history

You know the old saying that inside a fat person is a thin person trying to get out? The same could be said of Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Marble Faun: an enchanting gothic romance trapped inside a wordy travelogue.

A rough count from the Gutenberg plain text version of the book yields over 140,000 words, the vast majority of which is exposition. The characters and plot are crushed under the weight of filler.

An example. The beginning of Chapter 5, "Miriam's Studio". I will put any mention of a character actually saying or doing something in bold.

The courtyard and staircase of a palace built three hundred years ago are a peculiar feature of modern Rome, and interest the stranger more than many things of which he has heard loftier descriptions. You pass through the grand breadth and height of a squalid entrance-way, and perhaps see a range of dusky pillars, forming a sort of cloister round the court, and in the intervals, from pillar to pillar, are strewn fragments of antique statues, headless and legless torsos, and busts that have invariably lost what it might be well if living men could lay aside in that unfragrant atmosphere--the nose. Bas-reliefs, the spoil of some far older palace, are set in the surrounding walls, every stone of which has been ravished from the Coliseum, or any other imperial ruin which earlier barbarism had not already levelled with the earth. Between two of the pillars, moreover, stands an old sarcophagus without its lid, and with all its more prominently projecting sculptures broken off; perhaps it once held famous dust, and the bony framework of some historic man, although now only a receptacle for the rubbish of the courtyard, and a half-worn broom.

In the centre of the court, under the blue Italian sky, and with the hundred windows of the vast palace gazing down upon it from four sides, appears a fountain. It brims over from one stone basin to another, or gushes from a Naiad's urn, or spurts its many little jets from the mouths of nameless monsters, which were merely grotesque and artificial when Bernini, or whoever was their unnatural father, first produced them; but now the patches of moss, the tufts of grass, the trailing maiden-hair, and all sorts of verdant weeds that thrive in the cracks and crevices of moist marble, tell us that Nature takes the fountain back into her great heart, and cherishes it as kindly as if it were a woodland spring. And hark, the pleasant murmur, the gurgle, the plash! You might hear just those tinkling sounds from any tiny waterfall in the forest, though here they gain a delicious pathos from the stately echoes that reverberate their natural language. So the fountain is not altogether glad, after all its three centuries at play!

In one of the angles of the courtyard, a pillared doorway gives access to the staircase, with its spacious breadth of low marble steps, up which, in former times, have gone the princes and cardinals of the great Roman family who built this palace. Or they have come down, with still grander and loftier mien, on their way to the Vatican or the Quirinal, there to put off their scarlet hats in exchange for the triple crown. But, in fine, all these illustrious personages have gone down their hereditary staircase for the last time, leaving it to be the thoroughfare of ambassadors, English noblemen, American millionnaires, artists, tradesmen, washerwomen, and people of every degree,--all of whom find such gilded and marble-panelled saloons as their pomp and luxury demand, or such homely garrets as their necessity can pay for, within this one multifarious abode. Only, in not a single nook of the palace (built for splendor, and the accommodation of a vast retinue, but with no vision of a happy fireside or any mode of domestic enjoyment) does the humblest or the haughtiest occupant find comfort.

Up such a staircase, on the morning after the scene at the sculpture gallery, sprang the light foot of Donatello. He ascended from story to story, passing lofty doorways, set within rich frames of sculptured marble, and climbing unweariedly upward, until the glories of the first piano and the elegance of the middle height were exchanged for a sort of Alpine region, cold and naked in its aspect. Steps of rough stone, rude wooden balustrades, a brick pavement in the passages, a dingy whitewash on the walls; these were here the palatial features. Finally, he paused before an oaken door, on which was pinned a card, bearing the name of Miriam Schaefer, artist in oils. Here Donatello knocked, and the door immediately fell somewhat ajar; its latch having been pulled up by means of a string on the inside. Passing through a little anteroom, he found himself in Miriam's presence.

Did you skip over the first three paragraphs, or perhaps the whole thing? I don't blame you. And this was a mild example. At times, not only would The Marble Faun's story disappear, the characters themselves faded into obscurity in drawn-out "discussions" of art, philosophy, religion, etc. -- and I put "discussions" in quotes, because no person has ever spoken that way in normal conversation ever. They became Hawthorne sock puppets.

If we take the (rounding up) 40 bold words above as representative of the whole novel, the overall ~750 words would give us 5% of the passage being story. Being kind, let's quadruple that to 20% of the novel, giving us a spiffy 28,000-word gothic novella. And as interested as I am in art, history, and philosophy, I would probably give a boring 100,000-word treatise on Italian religious art history a miss.

Despite all this, I stuck with the book, telling myself that it really was a matter of expectation -- I had been led to believe this was something other than what it turned out to be. I am sure there are people out there who would love The Marble Faun. But as for me, I had to pull out all my mad speed-reading skillz to make it to the end.

This is the second time a Hawthorne work has thrown me for a loop, the thoroughly irrelevant and boring "Custom-House" introduction to The Scarlet Letter (which I loved) being the first. Perhaps something for me to keep in mind when I get around to The House of the Seven Gables or whatever of his stories winds up being the next one.

For an attempt at putting the massive tome in some sort of perspective, see Anthony Halderman's site.

Can't wait to see this!

The Independent: "After keeping us waiting for a century, Mark Twain will finally reveal all"

The great American writer left instructions not to publish his autobiography until 100 years after his death, which is now

Exactly a century after rumours of his death turned out to be entirely accurate, one of Mark Twain's dying wishes is at last coming true: an extensive, outspoken and revelatory autobiography which he devoted the last decade of his life to writing is finally going to be published.

The creator of Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn and some of the most frequently misquoted catchphrases in the English language left behind 5,000 unedited pages of memoirs when he died in 1910, together with handwritten notes saying that he did not want them to hit bookshops for at least a century.

That milestone has now been reached, and in November the University of California, Berkeley, where the manuscript is in a vault, will release the first volume of Mark Twain's autobiography. The eventual trilogy will run to half a million words, and shed new light on the quintessentially American novelist.

Continue...

Love letters adorn the walls underneath the famous balcony at the Casa di Giulietta in Verona.

The Guardian: "Dear Juliet: the fans who write to Shakespeare's heroine"

Letters are sent to Juliet from all over the world. A new film tells of the volunteers who reply to them. It's not Hollywood fantasy – it's fact

To find the most romantic spot in Romeo and Juliet's home city of Verona, you must take a dual carriageway out of the picturesque centre, then turn down a ramp into a decrepit industrial estate. Beyond the cemetery, next to a railway siding, is an office whose stock-in-trade is people's most passionately guarded secrets, their deepest hopes and fears. The headquarters of the Club di Giulietta (Juliet's Club) is also the inspiration for a soon-to-be-released movie.

Letters To Juliet tells the fictional story of a young American journalist who has joined this remarkable group of volunteers, replying to messages sent from all over the globe to Shakespeare's heroine by lovers seeking advice, or an excuse to unburden themselves. Sitting around a table strewn with handwritten letters, three of Juliet's real "secretaries", Giovanna Tamassia, Elena Marchi and Gioia Ambrosi, tell stories that are by turns touching and weird, thought-provoking and heart-rending.

And if you're in Southern California, why not come watch Romeo & Juliet live at the Redlands Shakespeare Festival going on right now?

Thomas Jefferson, who might well have been speaking of blogs and RSS feeds as much as newspapers ;) —

"I have given up newspapers in exchange for Tacitus and Thucydides, for Newton and Euclid; and I find myself much the happier."

From Wikipedia:

A polymath, Jefferson achieved distinction as, among other things, a horticulturist, political leader, architect, archaeologist, paleontologist, inventor, and founder of the University of Virginia. When President John F. Kennedy welcomed 49 Nobel Prize winners to the White House in 1962 he said, "I think this is the most extraordinary collection of talent and of human knowledge that has ever been gathered together at the White House – with the possible exception of when Thomas Jefferson dined alone."

From Whitehouse.gov:

Freckled and sandy-haired, rather tall and awkward, Jefferson was eloquent as a correspondent, but he was no public speaker. In the Virginia House of Burgesses and the Continental Congress, he contributed his pen rather than his voice to the patriot cause. As the "silent member" of the Congress, Jefferson, at 33, drafted the Declaration of Independence. In years following he labored to make its words a reality in Virginia. Most notably, he wrote a bill establishing religious freedom, enacted in 1786.

What has become a biennial chess obsession of mine has arrived again. This time around, I blame having read Through the Looking-Glass over the weekend. Here are some links to sate the appetite:

Wikipedia

• Chess
• Chess opening
• Chess middlegame
• Chess endgame
• Chess strategy
• Chess tactics

Wikibooks

• Chess
• Chess Opening Theory

Gutenberg

• Game and Playe of the Chesse by William Caxton (1474)
• The Blue Book of Chess by Howard Staunton and Various (1910)
• Chess Strategy by Edward Lasker (1915)
• Through the Looking-Glass by Lewis Carroll (1871)

Chess servers

• Free Internet Chess Server (FICS)
• The Internet Chess Club (ICC)

Software

• XBoard and GNU Chess
• Sigma Chess (Mac)
• Chess.app source code (Mac)

Speaking of Chess.app (bundled with Mac OS X in the Applications folder), the newer versions include the ability to play antichess and other variants:

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

In addition to venerating the blessed Irish saint, March 17th also marks the birthdays of favorite author William Gibson, as well as prominent Redlands CA citizens the twin Smiley Brothers.

The latter were recently featured on Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations TV show, in the Hudson Valley NY episode with their astounding Mohonk Mountain House on the shores of Lake Mohonk.

From Wikipedia: Mohonk Mountain House Taken by User:Mwanner, 20 July, 2000.

And like every holiday, the brothers out front of the A.K. Smiley Library in Redlands have been festooned with appropriate decorations:

Happy birthday to all and sundry, and a hearty "Éireann go Brách!"

Previously on Celsius1414:

• 2009: "It must be green!"
• 2007: Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig oraibh!
• 2005: Morning chaos on St. Patrick's Day.

(#008000)

The Eastsider LA: "Life's last journey on a street car named Descanso" (via @MetroLibrary):

Railway fan and Angeleno Heights resident Kevin Kuzma was checking out a railroad preservation forum when he came across a recent photo of the Descanso, a 101-year-old Los Angeles street car built to transport mourners as well as the deceased to burial services.

CarFree.us: "By the Numbers: My Financial and Environmental Impact of Commuting by Bicycle" (via @bikecommutenews):

I knew I was benefiting myself and the environment by commuting without a car, but to see the real impact is very amazing. These numbers don’t take into account the savings because of improved emotional and physical well being I am getting because of the exercise. They also don’t take into account the benefit to my community from interacting with my neighbors and fellow commuters. These numbers don’t measure the impact of the 40,000 people every year who’s lives are cut short because of car crashes.

LA Times: "Women pilots from World War II to be honored":

The groundbreaking Women Airforce Service Pilots were buried without military honors and long denied benefits. But now they'll receive the Congressional Gold Medal.