than 2000 words now, and 2000 ish is usually what they recommend for daily life casual conversational ability (how are you/did you do x/you think x/you ask about x/etc). and in typing i can type pretty quickly and have an active vocabulary. but truly when speaking, i start overthinking if i’m doing the grammar properly and if i need to switch tones for 3rd tones and just slow down a ton.

also my grammar rn? its a hot mess. Reading? Phenomenal, easy. Grammar does not really confuse me in reading - sometimes a new word or phrase does, when i’m trying to figure out how its interacting with the overall sentence meaning. But grammar usually doesn’t (except that gongzi huanxi novel for some freaking reason). But when I produce? For some reason when i DO overthink and try to determine how to word something, i will sometimes fuck up my grammar so much that my sentence becomes incomprehensible and the person i’m talking to asks ‘what do you mean?’ Yet when I don’t overthink and just start talking/typing, its usually fine. BUT that means its incredibly hard for me to self correct. I am fairly sure I’ll just have to continue building a large vocabulary/reading ability, then when i’m ready, just read through some grammar books and practice exercises until i develop the proper patterns. 

Like??? the other day i had to ask someone something like “what’s the name that you use in real life?” because we were chatting online. But i overthought the sentence after i typed it, then rearranged it thinking ‘oh i have to put ‘what’ question word in a different location etc for grammar reasons.’ Then they were like ‘what??? im sorry i don’t understand what you’re asking.” Even though it was a simple sentence, i knew all the words. But i overthought how to ask it and therefore made a completely incomprehensible sentence somehow messing up the grammar when i tried to ‘correct’ so badly it became impossible to understand. And this was the same conversation where they asked why i liked to read the books i recommended. And i was able to say a long paragraph with long sentences about how “i found poyun on a reccomendation list when i was searching for more books like mo du, i love priest’s novels and i love mysteries so i was looking for a similar kind of well written story. i like boy love stories if i happen to find them, since i’m bi and its nice to find love stories i feel more able to connect to. but i like all kinds of stories if the character writing is good, and the plot is meaningful.” Like... i was able to write all of that off of the top of my head in chinese without looking things up, just typing. And i didn’t re-read it to check for grammar. And the person understood just fine and responded. But when i asked something as simple as “what name do you use in real life?” i overthought how i was supposed to word it and became incomprehensible! So for now, I’ve been just speaking/typing however the sentence comes to mind. I’m fairly SURE im making grammar errors, but i’m having more luck being understood that way. So i’ve sort of just resigned to the fact that later on when it becomes a priority, that’s when i’ll sit down with a grammar book and drill out the patterns and correct any ingrained-mistakes i might have. 

[avt390]

Video Review week 1

[ South Africa - Mohau Modisakeng - Passage - Venice Biennale 2017 ]

1. Description = pure description of the object without value judgments, analysis, or interpretation.

In the first scene, I see the man with the umbrella who is lying on the boat. The background is the deep water which is expressed with black color. and the boat which is filled with water is floating on the water. Since the color of the boat is white and water color is black, the man is emphasized. The sound is water flowing with string instruments and has a slow tempo, there’s no big impact of sound which gives tensions. The man is moving smoothly and there’s no interrupt anywhere but it seems uncomfortable. I think it’s because he is closing his eyes and moving around but he couldn’t find any exits from the boat. The next scene is the woman with the boat. the boat is about to sink and the woman moving is more intense than the man, I think the fast beat of sounds also creates an urgent or risky mood.

2. Analysis = determining what the features suggest and deciding why the artist used such features to convey specific ideas.

Artists use the color, only black and white so that we can see the movement clearly.

Calm(silent) sounds make people watch the video more narrowly.

This image shows the artist arranging the boat in the center. 

Camera moving: At first, Artist took a picture from a distance so that everyone could see it, but later he took it so close that people could see the face.

Analysis of use of light and role of color- contrasty and dark and sad

3. Interpretation = establishing the broader context for this type of art.

-Main idea, overall meaning of the work:

“Artists mentioned that three channel video meditates on slavery's dismemberent of African identity and its enduring erasure of personal histories.”

-Interpretive Statement: Can I express what I think the artwork is about in one sentence?

The sorrow of a slave who cannot escape no matter how hard he tries.

-Evidence: What evidence inside or outside the artwork supports my interpretation?

contrasty(black& white)

-How does the contract between sound and image works?

it’s harmonious. Sound is quite slow and calm and the image is dark.

4. Judgment: Judging a piece of work means giving it rank in relation to other works and of course considering a very important aspect of the visual arts; its originality.

-Criteria: What criteria do I think are most appropriate for judging the artwork?

Harmonious of color and is mood or feeling match with title?

-Evidence: What evidence inside or outside the artwork relates to each criterion

Harmonious of color - black and white 

The mood is matching the title. (sadness, empty, dark)

-Judgment: Based on the criteria and evidence, what is my judgment about the quality of the artwork?

I think this artwork is well expressed. I like the sound because it matches with the dark image and slow beat seems like represent slavory’s feeling.

Rechard Mosse

1. Description = pure description of the object without value judgments, analysis, or interpretation.

The notable thing is the ‘pink’. Sky, Tree colors, the military cap, and the military uniform are all pink. I thought pink usually means romantic such as love or heart, but in this video a soldier carrying a gun with pink background. 

2. Analysis = determining what the features suggest and deciding why the artist used such features to convey specific ideas.

I understand the title of the video ‘impossible image’, because the pink background does not match the gun. That mood makes the video more awkward.

3. Interpretation = establishing the broader context for this type of art.

I think this video is more complicated than ‘South Africa Video’, because the abnormality or the contrast makes me confused.

4. Judgment: Judging a piece of work means giving it rank in relation to other works and of course considering a very important aspect of the visual arts; its originality.

I like the contrast of pink mood and gun, so I will rank this video above ‘South Africa Video’.

[chanoyu-to-wa]

Nampō Roku, Book 1 (27):  the Fu-ji [不時] Gathering.

27) With respect to the fu-ji [不時] gathering¹, [the host] should certainly use [some of] his treasured utensils on such occasions² -- one, or even two, of which should be brought out³.

    The way [the gathering] is “staged”⁴ should be “shin” [眞]⁵, while it is better if the mood⁶ is “sō” [草]⁷.  [This is explained in] a kuden⁸.

_________________________

◎ Hizō-no-dōgu [秘蔵の道具] (treasured utensils): aka-chawan by Chōjirō, named “Shirasagi” [長次郎 の赤茶碗・“白鷺”]; chashaku by Kobori Enshū, named “Mushi-kui” [小堀遠州の茶杓・“虫喰”], ko-Takatori chaire, named “Utsumi” [古高取の茶入・“内海”].

¹Fu-ji no kai [不時の會].

    This expression is usually explained (by the modern schools) today to mean a gathering that is held at other than the “usual” times*.

    But, in Japanese, the word fu-ji [不時] means “unscheduled,” “unexpected,” “unforeseen,” and “uninvited.”  And, according to Rikyū's kaiki, it seems that in his period this expression was used to mean a spontaneous, totally unplanned, chakai, at which only kashi were served (if the gathering happened to take place between mealtimes)†.

    This entry seems to be another of those that were added during the early Edo period, since the specific teaching regarding the importance of using treasured utensils‡ goes against the details of what Rikyū did himself on the occasions that he labeled fu-ji [no kai]** -- and, indeed, doing so also implies a degree of pre-planning that circumstances suggest would have been impossible in the real-life examples quoted from the Hyakkai Ki. __________ *The “standard times” for chanoyu (according to the modern schools) are asa-cha [朝會] (in the morning), the shōgo-chaji [正午茶事] (at the noon hour), and the yo-kai [夜會] (in the evening).

   Rikyū’s hiru-kai [晝會], which was his counterpart of the so-called shōgo-chaji, was more flexible in terms of the time at which the gathering could commence, since people did not customarily take a meal at midday during that period (this is reflected by the somewhat reduced fare mentioned as being served at these kinds of gatherings).

†These gathering seem to have actually been completely unplanned affairs, at which Rikyū used whatever utensils happened to be in the mizuya at the time, serving the guests the kinds of kashi that could be readied while the host performed the sumi-temae, and offering what would have been tea left over from the preparations for the previous chakai.

‡Since most people do not make a habit of leaving their valuables lying about the mizuya (if only because of the danger of their being accidentally broken), using such things implies that the host has received sufficient forewarning that he can consider his tori-awase carefully, and then go into the storehouse and start ferreting out these treasures.  Rikyū‘s kaiki, however, suggest that nothing of the sort was possible, with respect to those chakai that he labeled as “fu-ji.”

**Two fu-ji kai are described in the Rikyū Hyakkai Ki [利休百會記]:  on the last day of the Eleventh Month, and on the 15th day of the First Month.  The kaiki for these gatherings, as recorded in that source, follow.

==============================================

❖ Onaji misoka ・ fu-ji ni [同晦日　・　不時に]

◦ yojō-han [四疊半]

◦ chanoyu mae no gotoku [茶湯まへのごとく]     tadashi chaire mentori [但シ茶入めんとり]

◦ fuchidaka ni, kashi  okoshi-kome, tawarako [ふちだかに、菓子　　おこし米、たはらこ].

    This means “the same [month], last day; [the gathering was] unscheduled; [the gathering was held in] the 4.5-mat room; the chanoyu was the same as before, though the chaire was [changed to] a mentori[-nakatsugi]; the kashi were served in a fuchi-daka:  okoshi-kome, tawarako.”

    The room was his detached 4.5-mat room, and the guests were four courtiers, for whom Hideyoshi may have had some private instructions or advice that he wished to be conveyed to their lord, which he offered to them via Rikyū.

    At the previous chakai (which was at midday, suggesting that the fu-ji no kai was in the late afternoon), Rikyū used:

◦ kiri no kama [きりノ釜]

◦ Seto mizusashi [瀬戸水指]

◦ Sōho-dana [宗甫棚]

◦ Hikigi-no-saya [ひきゞのさや]

◦ chaire ・ Konoha-zaru [茶入・木の葉ざる]

◦ kane no mizu-koboshi [かねの水こぼし]

◦ Bizen tsubo [びぜんつぼ].

    However, he notes that he substituted his tame-nuri mentori-nakatsugi [溜め塗面取中次], below, for the karamono Konoha-zaru chaire (thereby actually removing what had been the most treasured of the utensils that he had used at the earlier chakai):

◦ mentori [めんとり]

    This mentori-nakatsugi was one of the containers in which either the excess tea (what remained after filling the chaire) was stored, or a container into which the chaire was emptied after the gathering (though such tea could not be used again to serve koicha, it could be used for usucha, and so it was preserved in a lacquered container that was as air-tight as possible).

    Okoshi-kome [おこし米] is a sort of kashi made by mixing parched (“puffed”) rice with something like honey and then pressing this into a thick sheet, which was subsequently cut into more-or-less cubic or oblong pieces; tawarako [俵子] is sliced dried sea-cucumber, probably softened by boiling it briefly in broth.

==============================================

❖ Onaji jūgo-nichi ・ fu-ji [同十五日　・　不時]

◦ nijō-shiki [二疊敷]

◦ [arare-gama [あられ釜] -- the kama is not mentioned in this version of the kaiki, but it is elsewhere]

◦ wage-mizusashi [わげ水指]

◦ chaire ・ ko-natsume [茶入・小ナツメ]

◦ Ko-mamori no chawan [木守ノ茶碗]

◦ ori-tame [折撓]

◦ Hashi-date [はしだて]

◦ kashi ・ yaki-mochi, iri-kaya, shiidake [菓子 ・ やき餅、いりかや、しい竹].

    This means “the same [month], fifteenth day; unscheduled; [the gathering was held in] the 2-mat room; wage-mizusashi, chaire ・ ko-natsume, Ko-mamori no chawan, ori-tame [chashaku], and the Hashi-date [cha-tsubo]; the kashi:  yaki-mochi, iri-kaya, [and] shiidake.”

    The guest was an advisor to the daimyō of Chiku-shū (in northern Kyūshū), to whom Rikyū was charged with delivering certain information for his lord, from Hideyoshi.

    At this chakai, Rikyū changed the chaire (from his Shiri-bukura [尻膨] to a small natsume), and also removed the objects (a Kokei scroll and meibutsu suzuri [硯]) that had been displayed in the tokonoma during the morning gathering.

    As with the mentori-nakatsugi used during the previous fu-ji no kai, the small natsume was used either to preserve the matcha that was left over after filling the chaire for that morning's (scheduled) chakai, or was used as a receptacle into which the chaire was emptied at the end of that gathering (so the tea could be used later, to serve usucha).

    Regarding the kashi, yaki-mochi [燒餅] is dried mochi that has been sliced into pieces and then toasted over a charcoal fire (which softens it) -- usually served on a skewer (by which it may be picked up and eaten, since it will be too hot to handle with the fingers); iri-kaya [煎り榧] are the roasted nuts of the Japanese allspice tree; and shiitake [椎茸] are lightly salted shiidake mushrooms that have been grilled over charcoal.

==============================================

    Neither of the above kaiki show Rikyū doing anything “special” with regard to the utensils (other than, in both cases, using a lacquered container as the chaire -- suggesting that he was using matcha that had been ground for some other purpose, rather than tea specially prepared for this chakai).  Indeed, the entire point of labeling these chakai as fu-ji [不時] means that they were unexpected, and so nothing about them were pre-planned.  Rikyū simply used the utensils that were already present in his mizuya (including the lacquered container of leftover matcha).

²Ika ni mo hizō-no-dōgu nado [いかにも秘蔵の道具など].

    Ika ni mo [如何にも] means verily, certainly, surely, without a doubt (the expression intensifies the meaning of what follows -- in other words, resulting in the meaning “truly treasured utensils”).

    Hizō-no-dōgu nado [秘蔵の道具など]:  hizō [秘蔵] means to treasure, treasured.  These would not have to be meibutsu pieces -- and, indeed, the meibutsu sort of utensils are to a certain extent precluded by the circumstances (hence the selection of utensils that I showed in the photo which, while treasures, are certainly not meibutsu).  The meaning is utensils that the host holds precious, his personal treasures.  Nado [など] means "and things of that sort."

    The implication is that the host should use his treasured pieces -- which are not the things that he uses ordinarily, but those utensils on which he sets a special value, and generally reserves for special occasions.

³Isshoku mo ni-shoku mo dashi [一色も二色も出し].

    Iro [色]* is used to mean things of a similar kind, things belonging to the same class of (entity).

    Earlier (in part 7†) iro was used to referred to the “kinds” or “classes” of flowers, of which there are two kinds (iro):  woody flowers and grassy flowers.  Here, it refers to the “kinds” or “sub-varieties” of cha-dōgu [茶道具], of which there are many (the kakemono [掛物], the hanaire [花入], the chaire [茶入], the chawan [茶碗], and so forth, each of these types is a subset of cha-dōgu). __________ * The on-yomi [音読み] (original or “Chinese-style” pronunciation) of this kanji is shoku [色].

†The entry entitled Nampō Roku, Book 1 (7):  Flowers for the Small Room; and Flowers for the 4.5-mat Room:

http://chanoyu-to-wa.tumblr.com/post/175182365610/namp%C5%8D-roku-book-1-7-flowers-for-the-small

⁴Shosa [所作].

    This word may be translated in different ways, depending on the circumstances of its use.  In this case, shosa [所作] means the behavior, the posture, the way the chakai is “staged.”  This word (along with the idea of “staging” the gathering) does not appear in this context prior to the Edo period.

    The word is being contrasted with kokoro [心] (see footnote 6), which refers to the feeling or mood.

⁵Shin [眞].

    Here, since this passage is referencing is a machi-shū teaching*, the best interpretation of “shin” is “formal.”

    Thus, this phrase is generally understood to mean that at a fu-ji no kai, the arrangement of the room, or selection of the utensils (and their corresponding form of temae) should be quite formal. __________ *When dealing with teachings expounded by the orthodox school, the meaning is generally closer to “original.”  Kaisho [楷書], the square-style of writing, is not so much “formal” as “original” -- in other words, these represented the original or full-form of the kanji.  When the word “shin” [眞] (which describes the way these kanji are written) was borrowed by the various arts (such as chanoyu), the word retained its original nuance.  Only in the Edo period did shin come to be equated with “formal,” as it generally is nowadays.

⁶Kokoro [心].

    Here this word means something like the mood, the feeling of the gathering.

    Shibayama Junkō [柴山準行; 1857-1937]*, in his commentary on this passage in the Nampō Roku, suggests that the word kokoro refers specifically to the teishu's attitude as he hosts the gathering -- the host should be especially solicitous of the guests and their comfort at this sort of chakai†. __________ *In the context of chanoyu studies, Shibayama Junkō is better known as Shibayama Fugen [柴山不言], his literary name.  It is under this name that he has been referred to previously in this blog.

†Perhaps to make up for what is lacking in terms of more elaborate preparations.

⁷Sō [草].

    Again, since this is a machi-shū based argument, “sō” [草] should be interpreted to mean “informal.”

    The arrangements or setting (shosa [所作]) should be formal, while the feeling (kokoro [心]) should be informal.

⁸Kuden [口傳].

    With respect to this “shin” [眞] versus “sō” [草] conundrum*, Shibayama Fugen† argues that one can come to understand the kuden by considering two passages found (elsewhere) in the Nampō Roku:

◦ Koicha no temae ni ichi-dan to sō ari, usucha no temae ni goku-shin ari [濃茶ノ手前ニ一段ト草アリ、薄茶ノ手前ニ極眞アリ].

    “The koicha-temae is very sō; the usucha-temae is extremely shin.”

◦ Usucha ha kokoro wo sō ni shi, temae wo shin...koicha ha kokoro wo shin ni temae wo sō to kokoroe-beshi [ウス茶ハ心ヲ草ニシ、手前ヲ眞...濃茶ハ心ヲ眞ニ手前ヲ草ト心得ヘシ].

    “In the case of usucha, [you] should do things so that the mood is sō, [while] the temae should be shin...[but] with respect to koicha, the mood should be shin while the temae is sō -- this [distinction you] should understand.”

    In other words, while the mood during the service of usucha is informal (sō) -- the guests may chat quietly among themselves, and even the host may join in -- the temae itself should be performed very correctly [shin].  But in the case of the serving of koicha, the host should concentrate fully on producing a delicious bowl of tea, without allowing himself to be encumbered by the details of the “correct” way to perform temae -- “the temae should be thrown away” (temae wo sutete [手前を捨てて]), as the Hundred Poems puts it -- which is sō; but the mood in the room should be very formal, with the guests sitting attentively and paying attention to what the host is doing (shin).

    Consequently, with respect to the fu-ji no kai, the way things are done, the way the gathering is staged, should be shin; but the atmosphere in the room should be sō.  This is what the machi-shū teaching means (and this is the thrust of the kuden).

    In the Hundred Poems, however, there is a verse (which is already present in the earliest manuscripts) that addresses this issue squarely -- and shows that such ruminations are really beside the point:

◦ Fu-ji nado no kyaku no kitaraba temae wo ba, kokoro sa sō ni waza wo tsutsushime [不時などの客の來らば手前をば、心さゝうにわざをつゝしめ].

    “In cases such as when no one was invited, yet a guest happens to arrive, with respect to the temae:  on such [occasions] the mood‡ should be casual, while the way of doing things should be modest and restrained**.”

    Ultimately, though this advice differs pointedly from what the machi-shū were teaching, the poem describes very clearly the secret teaching regarding the host’s response to the arrival of a guest who was not formally invited -- according to the orthodox tradition:  when a guest arrives who was not expected, the host should be casual and welcoming (rather than nervous -- and inclined to overreact), and he should do things simply, without pretending that he has made special preparations as if anticipating this chakai††.

    This is what Rikyū did -- he simply used what was on hand without doing anything to impress the guests.  If the reader can come to understand the mind behind his actions, he will fully understand the kuden. ___________ *In other words, the argument (made in this entry) that the staging of the fu-ji no kai should be “shin” while the mood of the gathering should be “sō.”

†See footnote 6, above.

    The reader should recognize that Shibayama Fugen accepted the entirety of the Nampō Roku as being Nambō Sōkei’s creation, rather than understanding that portions of the text were spurious additions introduced in order to make the teachings contained in this collection better resemble the practices and norms of the machi-shū style of chanoyu that was practiced in the early Edo period.

‡Kokoro sa [心然]:  kokoro [心] means feeling or mood; sa [然] means “so,” “like that,” “in that way” -- in other words, “the way that the mood should be.”

**Tsutsushimu [愼む] (the kanji is composed of the elements “kokoro” [心 =忄] and “shin” [眞] -- and it may be this similarity, especially when the word was handwritten, that resulted in its being confused with the kanji “shin”, on which the meaning of the machi-shū‘s teaching turns) means to be prudent, to be discrete, to be circumspect, to be modest.  These attributes are virtually the opposite of being rigidly formal, or doing things for show.

    Which is to say that using precious utensils for the sake of amusing the guests (or drawing their attention away from the lack of detailed preparations in other areas) is not really appropriate to the nature of the fu-ji no kai.  Since the gathering was unplanned, the best idea is simply to make use of what things are on hand in the mizuya (anyone who practices chanoyu regularly will habitually set up the mizuya with an appropriate selection of utensils each day when the water is drawn at dawn), without trying to do anything out of the ordinary, and then just use them to serve tea simply and modestly.

††Dragging out precious utensils may be considered overreacting, and it can give an odd feeling -- as if the host had somehow anticipated the guest’s visit.

    Of course, the machi-shū‘s fu-ji no kai was not really of this sort.  It was an ordinary, pre-arranged gathering (even if the host and guests pretended otherwise), since by the Edo period it was almost inconceivable that guests could be received for chanoyu without (at the very least) sufficient notice so that the host could clean the roji and chashitsu, do the necessary shopping and cooking, and grind the matcha.  Even if the guests were invited spontaneously, their arrival would be subtly delayed (perhaps for several hours) -- while someone ran ahead to finalize the preparations.

    And yet, it is here that we can understand one purpose of san-tan san-ro [三炭三爐]:  if the ro is prepared at dawn, and maintained throughout the day, always in a state of readiness so that the addition of a couple of pieces of charcoal will suffice to return the kama to a boil, if the host habitually wakes up at dawn to draw the water, clean the room and the utensils, and grind some tea, then he is always ready for the advent of a guest who was not invited.  For a person dedicated to chanoyu, this was (and is) the way to live his or her life -- in a constant state of readiness to welcome a guest and serve a bowl of tea, day in and day out, over the passage of the seasons and the course of the years.

[emorphistechno]

Fintech App Development: Exciting Core & Additional Features of Mobile Banking Apps

Today’s world is encapsulated by mobile technology in such a way that if you don’t have any app installed in your mobile device, it implies that you do not exist in this digital world. For a modern banking organization to hold a cutting-edge against its competitors, it should possess a well-designed mobile app that is handy and smart enough to offer some essential services to the customers via the official banking website.The major concern among most of the banking (or other FinTech) institutions can meet their customer’s expectations and offer them world-class mobile banking services. To make it possible, developing user-friendly Fintech apps is an answer to fulfill all the financial needs of their customers.The given article will focus on those fundamental banking apps which can be added in making more engaging and appealing apps that will successfully meet the customers’ expectations. Let’s start with the basics!

Core Features of a Robust Mobile Banking App

While Fintech app development, ignoring certain essential features will be like digging your own grave. They are essential as they help in fulfilling the end-needs of the clients in the most appropriate manner.

A. Security: An Aspect which Makes or Breaks the Reliability of Mobile Banking Apps

For every banking institute, maintaining a high-security level for their banking app is a severe headache because one security breach and millions of revenues is lost in drench! Besides, it will also compel them to face the fury of their customers.However, one answer pop-up in the mind of people- “Why high level of security is needed for the effective working of the banking apps?” To find the answer, first; break-up the given question.Offering a secure app for customers’ data is a complex procedure because of three aspects namely; software security measure, user behavior, and internal business processes. Even the failure of a single element, cannot be compensated by others. So, even a well-implemented security tool will not be able to provide safe passage for users to get secure banking utilities.Likewise, there is something to ponder about: 80% successful security attack on mobile apps is potentially hazardous. What’s more, 60% of the attack on mobile apps targets financial data and 95% of apps that were tested before making it available in the market have shown at least one vulnerability.Thus, one thing is clear that it is impossible to provide 100% security to the customers’ data. However, it is possible to reduce the following threat that- “There will be an occurrence of a mobile security breach.”In that way, a highly secured mobile banking application should have the following aspects to not only improve its acceptance among the people but also get wide support on every device and platform.

Adoption of cloud-based services will be beneficial for banks in the form of quick service delivery, low maintenance & cost, high adaptability, maximum run-time, efficient error correction and many more.

Provision of end-to-end encryption which is a perfect answer to the great threat in the form of cybercriminals and ensures a secure and sound financial service by safe audit and infiltration tests

Introduction of fingerprinting has added a feather to the security aspects as it is collection of browsers, screen size, IP address, time, location and so on and thus prevent the account of one person being accessed by an unauthorized person

Sending of real-time alerts via texts and emails is a boon for customers as they can get notified about their activities on their account and prevent themselves from any online fraud

B. Biometric Authentication: A Simple Answer for Secure Log-in

The verification procedure of web applications is multi-factor authentication which is although secure but is more time-consuming. However, a mobile banking app comes with biometric authentication technology. It focuses on physical metrics to verify and recognize an individual through their voice, gestures and even their typing rhythms and makes sign-in features safer for them.A recent study has found that by 2023, the biometric system will contribute US$4.8 billion for companies involved in incorporating the given system in the banking industry. Furthermore, the biometric economy is expected to reach $24.59 billion which will eventually enhance the growth of mobile banking. How it has become a craze in the given field? Let’s find out.Biometrics has become a vital part of banking utilities because it comes with smarter identity verification and authentication of customers so that only genuine customers can prove their identity.Furthermore, it ensures that the data of the customer is safe from online intruders by providing a unique sign-on facility and makes the password more secure. What’s more, the arrival of the fingerprint sensor has created a comfort zone for mobile banking; all thanks to biometric authentication.Biometric technology such as voice verification and facial recognition are gaining high prominence in the banking sector. Both are beneficial and can be incorporated into banking apps because they not only streamline the authentication process, but they also boost-up the security aspects for customers to have secure log-in. So, the future of mobile banking rests on the biometric system!

C. Simplicity: The identity of Every Popular Mobile Banking App

The founding principle of every application is- “The more straightforward the app is, better will be its usability among the customers”. It holds even for the mobile banking app! So, it is the responsibility of the developers to avoid creating a confusing app with high concern for its design.It is a known fact that the banking industry is a very complicated one and if the banking app takes time to reach the destination, it might annoy the customers which will result in them opting-out from the services of the respective bank.An ideal banking app must be able to deliver value in the simplest way possible which should start with the first swipe itself. Besides, give customers a chance so that they could access app’s content error-free which will then help the institution to keep the audience in their fold. Thus, an effective way to keep the mobile application going and reaching a new milestone!

D. Starting with Basic yet Attractive Design

The first thing which comes in the mind of customers when they view the mobile banking app is its design which conveys the meaning of the financial aspects of any bank. If it turns out to be dull or boring, it might make them switch to other banking services. So, a good mobile application must come with a game-changing clear and well-defined design concept.How to make it real? It can be done by following the effective design principles:

Simple Navigation: It can be done by keeping it consistent, making all elements as a clickable, proper division of categories, proper functioning of the search feature and many more

Clear User Experience: It implies that app must be innovative, informative and should not be complicated which can make thing difficult for customers to search

Attractive Interface: It can be possible by maintaining consistency by using photos of real people and use the right colors to evoke the mood of the people

Personalized Approach: The perfect app should permit the setting up of notification and content as per their needs and expectations

High Security: The app must have advanced security features such as biometric to make searching of personal account free from online intruders

Shortcuts for Common Services: It can be done by customizing the experience for the audience for the most frequent transactions

E. Bank Account Management: An Important Step to Monitor Personal Account

The users will be happy to work on those mobile banking apps, which allows proper account management that is they can check their bank accounts, card, record history and review account balance, etc. What’s more, the addition of some new functionality is also possible with its help so that users can

Set a saving goal which can be done by the users with a specific amount and designated time as per their need

Perform repeated payments in case users have already sent money to their well-wishers by tapping on previous transactions and can send money again with no need of entering other data

Make an investment which can be done by the users if they already have an investment account

F. Push Notification: Best Feature to Engage & Re-Engage Users with Mobile Banking App

Most of the banking institutes are incorporating push notification in their apps and do you know the main reason? It is because it is a fast and efficient procedure to have good communication with their customers. It is because of push notifications that mobile banking apps have become powerful enough to topple the web application successfully.There are various factors which have made push notifications in mobile apps a crucial aspect to engage with the customers well and are:

Stimulate User Engagement: It assists the customers by sending them real-time updates with reminders so that the people are in continuous engagement mode even if they are unaware of it. Users can get a timely message with relevant information about rewards after online payment appropriately. Thus, a better opportunity is present for the banking company to have good communication with the customers

Increase Conversion Rates: With the availability of mobile notifications, companies can trigger purchase among customers when they get instant information about special offers for online purchase

Improvement in Customer Care Strategy via Helpful Content: With Push notification at the helm, users can get crucial information about their account and remain updated about the latest news. Thus, a valuable and time-sensitive push notification is there to engage with your customers in a friendly and personal tone

Other Exclusive Features of Mobile Banking App

Furthermore, various other additional features define the usefulness of a powerful mobile banking app.

Payment Gateway Integration which is 3rd party system for secure transfer of money from one’s bank account to payment portal of the retailer and thus helps them to get better user-experience

Feedback System, a feature which will allow users to report complaints and bugs related to their bank account and thus enhances the reputation and credibility of the respective bank

Tracking Spending Habits feature will allow users to get good control over their finance and accomplish their saving goals and can also get customized reports about their expenditures

Online to Offline Usability is an essential feature which other than allowing customers to perform the transaction online, also permits having easy access to the offline touchpoints such as geo-location tools

Provision of various touchpoints, a feature which is a must for a perfect mobile app for catering various operating systems for enables users to use different platforms appropriately such as smartphones or desktops

EndNote

Mobile apps have gained significant fame among the banking sector and have prompted them to opt for an innovative FinTech app development. Furthermore, various core features for banking apps such as security, simplicity, simple log-in and push notifications if incorporated into it will bring immense success for the customers and banking sector alike. Likewise, a long-lasting and positive impression about banks is itched in the mind of customers! Originally published at – https://medium.com/@emorphis.technologies/fintech-app-development-exciting-core-additional-features-of-mobile-banking-apps-915ad0288d96

[bountyofbeads]

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The Berlin Wall fell 30 years ago. Its shadow looms large.

By Stefan Kornelius, Christian Caryl, Emily Tamkin and Brian Klaas | Published November 06 at 6:13 PM ET | Washington Post | Posted Nov. 7, 2019 |

Thirty years ago, the citizens of Soviet-dominated Central Europe achieved something extraordinary: a wave of peaceful revolution that swept away the system that had exerted near-seamless control over their lives for the previous four decades.

The enormous impact of those events was obvious to everyone who witnessed them. Since then, a generation has passed. The Berlin Wall — and everything it symbolized — is just a memory, and it is tempting to view the events of 1989 as mere history.

That would be a mistake. In fact, that remarkable year has left an enduring imprint on Europe — and the rest of the world. The upheaval of that moment still shapes politics, economies and biographies in ways we don’t normally consider.

We may think we have put 1989 behind us — but its shadow still looms large.

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MERKEL, THE ONE WHO WENT WEST

By Stefan Kornelius

Stefan Kornelius is the foreign editor of the German daily Sueddeutsche Zeitung and the author of “Angela Merkel: The Chancellor and Her World.”

The night the Berlin Wall came down, Angela Merkel went to a sauna. Just as she did on every other Thursday, the young academic indulged in a typical East German pastime: spending a few quiet moments with friends in boiling heat. Merkel finally heard the historic news when she returned home — but she decided to go to bed rather than enjoy the newly won freedom to cross the once-sealed border. It was only on the next day that she set foot in West Berlin, where she met a cousin and carefully tested the mood of the crowds.

Merkel is not known for being overly emotional. But that night she immediately knew that her career as a physicist had come to a sudden end. East German scientists lagged far behind the West, and there was almost no way for someone in her position to catch up. So Merkel made a bold decision and went shopping for political parties. She chose to align herself with a new group that called itself Democratic Awakening, which seemed to offer the right mix of seriousness and liberalism. It became her first political home.

In East Germany’s first free election a few weeks later, her party fared poorly. It soon entered into a coalition with West German Chancellor Helmut Kohl’s Christian Democratic Union, and she never looked back. From then on, the life story of the first female chancellor — and arguably the most powerful female politician in the world — is well-documented.

And yet one mystery remains. Merkel embodies the ultimate East German success story. She has governed united Germany for an astonishing 14 years. Her biography conveys several powerful messages: Anyone can make it; our democracy rewards ambition and talent; East and West can come together. You’d think that Merkel is the one politician east Germans could be proud of.

But they are not. Merkel is anything but the poster girl of unification. Her approval ratings in east Germany are worse than in the west. Whenever she campaigns in the east, her former compatriots greet her with whistles and catcalls. During recent regional elections in Saxony and Brandenburg, Merkel’s party strategists decided to ask her to stay away, fearing a negative effect on the vote if she showed up.

Merkel is probably the most prominent example of a deep East-West divide that separates not only Germany but also Central Europe. Even though the former satellites of the Soviet empire have caught up with the West economically and in many measures of modern life, their citizens can’t shake the nagging feeling that they don’t quite belong. Citizens of Hungary, Poland and other countries of the old Eastern Bloc often claim that they feel like they’re the losers of the historic events that took place 30 years ago — even when the men and women expressing the sentiment hadn’t been born when the wall came down.

Sociologists and psychologists have had a field day with this phenomenon. Dozens of studies and polls have analyzed the gap. Most end up recommending a strategy of patience. On Oct. 3, Germany’s official day of national unity, the chancellor mused that the passage of a generation just isn’t enough time to get over the shock of a collapsing world order.

East Germany now enjoys modern infrastructure. Cities and villages glow with fresh paint, and huge malls stretch along highways. But that’s only the surface. Rural areas are running out of inhabitants. Those who want jobs tend to head west or south, while those who stay behind are either old or tarred as losers. Since 1990, some 2 million east Germans, overwhelmingly young people, have left their homes.

East Germans believe that the rest of the country looks down on them. It’s a vicious circle: The more the story of second-class citizens is told, the deeper the gap between east and west becomes. Half of those living on the territory of the former German Democratic Republic see themselves as east Germans, not as Germans.

Not surprisingly, the right-wing populist party Alternative for Germany is strongest in the east, where it claims that only it can complete unification. The remedy it proposes is a mix of isolation and nationalism, with a strong appeal to notions of identity. It’s copying the recipes of similar Eastern European movements in Poland or Hungary: Use discontent with the economy and demographic change, mix it with xenophobia and historic trauma, and add a bit of strongman.

Angela Merkel never became that strong figure. Her political style is far too nuanced, her speaking skills too underdeveloped. She has a deep conviction that democracy means above all compromise, achieved in detailed negotiations without fanfare. Ever since she set out on her new path on that November night 30 years ago, she was fated to become not the first east German chancellor, but the third chancellor of unified Germany. As easterners see it, she westernized – and therefore betrayed her identity. She’s the one who went west.

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PUTIN AND THE GHOSTS OF 1989

By Christian Caryl

Thirty years later, it’s hard to fully appreciate just how revolutionary the revolutions of 1989 were. To us now, it’s obvious that the Stalinist regimes of east-central Europe were ripe for collapse. But this is the wisdom of hindsight.

It was certainly clear that the Soviet Union and the countries in its orbit were economically backward; Mikhail Gorbachev, who came to power in 1985, had basically admitted as much. But that didn’t mean that Marxist-Leninist regimes were destined to end up on the ash heap of history.

Communist dictatorships kept their populations under tighter control than any other political systems before them. They exercised obsessive control over links with the outside world; every foreigner who entered was carefully tracked. Even today, communist regimes survive in China, Cuba, Laos, Vietnam and North Korea. (Interestingly, we know that Kim Jong Il, the father of the current ruler in Pyongyang, forced his subordinates to watch videos of the December 1989 execution of Romanian communist dictator Nicolae Ceausescu as a reminder of what might happen to them if the Kim regime were to lose its grip on power.)

In East Germany, a vast network of millions of citizens happily informed on their neighbors. The Stasi, the East German security service, was notorious for its obsessiveness and fanaticism. (It even archived the smells emitted by dissidents.) Surely, many assumed, it was impossible for a government that enjoyed the power of the all-knowing Stasi to be vulnerable to overthrow. And it was — until it happened.

There is one modern-day leader who is uniquely qualified to appreciate just how extraordinary the 1989 revolutions were: Russian President Vladimir Putin. In 1989, he was a young Soviet intelligence officer stationed in the East German city of Dresden, where the KGB maintained a branch office. Throughout the fall, he and his Soviet colleagues had watched with growing trepidation as ordinary East Germans took to the streets to protest their own government. Their numbers, initially modest, soon skyrocketed. When I attended my first mass demonstration, in the city of Leipzig on Oct. 23, I found myself in a crowd of 250,000 people — and that was just one protest in a country of 16 million. Just a few weeks later, on Nov. 9, the Berlin Wall finally fell, setting communist East Germany on a path to its eventual dissolution.

On Dec. 5, the revolution arrived at Putin’s front door. A group of demonstrators turned up outside the villa housing the KGB branch office and threatened to storm the premises. Putin, in what has now become an oft-recounted moment in his official biography, told them politely but firmly to leave what the Soviets considered to be a military base — or he and his comrades would open fire. The East Germans dispersed.

It’s hard to know precisely what happened; the historical record has been strongly colored by the official version of events propagated by Putin and his government. Yet I see little reason to doubt that the young intelligence officer who would one day become his country’s ruler experienced East Germany’s revolution as up close and personal. While I can’t look into the Russian president’s soul, I believe the moment left a lasting imprint on the mind of the future dictator.

If Putin needed any reminder of the potential fragility of authoritarian regimes, he got it in 2011. Brazen fraud in local elections triggered a wave of popular protests in Moscow, St. Petersburg and other big cities; Putin’s 2012 announcement that he planned to run for a third term as president (after an interlude in which his protege Dmitry Medvedev held the office) acted as an accelerant. He had already seen several other rulers toppled by uprisings in his post-Soviet neighborhood — the so-called color revolutions in Ukraine, Georgia and Kyrgyzstan.

The sense of threat was compounded by the chain of events that would come to be known, in the West, as the Arab Spring. Beginning in Tunisia in late 2010, it soon claimed such ruthless dictators as Libya’s Moammar Gaddafi, Egypt’s Hosni Mubarak, and Yemen’s Ali Abdullah Saleh. If they could fall, anyone could fall.

Putin succeeded in defusing the challenge to his authority with a combination of suasion and threats. But the realization that his own country might be susceptible to a people-power uprising prompted him to reconsider how to deal with the possibility of mass discontent.

And in 2016, he created an entirely new institution — the 380,000-strong Russian National Guard, which combines the missions of suppressing mass uprisings and the monitoring of domestic dissent. While Russia’s existing security agencies mostly remained intact, there was one feature of this new one that set it apart: It answers directly to Putin, not to the bureaucracy. The old East German Stasi — like its Soviet counterpart, the KGB — was designed to defend the Communist Party, not individual leaders.

It’s a change that demonstrates just how palpably the ghosts of 1989 continue to haunt Putin’s imagination three decades later. That he’s managed to stay in power as long as he has shows just how carefully he has absorbed the lessons of that miraculous year.

______

THE STRANGE ODYSSEY OF ORBAN

By Emily Tamkin

Emily Tamkin is a writer and reporter based in Washington. She is the author of the upcoming book, “The Influence of Soros.”

In the late 1980s, when a somewhat lax form of Marxism/Leninism still reigned in Budapest, Bibo Istvan Special College for law students was “an island of autonomy and self-determination,” as author Paul Lendvai wrote in a recent book. Starting in 1986, the college received funding from Hungarian American billionaire George Soros, who subsidized its intellectually and politically curious students. In 1988, a group of those students founded Fidesz, a politically active youth group.

One of their members rocketed to fame in June 1989, when he gave a rousing speech at a Budapest ceremony commemorating Imre Nagy, a communist-era leader fondly remembered for pushing back against Soviet rule. The 26-year-old Fidesz member assailed Moscow and demanded the removal of Russian troops — striking a chord at precisely the moment when long-rising discontent with the U.S.S.R. was about to translate into revolutionary change around the region.

The young man’s name was Viktor Orban. Not long after his speech, he set off for Oxford, where he studied on a Soros scholarship. He returned to Hungary in 1990 as a young star, a future liberal leader. Or so everyone thought — and continued to think for years, as he rose to become Hungary’s prime minister.

But in 2014, during his second stint in office, Orban famously said, “The new state that we are building is an illiberal state, a non-liberal state.” Even more famously, he has relentlessly attacked his one-time benefactor. In 2018, parliament pushed through a “Stop Soros” law, making it illegal for individuals or organizations to provide help to undocumented immigrants. Central European University, which Soros founded in Budapest in the early 1990s, has been largely pushed out. Somewhat less famously, Orban’s government rewrote the Hungarian constitution in 2012 and passed a law under which the government oversees the courts. Orban himself has been accused of using his power to enrich his family and allies.

“Once in office, Orban changed his spots,” Soros writes in his latest book, “In Defense of Open Society.” “He sensed a political opportunity on the right and became increasingly nationalistic.”

And this, generally, is the thinking: Orban changed. He was a democrat, a liberal, and then he got power and stopped being one.

But look more closely at the young man back in 1989, the one giving speeches as hope for democracy and liberalism swept across Europe. A different picture starts to show, one in which Orban has always been Orban.

In the spring, I spoke with Tom Melia, now the head of the Washington office of PEN America. Back in the days when Bibo Istvan Special College was an autonomous island, Melia was at the National Democratic Institute, a nonprofit NGO that tries to bolster democratic institutions around the world, working on Hungary, “the most open of the Warsaw Pact countries in that period.” At the time, he said, people thought Fidesz was made up of smart, young people who were going to save the world.

I asked if he’d been surprised by the evolution of Orban and Fidesz.

Being an opponent of a dictatorship, he said, doesn’t necessarily mean you’re a good democrat: “You may just be a competitor for power.” During the 1990s, he says, some of those who knew Orban began to warn Melia about him. “They said that it was his domineering personality, his intolerance of dissent and discussion that grew in that period of the first parliament. So they saw something there that I didn’t necessarily see.”

Melia told me about Balint Magyar, a sociologist who was education minister both in the period before Orban’s first government and in the period between Orban’s first and second government. Back in 1990, Magyar had surprised some observers of Hungarian politics by publishing a diagram in which he plotted Fidesz as somewhere between the European liberals and the conservative populists. In June, in Budapest, I met with Magyar himself. I’d asked him how he’d known.

He told me that it had to do with language. When Orban first came on the scene, people thought that the language of liberal democracy was what people wanted to hear. When Orban figured out that it wasn’t, he changed what he was saying.

With a change in language came political machinations. In the 1990 election, Melia recalled, the members of Fidesz were so young that they displayed pictures of themselves and their babies to show they were grounded family men. Fidesz changed the rules after the first elections so that, despite its youth organization origins, older individuals could run for office for Fidesz. They got their parents and family members to run back home in the countryside, building a rural presence — and a more conservative voter base. By the time they came to power in 1998, they were part of a center-right coalition, having beaten the socialist and liberal coalition that ruled from 1994 to 1998. Orban, who served as prime minister in the new government, was ousted in 2002 — and came back in 2010 determined to hold onto power. He used the language, the tools and the anti-Soros campaigns available to him to do that.

There are, of course, a variety of theories about what happened to Orban. I have heard people say he resents Soros because he doesn’t like to owe people anything; that he was a genuine liberal democrat; that he wants to show big city people that he’s just as good and smart as they are.

And all of that may be true. But I think it was also true that, back in 1989, Orban was already Orban, already the man who wanted power and would say what he thought necessary to say and do what he thought necessary to do to keep it. Thirty years later, it looks as if the changing means achieved that steady end.

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THE END OF HISTORY? NOT QUITE.

By Brian Klaas

In the summer of 1989, just a few months before protesters streamed through Checkpoint Charlie of the Berlin Wall, Francis Fukuyama published an article in the National Interest called “The End of History?,” which later became the foundation of his book “The End of History and the Last Man.” He argued that the great ideological struggles of the 20th century — first between liberal democracy and fascism and then between liberal democracy and communism — were over. History, defined by Fukuyama as the struggle between grand ideologies, had reached its endpoint. Liberal democracy had won.

“What we may be witnessing,” Fukuyama wrote, “is not just the end of the Cold War, or the passing of a particular period of postwar history, but the end of history as such: that is, the end point of mankind’s ideological evolution and the universalization of Western liberal democracy as the final form of human government.”

When the Berlin Wall fell only a few months later, Fukuyama looked more like a prophet than a political scientist. But does he still look right today?

Thirty years later, history itself appears to have refuted “the end of history.” China, Russia and Vietnam have revived and prolonged authoritarianism precisely by adapting capitalism to their own designs. Turkey and Egypt have created new forms of sultanism. And in east-central Europe, Hungary and Poland — once bright spots of the 1989 revolutions — are once again embracing one-party rule in all but name. Germany, once the standard-bearer for Eastern Europe, now also finds itself bedeviled by right-wing populism. Even in the United States — a country that Ronald Reagan called a “shining city upon a hill” in January 1989 — a weak but dangerous would-be strongman now rules.

These examples, and others, are driving a dangerous trend. Young people in the West are losing faith in democratic institutions. Roughly 75 percent of Americans born in the 1930s say it is “essential” to live in a democracy — but only about 30 percent of Americans born in the 1980s share that view. Britain, New Zealand, Australia and Sweden show a similar dynamic.

More are also willing to consider alternatives that were once unthinkable fringe views. In 1995, 1 in 16 Americans said army rule would be “good” or “very good.” By 2014, that figure had grown to 1 in 6.

Yet this is not the entire story. For one thing, the current democratic recession doesn’t negate the astounding growth of liberal democracy since World War II.

In 1945, the world was home to 137 autocratic states — and just 12 democratic ones. By 1989, the number of autocracies had fallen to 105 compared with 51 democracies. In 2018, democracies were in the lead, by a count of 99 to 80. (This is a broad category that encompasses many different kinds of states, ranging from robust parliamentary democracies to relatively illiberal ones.) Oxford economist Max Roser calculates that the number of people who live in democracies nearly doubled between 1989 and 2015, from about 2 billion to about 4 billion.

Even more striking, perhaps, is the persistence with which post-1989 despots strive to present themselves as democrats. Many make a point of holding regular and seemingly competitive elections (while rigging them). They allow a semi-free press (which they muzzle when it suits them). They make a pretense of maintaining the rule of law on paper (though not in practice). As Nic Cheeseman and I have argued, this is why there are more elections than ever before as the world becomes less democratic.

This would seem to undercut Fukuyama’s argument but actually reinforces it. The world’s dictators are trying to create the illusion of liberal democracy to justify their rule. Most of those leading the democratic recession still say democracy is the ideological ideal.

Fukuyama noted that “it is not necessary that all societies become successful liberal societies, merely that they end their ideological pretensions of representing different and higher forms of human society.” This may have been his most astute observation of all; modern politics appears to be bearing it out.

Authoritarianism and illiberalism have not died. Yet as I write this, people are taking to the streets once again across the world — from Hong Kong to Chile, Ecuador to Algeria, Lebanon to Sudan. The reasons for their protests differ widely — but what they all have in common is the demand for a voice over decisions affecting their everyday lives. None of the participants in these mass uprisings is demanding that despots tell them what to do.

All of them are marching in the footsteps of those who, 30 years ago, pushed against the walls and curtains of dictatorship until they finally fell. The defenders of the open society continue to fight, and they still have much to fight against. Even so, the promise of democracy beckons just as persistently as it did in 1989. Otherwise the strongmen would not have so much reason to fear it. But fear it they do.

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30 years after the fall of the Berlin Wall, children of a united Germany remain divided

By Loveday Morris and Luisa BECK | Published November 07 at 11:10 AM ET | Washington Post | Posted Nov. 7, 2019

BERLIN — Michael Weber had just turned 3 when the Berlin Wall fell and doesn’t remember life before communist East Germany reunited with the capitalist West.

Weber’s generation, raised in the rubble of the wall, was expected to grow up without division. They were the children of “die Wende,” as the reunification is known in Germany and which loosely translates as “turning point.”

And yet that’s not quite how things turned out.

“In my head, the wall is still there,” Weber said. “There’s disappointment here. What was hoped for in the last 30 years hasn’t really happened.”

Events celebrating the 30th anniversary of the Berlin Wall’s demise this week are tempered by soul-searching about continued rifts in society.

Although economic divisions between East and West have narrowed, the East still lags behind. And political and psychological divisions, which until recent years had been written off by some politicians as issues of the past, have become increasingly obvious. That’s especially the case within the generation raised after reunification and without memory of the communist state that preceded it.

Only 38 percent of East Germans think reunification succeeded, according to a government report released in September. That drops to 20 percent among those younger than 40, who experienced East Germany only as children or not at all.

Weber and his friends fall into that group. They took a recent day off from the metal factory where they work to attend a “family day” organized by the far-right Alternative for Deutschland (AfD) party in the eastern town of Zeulenroda. Residents lined up for sausages and beer as they waited for an appearance by regional AfD leader Bjorn Höcke, who has survived calls within his own party to ban him for anti-Semitic rhetoric.

Weber and his friends brushed off reports of Höcke’s neo-Nazi ties and said the AfD speaks to issues they care about.

The traditional parties, Weber said, “had 30 years to make changes, 30 years to make everything equal, and they haven’t.”

A TURNING POINT THAT LEFT SOME DISAPPOINTED

It was on the evening of Nov. 9, 1989 that an East German government official announced — somewhat prematurely, it would turn out — that the state’s citizens would be free to travel to the West.

East Germans swarmed to the Berlin Wall, where they were welcomed by citizens from West Germany. There were euphoric scenes of celebration as the most potent symbol of the Iron Curtain that divided Europe was overrun.

But it was also the beginning of a painful readjustment for many in East Germany.

Reunification gave the 17 million Germans in the East a chance to own property, but many emerging from the communist state lacked the capital to do so. During privatization, factories in the East were shut down or bought up by new owners from the West. Qualifications from the East were rendered invalid.

Two years after reunification, industrial production in the East had slumped by more than three quarters, and more than 3 million people were out of work.

Many people left, resulting in dispiriting depopulation.

Three decades later, the picture is far better, as Germany’s powerhouse economy has lifted both East and West. But disparities remain. Salaries and disposable income in the East now reach about 85 percent of those in the West, according to government figures. East Germans are underrepresented as leaders in business, academia and politics, despite Chancellor Angela Merkel being from the East.

There’s also an enduring gap in unemployment rates: 6.9 percent in the East, compared to 4.8 percent in the West.

The split between East and West is even more pronounced in the realm of politics.

The far-right AfD has found support across Germany in the past five years, winning enough seats in the German parliament to make it the largest opposition party. But its message has particularly resonated in the East, and especially among young people. Whereas the Greens have won the under-30 vote elsewhere in Germany, in the Eastern states of Saxony and Thuringia the AfD has come out on top.

The party has benefited from opposition to Merkel’s decision to welcome more than 1 million refugees. But it has also tapped into resentment about how reunification was handled 30 years ago and into a feeling that Germans in the East remain second-class citizens.

During recent local elections in the East, the AfD promised a “Wende 2.0” to right the wrongs of the process.

“Senior politicians always said that unification is not a topic that is relevant in the young generation anymore,” said Rainer Faus, one of the authors of a study for the Otto Brenner Foundation this year that researched unity among Germans born after the fall of the Berlin Wall. “We didn’t really believe that.”

The study found that only 33 percent of young Germans in former eastern states agreed that it makes no difference whether someone comes from eastern or western Germany, compared to 57 percent in the West who say the same.

“People in the East perceive Germany as less fair,” Faus said. “They believe that people in the East were not always treated in a fair manner after the fall of the wall.”

And those who agree that the East has been disadvantaged are more likely to vote for the AfD, he said.

Another notable finding: One in five people surveyed in the former East Germany said they feel more “East German” than “German.” There’s no equivalent regional identity in the West, Faus said.

WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE EAST GERMAN?

Some say they’ve had little choice but to embrace their East German identity, to fight stereotypes that have become more pervasive in recent years.

Valerie Schönian was born on Sept. 25, 1990, a little shy of a year after the fall of the Berlin Wall and eight days before Germany was formally unified. She said she’d never really considered her regional identity growing up.

“For me and a lot of other people my age, I never thought about East and West Germany — that was history for me,” she said. “But then something changed.”

Schönian points to the 2015 refugee influx, which gave rise to the anti-immigrant Pegida party, and later the AfD. Suddenly East Germans were in the spotlight: for being racist and far-right.

The news media and Twitter commentators began to look at the East and say, “My God, what’s going on there?” she said. The emphasis on negative aspects of the region made her want to present a fuller picture.

“Young people like me — who don’t go on the streets for Pegida, or go on the streets for the AfD — also want to talk about East Germany and what’s going on there and what’s cool about East Germany,” said Schönian, who is writing a book on the topic.

On a rainy day in Leipzig, Friederike Feiler, 21, points out the church where her parents took part in political protests against communist East Germany. Her father still runs tours there.

Feiler — who is part of an activist group called Aufbruch Ost, or “Departure East” — argues that issues surrounding reunification need to be revisited and discussed. Among the most controversial is the work of Treuhandanstalt, an East German agency created to privatize state companies before reunification in 1990. It closed down many of them.

“It’s about getting more people to know about the inequality between East and West, and getting more people talk about it,” Feiler said.

But she worries that the focus on political differences is cementing new walls.

“After the elections now, there is a lot of blame on the East Germans,” she said. “The problem is when you point the finger and say, ‘How can you vote for the AfD? You are bad people.’ ”

Daniel Kubiak, a sociologist at the Humboldt University in Berlin, said it’s important to move on from explaining everything about eastern Germany with East German history. The classic example is when people suggest that Germans in eastern states have an affinity for the far right because they lived under authoritarian rule.

People shouldn’t overlook events in the 1990s, he said, such as the emergence of anti-immigrant groups and cases of domestic terrorism.

“Eastern Germany has become a construct in its own right, which has a 30-year history after reunification that you first have to look at,” he said.

Despite concerns about enduring divisions, for Schönian, the discussion about reunification’s unfulfilled promises and about what it means to be east German can be seen, in itself, as a sign of German unity.

“It just means that young East German people are so integrated, that it’s not possible to ignore our voice,” she said. For a long time, the East German perspective was ignored in history and the media, she said. “That gets harder and harder. Because of us.”

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[how2to18]

“I HAVE SOME trepidation about bringing up those days. They are the last and most memorable days of a part of my youth,” writes Patrick Modiano, winner of the 2014 Nobel Prize for Literature, in his latest novel. Why trepidation? Surely his place in society is now secure, having won such a prize. Yet, as Modiano surely knows, even a Nobel cannot prevent one from being arrested for past crimes. The atmosphere of anxiety that always pervades Modiano’s novels has not dissipated as a result of his recent accolades. As Modiano is surely aware, the law cares little for cultural achievements. If one is an accomplice to murder, one must be subject to punishment.

Despite an understandable hesitation, Modiano continues to force himself to write, to set down on paper crimes that the past has already covered over, possible consequences be damned.

Of course, the crimes recorded in his novels may or may not be autobiographical. But given Modiano’s past, as GD Dess has summarized in an excellent overview of his life and work, it is not unreasonable to suppose he has some personal involvement with crime, whatever that might be. It is not outside the realm of possibility that we could see Modiano on television someday, handcuffed and heading off to prison because one of his novels gave a clue to his past that was a touch too close to reality.

So why write about these things at all? Why risk it? Here, Modiano is often misunderstood. The Nobel committee wrote that he received the prize “for the art of memory with which he has evoked the most ungraspable human destinies and uncovered the life-world of the occupation.” He is often spoken of this way, as someone operating contre l’oubli, dedicated to the task of retrieving and preserving memories of a world that is quickly slipping away. It is surely correct to see Modiano in that light, but it is only a partial truth. If one looks closely at his professed reasons for writing, Modiano remembers only to forget, or remembers only to enable forgetting.

This is to note a fact that has been written about, but not often enough: Modiano is an author marked by trauma. Memory is an ambiguous thing for such an author: it is both the vehicle for the continuation of the wounds past trauma has inflicted, and the only possible way to overcome the pain that has formed the traumatized self. For repressed memory shapes the self even if one wishes to deny its status as authentic memory. In the case of the traumatized subject, one writes in order to bring the repressed to the surface; and it is only when such surfacing occurs that one can move forward with life. The relation between trauma and writing has been the subject of exceptional studies by theorists such as Judith Herman, Cathy Caruth, and Shelly Rambo, and all of this material is relevant to understanding Modiano. He writes, perhaps at some risk to himself and those he once knew, in order to continue to live. It is only in the full remembering of such pasts that anything like forgetting can occur, and in this context “forgetting” would mean something like the lifting of the weight that a memory used to hold.

The title of the first novel Modiano has written post-Nobel victory is singularly apropos, Sleep of Memory, putting a memory that has agitated the self for too long to a final, authoritative rest. The author writes about such a purpose near the end of this brief, poignant volume:

Last year, at the bottom of a large envelope, among expired navy blue passports and report cards from a children’s home and a boarding school in the Haute-Savoie, I came upon some typed sheets.

At first, I hesitated to reread those few pages of onionskin held together by a rusty paperclip. I wanted to get rid of them right away, but that struck me as impossible, like radioactive waste that it’s no use burying hundreds of feet underground.

The only way to defuse this thin file once and for all was to copy out portions of it and blend them into the pages of a novel, as I did thirty years ago. That way, no one would know whether they belonged to reality or the realm of dreams. Today, March 10, 2017, I again opened the pale green folder, removed the paperclip that left rust stains on the first sheet and, before ripping the whole thing to shreds and leaving not a single material trace, I’ll copy over a few sentences and then be done with it.

To “be done with it”; such is the goal, anyway. The perpetual need to write another novel speaks to the impossibility of ever finally achieving this aim — a fact for which Modiano’s readers may feel grateful, if also a little guilty at the same time.

We continue to be the beneficiaries of Modiano’s pain with this new novel, which has many of the satisfactions typical of a Modiano novel: absent parents, chance encounters, disappearing women, dalliances in the occult, the mysteries of Paris charted via specific streets and the seasons. Above all is a mood that cannot be adequately described but is familiar to anyone who has read one of Modiano’s books, a mood ably conveyed by the sensitive and spare translation of Mark Polizzotti. Compared to recent works, however, Sleep of Memory does not have the formal purity of The Black Notebook or the humor of So You Don’t Get Lost in the Neighborhood. The disparate narrative of the former is brought into unity through the haunting of one female character, Dannie, and this lends an affecting singularity to the reading experience that Sleep of Memory does not have, haunted as it is by several women and not just the one. So You Don’t Get Lost in the Neighborhood is perhaps Modiano’s most humorous work since his first novel, La Place de l’Étoile. For example, it possesses the following delightful passage on the relation between a Modiano-esque detective and modern technology:

For the past few years, he hardly ever used this computer on which most of his research came to nothing. The rare people whom he would have liked to trace had succeeded in escaping the vigilance of this machine. They had slipped through the net because they belonged to another age and because they were not exactly saints. He remembered his father whom he hardly knew and who used to say to him in a soft voice: “I’d be a tough case for dozens of examining magistrates.” No trace of his father on the computer. Any more than of Torstel or Perrin de Lara whose names he had typed out on the keyboard the previous day, before Chantal Grippay arrived. In the case of Perrin de Lara, the usual phenomenon had occurred: a great many Perrins were displayed on the screen, and the night was not long enough to go through the entire list. Those whom he would have liked to hear from were often hidden among a crowd of anonymous people, or else behind a famous character who bore the same name. And when he typed out a direct question on the keyboard: “Is Jacques Perrin de Lara still alive? If so, give me his address”, the computer seemed incapable of replying and you could sense a certain hesitation and a certain embarrassment passing through the multiple wires that connected the machine to electrical sockets.

Sleep of Memory is missing these elements of formal purity and humor. Still, it has other virtues.

First, it has some of the best aphorisms one can find in Modiano. A brief sampling here: “For me, Paris is littered with ghosts”; “with a little effort they come back to you, those names that lie dormant beneath a thin coating of snow and neglect”; “Those people you often wonder about, whose disappearance is shrouded in mystery, a mystery you’ll never be able to solve — you’d be surprised to learn that they simply changed neighborhoods”; “quite simply, we live at the mercy of certain silences.” As always, with Modiano, melancholy is formulated with precision, and the enjoyment gained from reading a new text is seeing how he’s done it this time, how he has returned to the same themes, delighting us anew with yet a more perfect way of putting the matter.

Second, there is an unforgettable evocation of domestic space when the narrator goes to visit a friend of a friend named Madeleine Péraud, who teaches yoga and occult sciences. Péraud’s house is a realm of utter quiet in the midst of Paris, such that when one enters one feels one has left the city entirely. There are two windows that look out onto a garden, and Péraud speaks with a calm voice. The narrator and his friend are asked to sit on a red sofa that faces these windows. The room is lit by a floor lamp that stands between the two windows, giving off a soft light as Péraud asks questions of a gentle, non-interrogative nature. Modiano speaks frequently of the eternal return, but the peculiar way this scene is written, with its repetitive cadences and unhurried grace, brings the reader into his cyclical universe. Times stands still not just for Jean, the narrator, but for us as well.

The third and final virtue has to do with horror. Sleep of Memory manages to attach a feeling not just of unease but of genuine terror to the past. It seems the past may at any moment return to impound the present, making us pay an unredeemed debt that has been accruing interest for some time. We are the beneficiaries of Modiano’s pain, and the trauma rising to the surface (like a body floating in a river, the body of a certain Ludovic F.) feels exquisitely real.

¤

Thomas J. Millay is a PhD student in Theology at Baylor University. His fiction has been published in the Blotter.

The post Remember to Forget: Patrick Modiano’s “Sleep of Memory” appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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The Convo One Woman Has with Herself Every Time

E all have days whilst we experience insecure and uncomfortable about sure components of our body and blogger Kenzie Brenna is right here to remind you which you’re now not by myself. The frame-confidant blogger currently shared a super relatable publish approximately the collection of mind that race via her mind each time she appears at her stretch marks.

They may be now not generally this important,” she keeps. “In case you most effective had the cash to cast off them. They simply look kinda cool. Sorta like the beginning of a tale. More just like the beginning of a protracted tale. Would I erase my tale to no longer have those? You would probably be Extra cozy without them. Could I without a doubt, although?”

You likely apprehend a number of the primary few sentiments right away.

How typically have you ever requested yourself whether or not going underneath the knife/laser/syringe Could “restoration” your insecurities about something? In the end, even though, Kenzie’s mind evolve right into a verbal exchange with herself about how this so-called physical imperfection would not define her, and they’re a part of her story—in this case, her weight reduction journey.

“Does this have an effect on the pleasant of who I am? No,” she continues. “Would it make you a better man or woman if you obtain rid of those marks? No. Wouldn’t it make you kinder, Extra generous and a higher lover If you had the money to erase them? No. Then you’re ideal. I do not experience best. This is cause ideal isn’t a sense.”

The Desolate Woman – A Biblical Perspective on Rape

A massive nation in a remote land, a beloved king with a lovely daughter, and a good-looking prince who’s heir to the throne the tale has all the makings of a cute fairy story, but it’s far a horror story. The kingdom turned into Israel underneath the rule of thumb of King David and the handsome prince turned into David’s oldest son, Amnon, who just so passed off to be in love together with his half of sister, Tamar. Located in 2 Samuel thirteen, smack dab between David’s affair with Bathsheba and the rebellion of David’s sons against their father is the passage about the rape of Princess Tamar.Nathan the prophet advised David that “the sword will by no means leave your family” only some chapters in advance and observed the turmoil that could erupt in the king’s own family on account of his sin. The unraveling of The kingdom started with this rape.

All of it started out while Amnon has become lovesick over his sister, Tamar. He lamented to his cousin, Jonadab, that he could not do anything to her due to the fact she changed into a virgin. Jonadab concocted a horrible plan, which Amnon completed. Jonadab suggested Amnon feign contamination and request Tamar’s presence from the king. King David did not deny his firstborn something, so certainly Amnon’s request became granted.

Tamar, being the dutiful daughter, came to her brother’s house to prepare him a meal,

Which he refused to eat. Rather he advised all his servants to depart and then stated, “Tamar, why do not you convey the meals right here to me in my bedroom? I’m too vulnerable to eat by myself so I need your assist.” Tamar delivered the food into his bedroom. All of a sudden, Amnon grabbed Tamar and demanded that she join him in bed.

Aghast, Tamar refused his provide begging, “do not pressure me, my brother! Such a component is not achieved in Israel. don’t do this depraved factor. What about me? Wherein could I do away with my shame? And what approximately you, you will be like one of the wicked fools in Israel. Please talk to the king: he’ll now not preserve me from being married to you” (thirteen:12-thirteen, NIV.) Tamar’s plea fell on deaf ears. And because Amnon is “more potent than she”, he raped her (18:14.)

There are a few exciting things that may be pulled from Tamar’s emotional statement.

While Tamar said that such things as this aren’t executed in Israel, she spoke of the law which forbade a man to have sexual relations with his sister. (Lev. 18: 9, 11) Disgraced, she might have been both placed to loss of life for having This kind of dating or considered “unmarriageable” because she changed into no longer a virgin. But, Tamar then stated that the king could allow Amnon to marry her, which become additionally forbidden by using regulation (Lev. 20:17; Deut. 27:22.) Possibly Tamar hoped this will dissuade Amnon for the moment so she should escape or she notion David might bend the regulation for his youngsters. Whatever the motive, Tamar’s announcement became omitted.

Tamar’s plea cuts to the heart of any woman or woman who has been sexually assaulted. Please don’t do this to me; do not take this from me. but frequently due to the fact a man is more potent than a woman, he takes violently what isn’t always his to take. The girl is frequently left alone and burdened, picking up the pieces of what she thought could be a terrific existence.

Analysis of Bouguereau’s, “A Young Girl Defending Herself Against Eros”

William Bouguereau, a French-Instructional Paint, became an incredibly famous painter inside the past due 1800’s. He became born in L. A. Rochelle, France, on November 30th, 1825. As a younger guy, Bouguereau put himself thru Ecole des Beaux-Arts by using making labels for nearby grocers, and painting photos of neighborhood Parishioners. Similar to the various different artists of the nineteenth century, Bouguereau paid careful attention to his meticulous shape and approach.

The commoners cherished Bouguereau, people might typhoon the once a year Salon every year, and pay impossible prices to peer and purchase his contemporary paintings. The general public adored Bouguereau, but, according to the authentic internet site of The Getty Museum, critics did no longer experience the same way; “They derided the “bourgeois finickiness” and “contagious mediocrity” of Bouguereau’s reflect-smooth, romanticized artwork of cupids, nudes, and peasant women.” A few humans felt that Bouguereau’s painting represented the whole thing that turned into wrong with nineteenth-century Instructional artwork. The impressionist hated his work, and this form of artwork changed into precisely what they were trying to flow far from.

One in every of Bouguereau’s maximum famous works,

A younger Woman Defending Herself Towards Eros” is an astounding portray that, the instant you set eyes at the portray, the aesthetics will catch you off defend. The excellent attention to detail inside the faces of the 2 characters is what certainly attracted me to it. It’s miles mind-blowing how perfectly Bouguereau demonstrates the perfect emotions. It is an academic illustration of a lady playfully resisting cupid’s arrow, secretly wanting it, but certainly shying away from it. This will be interpreted as symbolic of how hard love is to resist at instances. Even though we don’t want to get harm by way of the arrow, we nevertheless all secretly need it. I suppose that the price he uses absolutely makes it light hearted and even form of a funny portray. The feel and area he uses additionally genuinely offer the painting its traditional Educational feel, which is straightforward while still invoking feelings.

The Blogger by James Raven Book Review

James Raven’s stalwart and astute detective Jeff Temple is back for the 5th time around inside the Blogger. A fast-paced and plot-twisting read, Raven’s most up-to-date work is a well-written and timely thriller ideal for our current age.

The world over recognized and undoubtedly arguable Net sensation Daniel Prince is no stranger to controversy

On his weblog, Humans-Energy, Prince is famous for breaking tough-hitting, and regularly politically devastating, memories that disclose scandals, corruption, and different unpleasantries that are rampant within countrywide governments. Maximum recently, a submit on his weblog prompted several excessive-rating British ministers to renounce. Needless to say, Prince has made a number of enemies. However while he is located useless outside his condo constructing one night time, all signs and symptoms point to suicide.

Jeff Temple and his group are referred to as in to research what looks as if a textbook suicide case. But one interview with Prince’s fiancé, Beth Fletcher, but, increases Temple’s suspicions. Beth is adamant that Prince wasn’t suicidal, that he had never even proven any signs and symptoms of depression. She’s satisfied that one of the infinite enemies that he had made through his blogging is guilty of foul play. And in spite of all different proof, Temple is inclined to consider Beth. Further proof in Prince’s condominium points toward homicide, as properly.

However alas, there is no loss of suspects in this case. Aside from the limitless enemies that Prince had made abroad,

There are lots of suspects at home as well. In his condo on my own, there are numerous unsavory characters. There is the sneaky condo constructing concierge George Reese, whose wallow-demeanor and entire access to the complete building makes him more than able to wearing out the deed; There may be resident Hari Basu, acknowledged for his mood and short-fuse, who had already quarreled with Prince numerous instances; the reputedly mild-mannered Mr. And Mrs. Connor, who’ve mysteriously accumulated a scrapbook of newspaper articles that mentioned Prince; and in the end the mysterious married female with whom Prince changed into supposedly having an affair at the least, this is, in step with his pal and confidante Joseph Kessel.

[readbookywooks]

27 In the stunned reaction that follows, I'm aware of one sound. Snow's laughter. An awful gurgling cackle accompanied by an eruption of foamy blood when the coughing begins. I see him bend forward, spewing out his life, until the guards block him from my sight. As the gray uniforms begin to converge on me, I think of what my brief future as the assassin of Panem's new president holds. The interrogation, probable torture, certain public execution. Having, yet again, to say my final goodbyes to the handful of people who still maintain a hold on my heart. The prospect of facing my mother, who will now be entirely alone in the world, decides it. "Good night," I whisper to the bow in my hand and feel it go still. I raise my left arm and twist my neck down to rip off the pill on my sleeve. Instead my teeth sink into flesh. I yank my head back in confusion to find myself looking into Peeta's eyes, only now they hold my gaze. Blood runs from the teeth marks on the hand he clamped over my nightlock. "Let me go!" I snarl at him, trying to wrest my arm from his grasp. "I can't," he says. As they pull me away from him, I feel the pocket ripped from my sleeve, see the deep violet pill fall to the ground, watch Cinna's last gift get crunched under a guard's boot. I transform into a wild animal, kicking, clawing, biting, doing whatever I can to free myself from this web of hands as the crowd pushes in. The guards lift me up above the fray, where I continue to thrash as I'm conveyed over the crush of people. I start screaming for Gale. I can't find him in the throng, but he will know what I want. A good clean shot to end it all. Only there's no arrow, no bullet. Is it possible he can't see me? No. Above us, on the giant screens placed around the City Circle, everyone can watch the whole thing being played out. He sees, he knows, but he doesn't follow through. Just as I didn't when he was captured. Sorry excuses for hunters and friends. Both of us. I'm on my own. In the mansion, they handcuff and blindfold me. I'm half dragged, half carried down long passages, up and down elevators, and deposited on a carpeted floor. The cuffs are removed and a door slams closed behind me. When I push the blindfold up, I find I'm in my old room at the Training Center. The one where I lived during those last precious days before my first Hunger Games and the Quarter Quell. The bed's stripped to the mattress, the closet gapes open, showing the emptiness inside, but I'd know this room anywhere. It's a struggle to get to my feet and peel off my Mockingjay suit. I'm badly bruised and might have a broken finger or two, but it's my skin that's paid most dearly for my struggle with the guards. The new pink stuff has shredded like tissue paper and blood seeps through the laboratory-grown cells. No medics show up, though, and as I'm too far gone to care, I crawl up onto the mattress, expecting to bleed to death. No such luck. By evening, the blood clots, leaving me stiff and sore and sticky but alive. I limp into the shower and program in the gentlest cycle I can remember, free of any soaps and hair products, and squat under the warm spray, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. My name is Katniss Everdeen. Why am I not dead? I should be dead. It would be best for everyone if I were dead.... When I step out on the mat, the hot air bakes my damaged skin dry. There's nothing clean to put on. Not even a towel to wrap around me. Back in the room, I find the Mockingjay suit has disappeared. In its place is a paper robe. A meal has been sent up from the mysterious kitchen with a container of my medications for dessert. I go ahead and eat the food, take the pills, rub the salve on my skin. I need to focus now on the manner of my suicide. I curl back up on the bloodstained mattress, not cold but feeling so naked with just the paper to cover my tender flesh. Jumping to my death's not an option - the window glass must be a foot thick. I can make an excellent noose, but there's nothing to hang myself from. It's possible I could hoard my pills and then knock myself off with a lethal dose, except that I'm sure I'm being watched round the clock. For all I know, I'm on live television at this very moment while commentators try to analyze what could possibly have motivated me to kill Coin. The surveillance makes almost any suicide attempt impossible. Taking my life is the Capitol's privilege. Again. What I can do is give up. I resolve to lie on the bed without eating, drinking, or taking my medications. I could do it, too. Just die. If it weren't for the morphling withdrawal. Not bit by bit like in the hospital in 13, but cold turkey. I must have been on a fairly large dose because when the craving for it hits, accompanied by tremors, and shooting pains, and unbearable cold, my resolve's crushed like an eggshell. I'm on my knees, raking the carpet with my fingernails to find those precious pills I flung away in a stronger moment. I revise my suicide plan to slow death by morphling. I will become a yellow-skinned bag of bones, with enormous eyes. I'm a couple of days into the plan, making good progress, when something unexpected happens. I begin to sing. At the window, in the shower, in my sleep. Hour after hour of ballads, love songs, mountain airs. All the songs my father taught me before he died, for certainly there has been very little music in my life since. What's amazing is how clearly I remember them. The tunes, the lyrics. My voice, at first rough and breaking on the high notes, warms up into something splendid. A voice that would make the mockingjays fall silent and then tumble over themselves to join in. Days pass, weeks. I watch the snows fall on the ledge outside my window. And in all that time, mine is the only voice I hear. What are they doing, anyway? What's the holdup out there? How difficult can it be to arrange the execution of one murderous girl? I continue with my own annihilation. My body's thinner than it's ever been and my battle against hunger is so fierce that sometimes the animal part of me gives in to the temptation of buttered bread or roasted meat. But still, I'm winning. For a few days I feel quite unwell and think I may finally be traveling out of this life, when I realize my morphling tablets are shrinking. They are trying to slowly wean me off the stuff. But why? Surely a drugged Mockingjay will be easier to dispose of in front of a crowd. And then a terrible thought hits me: What if they're not going to kill me? What if they have more plans for me? A new way to remake, train, and use me? I won't do it. If I can't kill myself in this room, I will take the first opportunity outside of it to finish the job. They can fatten me up. They can give me a full body polish, dress me up, and make me beautiful again. They can design dream weapons that come to life in my hands, but they will never again brainwash me into the necessity of using them. I no longer feel any allegiance to these monsters called human beings, despise being one myself. I think that Peeta was onto something about us destroying one another and letting some decent species take over. Because something is significantly wrong with a creature that sacrifices its children's lives to settle its differences. You can spin it any way you like. Snow thought the Hunger Games were an efficient means of control. Coin thought the parachutes would expedite the war. But in the end, who does it benefit? No one. The truth is, it benefits no one to live in a world where these things happen. After two days of my lying on my mattress with no attempt to eat, drink, or even take a morphling tablet, the door to my room opens. Someone crosses around the bed into my field of vision. Haymitch. "Your trial's over," he says. "Come on. We're going home." Home? What's he talking about? My home's gone. And even if it were possible to go to this imaginary place, I am too weak to move. Strangers appear. Rehydrate and feed me. Bathe and clothe me. One lifts me like a rag doll and carries me up to the roof, onto a hovercraft, and fastens me into a seat. Haymitch and Plutarch sit across from me. In a few moments, we're airborne. I've never seen Plutarch in such a good mood. He's positively glowing. "You must have a million questions!" When I don't respond, he answers them anyway. After I shot Coin, there was pandemonium. When the ruckus died down, they discovered Snow's body, still tethered to the post. Opinions differ on whether he choked to death while laughing or was crushed by the crowd. No one really cares. An emergency election was thrown together and Paylor was voted in as president. Plutarch was appointed secretary of communications, which means he sets the programming for the airwaves. The first big televised event was my trial, in which he was also a star witness. In my defense, of course. Although most of the credit for my exoneration must be given to Dr. Aurelius, who apparently earned his naps by presenting me as a hopeless, shell-shocked lunatic. One condition for my release is that I'll continue under his care, although it will have to be by phone because he'd never live in a forsaken place like 12, and I'm confined there until further notice. The truth is, no one quite knows what to do with me now that the war's over, although if another one should spring up, Plutarch's sure they could find a role for me. Then Plutarch has a good laugh. It never seems to bother him when no one else appreciates his jokes. "Are you preparing for another war, Plutarch?" I ask. "Oh, not now. Now we're in that sweet period where everyone agrees that our recent horrors should never be repeated," he says. "But collective thinking is usually short-lived. We're fickle, stupid beings with poor memories and a great gift for self-destruction. Although who knows? Maybe this will be it, Katniss." "What?" I ask. "The time it sticks. Maybe we are witnessing the evolution of the human race. Think about that." And then he asks me if I'd like to perform on a new singing program he's launching in a few weeks. Something upbeat would be good. He'll send the crew to my house. We land briefly in District 3 to drop off Plutarch. He's meeting with Beetee to update the technology on the broadcast system. His parting words to me are "Don't be a stranger." When we're back among the clouds, I look at Haymitch. "So why are you going back to Twelve?" "They can't seem to find a place for me in the Capitol either," he says. At first, I don't question this. But doubts begin to creep in. Haymitch hasn't assassinated anyone. He could go anywhere. If he's coming back to 12, it's because he's been ordered to. "You have to look after me, don't you? As my mentor?" He shrugs. Then I realize what it means. "My mother's not coming back." "No," he says. He pulls an envelope from his jacket pocket and hands it to me. I examine the delicate, perfectly formed writing. "She's helping to start up a hospital in District Four. She wants you to call as soon as we get in." My finger traces the graceful swoop of the letters. "You know why she can't come back." Yes, I know why. Because between my father and Prim and the ashes, the place is too painful to bear. But apparently not for me. "Do you want to know who else won't be there?" "No," I say. "I want to be surprised." Like a good mentor, Haymitch makes me eat a sandwich and then pretends he believes I'm asleep for the rest of the trip. He busies himself going through every compartment on the hovercraft, finding the liquor, and stowing it in his bag. It's night when we land on the green of the Victor's Village. Half of the houses have lights in the windows, including Haymitch's and mine. Not Peeta's. Someone has built a fire in my kitchen. I sit in the rocker before it, clutching my mother's letter. "Well, see you tomorrow," says Haymitch. As the clinking of his bag of liquor bottles fades away, I whisper, "I doubt it." I am unable to move from the chair. The rest of the house looms cold and empty and dark. I pull an old shawl over my body and watch the flames. I guess I sleep, because the next thing I know, it's morning and Greasy Sae's banging around at the stove. She makes me eggs and toast and sits there until I've eaten it all. We don't talk much. Her little granddaughter, the one who lives in her own world, takes a bright blue ball of yarn from my mother's knitting basket. Greasy Sae tells her to put it back, but I say she can have it. No one in this house can knit anymore. After breakfast, Greasy Sae does the dishes and leaves, but she comes back up at dinnertime to make me eat again. I don't know if she's just being neighborly or if she's on the government's payroll, but she shows up twice every day. She cooks, I consume. I try to figure out my next move. There's no obstacle now to taking my life. But I seem to be waiting for something. Sometimes the phone rings and rings and rings, but I don't pick it up. Haymitch never visits. Maybe he changed his mind and left, although I suspect he's just drunk. No one comes but Greasy Sae and her granddaughter. After months of solitary confinement, they seem like a crowd. "Spring's in the air today. You ought to get out," she says. "Go hunting." I haven't left the house. I haven't even left the kitchen except to go to the small bathroom a few steps off of it. I'm in the same clothes I left the Capitol in. What I do is sit by the fire. Stare at the unopened letters piling up on the mantel. "I don't have a bow." "Check down the hall," she says. After she leaves, I consider a trip down the hall. Rule it out. But after several hours, I go anyway, walking in silent sock feet, so as not to awaken the ghosts. In the study, where I had my tea with President Snow, I find a box with my father's hunting jacket, our plant book, my parents' wedding photo, the spile Haymitch sent in, and the locket Peeta gave me in the clock arena. The two bows and a sheath of arrows Gale rescued on the night of the firebombing lie on the desk. I put on the hunting jacket and leave the rest of the stuff untouched. I fall asleep on the sofa in the formal living room. A terrible nightmare follows, where I'm lying at the bottom of a deep grave, and every dead person I know by name comes by and throws a shovel full of ashes on me. It's quite a long dream, considering the list of people, and the deeper I'm buried, the harder it is to breathe. I try to call out, begging them to stop, but the ashes fill my mouth and nose and I can't make any sound. Still the shovel scrapes on and on and on.... I wake with a start. Pale morning light comes around the edges of the shutters. The scraping of the shovel continues. Still half in the nightmare, I run down the hall, out the front door, and around the side of the house, because now I'm pretty sure I can scream at the dead. When I see him, I pull up short. His face is flushed from digging up the ground under the windows. In a wheelbarrow are five scraggly bushes. "You're back," I say. "Dr. Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday," Peeta says. "By the way, he said to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone." He looks well. Thin and covered with burn scars like me, but his eyes have lost that clouded, tortured look. He's frowning slightly, though, as he takes me in. I make a halfhearted effort to push my hair out of my eyes and realize it's matted into clumps. I feel defensive. "What are you doing?" "I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her," he says. "I thought we could plant them along the side of the house." I look at the bushes, the clods of dirt hanging from their roots, and catch my breath as the wordrose registers. I'm about to yell vicious things at Peeta when the full name comes to me. Not plain rose but evening primrose. The flower my sister was named for. I give Peeta a nod of assent and hurry back into the house, locking the door behind me. But the evil thing is inside, not out. Trembling with weakness and anxiety, I run up the stairs. My foot catches on the last step and I crash onto the floor. I force myself to rise and enter my room. The smell's very faint but still laces the air. It's there. The white rose among the dried flowers in the vase. Shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow's greenhouse. I grab the vase, stumble down to the kitchen, and throw its contents into the embers. As the flowers flare up, a burst of blue flame envelops the rose and devours it. Fire beats roses again. I smash the vase on the floor for good measure. Back upstairs, I throw open the bedroom windows to clear out the rest of Snow's stench. But it still lingers, on my clothes and in my pores. I strip, and flakes of skin the size of playing cards cling to the garments. Avoiding the mirror, I step into the shower and scrub the roses from my hair, my body, my mouth. Bright pink and tingling, I find something clean to wear. It takes half an hour to comb out my hair. Greasy Sae unlocks the front door. While she makes breakfast, I feed the clothes I had shed to the fire. At her suggestion, I pare off my nails with a knife. Over the eggs, I ask her, "Where did Gale go?" "District Two. Got some fancy job there. I see him now and again on the television," she says. I dig around inside myself, trying to register anger, hatred, longing. I find only relief. "I'm going hunting today," I say. "Well, I wouldn't mind some fresh game at that," she answers. I arm myself with a bow and arrows and head out, intending to exit 12 through the Meadow. Near the square are teams of masked and gloved people with horse-drawn carts. Sifting through what lay under the snow this winter. Gathering remains. A cart's parked in front of the mayor's house. I recognize Thom, Gale's old crewmate, pausing a moment to wipe the sweat from his face with a rag. I remember seeing him in 13, but he must have come back. His greeting gives me the courage to ask, "Did they find anyone in there?" "Whole family. And the two people who worked for them," Thom tells me. Madge. Quiet and kind and brave. The girl who gave me the pin that gave me a name. I swallow hard. Wonder if she'll be joining the cast of my nightmares tonight. Shoveling the ashes into my mouth. "I thought maybe, since he was the mayor..." "I don't think being the mayor of Twelve put the odds in his favor," says Thom. I nod and keep moving, careful not to look in the back of the cart. All through the town and the Seam, it's the same. The reaping of the dead. As I near the ruins of my old house, the road becomes thick with carts. The Meadow's gone, or at least dramatically altered. A deep pit has been dug, and they're lining it with bones, a mass grave for my people. I skirt around the hole and enter the woods at my usual place. It doesn't matter, though. The fence isn't charged anymore and has been propped up with long branches to keep out the predators. But old habits die hard. I think about going to the lake, but I'm so weak that I barely make it to my meeting place with Gale. I sit on the rock where Cressida filmed us, but it's too wide without his body beside me. Several times I close my eyes and count to ten, thinking that when I open them, he will have materialized without a sound as he so often did. I have to remind myself that Gale's in 2 with a fancy job, probably kissing another pair of lips. It is the old Katniss's favorite kind of day. Early spring. The woods awakening after the long winter. But the spurt of energy that began with the primroses fades away. By the time I make it back to the fence, I'm so sick and dizzy, Thom has to give me a ride home in the dead people's cart. Help me to the sofa in the living room, where I watch the dust motes spin in the thin shafts of afternoon light. My head snaps around at the hiss, but it takes awhile to believe he's real. How could he have gotten here? I take in the claw marks from some wild animal, the back paw he holds slightly above the ground, the prominent bones in his face. He's come on foot, then, all the way from 13. Maybe they kicked him out or maybe he just couldn't stand it there without her, so he came looking. "It was the waste of a trip. She's not here," I tell him. Buttercup hisses again. "She's not here. You can hiss all you like. You won't find Prim." At her name, he perks up. Raises his flattened ears. Begins to meow hopefully. "Get out!" He dodges the pillow I throw at him. "Go away! There's nothing left for you here!" I start to shake, furious with him. "She's not coming back! She's never ever coming back here again!" I grab another pillow and get to my feet to improve my aim. Out of nowhere, the tears begin to pour down my cheeks. "She's dead." I clutch my middle to dull the pain. Sink down on my heels, rocking the pillow, crying. "She's dead, you stupid cat. She's dead." A new sound, part crying, part singing, comes out of my body, giving voice to my despair. Buttercup begins to wail as well. No matter what I do, he won't go. He circles me, just out of reach, as wave after wave of sobs racks my body, until eventually I fall unconscious. But he must understand. He must know that the unthinkable has happened and to survive will require previously unthinkable acts. Because hours later, when I come to in my bed, he's there in the moonlight. Crouched beside me, yellow eyes alert, guarding me from the night. In the morning, he sits stoically as I clean the cuts, but digging the thorn from his paw brings on a round of those kitten mews. We both end up crying again, only this time we comfort each other. On the strength of this, I open the letter Haymitch gave me from my mother, dial the phone number, and weep with her as well. Peeta, bearing a warm loaf of bread, shows up with Greasy Sae. She makes us breakfast and I feed all my bacon to Buttercup. Slowly, with many lost days, I come back to life. I try to follow Dr. Aurelius's advice, just going through the motions, amazed when one finally has meaning again. I tell him my idea about the book, and a large box of parchment sheets arrives on the next train from the Capitol. I got the idea from our family's plant book. The place where we recorded those things you cannot trust to memory. The page begins with the person's picture. A photo if we can find it. If not, a sketch or painting by Peeta. Then, in my most careful handwriting, come all the details it would be a crime to forget. Lady licking Prim's cheek. My father's laugh. Peeta's father with the cookies. The color of Finnick's eyes. What Cinna could do with a length of silk. Boggs reprogramming the Holo. Rue poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight. On and on. We seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their deaths count. Haymitch finally joins us, contributing twenty-three years of tributes he was forced to mentor. Additions become smaller. An old memory that surfaces. A late primrose preserved between the pages. Strange bits of happiness, like the photo of Finnick and Annie's newborn son. We learn to keep busy again. Peeta bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out, and then raises geese until the next train arrives. Fortunately, the geese can take pretty good care of themselves. We're not alone. A few hundred others return because, whatever has happened, this is our home. With the mines closed, they plow the ashes into the earth and plant food. Machines from the Capitol break ground for a new factory where we will make medicines. Although no one seeds it, the Meadow turns green again. Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, "You love me. Real or not real?" I tell him, "Real."

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The Convo One Woman Has with Herself Every Time

E all have days whilst we experience insecure and uncomfortable about sure components of our body and blogger Kenzie Brenna is right here to remind you which you’re now not by myself. The frame-confidant blogger currently shared a super relatable publish approximately the collection of mind that race via her mind each time she appears at her stretch marks.

They may be now not generally this important,” she keeps. “In case you most effective had the cash to cast off them. They simply look kinda cool. Sorta like the beginning of a tale. More just like the beginning of a protracted tale. Would I erase my tale to no longer have those? You would probably be Extra cozy without them. Could I without a doubt, although?”

You likely apprehend a number of the primary few sentiments right away.

How typically have you ever requested yourself whether or not going underneath the knife/laser/syringe Could “restoration” your insecurities about something? In the end, even though, Kenzie’s mind evolve right into a verbal exchange with herself about how this so-called physical imperfection would not define her, and they’re a part of her story—in this case, her weight reduction journey.

“Does this have an effect on the pleasant of who I am? No,” she continues. “Would it make you a better man or woman if you obtain rid of those marks? No. Wouldn’t it make you kinder, Extra generous and a higher lover If you had the money to erase them? No. Then you’re ideal. I do not experience best. This is cause ideal isn’t a sense.”

The Desolate Woman – A Biblical Perspective on Rape

A massive nation in a remote land, a beloved king with a lovely daughter, and a good-looking prince who’s heir to the throne the tale has all the makings of a cute fairy story, but it’s far a horror story. The kingdom turned into Israel underneath the rule of thumb of King David and the handsome prince turned into David’s oldest son, Amnon, who just so passed off to be in love together with his half of sister, Tamar. Located in 2 Samuel thirteen, smack dab between David’s affair with Bathsheba and the rebellion of David’s sons against their father is the passage about the rape of Princess Tamar.Nathan the prophet advised David that “the sword will by no means leave your family” only some chapters in advance and observed the turmoil that could erupt in the king’s own family on account of his sin. The unraveling of The kingdom started with this rape.

All of it started out while Amnon has become lovesick over his sister, Tamar. He lamented to his cousin, Jonadab, that he could not do anything to her due to the fact she changed into a virgin. Jonadab concocted a horrible plan, which Amnon completed. Jonadab suggested Amnon feign contamination and request Tamar’s presence from the king. King David did not deny his firstborn something, so certainly Amnon’s request became granted.

Tamar, being the dutiful daughter, came to her brother’s house to prepare him a meal,

Which he refused to eat. Rather he advised all his servants to depart and then stated, “Tamar, why do not you convey the meals right here to me in my bedroom? I’m too vulnerable to eat by myself so I need your assist.” Tamar delivered the food into his bedroom. All of a sudden, Amnon grabbed Tamar and demanded that she join him in bed.

Aghast, Tamar refused his provide begging, “do not pressure me, my brother! Such a component is not achieved in Israel. don’t do this depraved factor. What about me? Wherein could I do away with my shame? And what approximately you, you will be like one of the wicked fools in Israel. Please talk to the king: he’ll now not preserve me from being married to you” (thirteen:12-thirteen, NIV.) Tamar’s plea fell on deaf ears. And because Amnon is “more potent than she”, he raped her (18:14.)

There are a few exciting things that may be pulled from Tamar’s emotional statement.

While Tamar said that such things as this aren’t executed in Israel, she spoke of the law which forbade a man to have sexual relations with his sister. (Lev. 18: 9, 11) Disgraced, she might have been both placed to loss of life for having This kind of dating or considered “unmarriageable” because she changed into no longer a virgin. But, Tamar then stated that the king could allow Amnon to marry her, which become additionally forbidden by using regulation (Lev. 20:17; Deut. 27:22.) Possibly Tamar hoped this will dissuade Amnon for the moment so she should escape or she notion David might bend the regulation for his youngsters. Whatever the motive, Tamar’s announcement became omitted.

Tamar’s plea cuts to the heart of any woman or woman who has been sexually assaulted. Please don’t do this to me; do not take this from me. but frequently due to the fact a man is more potent than a woman, he takes violently what isn’t always his to take. The girl is frequently left alone and burdened, picking up the pieces of what she thought could be a terrific existence.

Analysis of Bouguereau’s, “A Young Girl Defending Herself Against Eros”

William Bouguereau, a French-Instructional Paint, became an incredibly famous painter inside the past due 1800’s. He became born in L. A. Rochelle, France, on November 30th, 1825. As a younger guy, Bouguereau put himself thru Ecole des Beaux-Arts by using making labels for nearby grocers, and painting photos of neighborhood Parishioners. Similar to the various different artists of the nineteenth century, Bouguereau paid careful attention to his meticulous shape and approach.

The commoners cherished Bouguereau, people might typhoon the once a year Salon every year, and pay impossible prices to peer and purchase his contemporary paintings. The general public adored Bouguereau, but, according to the authentic internet site of The Getty Museum, critics did no longer experience the same way; “They derided the “bourgeois finickiness” and “contagious mediocrity” of Bouguereau’s reflect-smooth, romanticized artwork of cupids, nudes, and peasant women.” A few humans felt that Bouguereau’s painting represented the whole thing that turned into wrong with nineteenth-century Instructional artwork. The impressionist hated his work, and this form of artwork changed into precisely what they were trying to flow far from.

One in every of Bouguereau’s maximum famous works,

A younger Woman Defending Herself Towards Eros” is an astounding portray that, the instant you set eyes at the portray, the aesthetics will catch you off defend. The excellent attention to detail inside the faces of the 2 characters is what certainly attracted me to it. It’s miles mind-blowing how perfectly Bouguereau demonstrates the perfect emotions. It is an academic illustration of a lady playfully resisting cupid’s arrow, secretly wanting it, but certainly shying away from it. This will be interpreted as symbolic of how hard love is to resist at instances. Even though we don’t want to get harm by way of the arrow, we nevertheless all secretly need it. I suppose that the price he uses absolutely makes it light hearted and even form of a funny portray. The feel and area he uses additionally genuinely offer the painting its traditional Educational feel, which is straightforward while still invoking feelings.

The Blogger by James Raven Book Review

James Raven’s stalwart and astute detective Jeff Temple is back for the 5th time around inside the Blogger. A fast-paced and plot-twisting read, Raven’s most up-to-date work is a well-written and timely thriller ideal for our current age.

The world over recognized and undoubtedly arguable Net sensation Daniel Prince is no stranger to controversy

On his weblog, Humans-Energy, Prince is famous for breaking tough-hitting, and regularly politically devastating, memories that disclose scandals, corruption, and different unpleasantries that are rampant within countrywide governments. Maximum recently, a submit on his weblog prompted several excessive-rating British ministers to renounce. Needless to say, Prince has made a number of enemies. However while he is located useless outside his condo constructing one night time, all signs and symptoms point to suicide.

Jeff Temple and his group are referred to as in to research what looks as if a textbook suicide case. But one interview with Prince’s fiancé, Beth Fletcher, but, increases Temple’s suspicions. Beth is adamant that Prince wasn’t suicidal, that he had never even proven any signs and symptoms of depression. She’s satisfied that one of the infinite enemies that he had made through his blogging is guilty of foul play. And in spite of all different proof, Temple is inclined to consider Beth. Further proof in Prince’s condominium points toward homicide, as properly.

However alas, there is no loss of suspects in this case. Aside from the limitless enemies that Prince had made abroad,

There are lots of suspects at home as well. In his condo on my own, there are numerous unsavory characters. There is the sneaky condo constructing concierge George Reese, whose wallow-demeanor and entire access to the complete building makes him more than able to wearing out the deed; There may be resident Hari Basu, acknowledged for his mood and short-fuse, who had already quarreled with Prince numerous instances; the reputedly mild-mannered Mr. And Mrs. Connor, who’ve mysteriously accumulated a scrapbook of newspaper articles that mentioned Prince; and in the end the mysterious married female with whom Prince changed into supposedly having an affair at the least, this is, in step with his pal and confidante Joseph Kessel.