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Truly remarkable what poets can do, and it would be counterintuitive to ask what they can't do (teach?) as this collection strives to show how they manage academic discourse. They can obfuscate with the best of them, and each argument in the first half of VOX THEORIA become more crystalline as verse takes over for the prose. Dancer is most eloquent about how the sounds in their printed form evoke virtuality.

We have always existed in four-dimensional spacetime thanks to Minkowski, Einstein and Hupfeld for pointing it out, but Scott makes a case for feeling what mathematical formula, special relativity or schmaltzy piano tunes couldn't convey: the ability to be everywhere at once with only a few screentaps and wifi connections to break the three-dimensional bond that have hitherto been our visual confirmation that we are.

Carl Jung's life swung from amazed insightfulness to sullen social isolation, most of his early years recounted in his own words - how much of this will make new meaning when I finally get around to reading Memories, Dreams, Reflections? From as early as his childhood, he already felt the push and pull between his No. 1 and 2 selves, no doubt as most psychiatrists would divine due to his unenamoured parents.

One wonders who was clamouring to see a play about a stuffy stiff being brought across the River Stix while fondly remembering his chums back at Oxford. Housman reviews his life as a series of picnics with privileged scholars complaining about train stations ruining the bucolic academy. He conjures a lost world for universities, where mastering the classics was the highest calling with science for those who couldn't.

Of all the books I have read, some of which I have catalogued on this datamining website, volumes of poetry rarely make it to my "read" list and I find it challenging to comment on such complex language in any meaningful way. Prendergast's introduction to poetic inquiry walks the line between graduate scholarship and the love of innovative phrasing that the contributors to her co-edited book inquire into, now me too.

By way of introduction, perhaps one of the last remnants of the pre-digital publishing practice (are not Wikipedia entries, Amazon review and even Goodreads blurbs enough of a way into reading a book without the author having to stretch out the page-count with rambling thoughts?), Scott reflects on renting someone's house to write (probably on a old-timer typewriter!) and hits a few quotable peepholes into our souls.

A brief summary of the previous chapters in the form of a lecture covers much the same ground, but adding some further thought on the place of astrology as a science and as a mantic characteristic known to newspaper horoscopes writers and mystics throughout the ages. All of his writing so far has danced lightly upon the line between science and supernatural influence and seems one of the first to take both seriously.

The rambling recollections of an English bureaucrat in Switzerland hardly inspires a monologue, let alone two acts, if it were not for the historical side characters who flit on and off the stage. James Joyce appears as a limerick-speaking buffoon who just happens to be in the process of creating a masterpiece. Dada poet Tristan "Jack" Tzara mashes up the Wildean plot and Shakespearean poetry on tiny scraps of paper.

Already impressed by what I had seen so far of Jung's inward journey at the beginning of my PhD studies, this more detailed and illustrated account of his career comes full circle for me as I gather ideas for my dissertation. The three authors of the frontmatter get slightly different ideas towards everything brought forth by The Red Book and offer a better understanding of self to make the world make sense.

Illness continues to spread and affects the crew, sending them away (altogether or one-by-one?) before striking the heart of the matter: the actors are not playing their part, merely schlepping through Brook's bird quest. The final bit of this plague hits when the poet Hughes turns into a no-show, leaving them with a ridiculous word meant to get people dancing. At least Heilpern learns a spiritual truth is back home.

Coming to a satisfying conclusion to what synchronicity means is a challenging task, especially for Jung who already took multiple routes to describe the phenomenon that would still all be unconvincing to the scientific community that shuns Old World beliefs like alchemy. The ace up his sleeve is the fissionable atom and other modern physics that are still relatively unthinkable in the classical sciences and psyches.

Drawing his astrological-marriage case study to a close, Jung moves on to further fields of inquiry, Ancient Chinese philosophy of Lao-tzu, the musings of G. W. von Leibniz (sick burn Newton!) and the medieval "World Soul" which all correspond to Jung's own emerging psychological concept of the collective unconscious. Even Kepler's treatise of the astrological significance of Earth to the stars replays Cassius' line.

The last couple chapters **spoiler** had bad guys blowed up, because **spoilers** real estate **spoilers** and stuff? Flynne Fisher ends up with **spoiler** Tommy and a **spoiler** baby while Wilf learns a **spoiler** lesson, yet still has a thing with his pre-jackpot **spoiler** romance. Daedra **spoiler** doesn't die or even get a **spoiler** comeuppance? Rough ending that could barely be spoiled by any other part.

Very impressive how assiduously Jung threw himself into his first synchronistic research interpreting someone else's data on astrological connections between married couples as well as all other combinations of potential couples within the field. Unsurprisingly, no hard conclusions were drawn from this study, except the perhaps all too personal one that married couples need not necessarily be in love with each other.

The cast goes off the beaten path, perhaps a malaria-induced misstep, but come closer to understanding their purpose in Africa, learning how to communicate through theatre without language. They are probably better off without talking too much to each other as group meeting over water rations, cleaning schedules and ram sacrifices get both cast and crew into trouble. They are united as a company but losing their way.

The whole show falls apart when the murder mystery become a question of who becomes Chair of Logic, for some illogical reason awarded to a caretaker. Something about an astronaut abandoning another on the moon - one must wonder what sort of drug Stoppard and his audiences would have consumed during conception and delivery of this show. Inexplicable lines from Richard III match earlier Macbeth cribs.

The odd play so far contains many of the earmarks of early Stoppard plays: absurd stagecraft and naughty reveals of nude starlets (including his main mistress Felicity) while some dolt blathers on and on about some inconsequential topic. Here moral philosophy is put through the wringer while despondent Dotty covers up a murder with the help of jumpsuited gymnasts and the ethically-suspect support of Archie and Bones.

Barely out of the elevator and Daedra suddenly becomes the wised-up Bond villain and explosions start happening. Guess the story rushed past the moment it was slowly, ever so slowly building toward. Flynne has an easy way out, probably, like the Connor cannonball that deus-ex-machinaed Daedra's getaway but Wilf will have a dickens of a time waiting for him at Newgate, probably deserving as much bodily harm he caused.

Once again, quantum physics opens doors to different ways of perceiving the probabilistic universe, in this case the acausal connecting principle that became Jung's synchronicity. While he keeps on the cautiously scientific side of his psychological experiment, not putting too much weight on the spooky extra-sensory actions, he states in his hypothesis that the unconscious has an affect on the here-and-now spacetime.

The reassembling of Artaud's passages into supposedly meaningful social commentary becomes more and more like a cover-up for much of his antisocial ranting was a purgation of all the crap he accumulated pre-Rodez. At least Lotringer widens the scope to reveal what kind of a shitshow France had become for a fateful trip to Ireland and the Nazi invasion. Yet even in this chapter he does not emerge as a profound artist.

The peculiar pedigree of Jung's groundbreaking study of coincidences: dinner with Albert Einstein, sessions with Wolfgang Pauli, leads me to believe that it "might" have some bearing on my dissertation, especially as he bases much of his work on European alchemy. Perhaps if I hadn't sped ahead to Malachi and Beatrice's exile from a Rumfoordian-united Earth, I'd be more sceptical and more academic with my assumptions.

The plans for an Utterly Indifferent world religion must have been exquisitely planned, with the fortunate help of the infundibulum-bound prophet and prime mover Rumfoord, choosing the two worst examples of earthly difference, wasteful good luck and prudish purity, as scapegoats for the united planet. On their trip up the golden ladder, Malachi and Beatrice have no regrets, but why has Chrono willingly followed them?

The editors truly hit one out of the park in the last "inning" of this scholarly-stuffed volume by sharing what is known about Shakespeare's career. It may all be boilerplate (like the chronologies that follow this short section) but nevertheless full of significant findings. If only there were some sources for claims that groundlings stood in rapt attention while gallants hollered from their cushioned balcony seats.

Oh. My. Gawd!! It has been how many chapters since Netherton told Flynne to identify someone connected to a murder, and they still have not arrived on the scene?! Will it make any difference to the twisty tale if Flynne makes her mark for the final forty pages of this novel? Barely enough space for whoever to get his comeuppance and the billion other loose threads to tie themselves in a satisfying sort of conclusion.

Among the many bizarre events reported in this book, kidnapping earthlings to make them martian invaders and to martyr them as cannon fodder is the most egregious Rumfoordian plan. His test for Unk fails as this slow-witted hero needs to see the writing on the wall to get closer to Titan. Fortunately Boaz learns a deeper lesson, finding his purpose among Mercury's music-loving harmoniums and a place to end his story.

The tour starts to fall apart as health and confidence evaporate from the actors. The titular Conference premieres in Kano to the curious on-lookers, but it fails to capture the magic Brook had hoped for. It was a later remount of The Shoe Show that the other shoe dropped, at least for the biographer: African audiences are not enamoured by European fairy tale magic but the actors foot it heedlessly.

The history of Julius Caesar on stage begins with the familiar opening of the Globe to the more far-flung curiosities such as the Meiji-era Kabuki adaptation. Many of the RSC productions are limited to key players which include popular choices like Casca and Cinna the Poet, yet even the three interviewed directors are at a loss trying to defend their choices for Portia and Calpurnia in otherwise modern Rome.

What must be the most unnecessary part of the book in one person's hand, such as someone like me who has read the play a couple times, is perhaps the greatest relief grasped by the weary exam-prepping student or the synopsis-writing impresario: the scene-by-scene analysis. Chunking dialogue into paragraphs, or in Cinna the Poet's case a mere sentence, robs the play of its persuasive power yet opens up interpretation.

The evil spirit does its ghosting at Philippi, making Cassius eat his earlier words about turning the same sword that stabbed Caesar onto himself (on his birthday, no less!) while many of his followers are equally confounded out of their lives. Octavius thrives as Caesar's spirit and begins to turn on Antony to set up an awesome sequel. Brutus achieves the alchemical end as "it sufficeth that the day will end" (V.i).