She Shall Be Called Woman ...

I've been brushing up on Biblical Hebrew lately, and experiencing sympathy pangs for those poor souls studying for their bar mitzvahs (bar mitzvot?).

The most common words of a language tend to preserve irregularities long past the death of their conjugational companions. In olden days, of course, these were not irregularities, but perfectly sensible in the systems of their birth. The erosion of the years and the reform of their now-wayword companions leave them orphaned and oddities which frustrate the beginning student and fascinate the linguistically savvy mind. From the multitude of en-dings for Anglo-Saxon plurals, only "children" remains a once-common "-en" ending, and throws an "r" in the mix for good measure. Seldom do comtemporary English speakers refer to "oxen", and even those who might use "brethren" are more likely to say "brothers".

It is no surprise that the Hebrew words for "man" and "woman" display such irregularities, The plural of  "ish" "man" is "anashim" and plural of "ishsha" is "nashim." The missing nun in "ish" and "ishsha" vanished through assimilation to the previous consonants, and the missing aleph in "nashim" proabably disappeared through its own weakness (I don't think the aleph is an addition, as some might, for reasons I explain below). The three-letter root, then would be aleph-nun-shin. If scholars who have dedicated their lives to the study of the Semitic languages cannot agree on the distribution of the various sibilants (s-sounds) in proto-Semitic, certainly I dare not do so. My suspicion is that the root originally meant "man or human being", and thus, according to the usual androcentricity of gender systems, declined as a masculine. The feminine meaning is probably derivative, and the bewildering multiplicity of "broken plurals" in Arabic, traditionally considered the most conservative of the Semitic languages, allows for odd plural patterns preserved in the much more orderly Hebrew. The root aleph-nun-"s", however, could extend much further back: the basic proto-Indo-European root for "man" is "H1ner", in which the "H1" represents one of the famous laryngeals, possibly a glottal stop, that is, an aleph. The speakers of Indo-European apparently treated "H1ner" as exclusively masculine, but struggled to make it fir into the later declensional patterns. In this case, at least, it seems that :"woman" really is called "woman" because she was created from "man"!

Frame and Fortune

On Wednesday night, I went to a talk at the Commonwealth Club. George Lakoff was promoting his newest book, The Little Blue Book, under the banner of a lecture about framing. Although I do vote as part of my civic duty, I prefer to keep my political views to myself and try to examine the world analytically, so my purchase of a copy of The Little Blue Book was more about getting an autograph of a man whose intellect I respect rather than any political allegiance, The fundamental argument of the book is that Democrats and Republicans use different frames. If two well-meaning people start with different premises, it is quite easy to talk past one another. It is alarming how facile human being can be at self-deception; yet the ability to imagine things as they might be rather than as they are is fundamental to the human capacity of planning and creativity. Here is the nub of the problem, as I see it (and as a fellow human being, I am as blind as anyone else who is reading this): human beings need frames and narratives to process the astonishing amount of information the world throws at us, but this coping mechanism is so ingrained that it is easy to forget it is a tool rather than the only possible representation of reality. The underlying assumptions are buried below layers of reasoning, and an amnesia to this truth leads even the best-intentioned to perceive those who oppose them as stupid or evil or both. Even worse, it blinds one to the assumptions of one's own argument. If you don't know why you believe what you believe, how can you figure out whether it is valid or how to argue pro and con? There's a reason, after all, that true debaters have to understand the opposition's argument as well as their own. Even where there are few facts, and the relevance of those facts are agreed upon, it is not possible for human beings to just look at facts rather than composing a narrative. Human beings are per se creatures of story, and the best we can do is examine how we construct the stories we tell from the world around us and the motivations which drive us.

Royaneh 2012

This year at Royaneh saw a lot of action up on Pioneer Hill. The new flush toilet had some starting difficulties – as unattractive as a kybo can be, it cannot be jammed up. The migration to Big Egypt has not ebbed. Speaking of Egypt, the international Scout this year, Sharif, was from Cairo, and many of the neat things in the Trading Post were Egyptian-themed. It's a testament to the power of Scouting that Mubarak, the former ruler of Egypt, banned Scouting in his country. Opening campfire was a bit rough, as it always is, and some of the first years became confused on Monday about which classes they were taking. Gladiators was restored to a semblance of its rodeo days glory, complete with a rodeo-style opening ceremony. Horsemanship was popular with the Scouts this year, as was Astronomy/SpaceEx merit badge. Scouting heritage appears to have joined the regular stable, rather than remaining a centenary phenomenon. A lot of merit badge classes at Royaneh are doubled, so that you can get two badges at once. It's great to have more badges for your sash, especially at a traditional Fourteener color guard, but part of me does wonder whether the doubling diminishes the information content of each badge.


There was a touch of the plague at camp, but it passed over Fourteen with one unfortunate exception. Other troops, however, were not so lucky – one lost nine kids, half its contingent. The good side effect of the reports of sickness was cooperation with the shower patrol for the dirty little first years. The troop skit was well-executed, thanks to preparation by one of the older Scouts. I missed the first closing campfire because I had whacked my shin, but I did have the pleasure of chasing away some miscreants from a different troop who (believe it or not) wanted to steal the 14 and transport it to the top of camp. Saturday, of course, contained a game of Capture the Flag and some very cold and wet, but poison oak-free Scouts. The Scout leading Sunday's Scout's Own is the descendant of a rabbi and it showed. I do not know where the parent who was scheduled to speak was during the Scout's Own, so I spoke instead.

Monday, of course, brought classes. Beck and I were the uniformed leadership for week 2. Fourteeners were more active during this week, and one of our own designed an Advanced Riflery class. All the first years did the Trail of the Thunderbird. I held my own in the Scoutmaster dance-off on Tuesday, but I did not win. On Wednesday, Gladiators both went long and had a snarled schedule. I'm sure that by next year the staff will have the format streamlined. The skit for the second week was the same as the first, but with a slightly different cast, although all the actors were once again first years. Friday night, of course, was the Troop Feed, which lasted into the wee hours of the morning. Those Scouts who had brought guitars, ukuleles, and other instruments entertained the group, but I didn't get to bed until 3 because I was out with the fire crew cooling the fire.

The Syntakkes Hole, or The Hollow Word

This is the last post on German for a while - the Hawaii adventure awaits. I am bringing my Hawaiian dictionary with me, so there will be linguistic content! But for now, more German. German is notorious among Anglophones for being a case language, the nearest modern one, and many fear it for that reason. If you look at the case system, however, it has a hollow core. In Indo-European languages, and perhaps other families, the core arguments have less case marking than the peripheral ones. A case system decays like a tree (in the case of Latin, like a eucalyptus on fire, once all five cases in feminine singular became -a), from the core outward. The plurals have already become arbitrary, with only a few rules of thumb and that strange little -n in the dative plural, and the only difference between the nominative and accusative is in the masculine (der vs den); all other nominatives and accusatives are the same for their genders and numbers (The pronouns have a similar problem, but that's another post, post-Maui). It's no wonder that the German have developed an obsession with word order! Yet even in languages that are far more meticulous about genders and noun classes and still preserve the nominative-accusative distinction, two participants of the same gender and number can still cause confusion. I was practicing my German composition by describing the plot of Mirror, Mirror (review coming soon), and ran into just such a problem describing the evil queen and Snow White (Schneewittchen, not Schneeweisschen - thanks to Bill Willingham, I know the difference).

The dative forms of German do not always aid in disambiguation. True to Indo-European form, the neuter article  dem shares the dative form of masculine, while the feminine dative singular definite article der shares a form with its masculine nominative counterpart. The plural dative definite article shares its form (den) with masculine singular accusative - perhaps this is why the dative -n hangs on. At least it's not a Russian genitive-accusative!

For now, German retains its cases, but the minute it loses its final -n's it's going to turn into Eastern Dutch!

Wandering Words

I've been thinking more about "separable prefixes," a truly bizarre phenomenon of German, Dutch, Afrikaans, and Hungarian (the last probably acquired the feature from German). The linguistics literati prefer the term "separable particle," which is more apt, since a prefix which wanders to the end of the clause would be a strange prefix indeed. This thing which is not a prefix could not be a clitic, either; a clitic could wander to the end of the clause, but a clitic must hang on some other word, and that is not required of the "separable prefix." Such confusion is not uncommon: the Greeks used the term "tmesis", "a cutting," to indicate a prefix which in certain cases could separate from the verb and go elsewhere in the line of poetry. In that case, however, the Greeks were looking backwards; since tmesis only occurs in forms of the language that tend towards archaism, the separation is actually a conjunction! English has adverbs and prepositions, but the use in a particular verbal phrase must be one or the other. Every grammar of a language is a snapshot, and therefore has features in transition; in the case of German, these features are the "separable prefixes" and a case system on the verge of collapse.

Philip K Dick Month: Ubik

For this month's meeting of the Science Fiction Book Club, namely Philip K Dick month, I have chosen Ubik, because 1) it is a Dick classic and 2) there is no movie of it. In Ubik, telepathy is commonplace and the privacy of the common man is threatened, so there has arisen a breed of men, called inertials, who can cancel the psionic talents of telepaths. The second feature of this future is half-life, a state of preservation in which the deceased (or, rather, the nearly-deceased) slowly fades away. The third thread of this novel is the ubiquitous "Ubik," a product of a thousand uses, which hardly ever seems to be used the same way twice. The plot follows Joe Chip, the ace but broke tester of Runciter's company, which supplies inertials to privacy-seekers, in a Dickian examination of reality, perception, and decay. Dick's telepathic dystopias seem to have less external freakishness than Bester's, and fewer circus geeks, but there is a greater emphasis on alternate realities and pharmaceutical abuse.

Earth Days

It was a busy weekend, but that's normal for Earth Day. Although our merry band pioneered (pun intentional) the Good Turn, its adoption by the District and Council is a mixed blessing. The powers that be decreed that the Good Turn should take place on the weekend of Earth Day, so we went down to Milagra Ridge between South San Francisco and Linda Mar to remove Scotch broom. There were fewer of us than I had hoped, but I assume the absent contributed to Earth Day elsewhere. Scotch broom has vivid yellow flowers and is much prettier than the bane of my early service project days, ice plant, but it grows quickly and the native animals and insects do not recognize Scotch broom as a suitable habitat. The natural enemy of Scotch broom, sheep (Scottish or otherwise), are not a good solution, since they would eat much more than the Scotch broom. I remember when I first saw Scotch broom in its native Caledonian habitat - it took a moment to remember that in these lands it was not a weed to be exterminated. The sheep, with their heavy wool coats and tendency to block the road, were a much greater threat to humanity.

The ridge was steep, although not forbiddingly so, and covered in both Scotch broom and poison oak. Certain members of our party, being more sensitive to poison oak, were not eager to charge into the thicket, much less rig a hammock and nap there. I'm not terribly sensitive to poison oak, so I was not greatly worried, but the GGNRA volunteers had magic outerwear called TYVEK suits. These suits reminded of hazmat suits without helmets, but they were made of paper, albeit a sturdy kind. The clearing took more energy than I had anticipated, but the results of our labor were satisfyingly visible.

After we had finished our share of weeding, we hiked to the cliff edge and ate lunch. We could see Linda Mar, the controversial golf course, and Pacifica in the distance. The tunnel through the hill below us was not yet open, but its presence prompted much conversation. Our return to the city ended a simple outing, but one that has inspired the attendees.

On Sunday, I went to church, where one of our own, rather than the absent pastor, preached the Word. Apparently I am more comfortable than she with Atonement theology, but the ability to disagree is a wonderful feature of my home church. The one thing that really bothered me, however, and this is not the fault of the church per se, since the words were Bob Marley's, was the reference to "the Daughter" in the communion hymn. I have no problem with emphasizing the maternal qualities of the Godhead - it serves as a reminder that God "the Father" is way of describing God's behavior so that our finite minds can grasp it - nor do I object to the nurturing, maternal qualities of Jesus, who, after all, compared himself to a mother hen, and the Holy Ghost always seems too abstract (for lack of a better term) to cause gender-bending chaos, but I cannot understand why anyone would describe Jesus as "Daughter." Provocation? Perhaps I am looking at this through a prescriptivist lens, when it is meant as a stimulation to discussion.

After church, I went downtown for a concert at Notre Dame des Victoires (I had forgotten about the plural article). I stopped at the church, but not to pray - I could not see the crowd thronging into the church for the concert. As it turned out, the concert was in the school auditorium, not the church proper. I had never been inside NDV before, and never before had I realized how cramped the facilities were for jocks (I was a bookish child and would have been fine).

Trials and Tribe-ulations

A while ago, I purchased a small book on the "pidgins" of Oceania - I put "pidgin" in quotes because the languages in question are actually creoles, but pidgins often develop into creoles and retain the former name. Creoles have a characteristically simple grammar, such that a small book could thoroughly describe them; some languages, such as Quechua, are not so learner-friendly. Since all the creoles, except one, are English-based and derive from a common ancestor, the booklet read more as a comparative grammar than a guidebook. The phonologies were blessedly simple, all basic five-vowel systems, although the pronunciation of /o/ and /e/ varied from language to language.

My fascination with these creoles is honest, but the history of exploitation and racism has poisoned any discussion of these languages. This poison is exacerbated by the linguistic ignorance of most people, who automatically equate simple grammar with simple minds. I have to roll words on my tongue to truly absorb the vocabulary, grammar, and phonaesthetics, but whenever I do this with these languages, I am afraid of charges of racism.

Sehen Sie den "N"?

German class last night! We studied the dative, and the bizarre dative plural -n. In general, German declension seems to be "tattered," filled with remnant consonants and half-declined adjectives which are driving my fellow students crazy. Dative is a hard concept for many English speakers, especially since den Mann is accusative masculine singular, but den Frauen is dative feminine plural. 'The young woman" is die junge Frau and "the young women" is die jungen Frauen, but "young women" is junge Frauen. And all adjectives in the dative have n - der jungen Frau, den jungen Frauen.

And then there are the pronouns! Sie and ihr (the Germans may use capitals, but you can't hear a capital letter) overlap a great deal, and ihnen only partially ameliorates this. In context, however, the meaning is usually clear.

Big Kitty, Rare Kitty

Down at the Commonwealth Club, I attended a lecture on mountain lions by Zara MacDonald, advocate for the Felidae Conservation Fund. The pictures, of course, were enthralling, but MacDonald highlighted the plight and rarity of felids. Large cats need large ranges, and many migration routes are blocked or hindered by highways or suburbs. The average size of California cats are about two-thirds the size of the average American cats, which may be reflection of the smaller territories, but could equally well reflect some genetic quirk of the local population. The Felidae project has activities for every age group - the one for kids is a game called PumaWild, where you play as a puma trying to survive.

http://www.felidaefund.org/
http://www.bapp.org/

Nos Spectaturi Te Salutamus

On a recent Monday, I found myself down at the Commonwealth Club for a talk, "The Ancient Roman World on Film" presented by the Humanities Forum. Dr. Gary Devore from Stanford was the speaker. He spoke about the way directors manipulated the image of cinematic Romans to present them as Us, Them, Both, and Neither. The Romans were Them in The Sign of the Cross (1932), a bland Victorian pseudo-historical piece spiced up and sexed up as only Cecil B. deMille could do. Kubrick's Spartacus (1960) presented a remarkably pro-Communist message for its day, while being aggressively pro-family. Allegiance to a cause and its leader spans the political spectrum. In Anthony Mann's The Fall of the Roman Empire, which Devore described as the "thinking man's epic" in contrast to Ridley Scott's Gladiator (2000), the Romans are both Us and Them, and serve as a warning to our era. Fellini's Satyricon (1969) absolutely rejects the possibility of identifying with the ancient Romans; Satyricon is a reaction to Fascist use of Roman symbols and the Mussolini-penned Roman epic Scipione l'Africano.

Empires and Images

On Thursday, I went with a Meetup group to the art galleries (small but numerous) at the 49 Geary, focusing on the 4th and 5th floors. The art was modern, which meant most of it did not move me, but two galleries caught my attention and my favor.

The Robert Koch Gallery was exhibiting an exhibit called "Photos of Fallen Empires," created by the Israeli photographer Shai Kremer. The Middle East has seen so many empires and kingdoms rise and fall that the detritus from their structures is abundant whenever the next empire did not reuse the materials. The juxtaposition of Iron Age ruins and Israeli military bases raises some questions about the permanency of the current State of Israel.

The other exhibit I liked was in the Gregory Lind Gallery. "Remainders" is an exhibit of Leigh Wells' work in collage. I had never considered that collage could be aggressively three-dimensional: the image of "collage" in my head has always been an image composed of two-dimensional paper. I asked Ms Wells if there were a theme to the exhibit; she said there was not, but that she had listened to the materials and shaped the displays accordingly. I found that interesting, since that is not the way my mind works. I feel the need to impose some degree of order on whatever academic materials I am examining.

I considered buying a copying of Fred Lyon's San Francisco Then, but decided I need to investigate further before buying.

Afterwards, the group went to Pomodoro Pizza, but I'll save those comments for YELP.

Movie Review: "Footnote"

On Wednesday I went to the Clay Theater and watched Footnote, the 2011 Cannes film from Israel by Joseph Cedar about the conflict between two Talmudic scholars, father and son. I assume that the Clay was airing it because it is Passover. The tension between the father and the son is vividly portrayed, and the score dramatizes the highly intellectual scenes. My favorite is a scene shows the elder scholar feverishly researching an insight critical to the plot. A flurry of images, like a mental montage, adds vibrancy to the scene and reflects the way the brain of many scholars function when they are high on research work. I had trouble empathizing with a father who found his son's accomplishments a slight to himself - I am more familiar with stage parents than the reverse. I did NOT like the abrupt ending - it seemed intellectually dishonest.

I plan to return to the Clay to watch The Lady, about Aung San Suu Kyi. I have read about the recent election in Burma and read Guy deLisle's The Burma Chronicles to better understand the conditions inside the country. If they show Monsieur Lazhar at the Clay, I will go there; otherwise, I shall have to find a theater that is showing it.

Gefunden

Another poem (this time German) for your edification and delight
Goethe

Gefunden

Ich ging im Walde
So für mich hin.
Und nichts zu suchen
Das war mein Sinn.

In Schatten sah ich
Ein Blümchen stehn
Wie Sterne leuchend
Wie Äuglein schön.

Ich wollt es brechen
Das sagt es fein
Soll ich zum Welken
Gebrochen sein?

Ich grub's mit allen
Ein Würzlein aus,
Zum Garten trug ich's
Am hübschen Haus.

Und pflanzt es wieder
Am stillen Ort
Nun zweigt es immer
Und blüht so fort.

A Germanic Fly In Amber

I've been taking a German course over in Berkeley, and my memories of the difficulties are coming back, even if I like the language more than Mark Twain. Cases and genders are like bread and butter for me, but the truly bizarre feature of German is the Separable Prefix, a grammatical abomination in a linguistic Limbo between adverbs and prepositions. The infinitive of the verb "to call (on the phone)" is "anrufen", but "I call the doctor" is "Ich rufe den Artzt an." This example is not so bad, but a sentence with the verb "aufpassen" produces the bizarre sentence "Passen sie auf den alten Hund auf?", "Are you taking care of the old dog?" in which the last "auf" refers to the "passen" at the beginning and the first "auf" governs "Hund" - at least there are no reflexives combined with it!

Le Printemps

Le Printemps

Charles d'Orléans

Le temps a laissé son manteau
De vent, de froidure et de pluie
Et s'est vêtu de broderie,
De soleil riant, clair et beau ...

Il n'y a bête ni oiseau
Qu'en son jargon ne chante ou crie.
Le temps a laissê son manteau
De vent, de froidure et de pluie.

Riviere, fontaine et ruisseau
Portent en livrée jolie
Gouttes d'argent d'orfèvrerie;
Chacun s'habille de nouveau.
Le temps a laissé son manteau.

Troop Fourteen:Rainy Day Hike

On Saturday, March 24, a small but intrepid band of Fourteeners braved the rain to attend a hike. The weather was bad and would get worse as the day passed. Since so few had dared the weather, the acting Senior Patrol Leader decided to change the hike from Mount Tamalpais to the Presidio; this way, the hike could serve as a test for the rain-worthiness of each Scout's equipment. Most of us ditched our lunches in cars at the beginning of the hike, but some hungry Scouts were unwilling to abandon food, even for a few hours. We walked down Lovers' Lane to the waterline. Then we headed to Fort Point, where the waves were crashing against the rocks. At first it seemed that the fort was closed, and none of us had planned to buy entrance tickets, but Bruce McKleroy spoke with the attendant . The fort opened ten minutes later and the group explored the fort. I had not visited Fort Point since sophomore year in high school, and had forgotten how Spartan the living conditions had been. The struts of the Golden Gate Bridge loomed overhead like a red metallic spiderweb. We left too early for my taste - I suppose I shall return soon on a better day when I can take proper pictures. The Senior Patrol Leader then led us up the hill and along the Ridge Trail past Camp Rob, where one of the first place patrols camped a year or so ago. The Presidio is within the Scout district, so permits are much easier to obtain than for trips beyond (which, sadly, includes Pacifica, which has some nice trails). If anyone plans to camp there, prepare for wind, but even a night at Camp Rob would count as a night for Camping Merit Badge. Bruce McKleroy explained that only the military had access to the area of the Ridge Trail when the military controlled the Presidio. Now it is a pleasant hike, even though the yellow mud along it was extremely slippery. We passed Julius Kahn Playground, a locus for stories of childhood injuries, and returned to Broadway and Lyon before noon. The total distance covered was 6.7 miles, not too challenging for a patrol outing and a breeze for the Troop.

Review: The Hunger Games

Note (2/24/22): This has been edited to remove an offensive term. Saying what it was would negate the effect of the edit, and seeking to know what it was would prove the seeker more interested in finding offense than reading the remaining content.

Circumstances, related to the rainy conditions of Saturday's Scout hike resulted my double viewing of the film version of The Hunger Games. I do not regret watching it twice, since the Venn diagram of friends and acquaintances with whom I saw it did not overlap. The Hunger Games is a well-made film, and I would watch it again, although I probably would not buy the DVD. The transition from novel to film always entails simplification and externalization of details which books can present in an introspective manner. Although the Treaty of the Treason, in which the Capital set forth the terms of the Hunger Games, appears prominently in the film (an instance of cinematographic externalization), there is no mention of the "reward" that the winner of the Hunger Games earned for his or her District. In the book, the winning District receives extra rations to stave off malnutrition and starvation. Its omission makes the Capital's abuse of the districts more offensive, but also eliminates an obvious motivation for the Districts' complicity in this appalling ritual. The book uses third-person limited narration, and thus ignores the omnipresent cameras necessary for the viewing pleasure of the citizens of the Capital; the film never lets you forget about the cameras, in an attempt to condemn the audience in the theater as well as the Capital. It is a valiant attempt, but the freakish appearance of the Capital citizens, who look like the world's most fashion-challenged parade, compared to the normal (if rustic) dress of the residents of the Districts, creates to much visual dissonance to succeed. The depiction of the reaction of District 11 to a key moment in the movie seems heavy-handed; Rue, the female tribute from District 11, is described merely as dark-skinned in The Hunger Games, but her District is shown as the "black" district with one token white guy. Then the Peacekeepers (who are as ominous as the name suggests) bring out the water cannons. The racism in the world of the Hunger Games is an oblivious racism against all Districts, rather than one predicated on contemporary American racial fears.

Romney's Run 2: Religious Rhetoric Run Rampant

As I was browsing the news this week, I noticed an Pew article that claimed Americans think there has been too much talk of religion in this election cycle. The sources for the article seem to have a rather limited view of the term "American," since it talks almost exclusively about supporters of Romney or Santorum. In short, Romney's supporters think that there has been too much rhetoric about religion, whle Santorum's supporters think that there has been too little. The difference between the two, it seems to me, is how far the individual supporter conflates religion and political ideology. Romney's membmership in the LDS is a stumbling block for many evangelical voters, but Romney's heretical tendencies (in the eyes of evangelicals) does not change the fact that the LDS is a powerful, monied, and socially conservative organization which evangelicals would otherwise love.

Even if Romney's views about the nature of the world are heterodox, Santorum's religious affiliations are also problematic. Perhaps Santorum does not feel quite as vehemently about non-Christians as the pastor with whom he recently associated. If, however, Santorum still desires the evangelical vote, a pastor who would rather expel those live in darkness than lead them to the light of Christ might not be the best companion in adversity. This is not a left-right matter: Obama, when he gets around to campaigning, should not associate himself with Louis Farrakhan. The subtext of this pastor's comments is racism, and there are plenty of non-white Evangelicals in the US who might be deterred from voting Republican a

The Illustrated Man

To call Bradbury a science fiction author is insufficient; it conveys an impression of fascination for technology which he lacks. Bradbury's prose contains a bucolic note, a nostalgia for a rural world long lost, one never known to the science fiction readers playing stick ball on the streets of New York. In this corpus, Mars is not so much a physical place as it is a metaphysical Faerie, and the fear, hatred, and misunderstanding of women by his male protagonists a reflection of an old-fashioned but stunted model of masculinity. The science takes a back seat to verbal magic.

The first story in The Illustrated Man, "The Veldt," is an effective evocation of the savagery in the infantile breast. "Kaleidoscope" suffers from the impotency of the characters (I hesitate to call them protagonists, since they do not and cannot effect any change.) "The Other Front" has some rhetorical power, but suffers from the attenuation of historical change - in this case, the elimination of Jim Crow. Perhaps this story would resonate more strongly for contemporary minorities. "The Highway" displays a nice prose style, but depends too much on the context of the era in which Bradbury wrote it. "The Man" displays the pros and cons of any mid-20th century story involving religion (always Midwest Christian, of course). The idea of the cosmic Christ is intriguing, but all writers who attempt it are too coy for the original audience and too obscure for the current audience. "The Long Rain," set on a Venus which serves as a complement to Bradburian Mars, is a depressing, if compelling, narrative, whose characters slowly decline in the fashion of military stories. "The Rocket Man" illustrates Bradbury's theme of emotional alienation, but may contain the truth of a sea widow's life. "The Last Night of the World" is a mood piece. "The Exiles" features a literal literary Mars. It shows Bradbury's use of Mars as The Other Place, an Aristotelian rather than Platonic externalization of censorship fears. "No Particular Night Or Morning" is the most extreme example of the theme of alienation - the protagonist cannot create emotional attachment to his past self or even what he has made. This ends as well as one might expect. "The Fox and the Forest" is a solid but not extraordinary fugitives-in-time tale, and does not cater to Bradbury's main strengths.

"The Visitor," once again set on Mars, this time a futuristic leper colony, shows the destructive impulse of forsaken men. The gynophobia of many of Bradbury's characters appears clearly here when the William's unusual talent becomes an analog for both food and sex and Williams himself is called "a wife," which means (in in-universe terms) he must be dominated and cannot be shared. "The Concrete Mixer" features an atypical Martian invasion, but I have yet to understand the theme. "Marionettes, Inc." is a fine horror story - I believe it was adapted for The Twilight Zone. "The City" is an effective Cold War-era horror story about revenge and death. The distance, however, is out of proportion to the theme, and might encourage the impression that science fiction writers have no sense of scale.

"Zero Hour" is a tale of children's sight where adults are blind. It is a warm and fuzzy tale with a cold underbelly. "The Rocket" is a bittersweet story of a father's love for his family and the sacrifice of his greatest dream. The last story in the collection, "The Illustrated Man," did not engage me - it is a rather weak framing device for stories that are considerably better and more effective.