Eleanor Arnason's Blog, page 61
February 5, 2012
A New Approach
I've been thinking about blogging, and how I could make my blog more interesting.
I can't write about the business aspects of writing, because -- after 40 years of being published -- I don't understand writing as a business. In addition, publishing is changing rapidly, due to consolidation of the industry in the 1980s and 90s, and then due to technological changes, which make it easy to start a small press or to self-publish and which threaten traditional publishers and their profits, though we don't know how much yet. What I may have thought I knew 30 years ago is irrelevant. What I think I know now changes from day to day, mostly in response to other writers' opinions and stories.
I could write about writing itself, though I'm not sure what to say. My usual advice is just do it. Write every day. When I used to collect advice from science fiction pros, they seemed to have one of two systems: set a word count of 1,000 or so and write this much every day, or set a time period every day during which you have to sit at the computer and write. You do nothing else during this period. If words don't come, then you spend three hours staring at a blank screen or typing 'xxxxxx' or 'help' over and over.
This is not how I write. I knew 40 years ago that I wasn't ever likely to make a living from writing. Instead, I worked a long series of day jobs, mostly as as an office clerk or warehouse worker, and wrote in my spare time. This meant my writing was always (in a sense) secondary -- a hobby, fit into the corners of my life. Even though it was far more important to me than any of my jobs.
Now I can write full time, but my habits are still erratic. I had a productive day this past Wednesday. I finished (I thought) the current short story and began work revising a long-long-long overdue novel. Then I hit a wall and did no work for three days, except to think about the short story. No, the ending still isn't where I want it to be.
When I began to write publishable work, I wrote fiction the way I had always written poetry: a line would come and then another. I would feel my way through the poem or story, not knowing what was coming next. Many stories stopped after a few lines or wandered on, going nowhere, until I gave up. Over time, I have moved toward having an idea or maybe even a plot when I begin a story. But I still do a lot of feeling my way.
Decades ago, I thought I was tapping into my unconscious, and the feeling-my-way process enabled me to get to material that was powerful, somehow 'alive.'
I am less sure today what's going on when I write. I'm pretty sure it's easier to write, if you know where you're going. Plotting ahead really is a help. Though sometimes you end in really interesting places if you don't know where you are going.
My current story began as a Lovecraft parody: a prissy Boston lawyer discovers an elder god emerging from the bog at his family home. What do you do with a lesser god, who doesn't know why he (or it) has risen? As I've written the story, it has turned out to be also about the lawyer's cousin, a painter in St. Paul, and her struggles with her art. What is hanging the story up now is a description of the art the painter is doing at the end of the story. I don't have it right yet.
This came from feeling my way. The story is now about inheritance, art, coming to terms with one's family, global warming and (just a little bit) the Cthulu Mythos.
I can't write about the business aspects of writing, because -- after 40 years of being published -- I don't understand writing as a business. In addition, publishing is changing rapidly, due to consolidation of the industry in the 1980s and 90s, and then due to technological changes, which make it easy to start a small press or to self-publish and which threaten traditional publishers and their profits, though we don't know how much yet. What I may have thought I knew 30 years ago is irrelevant. What I think I know now changes from day to day, mostly in response to other writers' opinions and stories.
I could write about writing itself, though I'm not sure what to say. My usual advice is just do it. Write every day. When I used to collect advice from science fiction pros, they seemed to have one of two systems: set a word count of 1,000 or so and write this much every day, or set a time period every day during which you have to sit at the computer and write. You do nothing else during this period. If words don't come, then you spend three hours staring at a blank screen or typing 'xxxxxx' or 'help' over and over.
This is not how I write. I knew 40 years ago that I wasn't ever likely to make a living from writing. Instead, I worked a long series of day jobs, mostly as as an office clerk or warehouse worker, and wrote in my spare time. This meant my writing was always (in a sense) secondary -- a hobby, fit into the corners of my life. Even though it was far more important to me than any of my jobs.
Now I can write full time, but my habits are still erratic. I had a productive day this past Wednesday. I finished (I thought) the current short story and began work revising a long-long-long overdue novel. Then I hit a wall and did no work for three days, except to think about the short story. No, the ending still isn't where I want it to be.
When I began to write publishable work, I wrote fiction the way I had always written poetry: a line would come and then another. I would feel my way through the poem or story, not knowing what was coming next. Many stories stopped after a few lines or wandered on, going nowhere, until I gave up. Over time, I have moved toward having an idea or maybe even a plot when I begin a story. But I still do a lot of feeling my way.
Decades ago, I thought I was tapping into my unconscious, and the feeling-my-way process enabled me to get to material that was powerful, somehow 'alive.'
I am less sure today what's going on when I write. I'm pretty sure it's easier to write, if you know where you're going. Plotting ahead really is a help. Though sometimes you end in really interesting places if you don't know where you are going.
My current story began as a Lovecraft parody: a prissy Boston lawyer discovers an elder god emerging from the bog at his family home. What do you do with a lesser god, who doesn't know why he (or it) has risen? As I've written the story, it has turned out to be also about the lawyer's cousin, a painter in St. Paul, and her struggles with her art. What is hanging the story up now is a description of the art the painter is doing at the end of the story. I don't have it right yet.
This came from feeling my way. The story is now about inheritance, art, coming to terms with one's family, global warming and (just a little bit) the Cthulu Mythos.
February 3, 2012
Why I Like What I like 2
There was a famous friendship and then disagreement between Henry James and H.G. Wells at the end of the 19th century. Maybe that is point when English language literature (as I know it) split into high art and popular art. Not that Wells and James were responsible. But they could see the emerging differences.
This is what Wells said about the late work of James:
I have read a little late James and don't like it. But Wells is being unfair.
I've read a fair amount of Wells' science fiction, which is ripping tales with big ideas in a style that is easily accessible.
James, I think, was trying for psychological and formal complexity, to capture what went on in the minds of the people he knew, who were educated and well to do.
Wells wanted to talk about biology, evolution, class struggle, imperialism and the future.
What I suspect was happening was -- printing had become cheap enough and literacy widespread enough, that different audiences for literature were developing, along with different kinds of writers.
This was not utterly new. Popular printing had existed much earlier. Broadside ballads appeared in the 16th century in England and reached their peak in the 17th century, before being replaced in the 18th century (per Wikipedia) by chapbooks, books and newspapers. So what we have is a gradual expansion of printing and reading century after century.
And maybe if I had read broadside ballads and dime novels in college, instead of Dickens, I would have a better idea of what led to 20th century pulp fiction and comic books.
In any case, my bias is toward popular fiction and popular culture, especially science fiction (and fantasy). I like the brightness and flatness, the energy, broad action and big ideas. For most part, science fiction is not about nuance and subtle change. Nor is it primarily about individuals and what goes on inside their heads. Rather, it's about entire societies and how they succeed or fail.
I know the real world fairly well. If I want to know more about it, I can walk out the door or read nonfiction. What I really want to do is examine basic premises and think about what might be possible, if we were not so stuck in the here-and-now.
As Antonio Gramsci wrote 70+ years ago:
Fantastic fiction -- fantasy and science fiction -- is useful here, because it enables us to see things in new ways. Maybe it will help us find a road that leads forward.
This is what Wells said about the late work of James:
He splits his infinitives and fills them up with adverbial stuffing. He presses the passing colloquialism into his service. His vast paragraphs sweat and struggle; they could not sweat and elbow and struggle more if God himself was the processional meaning to which they sought to come. And all for tales of nothingness
I have read a little late James and don't like it. But Wells is being unfair.
I've read a fair amount of Wells' science fiction, which is ripping tales with big ideas in a style that is easily accessible.
James, I think, was trying for psychological and formal complexity, to capture what went on in the minds of the people he knew, who were educated and well to do.
Wells wanted to talk about biology, evolution, class struggle, imperialism and the future.
What I suspect was happening was -- printing had become cheap enough and literacy widespread enough, that different audiences for literature were developing, along with different kinds of writers.
This was not utterly new. Popular printing had existed much earlier. Broadside ballads appeared in the 16th century in England and reached their peak in the 17th century, before being replaced in the 18th century (per Wikipedia) by chapbooks, books and newspapers. So what we have is a gradual expansion of printing and reading century after century.
And maybe if I had read broadside ballads and dime novels in college, instead of Dickens, I would have a better idea of what led to 20th century pulp fiction and comic books.
In any case, my bias is toward popular fiction and popular culture, especially science fiction (and fantasy). I like the brightness and flatness, the energy, broad action and big ideas. For most part, science fiction is not about nuance and subtle change. Nor is it primarily about individuals and what goes on inside their heads. Rather, it's about entire societies and how they succeed or fail.
I know the real world fairly well. If I want to know more about it, I can walk out the door or read nonfiction. What I really want to do is examine basic premises and think about what might be possible, if we were not so stuck in the here-and-now.
As Antonio Gramsci wrote 70+ years ago:
The crisis consists precisely in the fact that the old is dying and the new cannot be born; in this interregnum a great variety of morbid symptoms appear.We are still in this same place, caught between a past that no longer works and a future we cannot see, with morbid symptoms all around us.
Fantastic fiction -- fantasy and science fiction -- is useful here, because it enables us to see things in new ways. Maybe it will help us find a road that leads forward.
MFAs
I got another comment from Foxessa, which is worth reading. (See below. The comment on the most recent MFAs post.) I think the conclusion is, I don't know what I'm talking about re the merits of getting an MFA; and I suffer from prejudice in this area.
Which is useful to know.
Foxessa talks about people who go into the academic world fairly late, with experiences already acquired and work already done. I've known people like this. The two that come immediately to mind for me are Harley Shaiken and Marty Glaberman. When I knew Harley, he was a steel worker. When I knew Marty, he was an unemployed auto worker. Harley became a Professor of Social and Cultural Studies, having only a BA in economics from Wayne State University (a very good blue collar school in Detroit). Marty ended as a professor at Wayne State, I think in Labor History. If I remember correctly, Marty went back to school and got a PhD.
These were people who brought considerable life experience to the academic world.
Foxessa would have to write about how difficult it is to make this transition today. Harley and Marty made it in the aftermath of the 1960s.
I am probably justifying my own life. I quit graduate school to find out what the rest of the world was like, and I never went back. When I have tried teaching writing, I have been uncomfortable and bad. So that route was never really open to me. Instead, I ended up making a living doing accounting, which I like and am fairly good at.
At this point in my life, in my late 60s in a godawful economy that does not look to get better, I advise people to think about money and retirement. I lucked out in a lot of ways. It was easy to find jobs and make a living in the 1960s. I sailed through the 70s, 80s and 90s, always getting by.
Then I hit a wall in the current century. I'm still lucky. I hit the wall when I was old enough to retire, and I ended -- through no planning of my own -- with enough to retire on.
So maybe one has to do a cost-benefit evaluation. Is an MFA worth enough to justify going into debt?
Maybe, looking down the road, it is. But watch out for those programs that end you owing $100,000.
Which is useful to know.
Foxessa talks about people who go into the academic world fairly late, with experiences already acquired and work already done. I've known people like this. The two that come immediately to mind for me are Harley Shaiken and Marty Glaberman. When I knew Harley, he was a steel worker. When I knew Marty, he was an unemployed auto worker. Harley became a Professor of Social and Cultural Studies, having only a BA in economics from Wayne State University (a very good blue collar school in Detroit). Marty ended as a professor at Wayne State, I think in Labor History. If I remember correctly, Marty went back to school and got a PhD.
These were people who brought considerable life experience to the academic world.
Foxessa would have to write about how difficult it is to make this transition today. Harley and Marty made it in the aftermath of the 1960s.
I am probably justifying my own life. I quit graduate school to find out what the rest of the world was like, and I never went back. When I have tried teaching writing, I have been uncomfortable and bad. So that route was never really open to me. Instead, I ended up making a living doing accounting, which I like and am fairly good at.
At this point in my life, in my late 60s in a godawful economy that does not look to get better, I advise people to think about money and retirement. I lucked out in a lot of ways. It was easy to find jobs and make a living in the 1960s. I sailed through the 70s, 80s and 90s, always getting by.
Then I hit a wall in the current century. I'm still lucky. I hit the wall when I was old enough to retire, and I ended -- through no planning of my own -- with enough to retire on.
So maybe one has to do a cost-benefit evaluation. Is an MFA worth enough to justify going into debt?
Maybe, looking down the road, it is. But watch out for those programs that end you owing $100,000.
January 29, 2012
Why I Like What I Like
I wrote this on facebook:
I read Shakespeare, Milton, Donne, Pilgrim's Progress, Boswell and Johnson, Fielding, Austen, the Brontes, Dickens, Twain, Melville. Partly, this was because I was an English major until my senior year. But I also read a lot on my own. My parents had a house full of good books.
But I have not mostly read the High Modernist or 20th century classics, except for the books I read for school. Once we reach the fiction of the the late 19th century, the period when popular fiction emerged as a clearly separate genre with its own audience, I shifted to reading popular fiction.
Kipling, Wells, Conan Doyle, P. G. Wodehouse, the wonderful Arsene Lupin stories, Zane Gray, Max Brand, Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, a zillion other crime novels, Georgette Heyer romances, science fiction, comic books...
Though I do like 20th century literature that is fantastic: Borges, Calvino, Marquez, Allende, Angelica Gorodischer...
Genuinely popular poetry did not exist in 20th century North America, with a few exceptions, such as Robert Service and archie and mehitabel and -- this was the big exception -- the lyrics of popular songs. Lacking popular verse, I kept reading literary poetry, along with the Child collection of English and Scottish ballads and and the Sharp collection of ballads from the American southern mountains. In the late 60s I became interested in the English poets who modeled their poetry on rock lyrics.
As far as I know, literary fiction and popular fiction came into existence as categories at the same time and in opposition to one another. Earlier books -- the novels of Dickens, for example -- were read by everyone at the time they were published. They became high art later, to be read in school and by people seriously interested in literature.
As a kid, I read what I liked. Sometime in college, I began to have a political analysis. But I don't know how important it was. In the end, I always read what I liked. And what I liked tended to be popular, rather than high art.
Why? A good question.
I'm trying to figure out why I like the movies and books I like. Maybe I will wander over to my blog and write until something makes sense. The simplest answer is a lifetime of reading science fiction and fantasy has twisted my mind.I can't remember when I read various books or why. But I can remember (mostly) what I've read. So I'm going to discuss my reading in relation to the history of literature, especially English literature. My reading has been pretty similar to the reading of any literate English speaker, till we come to the later 19th century, though I have a couple of quirks. As a kid, I read more East Asian literature in translation than was typical, because my mother had grown up in China, and there were a lot of translations from the Chinese in the house. And I read a lot of Old Norse literature in translation, because my father was Icelandic descent, and this was our literature. And I had a bias toward myths, fables, fairy tales, folk tales and any kind of fantastic fiction.
I read Shakespeare, Milton, Donne, Pilgrim's Progress, Boswell and Johnson, Fielding, Austen, the Brontes, Dickens, Twain, Melville. Partly, this was because I was an English major until my senior year. But I also read a lot on my own. My parents had a house full of good books.
But I have not mostly read the High Modernist or 20th century classics, except for the books I read for school. Once we reach the fiction of the the late 19th century, the period when popular fiction emerged as a clearly separate genre with its own audience, I shifted to reading popular fiction.
Kipling, Wells, Conan Doyle, P. G. Wodehouse, the wonderful Arsene Lupin stories, Zane Gray, Max Brand, Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, a zillion other crime novels, Georgette Heyer romances, science fiction, comic books...
Though I do like 20th century literature that is fantastic: Borges, Calvino, Marquez, Allende, Angelica Gorodischer...
Genuinely popular poetry did not exist in 20th century North America, with a few exceptions, such as Robert Service and archie and mehitabel and -- this was the big exception -- the lyrics of popular songs. Lacking popular verse, I kept reading literary poetry, along with the Child collection of English and Scottish ballads and and the Sharp collection of ballads from the American southern mountains. In the late 60s I became interested in the English poets who modeled their poetry on rock lyrics.
As far as I know, literary fiction and popular fiction came into existence as categories at the same time and in opposition to one another. Earlier books -- the novels of Dickens, for example -- were read by everyone at the time they were published. They became high art later, to be read in school and by people seriously interested in literature.
As a kid, I read what I liked. Sometime in college, I began to have a political analysis. But I don't know how important it was. In the end, I always read what I liked. And what I liked tended to be popular, rather than high art.
Why? A good question.
NASA APOD
Where did all the stars go? What used to be considered a hole in the sky is now known to astronomers as a dark molecular cloud. Here, a high concentration of dust and molecular gas absorb practically all the visible light emitted from background stars. The eerily dark surroundings help make the interiors of molecular clouds some of the coldest and most isolated places in the universe. One of the most notable of these dark absorption nebulae is a cloud toward the constellation Ophiuchus known as Barnard 68, pictured above. That no stars are visible in the center indicates that Barnard 68 is relatively nearby, with measurements placing it about 500 light-years away and half a light-year across. It is not known exactly how molecular clouds like Barnard 68 form, but it is known that these clouds are themselves likely places for new stars to form. In fact, Barnard 68 itself has been found likely to collapse and form a new star system. It is possible to look right through the cloud in infrared light.
January 20, 2012
Thor 2
Patrick points out that I have written a synopsis, not an analysis. I am a story teller, not a critic. And strangely enough, the movie is complex enough to require description in some detail.
I use the word simple a lot in my synopsis. Myths are simple, and so are most comics, though comics can be complex. I used to think that one of things I liked about science fiction, including my own work, was a certain brightness and flatness, a lack of nuance. Compare a 1960s Abstract Expressionist painting to a 17th century Dutch painting. The abstract painting is big and bright and flat. The Dutch painting is small and has depth and detail, light and shadow, nuance. Both can be good, but they touch us differently.
The other thing to remember is -- the abstract paintings were done after the Dutch realistic paintings by artists fully trained in realism, light and shadow, plasticity, nuance and detail.
Simplicity can be a choice, not a failing; and there can be complexity within simplicity.
Getting back to the movie, I think Loki is the person who drives the plot step by step, through his tricks and plots. Odin is the over-arching consciousness: the person who understands what is going on. A key line is the movie is Frigga talking to Loki: "Your father always has a purpose." So Odin is the movie's Prospero, who moves the plot through a very limited number of key interventions: Thor's exile and his own retreat into the Odinsleep.
Thor as Othello and Loki as Iago, or Odin as Propero and Loki as -- what? Caliban the monster? Am I nuts? Tom Hiddleston says that he and Branagh and Hopkins would get together during the filming of the movie and talk "Shakepearean babble" to one another about how play scenes.
Ah, what the heck. It's a good action movie.
I use the word simple a lot in my synopsis. Myths are simple, and so are most comics, though comics can be complex. I used to think that one of things I liked about science fiction, including my own work, was a certain brightness and flatness, a lack of nuance. Compare a 1960s Abstract Expressionist painting to a 17th century Dutch painting. The abstract painting is big and bright and flat. The Dutch painting is small and has depth and detail, light and shadow, nuance. Both can be good, but they touch us differently.
The other thing to remember is -- the abstract paintings were done after the Dutch realistic paintings by artists fully trained in realism, light and shadow, plasticity, nuance and detail.
Simplicity can be a choice, not a failing; and there can be complexity within simplicity.
Getting back to the movie, I think Loki is the person who drives the plot step by step, through his tricks and plots. Odin is the over-arching consciousness: the person who understands what is going on. A key line is the movie is Frigga talking to Loki: "Your father always has a purpose." So Odin is the movie's Prospero, who moves the plot through a very limited number of key interventions: Thor's exile and his own retreat into the Odinsleep.
Thor as Othello and Loki as Iago, or Odin as Propero and Loki as -- what? Caliban the monster? Am I nuts? Tom Hiddleston says that he and Branagh and Hopkins would get together during the filming of the movie and talk "Shakepearean babble" to one another about how play scenes.
Ah, what the heck. It's a good action movie.
Thor
Switching to a more useful topic than MFAs in Creative Writing, I want to write about the move Thor. I just saw it for the fifth or sixth time. I really like it. Why? It's just another silly Marvel superhero movie.
I am going to talk about the entire movie. So this is a spoiler alert. Though of course you know how the movie will end already. Myths and comic books tend to come to the obvious ending.
I like the three realms that we see: Asgard, which is a science fiction city of the future combined with a Renaissance court; Jotenheim, which is cold and dark and bare, even spookier than the Old Norse realm of the frost giants as I imagined it from reading the myths; and Midgard, the realm of humans, which is an early 21st century American small town, set in the middle of the New Mexico desert.
I like the combination of superhero comic conventions and Norse myth. I think there's a touch of Shakespeare in the movie, courtesy of Kenneth Branagh, Anthony Hopkins and Tom Hiddleston, who are all Shakespearean actors. Tom Hiddleston, who is Loki, certainly lurks around like Iago.
I don't know the Marvel comic book well. So I go back to the myths and to Shakespeare: like Othello, Thor is the story of a strong, simple man tricked by devious and malicious man. In the myths, Thor ia a strong, simple, decent, not-too-bright god partnered with a trickster, who (like most tricksters) is sometimes good and sometimes evil. I think, in the movie, we are watching Loki descend into evil.
I like the story, which is mostly simple, though Loki -- trickster and plotter that he is -- makes everything a bit more complex.
Thor is young, strong, simple, arrogant and foolish. Like the mythic Thor, he is the monster slayer and (as it turns out) the friend of humanity. His good traits, which take a while to show up, are loyalty and decency.
Odin is the Allfather, the god who understands consequence and plans deeply.
Loki is the trickster, who by the end of the movie has betrayed everyone, even himself. He's an Iago with a motivation. He loves his father Odin and is jealous of Thor, who is -- Loki believes -- the favored son. Is this correct? That isn't certain.
The movie is a test of both Thor and Loki. Thor disobeys his father and attacks the realm of the frost giants, when his father had told him he wants peace. As punishment, he is sent to Earth in mortal form to learn what it's like to live without the hammer Mjolnir and the strength of Thor.
Soon after, Loki has a blazing row with Odin, because he has discovered he is actually a giant, adopted as an infant by the gods. In the middle of the quarrel, Odin collapses and falls into the Odinsleep, a deep sleep from which he cannot be awakened. Loki is left free to do what he'd do without his father around.
My theory is, Odin has discovered there are problems with both sons; and so he decides to test them: Thor by sending him into exile and Loki by going to sleep and leaving the stage free.
Thor must learn how to live without power, and Loki must learn to live with the power of a king.
Loki seizes the throne of Asgard and invites the king of frost giants into Asgard to kill Odin. But before the murder can be accomplished, Loki kills the giant king. As I say, he betrays everyone. He then attempts to destroy the frost giants' realm and kill an entire people -- having first lured their king into a direct attack on Odin, a more or less manufactured act of war. The giants are tall and green and unpleasant; none the less it's genocide.
Like Thor at the beginning to the movie, Loki is trying to win the approval of his father by saving Asgard from their enemy. Odin, who has known war, wants peace. It really is an anti-war movie.
On Earth Thor gets his arrogance beaten out of him. He now has to deal with people as an equal, instead of a god. He is still a formidable warrior, but he no longer has Mjolnir's power, and he learns that violence does not solve everything -- or even most things. (He could have learned the same lesson with Mjolnir, but it would have been far messier. Odin sends him to a place where he can learn the limits of power without destroying the universe.)
Loki visits him on Earth and tells him Odin is dead -- killed by Thor's disobedience and exile -- and their mother Frigga will not allow Thor back to Asgard. So now he has lost his divinity, his strength, his family and his home, and it all seems to be his fault.
Unlike Loki, he can learn from experience, and he can accept consequences. He accepts his exile on Earth in very ordinary ways -- by getting drunk with a human man and falling in love with a woman. Maybe, if he had more time, he would have mourned more. But he is young and strong and simple, and the movie is an action movie.
He has learned the limits of power, and he has learned to be human. The final lesson comes when Loki sends a robot to Earth to kill Thor. By this time Thor's buddies have shown up: the Warriors Three and the warrior maiden Sif. They still have their divine powers, but they can't stop the robot, which is destroying the small New Mexico town. So Thor learns the last lesson of being a king. If necessary, you sacrifice yourself.
He goes up to the robot and says, "This is between you and me, Loki. Leave these other people out. Kill me, if you find that's necessary."
The robot kills him.
And the hammer Mjolnir, which is conveniently nearby, returns to Thor, who comes back to life and defeats the robot. He really is a terrific killer of monsters; and the movie does a good job of reminding us that Thor is the god of storms. Earlier in the movie, he tries to get Mjolnir back from the US government in the middle of a thunderstorm, which arrives as if summoned; and he defeats the robot inside a tornado.
Then they all go back to Asgard, and Thor stops Loki from destroying the realm of the frost giants. To do this, he has to destroy Bifrost, the rainbow bridge, which isolates Asgard from the other realms. So Thor has lost Earth and the woman he now loves, and he has lost Loki, who is apparently killed in their epic fight.
He still loves Loki. One of Thor's virtues is loyalty. Like the Thor of the Old Norse myths, he is a very simple god.
I am going to talk about the entire movie. So this is a spoiler alert. Though of course you know how the movie will end already. Myths and comic books tend to come to the obvious ending.
I like the three realms that we see: Asgard, which is a science fiction city of the future combined with a Renaissance court; Jotenheim, which is cold and dark and bare, even spookier than the Old Norse realm of the frost giants as I imagined it from reading the myths; and Midgard, the realm of humans, which is an early 21st century American small town, set in the middle of the New Mexico desert.
I like the combination of superhero comic conventions and Norse myth. I think there's a touch of Shakespeare in the movie, courtesy of Kenneth Branagh, Anthony Hopkins and Tom Hiddleston, who are all Shakespearean actors. Tom Hiddleston, who is Loki, certainly lurks around like Iago.
I don't know the Marvel comic book well. So I go back to the myths and to Shakespeare: like Othello, Thor is the story of a strong, simple man tricked by devious and malicious man. In the myths, Thor ia a strong, simple, decent, not-too-bright god partnered with a trickster, who (like most tricksters) is sometimes good and sometimes evil. I think, in the movie, we are watching Loki descend into evil.
I like the story, which is mostly simple, though Loki -- trickster and plotter that he is -- makes everything a bit more complex.
Thor is young, strong, simple, arrogant and foolish. Like the mythic Thor, he is the monster slayer and (as it turns out) the friend of humanity. His good traits, which take a while to show up, are loyalty and decency.
Odin is the Allfather, the god who understands consequence and plans deeply.
Loki is the trickster, who by the end of the movie has betrayed everyone, even himself. He's an Iago with a motivation. He loves his father Odin and is jealous of Thor, who is -- Loki believes -- the favored son. Is this correct? That isn't certain.
The movie is a test of both Thor and Loki. Thor disobeys his father and attacks the realm of the frost giants, when his father had told him he wants peace. As punishment, he is sent to Earth in mortal form to learn what it's like to live without the hammer Mjolnir and the strength of Thor.
Soon after, Loki has a blazing row with Odin, because he has discovered he is actually a giant, adopted as an infant by the gods. In the middle of the quarrel, Odin collapses and falls into the Odinsleep, a deep sleep from which he cannot be awakened. Loki is left free to do what he'd do without his father around.
My theory is, Odin has discovered there are problems with both sons; and so he decides to test them: Thor by sending him into exile and Loki by going to sleep and leaving the stage free.
Thor must learn how to live without power, and Loki must learn to live with the power of a king.
Loki seizes the throne of Asgard and invites the king of frost giants into Asgard to kill Odin. But before the murder can be accomplished, Loki kills the giant king. As I say, he betrays everyone. He then attempts to destroy the frost giants' realm and kill an entire people -- having first lured their king into a direct attack on Odin, a more or less manufactured act of war. The giants are tall and green and unpleasant; none the less it's genocide.
Like Thor at the beginning to the movie, Loki is trying to win the approval of his father by saving Asgard from their enemy. Odin, who has known war, wants peace. It really is an anti-war movie.
On Earth Thor gets his arrogance beaten out of him. He now has to deal with people as an equal, instead of a god. He is still a formidable warrior, but he no longer has Mjolnir's power, and he learns that violence does not solve everything -- or even most things. (He could have learned the same lesson with Mjolnir, but it would have been far messier. Odin sends him to a place where he can learn the limits of power without destroying the universe.)
Loki visits him on Earth and tells him Odin is dead -- killed by Thor's disobedience and exile -- and their mother Frigga will not allow Thor back to Asgard. So now he has lost his divinity, his strength, his family and his home, and it all seems to be his fault.
Unlike Loki, he can learn from experience, and he can accept consequences. He accepts his exile on Earth in very ordinary ways -- by getting drunk with a human man and falling in love with a woman. Maybe, if he had more time, he would have mourned more. But he is young and strong and simple, and the movie is an action movie.
He has learned the limits of power, and he has learned to be human. The final lesson comes when Loki sends a robot to Earth to kill Thor. By this time Thor's buddies have shown up: the Warriors Three and the warrior maiden Sif. They still have their divine powers, but they can't stop the robot, which is destroying the small New Mexico town. So Thor learns the last lesson of being a king. If necessary, you sacrifice yourself.
He goes up to the robot and says, "This is between you and me, Loki. Leave these other people out. Kill me, if you find that's necessary."
The robot kills him.
And the hammer Mjolnir, which is conveniently nearby, returns to Thor, who comes back to life and defeats the robot. He really is a terrific killer of monsters; and the movie does a good job of reminding us that Thor is the god of storms. Earlier in the movie, he tries to get Mjolnir back from the US government in the middle of a thunderstorm, which arrives as if summoned; and he defeats the robot inside a tornado.
Then they all go back to Asgard, and Thor stops Loki from destroying the realm of the frost giants. To do this, he has to destroy Bifrost, the rainbow bridge, which isolates Asgard from the other realms. So Thor has lost Earth and the woman he now loves, and he has lost Loki, who is apparently killed in their epic fight.
He still loves Loki. One of Thor's virtues is loyalty. Like the Thor of the Old Norse myths, he is a very simple god.
January 15, 2012
MFAs
Foxessa made this comment on my MFA post. I am copying it here in full, because she is spot on:
I knew about the need to have an MFA in order to teach. I did not know about needing a PhD in order to apply for grants. I find this horrifying. I'm not sure why it should seem worse to make a living by teaching creative writing than by being a court poet for a Renaissance prince. It's all patronage, and no worse -- more likely, better -- than painting for the awful New York art market.
I am stuck in the old avant garde idea of the artist as poor, but independent. La Boheme. Most likely, this is silly.
I want to write fiction that is both popular and political; and I don't want to be part of a system that produces ever larger numbers of MFAs, who can only survive by teaching in creative writing programs that produce ever more MFAs.
There is one problem with being a college professor or a court poet. You have to write work your patron likes. Maybe there is more to art than the world view of the patron.
And debt remains a program. It's hard to be a free spirit, if you have to repay large student loans.
The main reason for getting an MFA is that in the realm of academic credentials, an MFA is considered a terminal degree. You must have a terminal degree in order to be considered for an academic teaching position of any kind.
Writers and artists get tired as they get older. They don't generally make much money from their art or their writing, nor do they get health insurance, pension or other benefits. At some point teaching in some form can help one transition into the next phase of life with some financial security.
There also all kinds of grants and fellowships and so on for which you can't even apply without a Ph.D. So I know more and more artists in various disciplines who are getting themselves Ph.D.s one way and another.
I knew about the need to have an MFA in order to teach. I did not know about needing a PhD in order to apply for grants. I find this horrifying. I'm not sure why it should seem worse to make a living by teaching creative writing than by being a court poet for a Renaissance prince. It's all patronage, and no worse -- more likely, better -- than painting for the awful New York art market.
I am stuck in the old avant garde idea of the artist as poor, but independent. La Boheme. Most likely, this is silly.
I want to write fiction that is both popular and political; and I don't want to be part of a system that produces ever larger numbers of MFAs, who can only survive by teaching in creative writing programs that produce ever more MFAs.
There is one problem with being a college professor or a court poet. You have to write work your patron likes. Maybe there is more to art than the world view of the patron.
And debt remains a program. It's hard to be a free spirit, if you have to repay large student loans.
January 7, 2012
MFAs
This is something I posted on facebook.
I've wondered about creative writing degrees for a long time. What is their purpose, except to train creative writing teachers? I mean, you get a degree in dental hygiene, and you can get a job. It used to be that a degree in journalism could help you get a job, and for all I know college training in business and technical writing are still useful. But creative writing?
I am prejudiced in this area. I have taken some classes in writing poetry, which were fine, though I'm not sure I learned much. (The best one was in Iceland, with awesome birdwatching.) Otherwise, I learned writing from reading a lot and studying English Lit. in college and being in writers' workshops, the kind that writers form to critique each other's work, not the for-pay kind with a teacher. One thing I have never learned is how to teach writing. When I've tried it, I'm not good. You might learn how to teach writing through a creative writing program, and that would be useful, if you wanted to teach creative writing.
The thing that strikes me outrageous is people are coming out of MFA programs with tens of thousands of dollars in debt. A lawyer or doctor has a good chance of paying off this kind of debt, but a creative writer? A poet? Or someone writing literary fiction, whatever that might be? -- I don't get the impression that most MFA programs are teaching people how to write romances and techno-thrillers. In any case, no matter what you write, most people in the field scrape by and a few people do well. The odds are never good.
This does not mean you give up. It means you think long and hard about starting a writing career with a lot of debt.
If your goal is to write, and you have no other career plans, a BA in something is a good idea, since a college degree is useful in getting a job, and you will need to pay the rent while building a writing career. These days you are going to pile up debt getting that. Piling up even more debt seems really unwise.
I've wondered about creative writing degrees for a long time. What is their purpose, except to train creative writing teachers? I mean, you get a degree in dental hygiene, and you can get a job. It used to be that a degree in journalism could help you get a job, and for all I know college training in business and technical writing are still useful. But creative writing?
I am prejudiced in this area. I have taken some classes in writing poetry, which were fine, though I'm not sure I learned much. (The best one was in Iceland, with awesome birdwatching.) Otherwise, I learned writing from reading a lot and studying English Lit. in college and being in writers' workshops, the kind that writers form to critique each other's work, not the for-pay kind with a teacher. One thing I have never learned is how to teach writing. When I've tried it, I'm not good. You might learn how to teach writing through a creative writing program, and that would be useful, if you wanted to teach creative writing.
The thing that strikes me outrageous is people are coming out of MFA programs with tens of thousands of dollars in debt. A lawyer or doctor has a good chance of paying off this kind of debt, but a creative writer? A poet? Or someone writing literary fiction, whatever that might be? -- I don't get the impression that most MFA programs are teaching people how to write romances and techno-thrillers. In any case, no matter what you write, most people in the field scrape by and a few people do well. The odds are never good.
This does not mean you give up. It means you think long and hard about starting a writing career with a lot of debt.
If your goal is to write, and you have no other career plans, a BA in something is a good idea, since a college degree is useful in getting a job, and you will need to pay the rent while building a writing career. These days you are going to pile up debt getting that. Piling up even more debt seems really unwise.
January 4, 2012
Note
I wrote a lot more about class and language, and then decided I was taking Barbara Jensen's ideas in directions she had not intended.
So I will wait for her book, which comes out this July, and read it.
In the meantime, I deleted a couple of posts as being bullshit.
So I will wait for her book, which comes out this July, and read it.
In the meantime, I deleted a couple of posts as being bullshit.
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