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Established in the field of psychiatry and a survivor of World War II with a desire to fine-tune a fascist-ruined Europe, Jung turns his attention to the inner life of his patients and self, finding a groundswell of issues to uncover. His Answer to Job synthesizes interconnected religious dualities but the truly inspired belief comes through his correspondence with physicist Wolfgang Pauli, as synchronicity.

The collection of thinkers Mr. Marvell (sorry Dr. Marvell) mentions in his first chapter is diverse: Hinton and Chomsky, Eco and Le Goff, Spengler (no doubt an inspiration for the fictional Egon) and Leibniz—plus passing references for Schrödinger, Fibonacci and Jung—is enough evidence that I am on the right track to discover how much premodern natural philosophy informs the postmodern imagistic emergence in science.

At one point, she literally counts the seconds remaining in her third hour, with other brief moments to check in with her facial features: mouth okay, nose where it should be. Her reflections, written weeks maybe months later, reveal the Noh mirror-room to be everywhere she goes, every face a reflecting surface, every novel too. Fulfilling Dögen's lesson brought home from China: nose is in it proper place, eyes too.

Some wonderful wabi-sabi pondering over the Noh masks Ozeki studied and created, reaching the highest level of mushi-kui among her classmates. Other parts of her second hour are devoted to the mask most women in arts wear, placed upon them by society. Unlike Noh masks, there is basically only one way to view the "crone's" fading beauty, yet through Ruth's Zen head-shaving, she is at-one in her body.

Like Fox Mulder, I want to believe in the spookiness of natural philosophy and re-emergence in modern (possibly postmodern) physics, yet the bookjacket and frontmatter strives to dowse with doubt the enthusiasm others write about - even the superfluous "PhD" after his name raises an eyebrow as to how doctoral his credentials might be - still judging a book by its cover, but hope to discover true gold in leaden prose.

Now Scott is talking my kind of language, fourth dimension as travel through time (and space naturally) with the metaphoric use of digital timelines. The curves we experience thanks to YouTube strange how its creation should have fallen on my anniversary a couple of years prior to my wedding! The Wellsian shuttling back and forth is just a brief glimpse of what will soon be (was and will always ever be) virtual time.

So glad to see another book by Ozeki - part of a series, perhaps, of authors examining their faces? - but glad to come face-to-face with Ruth first. As an intriguing amalgam of cultures and histories, she reluctantly starts off her first hour resisting the activity, but able to weave into her time code some reflections upon her family, how their disembodied representation shine through clearly in her own hybrid face.

Wrapping up the collection of poetic inquiry
You made it this far, so what!
Are a couple of chapters big on differences
Who do you think you are?
Asking those qualified enough to research
Doesn't make it academic.
To consider how words on a page can change
It's just a white-person hobby :-P
Someone else's mind.

Interviews with scholars are hit-and-miss, as each interview with editor Scheer obviously shows fondness for everything Artaud, but the French poet and playwright is conspicuously missing for much of what they have to say. Psychoanalyst Kristeva might have an inside track, but like Australian artist Parr she is more involved with her own words and works. Lotringer and Goodall at least tell how little anyone can know.

It follows nicely upon Auerbach's interpretation of Don Quixote to read just what sort of courtly romances Cervantes was parodying, and Chrétien de Troyes' Yvain seems as far removed from modern (early or post) sense of reality as literature can get. Everything is idealized: honourable knights, castles hidden in the forest, chaste maidens, as if de Troyes' readers needed affirmation of their wealth.

A favourite theme for Stoppard, it seems, is marital infidelity. While this short tv segment takes place in the swinging sixties, it's setting in a dentist office seems at first a bit strange, unless the titular teeth were what really turned heads back then. There is a nice trick with the receptionist where earlier dialogue makes it out as if George is her other man until Harry turns the table, easy as pulling teeth.

A revolving door of characters with slightly more sinister tones emerging: Mr. Tulkinghorn's haunting the coroner's inquiry into Nemo's cause of death, taking interest only in the boy Jo for much needed information. The Dedlocks are in a position to use this knowledge to their advantage, perhaps seeking revenge on the boisterous Boythorn? Most troubling is to see gormless Guppy going emo and stalking narrator Esther.

Marx and Engelsing away the capitalistic drive of the digital, the nouning of verbs makes Love Actually broadcast infidelity, wonders Who's That Girl being mostly A Guy Thing while Thelma & Louise wistfully stall their Google car at the edge of Grand Canyon. Plus David Fincher selling Gap's "Dress Normal" becomes a Hard Core Logo - deep cut 90/00's film reference!

There is a welcome return of the other, not just an adjective to be bandied across the page surrounded by scare quote or way-too-personal bracketing: "(s(m))other(ing)" — yikes! Instead, the poetic inquirers respectfully turn their attention away from autobiographed self and include the rich voices resonating within their fields of inquiry; the best example so far come from Galvin & Todres' "embodied interpretation."

Modeling a balanced psyche for his many patients, Jung continues on the healing path by being open-minded and -hearted to as many people as he can. The trouble comes, to borrow Joseph Campbell's hero's journey, when he enters the Belly of the Whale dealing with fascists in Germany and other countries leading up to the Second World War. His departure for India reveals an Ultimate Boon that he must now bring to Europe.

Progressively as the authors contribute their poetic understanding of learning and knowing in the latter half of VOX AUTOBIOGRAPHIA, the less they adhere to academic trappings such as an introduction and conclusion intricately connected to an article's middle. Yallop straight-up dismisses the tying-up purpose of his conclusion while MacKenzie ma(c)k(e)s out wit(ty)h syllab(allin')ic parent(gone-for-the-weekend)heses.

To his credit, Jonson wrote a play that introduces many of the mystic arts, such as projection, into mainstream parlance yet does so at the expense of the astrologers and alchemists who populate London. Painting them with the same Volpone-ish brush where everyone is on the take and ready to torment a woman, in this case some guy's sister, for not being compliant enough. Whose sort of reality did this mirror?

Jung's worldly turn to primal cultures and his understanding of the unconscious and individuation process set his psychiatry apart from the quick-fix, tell-me-about-your-father analysis, an inward turn triggered by I Ching and European alchemy. Somehow these symbols influenced me so that I posted this video: https://youtu.be/RZJ13Dy6M2c before reading how dreams "project forward as well as backward in time" (p. 110).

Before lingering on a couple of responses to Hamlet's question "What a piece of work is a man?", Dickens writes in an unflappable Mrs. Pardiggle who bullies her way into a bricklayer's flat with her brood of ill-tempered children. Next is the brash Mr. Boythorn and the guileless Mr. Guppy. There are hints of an apology by the author for making Esther so enigmatic before switching voice to Snagsby and Mr. Tulkinghorn.

Here's where poetic inquiry faces the greatest risk of shifting out of the "so what" field of research into a potentially more self-absorbed pond of reflective surfaces, assuming that there is some social inequity lurking in its depth. I get to know more about the authors, to varying degrees, and have to cautious dip my toe into each poem to test the academic waters. With Leggo and Dark there is a comfortable warmth.

Don't forget the bees! The dire ecological message is less mysterious than it tellingly perdicts posthuman evolution: we will forgo the taste of honey and a wilderness of pollinated plantlife if our the wifi signals keeps us connected to the hivemind. Twitter and other social media outlets are restructuring us into colonies of connectedness, each hashtag and like branding us wasps in order to intrude on productivity.

After an extremely officious or self-effacing? epistle praising his own work, it is hard to take seriously this comedy that has every character punished, especially the disinherited son and betrayed wife (only they receive last-minute meaningless reprieves) while the ravenous beasts are lured to their misfortune by the Fox and his parasitic Fly. At least the English tourists are shown up as stuffy Would-be worldlies.

The image of the tortured artist plays out for all its academic worth in these final three chapters, grounding Artaud in continental philosophy, as During does, or poststructural psychology, as Fuery affirms. It seems more than cruel that Artaud's words could be twisted to suit any avant-garde belief, and no more evident than in Kahn's account of his legacy amongst the New Musicians, Beat poets and environmentalists.

2009 must've been a bumper year for neuroscience in social sciences, one of the many routes towards the virtual taken by poetic inquirers. More than just cutting up academic text into short lines and grouping them into arbitrary stanza, these scholars demonstrate how Deleuzean lines of flight can become flights of fancy, taking the reader's from concrete experience to imagined islands with social justice connections.

As much as I want to understand the appeal of the second-greatest Early Modern English playwright (editor Jamieson goes to great length to show how Jonson is unlike Shakespeare) and his studious interpreting of alchemy, I suspect that much of these comedies will be as flim-flammy as the titular Alchemist will be. Yet the prostituting of wives and pardoning of crooks seems sadly fit for 2017 more than 17th C.

A slightly more social Jung emerges from his solipsistic childhood, and each person he interacts with as he begins his career as a psychiatrist: his youthful wife, his fatherly Freud, his spiritualist mistress, give support and shape to his inner life. It is when he hears hallucinatory voices and taps into the collective unconscious through his art that his greatest ideas become more complete, much to Freud's dismay.

Seems like I should have ordered the on-line version of this book as I was preparing for my research proposal defense while in Japan, so much of what the poetic inquirers are saying is related to what I was reading at the time: William Gibson, consciousness, Elliot Eisner and Aristotle. It didn't hurt either, as I was aware at the time, that one of the authors is my advisor. But back then I was not a poetic inquirer!

There is the rare simplicity of updating a classic for television by giving the abandoned Achaean warrior an Eastern Bloc Lemnos. Not much to explain as Cold War politics is vague enough for even the most astute insider to feel left out. No casual tourist ever comes to Montebianca and even children's toy trains and pistols prove to be fatal for those looking and those who found Philo, so is booze his poisoned arrows?

After a two-year interlude I am ready again to see how this novel quantumerates the pre-electronic era. So far a lot of catching up with who the narrator is during the many shifts from a couple of chapters to the next. Most of Esther Summerson's encounters are peeks into the diversity of English life: crazed bird-lady, an aged dilettante with the mind of a four-year old, and a housekeeper with a new-fangled grandson?

A little more clear what the struggle was for ol' AEH, in love with his Ligurinus at the start of the modern age when newspapermen and minor politicians decided against the silent "H" that would later become the LGBT community. Oscar Wilde's arrest, Britian's cause célèbre, gets a cursory handling while Jackson moves on, like many of Stoppard's secondary characters, to Canada. AEH's Shropshire poems survive.