Wherezone.

I miss being at home in a culture. Using English with other native speakers is what I might miss most. For nuance and verve, English wins. We took a Germanic language and then enfolded it with Norman French and a bunch of Latin and ever since we keep building out. Our words, our expansive idioms, are expressive and creative and precise, like our music and our subcultures and our street style, our passion for violence, stupidity, and freedom.

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How much of fishing was fishing and how much was something else, a way to empty the mind, to stop time. 

--Creation Lake, Rachel Kushner

Just a couple more snippets from Creation Lake. I'm loving this story, it's offbeat narrative and it's offbeat protagonist, the quietly astute passing observations, the gathering of disparate storylines that finally merge to a whole. A creation, so to speak. 

And speaking of creations--how about Trump's creation of a war zone in Portland, Oregon out of thin air. The city is in flames, it seems, destruction as far as the eye can see ... and yet no eye has seen it. As far as I have read in the news or watched on TV or heard from old friends on site, no plumes of smoke or fiery flames or mobs of lunatic leftists or vicious Antifa armies have been sighted, although it has been said that there is a handful of young protesters hanging around outside the ICE facility, chanting and holding signs and such like. Falls a bit short of apocalypse.

I've been enjoying reading the daily jokes and sarcastic videos posted by Portlanders on Facebook about this invisible warzone. And it has given me a chance to show some nice pictures of Portland to my girlfriend, who of course has never been there. Looks like heaven to her, by the way. 

But to borrow a word from a well-known figure, it's all just a hoax, isn't it. Yes, it's an excuse for yet another round of political theatrics, and rather sinister ones at that. Something's happening here. What it is is exactly clear. There's a man with a crown over there. Telling us we've got to beware. 

So be careful out there, old friends. Stay low and move fast. Keep your heads down and your peaceful hopes high. And while you're at it, welcome the stranger, which in this case is us. 

If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him a drink. For by doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head. 

--Romans 12:20

Creation Lake

But here is how the state does things: They have a deer population that's getting out of control, so what do they do? They bring in lynx. When farmers get upset about the lynx, the government reintroduces wolves. The wolves kill livestock, so the state makes it legal to shoot them. Hunting accidents increase, so they build a new clinic, whose medical staff creates a housing shortage, necessitating new developments. The expanding population attracts rodents, and so they introduce snakes. And so far, no one knows what to do about the snakes.

--Creation Lake, Rachel Kushner

I've started excellent novel recently. Wow, two winners in a row. I'm on a roll. 

Creation Lake, the story of "a 34-year-old American undercover agent of ruthless tactics and bold opinions" (as the book cover blurb has it) was shortlisted for the Booker prize in 2024. It is offbeat, intelligent, quietly witty, extremely well written, and most of all not what it seems to be on its face. Just my cup of tea.

A Hell of a Good Read

There's a million things to keep a soul from writing, all in the service of making you better at it. Remember that, Alice law. Hell is a writers' market. 

--Katabasis, R.F. Kuang

Well, I've finished Kuang's journey through Hell, and sadly all too quickly, for I enjoyed every page and looked forward to reading the next. But oh well, I can always return to it again in the future, if I live long enough, and if my eyesight holds out, which is something I've said about many novels which wait on the bookshelf for my return.

As I mentioned in an earlier post (I think), this novel is not for everyone, and certainly not for the casual reader; but for one who is familiar with the old classics, Dante, Homer, Milton, Plato et al, it is a sheer delight. 

Kuang gets a bit lost during the last quarter of the book in the mazes of hell (in my opinion anyway), but she finds her way again in the end, through the seven courts of hell, and wraps things up nicely, tying up the ends of an old tale, in her own new way, of love, sacrifice, redemption, and rebirth.

The Beast

A beast gnaws at me at all hours of the day, but you can't see it. I feel so weak and scattered my mind won't work...

--,Katabasis, R.F. Kuang

In this passage from Katabasis, the author describes the sufferings of a man inflicted with Crohn's disease, which, like MS, is an incurable autoimmune disorder. But the characterization in general may as well refer to all such disorders. It certainly strikes a note in me, for I am suffering these days from a very active phase of MS which is coinciding with and working alongside a problem with herniated discs in my back and neck, exacerbating the problem and exaggerating the pain. Not only does it influence the pain in my shoulder, neck and back, but then modulates to neuropathic symptoms in my legs. This begins with a feeling of numbness in my feet, which then begins to rise up through my ankles and calves in the form of an intense aching stiffness. This in turn makes me want to continually move, to get up and walk around in circles, to stamp my feet on the floor. If I sit down or lie down it will soon feel as if I want to crawl right out of my own skin. I guess this is similar to the RLS I used to often experience, or is a variant form of RLS. There have also been many times when I wake from sleep with a feeling of intense heat in my legs, as if my skin is actually on fire. Pregabalin helps with this, but I have been taking 300 mg a day, separated in three doses, and that feels like a bit much over the long term. So next week I hope to see the doctor and perhaps we can find out what other interventions might help. Until then, thank you, R.F. Kuang, for your sympathetic description.

Over the River and Through the Trees

I had another interesting dream a couple nights ago. In this dream I wanted to cross over a body of water to the other side, wherein, as was my impression, there would be some kind of transcendence, a sort of promised land. One had to wade across this water, which was not very deep, just about waist deep. 

So I started out and got about halfway when the water around me begin to churn and push against my progress, and it was filled with some kind of thick sludge, like wading through a sewer. I could see the clear, refreshing water before me and all I wanted was to press on and reach that pure water and bathe myself and drink of the water. 

But of course I woke before I got across. 

There is something that we must struggle through. There is a barrier. But there is deliverance on the other side.

Heaven

Last night, I had a dream where I came upon a place in the beloved forests of my youth. There was a king size bed in this place, all made up with white sheets and blanket, just lying open in nature, and around the top of the headboard were sprigs of holly. I laid down on the bed and my God how comfortable it was! There was to be a gathering, I understood, down by the lakeside. My son showed up then and we walked together to the lakeside where we joined a group of people singing praise songs. We knew the songs by heart and we sang along with ardor.

I woke, considered this dream for a bit, and then slept again and dreamed this time of discussing the dream with one of my wives. Louise, I think. 

It was impossible, we said. Quite impossible. Just think of what would become of that bed in the open, without walls, without a roof, when the rain came and the snow and the winds. Surely it would go all soggy and gradually disappear into the forest floor. And how would one live in that place anyway during the winter? It was quite unreasonable, wasn't it? 

Faith and disbelief. Life and death, and death and life. 

The assurance of things hoped for. The conviction of things not seen. 

The conviction that there is no such thing as things not seen.

Pascal's Wager:

• if you believe in God and God exists, you gain eternal bliss. 

• if you don't believe in God and God exists, you risk eternal torment. 

• if you believe in God and God does not exist, you may suffer some finite disadvantages in this life.

• if you don't believe in God and God does 

not exist, you may gain some finite pleasures in this life.

Store up your treasures in heaven, where moth and vermin do not destroy.

Advice to Extraterrestrials

If these ETIs really do exist, most of us would have to admit that they have terrible timing. Humanity is fractured, bellicose, paranoid. It's the cosmological equivalent of having a guest come to the door when you're in the middle of a knockdown, drag out fight with your spouse, there are lines of coke on the coffee table, and your pants are down around your ankles. It isn't the failure to communicate that fascinates me: it's the implication that these ETIs appear to have no interest in communication at all. And we humans, vain, egotistical creatures that we are, can't help but take that a little personally.

--Axiom's End, Lindsay Ellis

Indeed, if you are listening, extraterrestrials, I would advise at the very least that you avoud visiting the United States any time soon.