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TAA Outtake No. 7: Gorilla gorilla.

[After the elephant, the gorilla was Carl Akeley’s greatest love. He went to Africa for the fourth time in 1921 to collect three for the American Museum of Natural History, and came back with those three, as well as a new resolve to help preserve the animal. In the mythos of Carl Akeley, this trip was a transformative one, the redemptive act in the narrative of his life.

What follows is a bit about the mountain gorilla that got cut from the book. Mostly to trim what is still, in the end, a perhaps exceedingly long final chapter. Maybe this is how it works. Maybe you get to what you know is your book’s final chapter and suddenly it’s Oh, damn, I have so much more to pack in here.

For more on Carl and gorillas, be sure to check out Jay Kirk’s biography of Carl Akeley that came out last year.]
Continue reading TAA Outtake No. 7: Gorilla gorilla.

Notes Toward Research

I’ve been doing a lot of research (well…”research”; it’s mostly watching TV) on stand-up comedy. Today I popped in Seinfeld’s Comedian documentary. I thought it might be interesting to share with you all what my process, so far, is when I start working on a nonfiction book. I tend to have a very loose, MS-Word-based notetaking method. Sometimes it’s a clear outline. Other times it’s like I’m doing rough drafts right in the notes.

At any rate, here’s everything I got down while watching the movie: Continue reading Notes Toward Research

TAA Outtake No. 6: Ethical Reckonings

Cartoon by Steve Benson

It’s hard to write a book on taxidermy and not write about hunting. It kept coming up. I would write about hunting, and then I would tell myself my book is about taxidermy and not about hunting. That hunting is, yes, often the process that begins a work of taxidermy, but not always. And then I’d think more about it and decide to write about hunting again.

The book’s final chapter eventually tries to reckon with the ethics surrounding taxidermy’s dead-animal prerequisite. What follows is a much clunkier way of writing about all this than what (I hope) I eventually got to in the final draft. And note, once again, how doggedly I tried to work Architectonica perspectiva into the book!

(Many thanks to Adam Peterson for his help and advice on this section of the book.)

===

[Anti-t]axidermy protests tend not to get covered in the media outside of online forums among taxidermists, and indeed it’s the Internet that has made whatever outrage ever existed toward taxidermy grow and spread among those who may never have thought they were against it until a URL was sent their way, or a search turned up something unwanted, or they got forwarded one of a million effectless online petitions. Like the one against Art by God, a Web site that sells “natures [sic] art of earth’s wonders”—essentially fossils and skins and other such animal products. The petition argues that “[t]he global awareness as to the sanctity of wildlife, and man’s duty to preserve same is an ethos which obviously does not fit in with [Art by God’s] trade,” and asks not that the company stop selling animal parts, but merely that it change its name.
Continue reading TAA Outtake No. 6: Ethical Reckonings

“New Dawn” – Withered Hand

Not even the lyrics for this one is anywhere online. A new-ish band. Another track from the inimitable Steve May, whose 8track.com mixes should be part of your daily music regimen.

The song’s in irritating Bb major, so do what I do and capo up a fret. All chords below are relative to the capo. If you’re not playing along with the music then just play whatever. Of course you know this. I’m not trying to tell you how to play your instrument. And once again, there are lyrics below that I’ve assuredly misheard. Mr. Withered Hand: the last time I did this, Vic Godard himself came onto my blog and posted the correct lyrics to his song (though he missed a verse…). I welcome you to rise to the challenge.
Continue reading “New Dawn” – Withered Hand

Brief Interview with Timothy Schaffert

I’ve known Tim for several years now, ever since I moved to Nebraska and met him there, this onetime UNL undergrad who was then coming out with his second novel while also editing an Omaha alt-weekly.

Now, his fourth novel has just been released from Unbridled Books. The Coffins of Little Hope is about a small Nebraska town with a mystery, a missing girl, a little newspaper, the pending final book in a series of young-adult novels involving the escapades of sisters Miranda and Desiree, and an octogenarian narrator who finds a way to hold it all together.

Tim’s a great writer and a nice guy and agreed to answer some questions about his book and writing process.
Continue reading Brief Interview with Timothy Schaffert

TAA Outtake No. 5: Biographizing.

[The following outtake is very, very bad. You’ve been warned.

The life and work of Carl Akeley, considered by many to be the father of modern taxidermy owing to certain innovations in mounting he helped to develop in the late 19th century, forms a kind of spine for the book. I deployed him to hinge thereon much of what I wanted to write about: pet taxidermy, competitive taxidermy, taxidermy schools, etc.

Earlier drafts did a lot more fictive biographizing than does the final book, I think. Back then I believed more in Akeley’s heroism, and I trusted too fully the accounts that had been written about his life. Over time, this changed. One of the problems in the book is that I think the writing about Carl is inconsistent. At times I help to build the man, the myth. At times I tear it all down.

In the end, my aim was to convey my personal ambivalence toward this person I’d originally pegged as a hero—dramatic or otherwise. And so the following bits became too grossly manipulative, creating a forced, falsed-up persona to fit my narrative’s needs.]

About a year after Carl arrived in Rochester, looking for work, a man named Will Wheeler started at Ward’s [Natural Science Establishment, where Carl landed his first professional taxidermy gig] and immediately began intense, diligent work on the classification of invertebrates. Shells, mostly. On breaks, Carl would come across cases of seashells in certain corners of the compound, and as Carl’s was the indiscriminate eye of the sculptor, taking in everything and storing it for future use, he could never see any real difference between the specimens Will categorized and named in full. Conus kintoki. Conus virgo. Conus gloriamaris. Carl would read the names printed on little cards pinned to the back of these display cases and he’d pronounce them in with his untrained tongue over and over again until they sounded like a kind of music.
Continue reading TAA Outtake No. 5: Biographizing.

TAA Outtake No. 4: Beach Edition

On vacation this week. My outtake’ll have to be brief. As brief as, say, this swimsuit?

The notion of Miss TASCO 2008—those words, in fact—do appear in the book, but not this image. It came folded up Playboy-style in the 2008 catalogue for the Taxidermy Arts Supply Co., owned and operated by Dan Rinehart.

Mr. Rinehart: I thank you once again for letting me hang out in your taxidermy school for a day and take notes and ask people questions. I did my best to honor your students and you and the work you’ve accomplished with your school and supply company. Please don’t sue me for posting this image here.

The rumor is that Ms. Rezendes was a former student of Rinehart’s School of Taxidermy. Even less surprising: there are no more planned Miss TASCOs for the future. The shame about this is that in 2009, TASCO launched its CAD Series of deerforms, which come no only with preset eyes, but also pre-sculpted and pre-painted nostrils.

It woulda made a splash draped by a model.

Pre-order The Authentic Animal on Amazon.com

TAA Outtake No. 3: National Taxidermists’ Organizations

Pearl Henderson's Two-Headed Calf (photo courtesy of John Janelli)
[Last week, my outtakes got linked to on the taxidermy.net forums, where taxidermists go to help each other on such tricky items as painting an elk eye or tanning a snake skin. If you want to know a thing about taxidermists, you should know that every one I ever asked questions of answered them in a way that was friendly and quick (the one exception being a certain NYC-based “rogue taxidermist” so self-involved and rude I dropped him from the book and hope his career has ended and ended tragically. At taxidermy.net, there’s also a lot of arguing—it’s an Internet discussion board, so this is no surprise. They argue about the work of taxidermy, sure, but also about the taxidermy industry as a whole. They argue about competitions and judging and awards. They argue about current events. It’s what every subculture does online.

I bring it up only to state an ongoing concern: I didn’t write The Authentic Animal exclusively for taxidermists, but the book is so much of taxidermists and their work that I hope this subculture likes the book. I hope I did some justice.

In honor of my being linked to on taxidermy.net, I’ve chosen the following outtake. I think it got cut for two reasons. First, there’s this forced and confounding queer-history metaphor I try and fail to deploy. Second, it’s the bit where I try to get a handle on the history of taxidermists’ organizations. It’s a good history, and I think it’s an important one to get down in writing. It turned out, though, not to fit in with the chapter on taxidermy competition as well as I would have liked it to. It also turned out that I wasn’t the person to write this history.]


Continue reading TAA Outtake No. 3: National Taxidermists’ Organizations

New Criticism

Not that kind of New Criticism!

Back in April, I whined about book reviews online being too long! Gosh: they’re long. I said that if people wrote book reviews offline for an online readership, the reviews were wordy and long and took their time getting to their points. And but then if they were written online for an online readership, they were flashy and brief and substanceless.

I asked anyone to point be toward substantive books reviews under 400 words. I didn’t originally use the word substantive and I apologize now for not going with a plainer word like meaningful.

At any rate, look what @legaultd posted to Twitter, which @angermonsoon rewteeted, which is how it made its way to my eyeballs:

Infinity Blade is a game about iteration, about retreading old ground, about the small changes that surface across endless repetitions.

It operates around a simple conceit: the God King, the game’s strange central figure, has seeded a bloodline of warriors. A warrior approaches the God King’s fortress, fights his way to the throne room, and dies at the God King’s blade. He never leaves the castle. His son comes to avenge him, and the process repeats.

Each repetition ends the same way: with a son, wearing his father’s armor, carrying his father’s weapon, approaching the place of his father’s death.

The gameplay is predictable. Each bloodline is a series of fights. Each fight is a series of gestures. The enemies are variations on a theme. The spells are incremental improvements. We do the same things, over and over.

Infinity Blade may be a commentary on the grind of gaming, the relentless churn of killing and harvesting to gain new equipment so that we can kill and harvest more effectively.

But to continue playing is to live the same life a little bit better, a little bit smarter, a little bit longer than the time before.

That’s under 200 words if you can believe it, and look at how much it has to say about Infinity Blade itself and video games more generally.

Here’s a link to the review, published in Kill Screen. I don’t know if it’s the magazine itself or its writer, J. Nicholas Geist, but they’ve got my attention. As @legaultd said in his tweet of the review: “This is what electronic writing should be doing all the time.”

Yes.

UPDATE: Ha! So apparently I missed the “Begin Bloodline 2” button at the bottom of the screen, which begins through some javascript witchery (even the essay’s source code‘s a good read) to revise the review right before the reader’s eyes, inserting clarifications and more details. Through subsequent bloodlines the piece swells to 317 words before gradually deleting most of its sentences while keeping its argument fully intact! Damn it! It’s something incredible.

Tracy Morgan is a Stupid Man with Stupid Ideas, and That’s Not My Problem

I’m going to try to get some perspective here on what is a tricky issue, and to do it without all the self-important speechifying I’ve been seeing.

If this blog is (ha!) your sole source for celeb news, last week Tracy Morgan went off on a bit while doing stand-up about how gays need to stop whining about being bullied, and that if his son told him he was gay, Morgan would stab him to death.

So everyone went crazy, mostly after one gay member of the audience posted (on Facebook, unfortunately, in a note of all things) his summary of the act. It, naturally, was full of outrage.

I was put in this uncomfortable place: 30 Rock is a thing I love as fully and unquestionably as I love my family. It can do no wrong. Also: I’ve in the past had a hard time reconciling how friends could be “fans” of Kobe Bryant even after his calling a ref a faggot. So: What am I to do with my love for the show Morgan stars in?

Here’s what I’m doing:

  • I’m remembering that Morgan’s bit was taken 100% out of context. This is important to remember. It’s a stand-up bit. Hearing the thing in the moment of the act is a separate context from reading a paraphrase online. My understanding of comedy is such that I know even the words “I would stab my gay son to death” can be very funny if delivered properly.
  • I’m noting that even Morgan himself admitted the bit wasn’t funny.
  • I’m letting this remind me that lots of times comics go for sheer shock and inappropriateness, as these moves tend in their unexpectedness to get laffs. Zach Galifianakis is on the cover of the current Rolling Stone with a profile inside where he says essentially the same thing: Being wildly inappropriate is funny.
  • All the same, I’m trying to dismiss a lot of the arguments in support of Morgan that come from other straight-male comics. Shut up, dicks. And quit beginning your support of him with that “I abhor violence against gays” bullshit. Of course you do, but you have the luxury of abhorring it in the abstract. It’s not like you ever have to seriously worry about it.
  • That said, I thought Louis C.K.’s retweet of @rogerbinion’s reply to C.K.’s own defense of Morgan—”@louisck What exactly is ‘hilarious’ about stabbing a child? Just wondering.”—was itself (i.e., the retweeting itself without comment) very funny.

Watching someone stab a child to death isn’t funny. Nor, of course, is stabbing a child to death. These are awful and inexcusable. They’re maybe the worst things we can do as human beings. But if we’re unable to see how talking directly about some of the worst things we can do as human beings can be funny, we’ve got a problem.

Tracy Morgan’s stupid bit is his problem. Maybe it killed, or got him laffs, but it got him in trouble and he has to deal with it. That he’s an idiot isn’t going to ruin my enjoyment of the show he stars in. That he’s an idiot is sort of why they cast the guy.

I’m reminded of that moment in Wallace’s state fair essay when Native Companion is up in the Zipper, and the carnie dudes are working it such that her skirt is falling down over her upturned body, all so they can get a good ogle. DFW is appalled and indignant. N.C., meanwhile, is having the time of her life. Afterward, she chides the carnies in a way that’s half-joking. DFW is confused. Wasn’t she angry?

I don’t have the essay with me, but her response is something like, “There are idiots in the world. And I’m supposed to let them stop me from having a good time?”

Gay people: smarten up. I’d rather listen to Tracy Morgan talk about stabbing his gay kid for the rest of my life than listen to a GOP presidential candidate tell people that same-sex couples don’t have the right to adopt a child, because adoption is “a privilege that society recognizes because society sees intrinsic value to [straight] relationships over any other relationship.”

The former makes other idiots laugh at what they probably shouldn’t. The latter tries to rationalize denying gay people equal rights. That’s where the real offense lies.

TAA Outtake No. 2: The WTC Awards Ceremony

[Keeping the outtakes coming with the other outtake from my visit to the 2007 World Taxidermy Championships, which had taxidermists from more than 16 different countries in attendance. Even so, the ceremony (and this passage in the book proper) began with a singing of “The Star-Spangled Banner,” and only “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Also, remember especially toward the end that this happened in the spring of 2007. The specificity of the references may be one reason this bit got cut out.]

Larry [Blomquist] introduces Mike Kirkhart, one of the fish judges who is here to give an “incovation.” I admit to being completely ignorant to what such a thing might be. Exactly what could posssibly be invoked at a taxidermy competition’s awards banquet? Kirkhart is a tall man with silver hair on his round, round face, and at the podium he tells some old yarn about a man named Bubba, who converts to Catholicism, being told by the priest that he was born a Baptist, he was raised a Baptist, but that now he’s a Catholic. Still, though, Bubba grills venison on Fridays, to the confusion of his Catholic neighbors. Eventually they investigate, and everyone comes to find out that just before putting the steaks on the grill, Bubba makes the sign of the cross over the meat and saying, “You were born a deer, you were raised a deer, but now you’re a catfish.”

Kirkhart knows his audience, and the joke fucking kills. Hoots and hollers fill the Expo Hall, and when it all finally settles down Kirkhart turns to matters more serious: God and taxidermy. “God has give us the beauty of nature,” he says, with the slow and even cadence of a preacher. “Let’s hear a round of applause, all of you, for loving the Creation so much to make it beautiful in His eyes.”

And before I know it Kirkhart leads the room in the saying of the Lord’s Prayer.
Continue reading TAA Outtake No. 2: The WTC Awards Ceremony

A Rhetorical Weapon

Peter Taylor has a story titled “A Wife of Nashville” where on the second page its narrator reveals this about her relationship with what she in the Depression-era South calls “Negroes”: “I don’t care anything about them any more than you do.”

It’s such an amazing thing to say, about anything really. First is the terrible confession/admission. The bit that reveals the speaker to be self-involved and generally awful: I don’t care anything about it/them. Normally I’m not much interested in listening to or being around people who readily admit this—unless what’s not being cared about are the tweeted photos of congressmen or certain TV personalities’ inability to talk extemporaneously to the media without getting a whole mess of things wrong.

I mean, who wants to be such an ignoramus? But then there’s that incredible second part, where the listener becomes indicted and implicated in the general lack of caring that one could see as being the way the world works. It’s like saying: I don’t care any more than you do—and do you really care yourself or do you only care in theory enough to police the equal or greater caring of others?

Think of the ways you could wield this on the self-important!

  • I don’t care about the environment any more than you do.
  • I don’t care about animal welfare any more than you do.
  • I don’t care about taxidermy any more than you do.
  • I don’t care about you any more than you do.

And then how also it sort of retroactively spares the speaker the shame admitted in the utterance’s first part. How it almost uplifts the speaker: I care as much about it as you [claim to] do!

It’s a sentence that starts to identify the speaker as insufferable, which then through forced self-scrutiny ends up identifying her as unimpeachable. It’s like word magic.

“Swans on the Lake”

My mom when I was seven or so bought from a friend or coworker an upright piano. They put it at the top of the stairs. I guess she learned how to play it when she was young. Sang in the choir. Was proud of her musical background and hoped, the idea was, to instill this in her kids. Shani, the eldest, was probably a lost cause, already into her teen years by then.

But Jenny and I, we ate it up. The piano came with a ton of instructional books in the bench, most of them from the early-to-middle part of the twentieth century. Our friends the Soltyses up the street had an upright, too, and their bench was filled with books that had sheet music for current TV theme songs. I learned to play the “Cheers” theme by myself, though I feel like Jenny learned it before I did and was better at mastering it.

At any rate, the first song I ever taught myself to play with both hands at once—and if you want your children to learn how to read music, put a bunch of early-level piano instruction manuals in your piano and keep those idiots bored to tears on summer afternoons—was this one, “Swans on the Lake”, from the John Thompson instruction manual. I’m pretty sure it’s Grade I of a V-grade series.

Here are the lyrics, which until I found them online had only sketchily been running through my head all day:

Stately as princes the swans part the lilies and glide,
under the willows.
Are they enchanted men soon to be free again here,
under the willows?
Oh how I would like to be
here when the fairy wand
touches the leader and
changes his looks!
Would he be handsome and brave as the heroes that live
hidden in my fairy books?

It’s a dumb song, right? But in many ways it’s my ur-song. And if you know me, go ahead and Freud-up the whole thing to say A-ha! No wonder! and we’ll call it a late-spring’s eve.

Possible Milestones

I finished Ulysses yesterday. It feels good, mostly to be able to now move on to other more engaging books. If you’ve been thinking about reading it, just know that it’s tough. I got very little visceral joy out of reading it. None of the feeling that I was with the story. It was more like the story was being read to me in a lecture hall with bad acoustics and I was way in the back row and the mic was out.

Paradoxically the book’s become my without-question desert-island book—solely because I know that it’s maybe the world’s densest novel and it would last over many, many re-readings.

So, kudos, Joyce. You wrote a novel that has more of the world itself in it maybe that is far more work than pleasure to read. I don’t necessarily need easy breezy writing. Or what my students often call “flow.” But come on.

TAA Outtake No. 1: The World Avian Challenge

Despite being the World Taxidermy Championship, the World Taxidermy Championship is a decidedly American affair. It is invariably held in some U.S. city [ed. this is no longer true, in that the 2008 WTC was held way out in Austria], it is owned and operated by a magazine run out of Louisiana, and 90 percent of its competitors and judges are born-and-bred Americans. Europeans form the majority of the few non-Americans in attendance, and their influence at the WTC is compounded by the fact that 57 percent of the bird judges are European—a bit of a controversy given that bird taxidermy in the Europe is way different from bird taxidermy in the States. Much of the reason behind this is legal. Here, it’s illegal to mount any bird that it’s not legal to hunt. So: turkey, grouse, pheasants, ducks, etc. These birds are, pardon the pun, fair game for taxidermists. Your pet parakeet? Not fair game. The dead owl you find in the barn one morning? No, sir. No matter what the cause of death, if you come upon the carcass of a migratory or non-game bird, all you can do is call your local Game and Parks and they’ll come over and take the bird off your hands and find some way to dispose of it.

Europe, by comparison, is a bird taxidermist’s paradise. As long as the taxidermist is licensed, anything that dies of natural causes can be mounted—a falcon, a grackle, your budgie. European taxidermists deal with a vaster array of bird species than do Americans, and as such they’ve spent far more time studying the subtle physiological differences among those species.

Which brings us to the first-ever World Avian Challenge, a small side competition at the WTC in which competitors all mount the same bird in the exact same pose. Whoever most successfully captures the pose is declared winner. This year’s challenge is the Hungarian partridge—a brown-grey bird about the size of a volleyball, with an orange face and a bold black bead of an eye. Breakthrough [Magazine, corporate sponsor/host of the WTC] published back in January a photographic reference all contestants would use, showing a partridge stepping to the left with its head turned just to the right. This is all the contestants have. This and whatever experience they might claim with birds in general and the Hungarian partridge in specific.
Continue reading TAA Outtake No. 1: The World Avian Challenge

<em>The Authentic Animal</em>: All the Bad Stuff You Didn't Want!

We’re just about eight weeks away from TAA‘s official release. (Not much more time to or on Barnes & Noble!) For those eager to find out what someone can say about taxidermy for 90,000 words, I’ve decided to launch each of those eight weeks with some outtakes.

Researching a nonfiction book is like shooting a documentary film. (I imagine?) You end up gathering way more material than you’re able to use. So at varying points in the writing and editing process, this and other stuff gets cut out. In the case of “the Animal” (can I try this, this nickname?), some of it made whatever chapter stray too far from its focus. Some of it was me indulging whims and interests no other person would ever care to follow. Some of it was just confusing and bad.

And now you’ll get to read it all!

I’ll start tomorrow, with a piece about the first-ever World Avian Challenge—a bizarre and tense side competition at the 2007 World Taxidermy Championships. Here’s, um…. Here’s sort of what it looked like:

That in the background there? That’s a griffin made from a stillborn lion cub, of course.

Visit an Amazon.com Page, Win a Signed Book

Do you know that The Authentic Animal is ? This means the book’s got a whole Amazon page with all of its little widgets and bits of more information than most folks want. For instance, Customers Viewing This Item [i.e., me or my mom] Also Viewed this item:

It’s a poster you can get for just $6.29.

And then here is a list of Suggested Tags [I guess for more personalized searching?] from Similar Products:

  • tina fey
  • 30 rock
  • satire
  • liberal
  • humor
  • anti-intellectual
  • entertainers
  • essays
  • memoir
  • overrated and not funny

O, for TAA to ever become overrated!

You, reader, are invited to start a new customer discussion right there on the page. It’s under “Customer Discussions”. So maybe you’re asking: What do customers discuss regarding nonfiction books about taxidermy they’ve not yet read, written by a guy with no other book credits? Not a clue. Here’s something being discussed over on the page for Heaven Is for Real, currently the #3 bestselling book on Amazon, which is apparently about a boy who died for a bit in the hospital maybe and saw heaven I guess?:

What if you go to heaven, then rebel and become alienated from god again? God might intend for you to do that as part of its greater plan, and you just happened to draw the short straw.

Kudos to that pronoun use, amirite?

So here’s the offer: first person to start a discussion that gets more than 20 responses wins a free signed copy of the book. No, you can’t just respond to your own discussion 20 times. Yes, you can do whatever you want to get 20 other responses. No, your discussion need not have anything to do with the book itself, or taxidermy in general. Yes, you may challenge Amazon.com customers’ personal conceptions of heaven. No, you ought not emotionally devastate a person.

Oh and yes, I know: this is some pretty sad hucksterism.

Very Good Paragraphs (Special Feelgood Edition)

Just received over email Booklist’s advance review of The Authentic Animal:

The Authentic Animal: Inside the Odd and Obsessive World of Taxidermy.
Madden, Dave (Author)
Aug 2011. 288 p. St. Martin’s, hardcover, $26.99. (9780312643713). 579.4.

When you think about taxidermy, you probably think of it as a creepy hobby of a bygone era (fancied by that murderous psycho Norman Bates) or the tackiest form of basement novelty kitsch (ladies and gentlemen . . . the jackalope!). While the creepy/kitsch factor is stuck like glue to the art form (and the author does make a strong case that it is one), there is a long, rich, and, yes, colorful history associated with it. And, despite what you may think, it’s still a thriving business today. Madden covers it all with genuine curiosity, respect, depth, and wit (“I can’t help wondering what would happen if the tables were turned . . . . How would any of our skins look when mounted to resemble, say, Steve Guttenberg?”). He has an authentic, obsessive desire to delve deeper into our complicated relationship with the animal kingdom through this controversial practice and its proud, dedicated practitioners. He also addresses everything from the wildly popular Body Worlds exhibit to animal-rights groups such as PETA. A biographical narrative of Carl Akeley, “the father of modern taxidermy,” is artfully woven through this remarkably entertaining and thought-provoking book.
— Chris Keech

A starred review. My first. Thanks, Mr. Keech.

Very Good Paragraphs

Here’s a classic one, from Didion’s “On Self Respect”, that I’m finding it important to reread these days:

I had not been elected to Phi Beta Kappa. This failure could scarcely have been more predictable or less ambiguous (I simply did not have the grades), but I was unnerved by it; I had somehow thought myself a kind of academic Raskolnikov, curiously exempt from the cause-effect relationships which hampered others. Although even the humorless nineteen-year-old that I was must have recognized that the situation lacked real tragic stature, the day that I did not make Phi Beta Kappa nonetheless marked the end of something, and innocence may well be the word for it. I lost the conviction that lights would always turn green for me, the pleasant certainty that those rather passive virtues which had won me approval as a child automatically guaranteed me not only Phi Beta Kappa keys but happiness, honor, and the love of a good man; lost a certain touching faith in the totem power of good manners, clean hair, and proved competence on the Stanford-Binet scale. To such doubtful amulets had my self-respect been pinned, and I faced myself that day with the nonplussed apprehension of someone who has come across a vampire and has no crucifix at hand.