Review of "Planet of Adventure" by Jack Vance

Of the people who pick up a book by Jack Vance, there are only two possible outcomes: those who melt over every word he writes with twinkles in their eyes, and those who bear furled brows for a time before giving up.  I don’t know what to say about the latter – different strokes for different folks – but for me, Vance is sci-fi sundae with chocolate swirls.  Pure genius.  The number of layers his stories operate on, from humor to social commentary, pure imagination to pure adventure, are enough to keep me coming back for more and more.  Planet of Adventure, or as Vance preferred the series be called The Tchai, is no exception.

The book, which is actually a compendium of four short novels, City of the Chasch, Servants of the Wankh, The Dirdir, and The Pnume, has everything that makes a story Vancean, Vancean.   Where each novel ends makes no real difference as the overall story of the marooned spaceman Adam Reith and his plight to find transportation back to Earth reads smoothly from cover to cover.  (In other words, none of the four books stand alone.)  As the title indicates, the adventures Reaith has and colorful situations he finds himself in along the way are numerous.  Told as only Vance can, surprises lurk around every corner of the plot, colorful descriptions light up the settings, witty dialogue follows with the introduction of every new character, and always there is that archaic/satirical/erudite/how-else-do-you-want-to-call-it/wild and crazy sense of humor that can only be Jack Vance.  Not Shakespearean, he is nonetheless a master of the English language, and Planet of Adventure finds him in peak form.  Certainly some will disagree, but for me, this book is second only to the Tales of the Dying Earth compendium.    But when you’re comparing Bavarian Black Forest cake and apple pie with ice cream, everyone is a winner.

That being said, I know Vance does not write perfect literature.  But honestly, I have nothing negative to say about the book.  It is space adventure as it should be written, so know what you’re getting into.  If you’re a Vance fan but have not read this, what are you waiting for?!?!  If you’ve heard good things about Vance and you want to give him a try, there is no better place to start than this, though the Cadwal Chronicles, The Demon Princes, Alastor, Lyonesse trilogy, Tales of the Dying Earth, Big Planet, Emphyrio, so on and so on, are also good places.  If you tried to read Vance, but just didn’t get it, then you should probably give up on this before you even start because nothing could be more vintage Vance than Planet of Adventure.

Review of "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay" by Michael Chabon

If superheroes were human, they would be…  Kavalier and Clay, so don’t let the title mislead you.  Michael Chabon’s Pulitzer Prize winning The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay: A Novel really tells the story of two young Jewish men who join the comic book movement in New York at the outbreak of World War II, exiting the stage some years later after world events have shaped their versions of the American Dream with indifference.  At times digressive and the language more than often gaudy, the sentences nonetheless roll off the page in grand style telling of the heartbreak and joys of the pair.  But if embellishment seems a forte of Chabon, then his natural writing voice and powers of simile are inspired by God – or is it, Jehovah.  

Not necessarily a novel in simplistic terms (there is no natural build-up resolved in a climax), Kavalier and Clay is instead a study/history of what life was like for contemporary Jews living in New York in the middle of the 20^th century.  The story begins in Prague with the exploits of the budding escape artist Joe Kavalier and his attempts at following in the footsteps of his idol, Harry Houdini, across the Big Pond.  While never wholly giving up the art, he finds other talents and better directs toward the comic book artistry after meeting up with his cousin, Sammy Klayman, in New York City.  At once a character study of a homosexual coming to terms with himself, Sammy is also a look at the struggles and triumphs of a writer of comic book pulp and his hopes for greater literary glory.  The two never achieve the world-saving, hero-of-the-day aspirations that play out in the comics they produce, but the adventures—real life adventures—which happen to them along the way are sometimes humorous, sometimes sad, and always sympathetic.  They are what make the book worthy of the praise it has received.

The novel does, however, have a few negative points that are very worth mentioning.  One of the main focuses of the book is unabashedly Judaism.  And while it’s always cultural and never religious, there are a couple moments Chabon takes the idea a bit too far, punctuating the unwritten bias with lines like “enters the grit, filth, and foul atmosphere, ripe with the stench of immigrants, Negroes and mongrels, of Empire City” (p.330).  Though Chabon also sometimes takes the piss out of Jews, this and other potentially subtle digs at ethnic groups are unbecoming.  Another glaring aspect of the novel is the info dumps.  While I don’t mind being educated while reading, it’s another thing for a narrator to change their tone in the middle of the story to directly address the audience, the hard science of space travel in the middle of Star Wars, for example.  Chabon’s relation of the history of the comic book at times just didn’t fit and would have been better more subtly worked into dialogue or narrative. 

The last major issue I have with the novel is the language.  At times astonishingly brilliant, there are other moments when it seems a little over the top, the adjective strings lengthy and nearly unreadable, seeming to go on and on forever, without an end in sight, the writing coming and coming, overwhelming the reader, forcing them to recognize that he has Midas’s touch with phrasing and syntax, beautiful sentences rolling from the tip of his pen, birds singing beneath golden rainbows - are you paying attention literary award voters - and so on.  To Chabon's credit, however, the book remains highly readable; characterization, characterization, characterization the mountain on which the book stands tall.

If you are a fan of Jewish literature, New York in the 40’s, escape artistry, sensitive and empathetic characters, or the early comic books, then Kavalier and Clay may be for you.  If you like your literary fiction with a touch of the surreal (there are more than a few moments which utilize coincidence and sheer caprice to the point the novel points toward magic realism), the this book may be for you. However, if you dislike historical novels without a lot of tension—nothing obvious to pull you along—or purple writing, then certainly steer clear; the book is a calm field of violets telling the life story of two ordinary men who want to be more. It goes without saying that if you are a fan of Chabon's other books, this will not disappoint.

Stepping Stones – The Ideas Bridging the Malazan Book of the Fallen

(Be warned: this essay assumes you have read The Malazan Book of the Fallen.  Look here for my review.)

Steven Erikson, in writing upon the general aims of his massive Malazan Book of the Fallen, states that the “novels seek to portray a history in an entertaining style” of whose ”underlying themes concern the life cycles of cultures and civilizations (including those of nonhumans) against the backdrop of environmental degradation.”  As is obvious from the ten books which comprise the series, this depth exists.  The incredible variety of homages, themes, satire, humor, action, and social commentaries which develop and propel the work is more than worthy of detailed examination.  More than just world building, character development, and plot, it is my intention by writing this article to survey the major concepts and schemes underlying the multiple storylines and overall story arc, all with the hope of indicating how Malazan stands alone in the context of modern fantasy and literature.  Furthermore, by examining these stepping stones which take the reader from one side of the story to the other, it is my hope to further clarify what makes reading the series worthwhile and valuable to modern literature.

On the surface Malazan appears to be nothing more than a mix of action, comedy, romance, tragedy, and the supernatural.  However, at a deeper level, more complex and poignant ideas take form, no better place to start than the title. The series called The Malazan Book of the Fallen, Erikson got the idea from Napoleon and his idea to create such a book to honor all who died fighting for his cause, thus ensuring history did not forget their names or deeds.  With this in mind, one of Erikson’s goals in the series—if not the main goal—is to bring to the forefront the lives of ordinary soldiers and the sacrifices they make towards achieving the larger objectives of their group.  Ironically like the infamy/fame Napoleon maintains in the west, much of modern fantasy tells the story of the hero – the undefeatable warrior championing justice.  Malazan instead tells of those around him, the little guys and the invaluable nature of their contribution to the final result.  Wizards, warriors, and gods do play their part, but ever the focus returns to the plight of the soldier.  Thus, the lists of dramatis personae which appear at the forefront of every volume therefore act not only as an introduction to the players on stage, but also as an honorarium to those who will fall, their story to follow.  More than the anti-hero, it is the common man—the quiet hero—which takes center stage in Malazan.

Like the proverbial nuclear cockroach, another aspect of humanity which Erikson foregrounds throughout the series is its resilience.   Despite that most often mankind is its own worst enemy, the gods, nature and the other forces which try to exterminate the human race never prove successful.  Yes, the bodies are often piled high, but the hardiness of humanity, its instinct to survive, and its willingness to sacrifice itself for the greater good always fights its way to the surface, no matter the damage done.  Even when facing apocalyptic events—the convergence in The Crippled God—humanity, channeled through innumerable sacrifices, survives.  Characters like Stormy, Gesler, Gruntle, Beak, and a continuing list, all give their lives for the common good.  Though not morally pure, we are led to believe by Erikson that at the core of these and other characters is the undying belief in the worth of  mankind, no matter the atrocities the group delivers upon itself.  The majority may participate in internecine destruction, but there remains a group with a broader view to the value of humanity.  To this effect, Erikson is quoted as saying:

“sometimes my series feels like a ten thousand page requiem for our species, or a long, drawn-out howl verging on utter despair; as I search in desperation for moral gestures of humanity, no matter how small, no matter how momentary, in the midst of self-inflicted carnage”

Switching gears from the spirit of humanity to its connection with reailty, Erikson is not shy in using basic earth elements as symbolism throughout Malazan.  Hearkening back to a pre-industrial age, fire (the dragons), water (the stormriders, Mael), ice (the Jaghut), wood (the Azath), stone/dust (the Imass), air (the Moranth, Crone and the crows), cosmos (K’Chain Malle, Forkrul Assail), and spirits (demons, the undead) all exist and intermingle to form integral parts of the Malazan world.  Not a pathetic homage to Chinese culture or classic Greek physics, this mix of elements is more a bridge between the metaphysical unknown and the more visceral concept of life and death.  By using these elements as such, the Malazan world ensconces itself in common knowledge while at the same time the forging ahead into uncharted imaginary territory.  The resulting uniqueness validates the world as a literary creation.

Like the foundational elements, light, dark, and shadow are also continually present in Malazan.  Like Genesis, in the beginning there was darkness, the Tiste Andii being the oldest of the three non-human races.  (That Anomander Rake sacrifices himself in Toll the Hounds to prevent chaos from seeping back into the world is significant in indicating the base quality of darkness in Malazan.)  Then came light, the Tiste Liosan.  But it is not an omnipotent force.  Its time must be shared with darkness.  Translated to narrative terms, like the sun’s inability to permanently drive away the dark, so too does the Liosan’s attempt to infiltrate and take over the world in The Cripple God, fail.  Further symbolism not lost in this takeover attempt is the gender differences; while the Andii continually refer to Mother Dark, the Liosan refer to Father Light.  The qualities that go with the genders further indicate the role each play; light is prone to strength and violence while dark is a more subtle, receptive entity.  One burns in light and rests in dark.  That the Tiste Edur are a product of the two turns the allusion not to gray, but to shadow.  This is significant in that while gray can be a blanketing, smothering force, shadows allow light and dark their place alongside each other, i.e. one does not exist without the other for all of their dynamism. 

Accordingly, of the three species the Tiste Edur are most human, and though Erikson never directly states the fact, it can be assumed that the humans are an evolutionary offspring of the Edur.  Supporting this idea are Shadowthrone and Cotillion’s occupation of the throne of shadow, the lengthy but mortal life spans of the Edur (the Liosan and Andii are immortal), the nature of the wars occurring in Midnight Tides (the Edur are the first of the elder races to do battle with humans), and the more active, sympathetic role the Edur play in human affairs (the Andii and Liosan live apart, while the Edur live among humanity).  Moreover, it is much easier for the reader to relate to the human qualities of Trull Sengar and his brothers than those of the distant Anomander Rake or any of the Tiste Liosan.  That the Tiste Edur as well display the burning, flashing qualities of light, while at the same time the peaceful, introverted qualities of dark, speaks to their connection to humanity.  Both flit through time in Malazan like Plato and Socrates’ shadows on a wall. 

Earth elements and the interplay of light and dark are not the only fundamental aspects of life playing a hand.  Alongside humanity and the human-enough species, animals are likewise fully represented in Malazan.  Soletaken and D’ivers indicating a fuller connection between humans and animals, the purity of the animal idea receives further attention with its inclusion in the pantheon of gods (Fener the Boar of War, Trake the Tiger of War, the Wolves of War, and D’rek the Worm of Autumn).  Some from our world, some from his imagination, Erikson also populates Malazan with an incredibly diverse range of creatures.  Horses naturally being most common, cows, wolves, bhederin, rhizan, and a plethora of other species also intermingle with humans and the human-like.  Thus, not only does humanity and the environment receive full representation, likewise do other forms of life. 

The pantheon of gods in Malazan is a brilliant agglomeration of modern man’s beliefs.  If one attempts a one-to-one comparison with the Greek pantheon, something is left wanting, however.  And the same falls true for the Hindu, the Norse, and any other traditional system of belief or mythology known to us today.  Correlations can be made, but none are direct.  On the surface Mael may seem Neptune, but his continual taking sides with the moral good fails comparison.  Moreover, if one compares Errant to Loki of Norse fame or coyote from Western Native American beliefs, again, parallels do not run at every turn; Errant is more egotistic and diabolic in his actions.  In the end, it can be clearly stated that religious beliefs prior to the monotheistic practices of the west were intended to play strong roles in Malazan.  That Erikson makes them a combination of known concepts and products of his own imagination again lends credence to the uniqueness and scope of Malazan.

The spinning coin a motif that was perhaps more overt than Erikson would have liked it, Gardens of the Moon nonetheless makes it known from the very beginning that no matter how well laid plans can be, chance all too often is the final determiner in the outcome of a situation.  Highlighting this is the presence of three main forces playing with fate: the twins (Oponn) and the Errant.  Pushing, pulling, spinning, and the other agitators of stability continually surface to wreck havoc amongst the characters of Malazan and their intentions.  One of the best examples is at the end of Midnight Tides.  After defeating but not killing Rhulad, Brys Benedict seems to have done the world a favor by eliminating a malevolent force from the playing field.  However, when the undead Guardian steps in, and, believing he’s doing the right thing kills Rhulad, the idea that even the best of intentions can have disastrous effects rises vividly to the reader’s awareness when Rhulad comes back to life and rules Letheri in more than brutal fashion.  Karsa Orlong also, by denying the crippled god, thus acts in his favor.  And there are numerous other examples of the role chance and fate play in character’s lives, enough that it is obvious life in Malazan can never be predicted.  Or in other words, prophesies are not to be fulfilled by the supernatural or divine, only by chance.  (This idea flies in the face of much of modern fantasy, but must be unpacked separately.)

Less noticeable than the previous points, another stepping stone taking the reader through the narrative of Malazan is the nature of questing.  Wholly unlike the simple manner in which Abercrombie attempts to subvert the standard fantasy quest, Erikson’s method is more subtle.  Rather than sending his characters on a lengthy journey only for them to find nothing at the end, Erikson instead distracts his characters from their objective during the journey.  Best exemplifying this point is Karsa Orlong.  On how many occasions does he try to return to his people to lead them to glory only to be sidetracked with matters that seem more important in the moment?  Is this not a closer parallel to humanity in reality than the following of a long and arduous route only for the last step to be missing?  Not rebellion for the sake of rebellion (which in turn admits cliché its value), Erikson’s motif of distraction from a goal is a more realistic manner in which to subvert the traditional fantasy quest, and it appears time and again in the storyline. 

Though ambivalent and mysterious throughout the beginning of the series, the purpose of Icarium and his relationship with Mappo becomes increasingly clear with each book.  Always hinted at being the most powerful of fighters, The Bonehunters is only a peek at what Icarium can do when he is unleashed.  The word “unleashed” has been chosen with care here as it precisely describes the danger of Icarium.  Lying dormant most of the time thanks to the tireless efforts of Mappo and his predecessors, there is ultimately nothing which can prevent Icarium from exploding and causing apocalyptic destruction.  Like war, it is only a matter of time.  Mappo and other kind, peace loving people may tirelessly strive to stop clashes and battles, but as history has proven, conflict is inevitable and Icarium lies at the heart.  Or, from the other side, the tragedy of Mappo’s death can just as easily be found in every peace march ever held against war; the effort only prolongs the inevitable rather than preventing it.  Some may say this viewpoint is pessimistic or nihilistic, Erikson would probably say realistic and provable.  From big to small, the wars and lack thereof in Malazan parallel our own.

Not left hanging in the wind, combating the sobering truth that war is inevitable is Erikson’s response: bear witness to life.  Forces at play beyond individual control, every moment we are alive should be cherished, and in order to do so, one must be aware, to pay attention to the beauty and ugliness around them and to truly appreciate the relationships which have value.  The brutality of Karsa Orlong may not be the easiest aspect of his character to relate to, however, understanding his ability to savor the moment is something we can.  Rather than chopping off heads or igniting Moranth munitions, it is the little tricks and games, the nuances of character, and idiosyncrasies of the Malazan soldiers in everyday life which bind them together as a group and allow them to bear the regular string of tragedies they experience.  In parallel with Camus’s The Myth of Sisyphus, to stick your middle finger up at the realities of life—to participate in spite of the obvious—is the theme blanketing all of the realities so viscerally displayed in Malazan. 

The entire opening section of House of Chains devoted to him, it would be an understatement to consider Karsa Orlong a minor character.  Modeled after Robert E. Howard’s idea of a barbaric man attempting to tear down civilization, Eriskon describes Karsa’s development as follows:

“In the fourth novel in my series I introduced, rather brutally, a character emerging from an isolated tribal culture, who finds himself first a slave, then an escaped slave, within the far larger world of civilization of which he previously knew nothing.  He ultimately concludes, after numerous travails, that civilization is an abomination, and so he vows to destroy it.”

But Erikson has additional books planned to finish the storyline of the character for which The Crippled God does not conclude, and so for the time being I will leave the idea of anti-civilization as a theme in progress and move on to other topics of Malazan.

Cultural enmity is another force strongly at work in the series.  The Imass hate the Jaghut, the Letherii the Red Awls, the Edur the Andii, and so one.   It seems every group has another to direct their animosity toward.  What could be more realistic than the real state of world affairs?  Every country and culture has its enemy bearing itself out in the evening news.  Where Erikson takes this concept a step further is to offer the reader both sides of the story rather than the singular mouth of the television.  “Multiple points-of-view are for me a way of ensuring that no single world view, philosophy, or attitude dominates the story.”  As a result, the reader experiences empathy for all of the groups and characters involved in a given conflict, with the chance that afterwards, they too may take a broader view of their own culture’s political and cultural stance.  As the Edur learn, often the enmity’s inspiration is founded on lies and twisted truths.  Likewise, as the Letherii learn, cultural dominance by economic means is no less hurtful to those being conquered.  This encouragement to examine our own views, our culture’s views, and our opposition’s views is one of the most respectable aspects of Malazan.

One of the benefits of writing roughly 10,000 pages of story is that time can be handled in a much more detailed fashion than the average novel.   Taking full advantage, Erikson uses the opportunity to piece by piece, scrap of history here, tale there, to tell the pertinent details of what has brought the main groups of Malazan to the their current state.  The history of the Imass-Jaghut wars, for example, are told from many points of view—from those involved to the gods still living—so that the reader is aware of the events which have brought the Imass to regret their immortality and the Jaghut to be in hiding.  Thus, throughout the historical description of the hostility and hatred which exists amongst the various Malazan groups, an even broader cultural development can be seen: the evolution of societies.  This, like the previous point, draws out the similarities between groups rather than the differences.

And there are numerous other ideas at work in the series.  The role humor plays is strong throughout.  Compassion is an idea often stated—almost directly to the reader in the text—as being vital to any understanding of the series.  The role technology plays juxtaposed against the supernatural.  The importance of history to the present and the ability of knowledge to change attitudes and worldviews.  The inevitability of death and the importance of understanding our lives in its context.  And I could go on.  Suffice to say, a writer has the possibility to accomplish a great deal in the literary context when setting out to write a ten book series.  It would seem Erikson has maximized this potential by cramming it full of the basic philosophies in life he holds dear alongside concepts of culture and history which have prove themselves true when measured over long periods of time.  Thus it is my hope that by surveying some of these ideas—the stepping stones as they were—that the reader can have a better idea of the sheer magnitude of the scope and depth of Malazan.  It will be a long time before anything of similar literary weight and caliber is written again.

A Slow Exhale: The Consistency of Malazan Book of the Fallen

(Be warned: this essay assumes you have read The Malazan Book of the Fallen.  Look here for my review.)

Dynamism is a fundamental aspect of individuals.  With time, people’s characters, habits, and skills develop, evolve, and revert.  A philosophy a person holds dear one year may be sacrificed at an altar the next, the same as one quickly forgets their French living apart from the language for too long.  Human nature so plastic, it is no wonder we admire those who are able to hold to the same doctrine or practice the same skilled techniques with grace over the years.  Brave enough to put their beliefs on paper, uncompromising writers would seem especially deserving of esteem.  One does not have to love Dostoevsky to respect the continuity and quality of his literature.  Most writers are not as consistent over a ten year period, let alone a lifetime. 

The importance of consistency in writing never seems so pertinent as when considering modern fantasy.  When choosing to write series that run three, occasionally five, and sometimes even seven books or longer, an unspoken burden is placed on the author to make the story as uniform as possible despite the years lived and life experiences during.  Decades are sometimes needed to write the epic length stories churned out today.  A cursory look at George R.R. Martin and his fifteen year ongoing A Song of Ice and Fire and one quickly sees certain incompatibilities that have crept into the five books to date.  Style, narrative structure, and overall quality have evolved at a level deeper than was undoubtedly intended—and there are still two books planned.  Other modern writers of fantasy have faired better, however, and to this point I would like to continue the essay.

A new book published roughly every year (1999-2010), Steven Erikson’s writing of the ten book Malazan Book of the Fallen ticked like a clock.  This is remarkable considering that book length is on average 900 pages.   Further technical consistencies of the series include new dramatis personae lists (each running several pages at the beginning of each book), maps (new locations for each book), poetry and prose (in the manner of Howard or Herbert) at the beginning of each chapter, and the basic structure of each book being four parts.  Throughout the series, Erikson never deviated from this pattern until The Crippled God, which varied only by being broken into seven parts—a departure obviously intended to deepen the impact of the concluding volume.  These consistencies lie, however, on the most superficial of layers.

Beyond presentation, Erikson’s preference for style also remained unswerving throughout the writing of the series.  Of particular note is the obscurity and uncertainty with which he writes.  Nothing fed to the reader on a silver spoon, even such moments as Quick Ben’s ‘forthright’ explanation of warrens to King Tehol in Dust of Dreams required the reader to think back upon all they had learned of the subject in previous volumes.  Furthermore, that Erikson so often uses the pronouns “he,” “she,” and “it” to introduce viewpoints throughout the narrative, the simplest of character thought and action requires the reader to cogitate upon exactly who or what is being spoken of.   That the connection is to previous details so easily overlooked is a testament to not only the closeness the reader must maintain when reading, but the overall value placed on the reading experience itself.  Thus like Gene Wolfe’s, Erikson’s is a literary style which fully engages and puts the onus on the reader for finding full value.  From the first page of Gardens of the Moon to the last of The Crippled God, a reader must maintain focus to fully make the series worth their while.

Regarding plot and narrative, each book in the series depends on the same idea for its climax: convergence.  Using the first three parts of a volume for world building, character development, and thematic layering, the fourth part inevitably features a drawing together of these elements.  Memories of Ice finds all of the characters involved in the Genabackis theater—the Bridgeburners, the T’lan Imass, the Tiste Andii, and others—coming together in Coral to fight the undead K’Chain Malle, flesh eaters, and the Dying One; Midnight Tides finds the Tiste Edur in what has seemed an inevitable confrontation with the Letherii; and Dust of Dreams and The Crippled God—the overarching denouement of the whole series—feature a fraught union of all the races, species, and groups introduced to date joining forces to fight the Forkrul Assail and their idea of justice through balance.  Nothing planned or intended (from a character point of view), these convergences serve to highlight Erikson’s idea that humanity as a group lacks control over itself and that confrontation is the inevitable result.  By concluding each volume as such, he never deviates from the belief.

I have not counted the number of characters who appear in the Malazan world, but certainly it would be in the hundreds, if not more than a thousand.  Some appear in the majority of the books (Onos O’Toolan, Toc the Younger, and Apsalar to name a few), while many receive only minor moments of stage time.  There is one person, however, that finds itself appearing in all of the novels: the common soldier.  Inspired by Glen Cook’s Black Company, the everyday soldier and the group dynamic they are a part of plays the most critical role in every book of Malazan.  And so while Cook comments on his own series that "The Company itself is the main character of the book. There're always more people; there's always a Black Company.", the same could be said of Malazan and its soldiers, no matter the name they carry, Bridgeburners, Bonehunters, Whirlwind Army, etc.  Wizards, mighty warriors, and gods do influence the story, but ever Erikson’s focus returns to this plight of the foot soldier. 

The pages Erikson writes using the voice of the soldier as a tool for philosophizing far outnumber any other category of text one might think of.  Ideas directly and (more often) indirectly discussed include: living with the constant threat of war, the camaraderie and bonds formed surviving battle, and the idiosyncrasies and quirks one adopts inundated with violence.  Encapsulating these ideas is Fiddler.  His paranoia, discomfort, and yet need for the organized life of the military are felt ever more deeply with each scene and storyline he is a part of.  Erikson naming the series after an idea Napoleon had to write a book listing the names of those who died fighting for his cause, Fiddler and the other soldiers best represent the common people history would be better for remembering.  If one doubts this point, they need only take a glance at the lists of dramatis personae to find how the common soldier dominates.  By doing so, Erikson ever ensured the series maintained focused on the lesser known individuals of his ‘history.’

The voice of the common soldier present in every book ties directly to another consistency of the Malazan world: the all-too-common result of their plight: death, and in particular, the Pyrrhic victory.  Beyond good and evil, Erikson portrays all sides of a fight with relevance.  His purpose in this, as he has stated in interviews, is that “Multiple points-of-view are for me a way of ensuring that no single world view, philosophy, or attitude dominates the story.”  Thus, by understanding the motives each have for war, the reader can sympathize with both sides—an idea especially relevant as each experience tragic and catastrophic losses in battle. “Everybody loses in war.” seems a fundamental idea from reality Erikson wanted to hammer home in Malazan.  (If only in reality humanity would listen.)   The myriad thematic uses of death in Malazan likewise warrant attention, but are perhaps best served in a more detailed essay.

Not as perfect as a circle or the stroke of midnight, the value of consistency often lies in the consistency of its inconsistency.  After all, it is possible to be routinely undependable, and therefore dependable.  Applying this to Malazan, when writing ten such large books, drumming a single theme out, tome after tome, would not lend itself to an enjoyable series.  Thus, despite the soldier’s viewpoint in each book, Erikson consciously and continuously varies the theme. Structured to function independently, the individual topics of each book simultaneously fit within a larger motif of the series.  By choosing deep and complex concepts to overarch the whole—compassion, history, sacrifice, cultural relativity and evolution, to name a few—the minor thematic elements within the individual books can be examined in finer detail.  Deadhouse Gates, for example, deals with the theme of honor and duty, particularly that exemplified in the single-minded seriousness in which Coltaine goes about divesting his responsibilities.  That it goes on to cost him his life connects to the larger subject of sacrifice which is a thread running through the series as a whole.  The devotion Mappo Trell shows Icarium in Deadhouse Gates likewise speaks of honor and duty.  In their case, however, the reader is led to believe the feeling is related to something more personal, that is, friendship, rather than obligation.  Thus while dealing with one theme—honor and duty—Erikson simultaneously ties into the larger goals of the series.  He summarizes his intentions regarding theme in Malazan in the following:

“I try to tackle specific themes in each novel, to give each work a distinctive tone and flavour -- it's not enough to hammer away on a single theme (like 'war is a terrible thing and here's why') over and over again. Throughout all of the novels, however, I try to explore the dichotomy between the individual and the forces of nature (including vast sweeps of history, civilization, and the human abuse of power). In a general sense, I'm writing tragedies, and this imposes another kind of pressure: namely, balancing the tragic events with gestures of humanity. If I was to tell you that Memories of Ice was a novel about motherhood, would you believe me?”

While many writers wax and wane through a three-book series, perhaps most impressive is the consistency with which Erikson improved his style through the ten books.  Like watching a masterpiece develop, the obtuse and often stunted narrative of Gardens of the Moon became thought-provoking, sublime prose tugging at the soul in The Crippled God.  Toll the Hounds in particular saw Erikson quietly taking a step into territory many writers of literary realism have yet to locate.  Fully showing rather than telling, there are no significant dips in quality in this subtle transition.  With each degree of refinement achieved, the individual stories burrowed deeper into the reader’s mind with the progression of the series.

There are, however, some minor discrepancies plaguing Malazan which render the latter volumes different than the earlier works.  One noticeable difference is strong language.  Aside from Erikson’s own creations, like “Hood’s breath” or “Beru fend,” virtually no four-letter words exist in the first two books.  Memories of Ice finds Erikson occasionally using salty language to strengthen dialogue, but on the whole, the first third of the series is more reminiscent of Tolkien from a vulgarity point of view.  This representation of dialogue changes, however, with the books leading up to the series’ close wherein there is more than the occasional usage of oaths.  Never overused, the strong language in fact lends realism to the dialogue among soldiers.  The attempts at playful insults early in the series become juvenile in comparison to the more adult discourse in the later books.  Thus, though the improvement was for the better, the lack of profanity in the opening tomes affects the overall consistency.

The second negative inconsistency in Malazan is the timeline.  Easily followed up to the end of Midnight Tides, The Bonehunters sees the beginning of a dissembling.  Traceable storylines begin to falter, and throughout the remainder of the series the reader must forego aligning the arcs of the various characters.  However, trusting Erikson proves effective.  The climax of each book unfailingly brings storylines together in convincing enough fashion to render the timeline plausible at a minimum.  The sheer number of characters, size of the world, and ambition for content seem to be the main causes for this problem; when one attempts to balance a world of such magnitude, it is perhaps inevitable that the threads will come loose.  This slow deconstruction could prove a hurdle to the enjoyment of some readers.

The negative points aside, the consistency of Malazan remains astounding given the scope of the series.  As was seen, the literary stars to which Erikson kept Malazan continuously pointed are many.  The cultural backgrounds of a dozen main societal groups plus dozens more minor groups remain solid and balanced throughout.  The storylines of at least a hundred main characters, despite being intertwined and leading in new directions all the time, are never lost.  The thematic focus—the most important aspect of the series—likewise does not lose its way in the march.   Thus it is my hope that by writing this article, Erikson can feel a degree of satisfaction at having his efforts recognized, for he has been quoted as saying:

“One of my early worries in devising a long series was the recognition that, over the years spent writing it, my perspective would change. I thought that would be a problem, as the thematic elements in later books would 'outdate' those of the early ones. I've since stopped worrying -- in some respects it's inevitable, and it's what assures me I won't be continually rewriting the same story -- just as characters evolve, so too should the writer. Interests flower then die away and that's just the way it is. I see that evolution now as a positive force.”

This mature outlook has indeed revealed itself in the text.  Few writers of modern fantasy have the focus and ambition to envision such a large project and see it through the way the Malazan series reads.  Like a slow exhale, the pleasure in the release was a worthwhile read.  I can’t wait to take a breath, and read the series again.

Seeing the Unseen: The Cultural Significance of China Mieville’s “The City & the City”

(Be warned: this essay assumes you have read The City & the City.  Look here for my review.)

What do Berlin and Jerusalem, Rome and Nicosia, Kirkuk and Shanghai have in common?   The answer is that all are or were divided cities; Berlin into east and west districts after the Allies could not come to terms following WWII; Palestinians and Israelis share the holy city of Jerusalem; Kirkuk falls on the border of Iraq and Kurdistan; Shanghai in the first half of the 20^th century saw large chunks of land conceded to a host of Western countries taking advantage of China’s political and economic weakness.  Such political and geographical combinations beg questions, such as: with another group so different yet so close, what would life be like in these cities?  In an everyday routine, would one even be aware of the other side?  Or perhaps, would a person be all too aware, the threat looming?  The enmity anti-Catholic Italians direct toward the Vatican is certainly limited compared to the open warfare that seems a perpetual part of life in Jerusalem.  And what of perception?  How would living so close to another group affect a person’s mindset regarding the other?  Minor in comparison to the yet-to-cool relationship among the Balkan states, twenty years after the fall of the Berlin Wall prejudices still exist between former East and West Germans.  Thus, the idea of divided cities seems to remain as alive as ever.

Such questions regarding the cultural mindset of people living in divided cities are not often asked by the average Westerner today.  This is despite that in an ever globalizing world—a world growing in closer contact everyday—the subject would seem to gain poignancy.  It is interesting, therefore, that China Mieville’s 2009 The City & the City has taken the divided city as its main plot device.  By examining the nature of cultural norms and stereotypes embedded deeply in the regard we hold for our neighbors, a vision emerges from Mieville’s text, one which explores the idea not only at the individual level, but is keen to address the degree to which cultures and societies are indirectly taught to see the people and groups beyond.  It is this aspect of perceiving—the subjective nature of human vision—which warrants further unpacking and is the subject of this essay.

Taking full advantage of the real world, Mieville uses examples from contemporary reality to create his own urban amalgam of The City & the City: the more archaic Beszel alongside the progressive Ul Qoma.  Not purely analogous, shading and minor details hint at the wide variety of source data for these two cities.  Michael Moorcock, in his review for The Guardian, describes Beszel as “Balkan” in flavor, “the featureless concrete, rattling trams and antiquated office equipment invoke[ing] Greene's The Third Man and Vienna's zones of occupation. You can almost hear a zither twanging somewhere in an echoing sewer.”¹  At the same time, Ul Qoma is more economically open-minded, the streets tinted in neon, rendering the city, as Andrew McKie describes in his review for The Spectator, “a more prosperous metropolis reminiscent, perhaps, of the modern sections of Istanbul.”²  Each side has their own government, legal system, social infrastructure, and culture with a single international border crossing restricting flow between.  The nature of the actual division between the cities, however, is where Mieveille earns top points for originality.  Utilizing the literary canvas to eschew the physical approach of building a concrete wall to separate the two halves, Mieville instead constructs a mental wall within the minds of the populace.  Barriers that does not exist in reality are instead superimposed by the mind’s eye.  And Mieville uses this premise to examine the interrelationship of two cultural groups who quite literally live aside one another yet remain separate by perception only.  

Called “crosshatching,” the citizens of Beszel and Ul Qoma do not see each other in their daily lives much the same as the average Westerner walking down a city street ignores homelessness and poverty.  Despite that the two cities often share the same avenues, buildings, and parkland, the denizens of each walk the streets intentionally ignoring the other.  Taught from birth to “unsee” the foreign clothes, places, people, etc., both exist in a self-enforced oblivion, even if walking at arm’s length or even driving the same road.  While seeming far-fetched, the idea nonetheless raises numerous issues.  What features of Western life are we trained to “unsee”?  What aspects of our daily lives go intentionally ignored?  And more generally speaking, what exists in our familiarity but remains unseen?  Upon closer examination, an few important answers to these questions arise.  

By stereotyping at a cultural level or profiling on racial terms, the details that define a person or group are missed.  The characteristics we should identify with have been rendered irrelevant by the intimations and teachings—intentional and unintentional—of the educators.  More than the ability to place yourself in someone else’s shoes, however, the aspects of others we are “taught” to see derive from a force that operates at a much deeper level within culture than pedagogy.  Beyond dichotomies of living spaces, let us examine some of these larger forces at work within what seems homogenous culture on the surface.

Depending on the decade, a corollary can be made between current American political/economic interest and the “enemy.”  For many years it was the Russians, but as the Cold War broke, enmity was directed for a short time at the other large enclave of communism, China.  The Chinese economy fizzling in the late 80’s, a new enemy was needed, and Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait served as a welcome opportunity.  Though North Korea appears in the media as a spot of concern, the Middle East and terrorism have since received the lion’s share of political glare, especially after 9-11.  (Interestingly, the same corollary can be made in Hollywood, many formulaic action films portraying the antagonist as operating in the interest of the enemy of the moment.)  Questions too arise from this observation.  Are Middle Easterners really the enemy of Americans?  Does the life of the average person—the shop owners and taxi drivers—in Beirut negatively affect the lives of their New York counterparts?  Through what channels and under what authority are we made to perceive them as the enemy?  Beyond geography, looking at the most commons modes available, mass media, government propaganda, and entertainment interests would seem the strongest points of influence on American opinion.  

Moving from the political to the commercial, another aspect of subtle influence on the American societal mindset would seem corporate maneuvering for economic interests.  The result is that a scenario has been created wherein material gain is an acceptable and worthy goal, “keeping up with the Jones’” a priority.  The commercial advancement of a business, and thus the individual, are related as extreme importance.  Spoon fed the latest goods and products, people are left half-ignorant of the mechanisms operating their economic system.  Who benefits from the money I earn and spend?  What are the business practices of the companies from whom I purchase?  Are they acting in my future interest?   Is it acceptable not to have the most advanced products?  What are the indirect effects of the manufacture of these products?  The answers to these questions are the “unseen.”  What is “seen,” however, are the advertising campaigns, media statements as well as corporate decisions.  These set a standard the populace observes as acceptable to follow.  It would not be an overstatement to write that most corporate media serves to confuse the eye as to the real social, moral, and economic issues laying at the heart of modern commercial endeavors.  Thus, the meaning of “crosshatching” has never taken on such profound symbolism before.

Mieville’s use of this artistic technique—perpendicular lines up close but solid shape at a distance—serves as a metaphor for the blurring of realities.  It is a veiling of truth that highlights the subjective manner in which we view “the other.”  The City & the City divided into three parts, it is the second which finds Detective Borlu, the protagonist of the novel, leaving his native Beszel and crossing over into Ul Qoma to continue a murder investigation.  He goes into the “other.”  Despite dutifully attempting to reverse his mindset—to “unsee” his home city—Borlu finds himself unable to ignore all of the familiar places and people.  Greeted with hostility by the Ul Qoman police, he likewise finds it difficult to adapt, and as a result feels isolated.  His mind is telling him he’s lines in a solid area.  Such an outcome is to be expected given the setting, but where Mieville advances the point to a more profound level is in the third and final section of the novel when Borlu moves to “Breach.” 

 

A constant threat looming over the citizens of Beszel and Ul Qoma, Breach is the third active group in the novel.  Appearing only when a citizen crosses the line into the other city illegally, Breach remains a mysterious political entity hanging like a dark cloud over the action of every person.  An interesting concept considering no physical wall exists to separate the two cities, Breach monitors all the crosshatched areas, watching for people who either physically cross the virtual line, or even look at something for more than a few seconds on the other side.  Breach offenders are quickly snapped up, some never to be seen again.  The action which leads Borlu to be taken in by Breach is of significance.  Tracking an assassin who has recently killed a person seeking political asylum, Borlu is on the wrong side of the street and cannot apprehend the man lest he move through the crosshatching and evoke Breach, which would effectively end the pursuit.  Running in parallel, Borlu pursues until the two reach a point where the assassin can is about to diverge out of sight and out of reach.  Borlu is faced with a decision: shoot the man and evoke Breach, or do nothing and allow the man to escape?  That Borlu chooses the former is of utmost significance to the theme of the novel.  After seeing the assassin drop dead from his gunshots, a man wearing black sweeps in from nowhere and takes Borlu away, forcing him to face the mysterious unknown: Breach.  

The reader expecting something from 1984—the likes of Smith being brainwashed by the Thought Police—Borlu faces a similar, though less harrying series of questions.  More interested in factual information and peace-keeping than brainwashing, Borlu eventually ends up in the employ of the mysterious entity, helping seek out the root cause of the violence incited by rebel political factions haunting both cities.  By doing so, Mieville subverts our expectations of Breach.  It is not an evil entity concerned with harming those who cross the line.  Rather, its concerns are larger, the protection of an existing situation from spiraling downward into a bloodbath of foremost concern.  What if the Israelis and Palestinians had a political entity like Breach ensuring peace?   What if the Berlin wall had been monitored by a neutral third party rather than the Russian military?  

The weight of this idea rests on the idea that Breach is impregnable.  Beyond political and economic interests, the presumption is that influence would be impossible from either side.  But the idea of having a mediator, a group to keep the cultural, political, and economic interests of two sides at bay, is a worthy and inspirational goal.  Perhaps it is one the United Nations aspires to?  That Borlu ends the novel, one foot in the proverbial shoe of each culture, seems the point Mieville was making.  Differences can and do exist, but nothing is gained by ignoring, fighting, or enabling them.  By taking the overview position, better decisions can be made regarding the relative interests of each group involved.

If China’s Cultural Evolution or Hitler’s brainwashing of Germans have taught us anything it’s that thoughts are malleable.  Humans can be made to believe and act on any principle, up to and including genocide.  But war and revolution are extreme situations.  What of our everyday lives?  What beliefs do we have that are the result of the sublime rather than the overt?  Beyond obvious historical or cultural divides, in what prejudices and discriminations do we unwittingly collude?  It is digging deeper, seeing through the shaded solid to the lines of crosshatching that the message of The City & the City strikes home: what we perceive in our daily lives is worthy of re-examination from varying levels.  Anyone can exist in Breach, simultaneously appreciating, respecting, and acting on the differences to the benefit of both sides. 

1. http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2009/may/30/china-mieville-fiction
2. http://www.spectator.co.uk/books/3702253/unseeing-is-believing.thtml

Culture Corner: China - Student Behavior

After spitting and sputtering a couple of times, Culture Corner faded into oblivion several months ago.  Having just finished another semester here, I figured it was time I wrote a real culture corner, one about China and not the problems in my own country. Are you ready?

In the past four months I've done a little bit of traveling, continued to meet interesting people, and heightened my belief that Chinese food is the most delicious in the world. But in the classroom, the past semester has tried my patience in a way no previous year in China has yet.  I'm glad to say I passed the test (barely), but I'm afraid my skin is all the thicker for it.  It begins and ends with my students.

To help you appreciate my teaching situation, I should first start with explaining the university application process in China.  I’ve not checked these stats, but I’ve been told there are 11 million high school students each year taking the infamous ‘gao kao,’ a university entrance exam that seeks to separate the wheat from the chaff.  (Retake is only an option if you repeat your last year of high school.)  Along with answering questions, students must also include their top three choices for university in the exam.  Like gambling, if one gets a final mark that is lower than the expectations of the unis they chose, it’s possible they will not even be allowed to attend uni at all even though their mark was better than many other students.  It’s only students who ace the exam and have the guts to write in the top unis that have a chance of going to Bei Da, China’s equivalent of Oxford or Harvard.  If the task of balancing expectation with reality wasn’t difficult enough, each student knows that of the 11 million taking the exam, there are only 2 million available positions!  So, what happens to all of the students who gambled poorly or simply didn’t do well on the exam?  The answer: private university.

I teach at Lambton College, which is a private Canadian school affiliated with and located on the campus of Jiangnan University in Wuxi. As Jiangnan is a somewhat reputable university, the academic standards are relatively high, which serves to keep the riff-raff out.  However, should a student be rejected upon application to Jiangnan University, they are given the opportunity to apply to Lambton College, whose only standard is whether the parents can afford the extraordinarily high tuition fees.  (I’m sure some of those fees are merrily exchanging hands with the president of Jiangnan U.)  Ultimately this equates to the following situation: I teach a bunch of dumb, rich kids.  This is a terrible combination, and to make matters worse, this past semester I taught first year students, which means I was part of their first attempts at independent living. 

By the time Westerners are 18 or 19, most have had a part time job, a girl/boyfriend or two, and have a vague notion of what is expected of them upon leaving the nest.  Not my students. Like apple blossoms floating gaily on a summer’s stream (terrible simile :), so too have my students had a blissful youth wherein nothing evil was ever allowed near them, their every whim and need cared for by doting parents. Such is the culture of China as whole, not only the aristocracy.  But what happens when they are taken from this mold?  Free from the watchful eyes of parents, an unlimited supply of money in hand, and amongst a large group of peers with similar backgrounds, my students find themselves without a hand to guide them and truly become like children in a candy store, indulging in every unproductive vice they see.

Though I teach Lambton College students, as we share the same campus I'm constantly coming in contact with the Jiangnan University students, which gives me a point of comparison.  Jiangnan U. students are what I would call normal, well adjusted youth who like to have a little fun, but are aware of their position in life and realize the importance of their studies just like the American university students we label "good". My Lambton students are the opposite.  They are clueless - not all of them, but most of them, particularly the boys who were doted upon especially hard by Granny Yu and her everything goes policy.  Extremely similar to middle school students, they have little understanding of what will happen to them after they graduate, let alone reality in general. Nothing is taken seriously. They often "forget" to bring a pen or their books to class – a language class! They laugh and giggle when I say "girlfriend" or "boyfriend." And most everything I say goes whistling in one ear and out the other, their attention span about as long as it takes me to eat a Chinese dumpling. In class I've had a bit of fun with their short attention spans.  (Please ignore that this is the student’s sixth year or more of studying English.)


Me: "A noun is: a person, place, or thing. Mosquito, what’s a noun?"  (Mosquito, like Smile, is actually not an uncommon English names my students adopt.)
Mosquito: "Uhh, uhh, uhhh."
Me: "Mosquito, you're my best student, you know that?"

Mosquito: (finger probably scratching the edge of a nostril) "Uhh, uhh, uhh."

Part of one of my exams this semester asked the students to write a paragraph describing what they did the previous day, the objective being for them to use verbs in the simple past. Correcting the exams, I read paragraph after paragraph describing how they'd stayed awake all night playing computer games, chatting with friends, and writing text messages to their girlfriends, essentially admitting they hadn't studied one iota for the exam. Needless to say, not many passed the exam. And when I pointed out to them their indirect admittance, they just laughed as if to say: "No worries, mate." 

A huge part of this immaturity is that, while American college students are off getting drunk and smoking pot, Chinese students are off playing computer games, something just as addictive to them. Just outside my campus are humungous internet bars where for one Chinese dollar an hour, a person can get online and play computer games to their heart's content. Most mornings around 7:00 or so there is a straggling line of students wandering into the campus for a day's classes, having just spent the entire night wrangling their pals in World War Galactica.  No, not partying the night - playing the night away. At various places in China young boys have been found dead in internet bars.  So addicted to the games, they ignore hunger and sleep for days, and die where they sit. How interesting  is that!?!? It truly shows how innocent they are; they throw their lives away intoxicated by imaginative characters and storylines rather than alcohol and drugs. That's culture!!

Another funny thing is my student's attendance. Unless approaching death's door, one of the stranger aspects of the American work ethic is that most American students will still show up to school despite a slight sniffle or mild cough.  But not at my school.   Never before have you heard of so many students being "sick". This their top excuse for missing class, it is followed closely by 'headache', 'was sleeping', and finally, "Had to bring girl/boyfriend to hospital." You might think having to go to the hospital is a serious thing, but such is not the case for my students. One day one of my students told me he had to bring his friend (another of my students) to the hospital because he broke his leg playing basketball. I thought this was pretty serious and didn't expect the injured student in class the remainder of the week. But the next day, there was the student with the “broken leg," smiling as though he could dance the tango blindfolded, all limbs in good repair.

In general I can forgive my student’s clownishness and immaturity, but it's their classroom behavior that’s made my job lack enjoyment. Rather than paying attention, taking notes, and asking questions, their favorite activities in class are the following:

1. playing games/writing messages on their mobile phones
2. sleeping
3. chatting with their friends
4. picking their nose

At first I tried to put a stop all of this, thinking it was my duty as a "good teacher" to make them learn. But I quickly came to the conclusion that no matter what I did, take away their phones, wake them up, prepare the world’s most interesting lesson plan, whatever - I could put them in stocks facing the blackboard - but I couldn't make them want to learn, and so I gave up. I decided I would teach indifferently, and the students who wanted to learn something would, and those didn't, wouldn't. You might think such a strategy would solve the problem for the teacher.  It did - except for those students who were still talking in class.

Sleeping and playing on your phone is noiseless and doesn't disturb anyone. But talking (especially a large number) annoys a teacher terribly because they have to raise their voice so what few students who do care, can hear. I tried many ways to get them to be quiet, but ultimately had to rely on a combination of all of them. I hated this because I didn't want to be the parent of 18, 19, and 20 year olds, even though that is what they needed. I might say "shhhh", upon which they would be quiet for two seconds. I might say "shhhh" again, upon which they would be quiet for one more second. Then I would loose a deep growl from the bottom of my throat like my father does when his dogs won't shut up. This would make all of them jump out of their seats in complete fear and be quiet for… one minute. A couple of times I couldn't get them to be quiet at all and completely walked out of the classroom. Their reaction was to become immediately distraught as though they'd collectively just killed someone, a few chasing me down in the hallway, apologizing profusely, and begging me to come back. I asked "Why?" but the irony was lost on them. And of course the next day when I returned to class they were just as talkative as the day before.

I also had a problem with my students arriving to class late. If one or two come late, it's no problem.  But if twelve or fifteen of them are late (more than half), wandering in at five or ten minute intervals, it can be quite annoying to have the lesson interrupted so often.  So, one day after all the students had petered in, I told them: "Tomorrow when the bell rings I'm locking the door." The following day all of them were on time except for two of the usual culprits. Ten minutes later when they knocked on the door, I politely told them to go home and come back the next day on time. One of these students started yelling and began violently kicking the wall. And after I closed the door, he kicked a hole in it. Well aware of his normal dormant (aka "sleeping everyday") classroom behavior, this puzzled me greatly, and though I wanted to pick him up by the neck and throw him down the stairs for his destructive behavior, I opened my now broken door and asked him to calm down, which he did. I said: "Zhou Xing, everyday in class you literally sleep from the time you arrive until the bell rings, so why are you so eager to enter today?" He of course had no answer, so I told him to go home and think about it (just like a parent!).  Nothing ever became of the situation, and in true Chinese style, my door has remained in disrepair since.  This undoubtedly will continue to be the situation when the nuclear apocalypse destroys the world. 

Despite all of the trouble the students cause in the classroom, I am extremely kind when grading their work.  Not wishing to overturn the boat of Chinese culture, most passed my class, though their ability to tie their shoes remains in doubt. My positive outlook is that they are an investment in future entertainment; I will continue finding signs like "Minding the head smash" above particularly low hung doors.  Also, please don't take my students as stereotypical; I have taught at other places which have students who care about their education.  The competition of China's job market forces them to respect the realities of life a little more than the minority who are my pampered children – I mean, students.

Ok, I'm off for summer holiday.

Culture Corner: China - Leadership Ideals

Long before the Greeks ever promoted democracy, in fact while humans still needed their appendixes, wore animal skins, and grunted their pronouns, the Chinese were a refined society.  They had universal money, a comprehensive written language, and a system of government that to me seems to have been the most objective ever created (ignoring that whole blood reign thing for a moment). As it juxtaposes itself quite nicely beside the present system, let me tell you about it.

First and foremost, Chinese governments of old were a monarchy. But everyone knows one person cannot control millions; they needs aides, advisors, and administrators just as our present leaders do.

But contrary to our current system, the important political figures of ancient China did not demean themselves by selling their souls to the common man all for a trivial vote, rather there was a discriminatory system to determine who ascended through government, instead.  Was it based on the money a candidate had, property they owned, or businesses bribing—ahem, lobbying—them ?  Was it who seemed to have the populace foremost on their mind when plying for office?  (“No new taxes. I repeat, no new taxes.”)  No, it was having something far better: wisdom.

In looking at the strata of exams which determined who rose higher or lower in Chinese government, it’s obvious to me they were aware one facet measuring a good leader is their brains, not his wallet or ability to appeal to NASCAR watching, professional wrestling loving, pizza gluttons.  “I know, I’ll oppose gay marriage and then they’ll vote for me...”  Something not unlike Plato and Socrates’ philosopher kings, it was thought that only the truly intelligent would rise through this strata of exams, and therefore best be able to look after the well being of the people.  This is obviously in direct opposition to the Western democratic system.  (Imagine if any of our senators or representatives had to get a get a certain score on something so common as an IQ exam.  Would they pass?  (Not the greatest piece of journalism, there are still some very humorous moments of Bill Maher’s Religulous as he interviews an American senator and receives whole new additions to the English language in the process.) Doesn’t this beg the question: are not the intelligent better able to lead people?  Wouldn’t it be better to ensure the wise lead, rather any Joe (or George) with naught but connections and money for a campaign?

It goes without saying that the situation in China was ripe with culture during these times. The eternally subjective provokers of thought: art and philosophy, were held in similar esteem to material pursuits.  Among the emperor’s closest friends were some of the best poets of the respective era, and artisans flourished, including music, pottery, embroidery, theater, at all levels of society. A Liu Fan painting could be identified at fifty feet by the common man and the words of Confucius were quoted by schoolchildren. A person was judged by their calligraphy, ability to play Chinese chess, the er-hu or zither, and write poetry.  The brand of car you own, size of your… high-definition television, or the health of your lawn were not the only key indicators measuring success in the world. What a truly interesting country America would be if the majority held the arts in such esteem!!

Unfortunately, America and now China have given up on intellectual pursuits and are focusing their attention on strictly material gains. (Isn’t it always easier to take the low road...)  Acquiring not just wealth, but as much wealth as possible, are what we reach for now. Philosophy and the arts are practiced by a dwindling few, and our leaders are not setting the bar for intelligence. Certainly we are experiencing a degeneration.

I would offer that buying the latest mobile phone provides temporary satisfaction until a more advanced model comes out and you are left needing again.  But painting a picture or writing a poem are pieces of permanent gratification that can be looked upon over a lifetime without need of an update. This is the same juxtaposition that exists within the situation of our leaders being elected into office by a tribe that floats with the flavor of the month.  Not the blind leading the blind, an intelligent leadership sieved like gold seems better able to make informed decisions - not just knee jerk reactions - that have a better chance of truly benefiting society in the long run. Think about it.

Culture Corner: USA - The Sky Is Blue

I’m pissed off, really. What the &#$! is happening to America?!?!? I turn on my computer today to find yet another person has gone on a shooting spree. Are we stone faced with indifference?  Or, as crazy as it sounds, do we want to change the situation for the better?

As our military fights abroad for reasons we’re uncertain about, we too fight in our own land - and it’s so easy!! Supplied by the world’s largest private gun manufacturing sector, acquiring the ability to erase life is as easy as buying groceries.  Not just grandpa’s blunderbuss to chase Bambi, at our disposal are weapons capable of taking down the entire herd in moments. Why? Why are guns like these so readily available to a general public who has proved itself incapable of self control?  Even scarier, no longer does Jim Bob want to kill Billy Ray for banging his girlfriend, he now becomes Riley Smith, local respected youth who meander into local universities to kill dozens – dozens! - of people, all of whom he has no personal grudge against, the randomness of it all seeming to provide the joy.

On a web page announcing the recent school shooting, directly below the headline was the following link: “Upload your school shooting video here”. What the #$&$%#*%?!?!? Is nothing sacred?  Is it all just a game?  Even better, is the media to blame for this frantic attempt for ratings, or, are they only catering to a disillusioned society who wants to see the blood and gore (not to mention gain financially from their “good luck” of having been at the right place at the right time to capture such “valuable” footage). Below this was another ten or so links with articles assigning blame six ways from Sunday.  The school should have done this, the police should have done that, the crazy youth today, the lackof religion, blah blah blah.  Not one made mention of the extreme accessibility of weapons as the fault to blame!!  Not one made mention of society rebelling against these results!  Not one made mention of radical changes to our system to prevent such a thing from happening to you!  It was just a load of squabbling and henpecking, one more “tragedy” on a list growing longer by the month.

As long as Americans continue to live in a cave, thinking the 2nd Amendment and the gun industry are assets, the disparity between a realistic perspective and public opinion will continue to reveal itself in things such as shootings, no matter how many die.  The idea that millions of guns are available to anyone who wants is too obvious for everyone to be ignorant of. But yet the overwhelming majority are, seemingly unable to put two and two together.  This angers me, greatly. The sky is obviously blue. You have a choice: discontinue mass private gun manufacturing and severely change laws, or face consequences like mass murder. You can’t have both millions of guns floating freely and a safe populace.  Human nature simply doesn’t work that way.  Is the gun industry’s contribution to the economy so vital that it outweighs the value of lives? Come back to reality, America.

In my head, I have the image of a man opening a door, and every time he does, he receives a punch to the face.  Rather than leaving the door closed, he continues to open it, asking to be hit. “Maybe this time I won’t get hit?” Bam. “Maybe this time I won’t get hit?” Bam. And on and on… Such is the greed and stupidity of the American populace and its representatives in government: absorbed in the moment, unable to detach themselves and think rationally about the real reasons for these occurrences, the obvious solution is denounced and they open the door, again. Bam. Bam. Bam, like a gun going off in a school.

Culture Corner: China - Physical Changes

Having a few days off prior to my departure for America, I have time to write one more culture corner.

Some of you may be curious about any physical changes that may have occurred to me in the past ten months due to the different environment and diet.  (The stereotype being: the Asians are always thin and fit.)  Yes, I have lost weight, or at least so the scales say, and to back this up I’m down to the last notch on my belt.  But for reasons I’ve yet been able to discover, I can grab a good fistful of fat on my belly, one that I don’t remember having prior to coming here. Fat increases, but belt gets tighter. The following is the only explanation I can come up with.

Being of the male gender, I’m uncontrollably inclined to looking at women (I blame Darwin), ok, sometimes ogling.  So it was not long after arriving in China, I noticed that Chinese women have little in the way of mass in the bum department.  I looked and looked, searched and searched, but could only find a scant few who had some semblance of meat on their bones.  There was a lot of spare denim and empty cotton filling the space instead.  Curious if it was a gender disparity, I checked out the men, and lo and behold, they too were lacking said vitals!  This caused the investigation to go a little further, to dig a little deeper into this most mysterious of mysteries.  Where is the Chinese bum? 

Some time, closer observation, and, thankfully, no violence directed my way later, it was revealed that Chinese people have a thin layer of baby fat covering their bodies but very little muscle.  In fact, the reason Chinese people are so skinny is not because they’re fit, but because they don’t little musculature.  Because if they had muscles, they would come in the same variety of sizes, as say, the Canadians.

When seeking the source for this discrepancy, I could only surmise that the lack of muscle comes from the lack of exercise, sort of a one-to-one, you know, combined with an evolutionary lack of meat in their diet.  It’s only recently that dead fleash has appeared in such abundance that any Joe or Wang can afford to put duck neck on the table for his family.  The Chinese are an incredibly relaxed bunch (including me this past ten months) and lack the regular exercise necessary for building muscles, doesn’t help either. I won’t call them lazy, as they do indeed work.  All I will say is that they know how to relax while working.  As such, I’m inclined to believe this lack of exercise is now why I too have more belly and tighter belt.

Another physical change that has happened to me since arriving gin China is the growth of extra heads.  But it’s a temporal thing.  Only when I go out into public does the extra head appear.  The root cause of this, however, is much more obvious.  I’m a ‘laowai’, a foreigner, a pasty white man in the yellow man’s land. Though the Chinese have seen thousands of ‘laowai’ on television and hundreds - if not thousands - walking the streets of this city, one out of four  people still cannot get over the novelty, and stare at me like I have three heads when I walk past.  They often wear a goofy look on their face when performing their visual exam of me, finger sometimes up their nose. (Picking your nose in public here is not considered offensive. I have seen the most beautiful, well dressed women delicately rooting about a nostril with a pinky nail.)

Preferring anonymity, I am a bit unnerved by their staring, and to make it worse, many of them cannot control the urge to nudge their companion, point a finger, and say: “Look, a laowai!” upon sight of me.  (Side note: I’ve been witness to two minor bicycle accidents due to riders staring at me and not watching where they were going.)  I’ve talked to other Chinese people about this staring and pointing and received confirmation that it is also consider rude in China.  But oh, the novelty of the laowai… Sometimes with my Chinese friends I will point and say excitedly: “Look there!”, and when my friend examines the paper white or all shades of brown person I’m indicating, I add “Laowai!”

Able to ignore their stares and shouts most of the time, there are other times when my temper gets the better of me, particularly after hearing “Laowai!” for the hundredth time that minute.  The moment too much, I sometimes stop and stare back at them until they look away, or mumble rude things in English under my breath as I hang my head and continue on.  My patience runneth over.  Yes, I know this is childish, but, but…  no excuse really.

Gradually, I’m becoming accustomed to being a point of attention. I say “becoming” because I’m still not wholly comfortable with it.  Just imagine yourself walking in a crowd where many, many eyes are watching every one of your movements, some pointing and laughing, never sure if your fly is unzipped or they’re ignorant.  Deep down I know that it’s an innocent childish curiosity on their part, something I cannot wholly blame them for.  Because if you make a goofy face back at them or wedge your finger up your nose, they will break into a huge grin and say hello. They’re just curious, that’s all.  It’s the same as when we were children and tugged on our mother’s s sleeve, saying “Mommy, mommy, look at the size of that man’s beard! It’s so big and bushy, and it goes all the way down to his belly! Daddy doesn’t have a beard like that.”  And mom would say: “Oh, just leave him alone. He’s not bothering you.”  But you would continue to stare - just out of curiosity.

Culture Corner: China - A Couple of Crimes

Just when I’d gone and bragged the Chinese up to be a peaceful, happy folk, I had to go and participate in a crime.

Walking home the other night after teaching, passing those out trying to catch what little hint of a breeze moves through this city these hot days of summer.  I was minding my own thoughts when a man went bolting past me. As I watched him tear away, I thought to myself: “The only reason a man runs that fast is if he’s stolen something.” A split second later a girl’s voice cut the air, shouting what I interpreted as “thief” without knowing the Chinese word for thief. For reasons I’m still trying to figure out, I took off after the man, dress clothes, and backpack bouncing on my back, all on an adventure.

Hot on the man’s heels, I was unable to make up any ground.  Merely keeping pace, we ran through side streets, gravel parking lots and small lanes, all the while – though she was doing a good job of keeping up - the shouts of the girl faded behind us. Passing gaping onlookers, we probably ran for a 1/2 a mile.  While running, I wasn’t really paying too much attention to the thief, other than that he was still in front of me and that I “needed” to catch him (for some reason).  But looking up one time, I saw him turn around, do a cartoon-style, disbelieving double take, and then throw the purse he had stolen to the ground. I stopped running, picked it up, and brought it back to the girl, who, in her own rush of adrenaline, had forgotten: “My English is very poor.” and exclaimed: “Thank you very much. This is very important.” in breathless tones of perfect English. (Adrenaline does wonders.)  I then continued home - walking. That’s the story of crime #1 I was participant to.

The second is, in my opinion, an even funnier story about the nature of crime in China and shows just how cutthroat the business of teaching English is.

One of the English schools where I teach is fairly well to do, and rightfully so, as they are well organized, professional, and offer the “latest” technology to the students. They have lesson plans worked out for every grade of student, from Beginner to Advanced, which alleviates a great  deal of lesson planning for the teachers and provides something that can be used systematically without reinventing the wheel.  The other day, someone hacked into the school’s computer system and stole all of these lesson plans.

Am I the only one who finds this funny? American hackers try to find ways to bypass Hotmail’s firewalls to grace your screen with ads for herbal Viagra (“Get a stiffy in a jiffy!”) while Chinese hackers find ways to steal English lessons. Priorities, priorities, priorities…