Aug. 21st, 2008

Waterlog

Aug. 21st, 2008 12:35 pm
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (valkyries)
TIME: 30 min.
DISTANCE: 3.6 mi.
TOTAL: 33.3 mi.
NOTES: Next time, cut your nails before rowing.
SHIRE-RECKONING: OMG BLACK RIDER!!! AIEEEEE!!!

In fairness to Professor Rabkin, I need to tell you all that today's lecture on Frankenstein was not only entirely unobjectionable (that's higher praise than it looks like), but also offered a very clever observation about the relationship between Frankenstein and the Gothic, particularly the Gothic expliqué à la Anne Radcliffe.

The Gothic expliqué works by what we would call (as Rabkin points out) the Scooby Doo ending. There are all kinds of strange and apparently supernatural events, but at the end, they are all revealed to be natural. What Mary Shelley does, Rabkin says, is move the ENDING of the Gothic expliqué to the BEGINNING (although he fails to note both the meta--the explanation has become part of the apparatus of the text rather than a feature of the text itself--and the fact that this preface was written by P. B. rather than M. W. Shelley): "The event on which this fiction is founded, has been supposed, by Dr Darwin, and some of the physiological writers of Germany, as not of impossible occurrence." And thus we have the claim of plausibility against a background of science that Rabkin lists as one of the defining characteristics of science fiction.

And a claim of scientific plausibility is a characteristic of science fiction--not all science fiction, and to a greater or lesser extent, but it is there, and I like this observation about Radcliffe and Shelley partly because it makes that issue so very clear.

I should also note--I've been thinking about this--that probably the chief reason I am actively hostile to Professor Rabkin's ideas about fantasy (N.b., this is not the same as being hostile to Professor Rabkin himself.) is that he seems to want to elide from consideration the extensive canon of twentieth century fantastic literature in English that is neither (a.) science fiction nor (b.) for children. When he wants to talk about twentieth century fantasy, he either goes for children's literature (The Phantom Tollbooth) or South American magical realism and French post-modernism. And while I have no problem with discussing any of these genres, any more than I have a problem with an extensive discussion of nineteenth and twentieth century Anglophone science fiction, it really chafes my hide that he's ignoring H. P. Lovecraft, Clark Ashton Smith, M. R. James, Russell Kirk, C. L. Moore, Robert E. Howard, Robert W. Chambers, Hope Mirlees, Oliver Onions, Robert Aickman, Algernon Blackwood, J. Sheridan Le Fanu, E. R. Eddison, Austin Tappan Wright, John Collier, Roald Dahl, Shirley Jackson, Lord Dunsany, Mervyn Peake . . . Bram Stoker is cited only to be dismissed, and even Tolkien is reduced to mere tokenism. (And none of the people I listed is part of the post-Tolkien commerical fantasy boom, which Rabkin does at least mention.)

Obviously, this is a choice on his part. Obviously, I disagree with it. Vehemently. And that being said, I'm going to let go of it, because there is no point in judging any intellectual endeavor on what it has chosen not to do.
truepenny: artist's rendering of Sidneyia inexpectans (mfu: ns-facepalm)
So, I'm a member of Phi Beta Kappa.

So is my mom.

Many years ago, Phi Beta Kappa, as an organization, decided that my mom and I are the same person (I think something went squirrelly when I informed them of my name change upon getting married, but I've never been sure). I called to explain that, no, we were two different people, thank you (There was a pause, and then the customer service woman said, in tones of deepest disapprobation, "That's just a stupid mistake," which may be the best response I have ever gotten from someone who has to answer phones for a living.), and there for a while we were, in fact, two different people. But then Mercury went into retrograde or something, and we became one person again. I decided life is too short to bother with nonsense like this, especially as neither Mom nor I is what you might call an active member of the organization, so I let it slide. Mom doesn't care, I don't care, Phi Beta Kappa is confused.

I just went and got the mail, and found the inevitable culmination of this state of affairs: a certificate congratulating me on my fiftieth anniversary of membership in Phi Beta Kappa.

This would ordinarily just be mildly annoying, but the fact that Phi Beta Kappa is a honors organization with an exceptionally lofty and self-congratulatory self-image makes it so funny that I may never stop smirking.

Also? Dear Phi Beta Kappa, what's with this "Mrs." nonsense? That's DOCTOR Monette to you.



Congratulations, Mom.

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