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Sunday, January 20, 2019

The Time Traveler’s Wife



Love stories transcend time. Some of them do it very badly, with a cliché story and predictable dialogue. Some of them do it comfortably, with characters we can recognize from our own lives and “what if” adventures we can live vicariously. The Time Traveler’s Wife does it with a new kind of love that takes me along the entire spectrum of human love.  The catharsis of this novel is much like the movie Beaches, or the classic Where the Red Fern Grows, since the tenderness and love of true friendship can swing all the way to true despair and allow me to wallow in the misery of love without losing sight of the reasons for loving in the first place.

Love is one of the few things that can transport the human mind away from the madness and routine of daily life- the things we have to struggle or wade through in order for time to pass- into a higher, spiritual perspective that can make something more of our lives. When you take love out of the time constraints, the bitterness and sweetness remain in balance. There are just as many tears in a good love story as there are ecstatic kisses and virginal dreams.

No true storyline is ever as clean in life as it is in a novel. There are no loose ends of friends lost and never found, no misdirected fears- they have been culled from the story in order to trim the distractions away from what is important. I envy this compartmentalism. If I could put everything else on a backburner and deal with one issue at a time, perhaps I’d have a chance at thinking clearly again someday.

Clare Abshire has the cliff’s notes to her own life. She has her love determined for her, predicted for her, and placed on a silver platter (or a field in her backyard). She is a passive force in her own life, swept along by the genetic mutation of her true love into a relationship in which she had no real choice. On the other hand, Henry is thrown at Clare in an almost visceral fashion, as well when she finds him after loving him for years. It underlines the big flaw in determinism, for me. If there is a “hand of fate”, we are completely in its grip. Clare never had a chance against a love that, by way of a genetic mutation in her future husband, was dropped in her lap and taken away again by fate. Henry was a pawn in a great genetic game, predetermined down to a genetic level.

How Calvinist.


Romance Novels


I have a love-hate relationship-an emphatically ambivalent one- with romance novels. The appeal is feeling the wild thrill of falling in love over and over again vicariously in new ways with each couple and each story. I’m drawn into them when my life descends below the high tide line of chaos, thinking that the comfort of reliving the fairy tale will somehow be therapeutic.

The trouble is that true love stories- real life love stories- are messy and complicated and nestled into the spaces between the madness of other crises and dramas. In most romance novels, the heroine (because the main character is a woman tailor-made to appeal to the female psyche) already has the life the rest of us only dream about! And, most importantly, the story ends when he says “I love you”.

In this case, 4 friends run a wedding business- a business that is booming and expanding (of course, in order to have such a business in a small town, everyone would have to get married 3 or 4 times each). One is the photographer, one the florist, one the cake baker and decorator, and the final one is the coordinator. They are personality types, drawn together in an almost perfect Benetton ad of girl friendships…

By the end of Vision in White, I predicted the matches for the remaining books, but couldn’t pull myself out of the vortex of the bubble gum romance long enough to stop reading before they were all married off.  Nora Roberts has improved drastically in her character building and the realistic relationship building (especially since the show-business family series back in the day), but the magic in the bubble gum is how she can make me step into someone’s world and feel with them rather than judge them. Considering how judgmental and separate I am most of the time, that’s quite a trick!

I connected to each of the characters in a slightly different way, from the practical, jaded photographer to the flighty princess of the florist, the no-nonsense baker, and the control freak coordinator. I sometimes wish for something deeper and more meaningful in a psychological kind of way- the tough guy is always a damaged and insecure bad boy at heart, and the straight laced business man just hasn’t opened up to the right woman. It is both refreshing and frustrating to have such easily anticipated results… and thus the ambivalence.

The truth is, my ambivalence doesn’t really matter, since I will continue to come back for more bubble gum.

Believing Brain


Michael Shermer explains a theory of how the human brain makes decisions with an incredibly well-written narrative involving neurons, chemical balances, and DNA that has the feeling of a fictional plotline with suspense and even chemical attraction love stories. If all science could be this accessible to someone who failed Physics in High School, I would have a much easier path in understanding the scientific explanations of the world. Instead, I generally fall into the metaphysical traps of body and mind. The neural process is the same whether we are making causal associations that could save our lives from wild animals or causal relationships that invent an unmoved mover to either praise or blame- as a result of the ability to build relationships in our mind, we have the ability to mislead ourselves, and Shermer shows how easily led astray we are as a species. Interspersed with all of this science is a soapbox for his own personal beliefs as he explores the belief-building process for his own atheism, his debunking of several conspiracy theories, and implying that any other opinion in each example is scientifically unfounded.

Using liberal bias as an example, Shermer, the same scientist who quotes anthropological research on many occasions reviles as unfair the "liberal bias" of colleges, universities, and law schools (the very source of most of the studies cited in the book) leading to an unbalanced education for our children and does not ask why the people teaching our children tend to be liberal. If there is a true connection behind such a “liberal bias”, the fact that media (on the whole) refer to more left-leaning sources than do the Congress could honestly lead the connection-making mind to ask whether our congressional representatives have as much intelligence on average as the public media- considering the intensely left-leaning tendencies of our educators, who are paid in part for their level of intelligence.

"We do not reason our way to moral decision by carefully weighing the evidence for and against; instead, we make intuitive leaps to moral decisions and then rationalize the snap decision after the fact with rational reasons" (The Believing Brain, Michael Shermer). Our morals and emotions do more to build our opinions and beliefs than any facts can, though new connections are presumably possible as long as we can nurture our skepticism. ***Bertrand Russell quote*** According to these facts, our beliefs are unlikely to be changed in the face of new information- no matter what that information may be.

Making politics into a belief system akin to a religion (related to brain activity, at least), and equating it with moral decisions to be rationalized, Shermer describes the two-party American system as a dichotomous belief system based on two distinct sets of values- one based on the ideal that human nature is perfectible, and one based on the assumption that evil is a natural byproduct of humanity. I discovered years ago that my liberal leaning nature is connected with a deep distrust of people. Because I do not believe in the ability for human beings to make the right choices, I know that regulation and social programs are necessary to keep us in line in this complex society we have created. On the other hand, many of the Republican and Libertarians that I have talked with have an inherent respect for human kind that allows them to believe each human being would make the right choices if all regulation were waived.

Our brains evolved a morality to go hand in hand with rationalism. The same variations in the balance of brain chemicals that can cause us to make causal connections which allow us to understand our world are the ones that inspire us to attribute the beauty and mystery of this world to spiritual action- to a first cause. These two things go hand in hand for more than just a teeter-totter of a belief spectrum. We could not have evolved to such a state without the practically inevitable human God. Shermer tends to imply that this human desire for a higher power is a failing that unfortunately springs from the same spring as our rational capabilities and creativity. What if we need God in order to remain creative and rational? Without the experience of the divine, we would have no empathy for others. Without the sense of some great plan behind reality, we would not strive for the improvement of our world.

“In the end, all of us are trying to make sense of the world, and nature has gifted us with a double-edge sword that cuts for and against. On one edge, our brains are the most complex and sophisticated information processing machines in the universe, capable of understanding not only the universe itself but of understanding the process of understanding. On the other edge, by the very same process of forming beliefs about the universe and ourselves, we are also more capable than any other species of self-deception and illusion, of fooling ourselves while we are trying to avoid being fooled by nature.” (michaelshermer.com)

Harold and Maude (1971)




One of the few good things about being alone is being in total control of the movies playing in the background of my boring misery. As misery gets to the boring point, it starts falling into a routine, which means I am finally emerging from my self-imposed shell after Michael… and it’s time to re-boot my personality by watching the comfort food of movies!

From the first footstep echoing to set the stage, my pulse begins to steady from even the worst panic attack. If I catch my moods right, I can take myself from abject despair to catharsis and peace in the space of 1 hour and 31 minutes. Harold and Maude is a love story that was born from throwing the traditional love story on its head and filling in the gaps with cultural taboos. Maude is my heroine, and I can only hope that wisdom of this kind can truly come with age, because it certainly wasn’t inborn in me.

The soundtrack by Cat Stevens was incredibly difficult to find when I was younger, and my brother recorded all the songs directly from the television- in an age when the only technology we had to do so was placing the cassette recorder in front of the speakers and pausing between the songs as the movie played.

Bud Cort wrote his character in stone- a classic and unbelievable portrayal of lost and confused teenager who doesn’t fit in his own life,

*Spoiler*


Harold doesn’t exist in his world because his self, or soul, or mind- that thing that exists whether or not we tell anyone about it- is completely unexpressed, and leads into serious mind-body dualism. In the observable, material world, he is only an extension of his mother, and, judging by her reaction to his suicides, one that is expendable. Is he practicing for the real thing, testing his boundaries of existence, or looking for attention? I have felt this separation from the culture around me- to such a degree that I have been convinced of my own alien nature in a more concrete kind of way- and can empathize deeply with the character.

They try to fix him with psychotherapy, they try to deprogram him by putting him in the armed forces, and decide that what he needs is a wife: You’ve had too much to think, now you need a wife, right? We each need a muse to lead us and connect to. Maude appears as a splash of color in the darkness, the positivity and perspective that makes even misery joyful and celebratory. She is a logical impossibility now, even more so than she was in 1971.

His life is painted in darkness- the wood paneling of the manse and the black clothing of his chosen community- those who mourn. Someone fascinated with death and misery- especially one so young, needs to truly experience pain in order to appreciate the value of life- how cliché, when you think about it, but somehow every story can sound cliché when you boil it down to its archetypical definition. Ask Joseph Campbell


Memorable Quotes: (all Maude)
“It’s incidental, not integral, if you know what I mean”
“How the world still dearly loves a cage”
“Consistency is not really a human trait”
“I don’t regret the kingdoms but I miss the kings”
“You gotta live…otherwise there’s nothing to talk about in the locker room”

Wednesday, September 27, 2017

Flashback

I woke with the darkness curling around my gut - a hunger for something other than food, other than anything identifiable.
The bitter comfort of shapeless despair wraps me in the plush folds of smothering regret like an old friend.
This I know.
The old familiar sting, as the poet once sang.

There is a certain peace in returning to misery - feeling the familiar shape of self-loathing like an old skin I once wore and somewhere discarded, finding me as I am now and shaving the rough new edges back into the older patterns.

Positive habits, formed with desperate, crawling clutches for "happiness", are discarded with the cynical surety of resignation. What do these matter, when they are voluntary fictions?

There are more things to regret in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in philosophy, in neuroscience, in psychology and sociology - all our feeble attempts to understand the ultimate mysteries of our selves.


Today I choose to glory in my old shapes of loneliness, to wallow in the empty fields of my own mind - perhaps to reacquaint myself with myself. 

Sunday, September 24, 2017

Optimism Sings

Sing a song
she told me softly,
stroking my hair
and wiping my tears,
Sing a song
Of love and happiness-
It always helps
to sing, she said.

I tried to sing.
I really did.
But all that I could do
Was cry.

I cried for love
I cried for hate
I cried for joy
I cried for pain.

But my friend
She said, so sweetly,
Crying just wont help
- at all
Crying does no GOOD

Oh? I said,
Well neither does
A song.
I cried on,
I could not stop.
She sang - to help
the tears.
We neither of us
Changed a thing
Or helped
A single life.

Pretend

i pretend i feel nothing
it's easier that way.
i pretend that i'm laughing
but the tears won't obey.
i pretend i don't love you
and sometimes i say
if i pretend i feel nothing
it'll all go away