Eating Muffins

Halme Polvinen Family Collective. You will all be assillymated

  • Genre Rant

    by

    Posted by Sari

    I am increasingly short tempered and frustrated with fandom and its endless games with genre definitions. You know the drill, you can’t call Science Fiction scifi because that means just pulp and mass-produced movie tie-in crap. And SF means science fiction except it can also mean speculative fiction which was at one point a reasonable umbarella term for fantasy, science fiction and horror, but is apparently now been kidnapped to mean science fiction and fantasy that is good enough to be worthy of the attention of those fen who don’t want to read anything labelled fantasy. (Except that speculative fiction in itself is a problematic term: all fiction is speculative). And Horror with fantasy elements is within our “genre” but without them isn’t. There is New Wave and Next Wave and New Weird and Space Opera and High Fantasy and Low Fantasy (which, by the way have two different definitions), and god only knows what.

    In the end it is all about prestige and literary worth. Genre fiction is percieved as entertaiment, not serious literature. So if a novel is percieved to be of literary worth, it is lifted out of the genre. We rant about this all the time: how this and that book is clearly SF but is shelved among mainstream, and this and that writer clearly writes genre fiction but represents the work in public as something else. Well, I think we are doing exactly the same thing within the genre. We are creating genre definitions which have more to do with percieved literary worth than with any actual criteria that define the content of the works. And I am bloody tired of it. So I am going with Damon Knight: “science fiction means what we point to when we say it.” Except I am going to point at things and call them Fantasy.

  • What is going on?

    Posted by jukkahoo

    I try to check our weblog and all I get is a page for some [foul language] domain registration "service"!!! Who the Hell does this pairnic think they are? What the effing christ have they done to our webpresence?

    And why can’t I click to Pulpetti or Pool of Thought – Shallow End, either? Is it because of our computer (Hello, Mr. Sanders, everything OK?) or has some unscupulous bastichs done something wronk? Something they ought to be prosecuted, tried and hanged for? Grease the rope, Orville! We need a hoe-down.

    Gaah!!!

    And now (later) they seem to have everything under control.

    Sorry for the problem. This is a temporary issue at our
        domain registrar that is causing the wrong page to show
        temporarily for a group of users coming from some ISPs.
        Your weblog is still intact and will display again shortly.

    OK. Let’s not have this happening again, shall we?

  • Habent Papam

    Posted by Sari

    If I remember my rudimentary latin correctly. I was just a wee thing when John Paul II was elected, but old enough to remember vaguely the two conclaves that followed the deaths of Paul VI and John Paul I. I wonder where I got the information? I am trying to remember myself at the age of ten and drawing a blank. I don’t think I was an avid reader of newspapers at that age, but I propably watched news from the black-and-white TV my parents hid in a cupboard when it was not in use. I do think that the main source of information about the traditions must have been my Aunt (also a historian) who loves Rome and used to visit the city often.

    Be that as it may 1978 there was no 24/7 news media and thus this conlcave was the first where the whole world (at least those with TV/radio/net access) could immerse themselves in the drama. And we certainly did. Even I had one window open to Washington Post’s live camera feed from St. Peter’s square while in another window I was reading a pamphlet by miniature painter and architect Sir Balthazar Gerbier entituled “A Discovery of certain notorious stumbling-blocks which the Devill, the Pope and the Malignants have raised to put nations at Variance” (London 1652).

    And by chance “Médico de Familia” ended on YLE Teema just when the bells were ringing to confirm the white smoke rising from the chimney. And as a spectacle it was surprisingly exciting: cameras zooming on the balcony, reporters trying to decipher the latin announcement (okay it was pretty easy to pick out “Ratzinger”, so no great language skills were needed), and then the little old man blessing the crowd who did not seem to want to quiet down.

    As Sarin noted in Johanna’s Blog, our frame of reference now includeds reality TV which gave its own weirdish stamp to the proceedings. It was not difficult to conjure up images of cardinals going to the chalice with their hand-written ballots and survivor-like looking at the camera and saying something like “Claudio, I love you man, but I just have give it to Joseph this time”, or  Benedict XVI emerging to the balcony like the winner of "Big Brother", the Vatican edition.

    And strangely, considering how much I instinctively and and emotionally disliked John Paul II, I feel quite calm about the prospect of the Papacy of Benedict XVI. Panzerkardinal or God’s Rottweiler he might be but maybe because of his reputation as a scholar and theologican, I don’t get the scary evangelical vibe from him. Not that vibes are anything to go by, really.

  • Number Two

    by

    ,

    Posted by Sari

    Actually, I had written this quite some time ago, but wanted to wait for a bit for reasons to do with uni entrance examinations. But here goes: my favourite book(s) number two:

    Which is Pat Baker’s Regenration –trilogy, a series of books about shell-shocked British officers during the First World War. It is an inspired series which weaves together history, metaphor and fiction better than any other book I know, and does it in so many ways.

    At the center of the trilogy is the real and fascinating figure of doctor W.H.R. Rivers, an MD, psychologist and anthropologist who during the war was assigned to treat officers with war neuroses. Among his real patients was lieutenant Siegfried Sassoon, a poet and decorated solider who in 1917 became so disgusted at war that he chucked his medals in the Mersey and wrote a declaration to be read in the House of Commons denouncing the continuation of the war. He was shipped off to Scotland to be treated by Rivers in order to avoid a scandal. Regenration, the first novel in the series depicts the debates about the justification of the war between Rivers and Sassoon, the friendship between Sassoon and fellow inmate Wilfred Owen and Rivers’ efforts to break through to patients really suffering from what today would be termed PTSD.

    The next book, “The Eye in the Door” continues to trace the friendship between Rivers and Sassoon and the consequences of that friendship to Rivers’ world-view, but it centers more on a fictive patient of Rivers, Billy Prior who is a “temporary gentleman”, a working-class solider who has risen through ranks to be an officer. Besides being the liminal character capable (and eager) to transgress all boundaries, Prior presents in this part of the trilogy a new dilemma for a warring nation. As Rivers has to make sense of the world were he is curing patients so that they can be sent off to the front to be killed, Prior has to come to terms with his guilt regarding the inhumane way the state (and he himself as a representative of that coercive war-time regime) treats conscientious objectors, and to lesser extent others who do not wholeheartedly buy into the great nationalistic project.

    The last part, Booker winning “Ghost Road” is in a strange way the most lyrical of the three and alternates between depictions of Owen and Prior back in France, Rivers in London and Rivers’ memories of his anthropological trips to pacific island headhunters whose culture is in crisis because westerners have banned head-hunting and thus destroyed the cultural equilibrium of the islands.

    There are number of reasons why this trilogy is maybe my favourite work of fiction in the world. Firstly, it is the only historical novel I have ever read that has prompted me to read more about the subject-matter and that has not destroyed one bit of the effectiveness of the novel. Rivers’ own writings, his biography, Sassoon’s actual autobiography, his fictionalised autobiography, and biographies, Owen’s biography, Showalter’s “Female Malady”, Fussell, other works on FWW PTSD… I can situate all that in the novel and not cringe. That is not to say that Baker’s novel tells the truth about the war – the revisionist WW1 historians have severly criticized the fusselian take on the war experience – but it can and does tell a truth.

    The second, and even more important reason why I love the books is the masterly way in which Baker uses the web of connections between the real persons and events as very powerful metaphors. For example,  stammering was one of the most common symptoms of war neuroses in officers. Rivers stammered. So did rev. Charles Dodgson (better known as Lewis Carroll), a friend to Rivers’ father. Rivers father, also a clergyman, was also a speech-therapist. These are historical facts, but the way Baker interconnects them through Rivers and makes the power-relations of utterances one of the central themes in the book is nothing short of uncanny.
    Another example: before the war Rivers worked with his friend Dr. Henry Head in an experiment where they traced the regeneration of nervous system. They severed Head’s radial nerve, then sutured it and during the period of five years Rivers tested Head’s hand by pricking it with needles to see how and how the nerves regenerated. They named the two stages of nerve generation the protopathic, where the stimuli are percieved as painful and poorly localised  and epicritic, where responses to stimuli are gardeable and localisation can be percieved. In the book this experiment and its results act as metaphors for the process of trying to deal with the war trauma from the unlocalised suffocating pain of  the trauma to the gradable, localised pain achieved by therapy. For Rivers the experiment functions also as an allegorical reminder of the pain he caused/causes while dealing with his patients.

    My third reason for admiring Barker’s trilogy can actually be seen as one of the central themes of the novels, the justification of war and violence. It carries through all three volumes, beginning with the discussions between Rivers and Sassoon where they in a way convince each other that the other is right, and ending in Ghost Road where the debate is lifeted out of this particular conflict by interspersing the text with passages of Rivers anthropological studies in the South Seas. On one hand there is a sensless slaughter in Europe bitterly described by Owen in Abraham and Isaac, on the other there is the Pacific head-hunter culture which through Rivers eyes looks like a dying idyll, because traditional outlet for tribal violence has been shut down western missionary culture. Neither Rivers or through him Barker find easy answers to the perpetual dilemma of the violence of humanity, but the trilogy, unlike many other fictive and historical works does at least face that question head on.

    And if you googled yourself here because Regeneration is the entrance exam book for English Philology this year in Helsinki University, congrats. It is a great book to take apart and put together again.

  • In Just-

    by

    ,

    Posted by Sari

       In Just-
    Spring        when the world is mud-
    luscious

    It is time to break out the classics:

    Like Tom Lehrer

    Spring is here, a-suh-puh-ring is here. 

    Life is skittles and life is beer. 

    I think the loveliest time of the year 

    Is the spring. I do, don’t you? 

    ‘Course you do. 

    But there’s one thing that makes spring complete for me, 

    And makes every Sunday a treat for me:

    All the world seems in tune on a spring afternoon,

    When we’re poisoning pigeons in the park.

    Every Sunday you’ll see my sweetheart and me,

    As we poison the pigeons in the park.

    And Flanders & Swann

    A bold Hippopotamus was standing one day

    On the banks of the cool Shalimar

    He gazed at the bottom as it peacefully lay

    By the light of the evening star.

    Away on a hilltop, sat combing her hair

    Was a fair Hippopotami maid;

    The Hippopotamus was no ignoramus

    And sang her this sweet serenade:

    ‘Mud, Mud, glorious mud

    Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood!

    So follow me, follow

    Down to the hollow

    And there let us wallow
    In glorious mud’

    And that’s all you really need to get rid of the spring fatigue.

  • I quite like it

    Posted by Sari

    My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Sister Shuriken of Forgiveness.

    Get yours.

  • We must be living in a den of crack-whores…

    Posted by Sari

    Firstly, apologies for having been very uncommunicative for the first quarter of the year. The PhD is taking all my time and energy, and will continue to do so for the near future. At the moment however, I am just too tired to form a coherent thought about 17th century England, mainly thanks to the fire engines messing about in the street 3 am. few nights back and disrupting my fragile sleep pattern.

    What is it with Taimistontie and Emergency vehicles? I mean we live in a nice neighbourhood. The neighbours are nice. The parks and streets and yards are nice. There are no stalkers or drunkards or robberies (well somebody broke in to the video rental shop few months back…), everything is safe and clean and, well, nice. But for some reason during the years we have lived here, emergency services have been visiting our nice cul-de-sac of a street for  six or seven times. So I conclude that the niceness is actually a ruse and we are really  living in a den of crack-whores.

    From which I can segue elegantly to Gumrah, my latest Bollywood fare which is crack: poor orphaned Sridevi first becomes a singing sensation and superstar, then begins to search for his father who was falsely accused, disgraced, and deported from India. Unbeknownst to her, he is in Hong Kong busily becoming an alcoholic. Sridevi has also met Sunjay Dutt – a rogue with a heart of gold – who robs stuff for her, gets caught, goes to prison, sings a song, escapes and ends up in… Hong Kong! working for Sridevis Father!  Who apparently owns a restaurant and is a lawyer in addition of being an alcoholic.

    Sridevi Goes for Mauritius for a brief fling with a smarmy Rahul, tracks down her father and flies to Hong Kong. But the smarmy Rahul has planted cocaine in her luggage and she is thrown to prison. Cue in loads of tears, suffering, evil female prison guards with too much lipstick, executions, dirt, scraming, despair, blood and a trip by Sunjay and Sridevi’s dad to the public library of Hong Kong to find out about a secret tunnel dug during the second world war which is leading out from the very cell Sridevi is in. Happy ending.

    It is not a film I can recommend to anyone except maybe to "the professionals". Also, I really, really did not need to see Sunjay Dutt in a wife beater. I need to go and scrub my brain now.

  • A meme

    Posted by jukkahoo

    I did this with my livejournal, since it really is a lj-meme. Feel free to ask the Question, but remember that you really ought to have a some kind of weblog for the answers. Ta!

  • April Fools

    Posted by Sari

    Can I just say how much I hate April Fool day jokes? I mean really hate. This has been a bone of contention around Casa Tali since Jukka and I got together. Jukka loves them. He actually spends time trying to think up what to do next year. I just don’t get them. Maybe I have no sense of humour, maybe I have low self-esteem, whatever, but April Fool jokes are nasty evil unfunny things whose sole purpose is to make fun of the poor punter who does not get it while those who did get it congratulate themselves for being ooh-so-clever.

    During our, what, nine(?) years to gether Jukka has learned that to try to fool me on April 1st usually leads to success followed by tears, shouting, a knee in his groin, and a totally disproportionate amout of pouting and snipping, but apparently the "bheer" (another thing I find completely unfunny: the fannish jargon) at SF-mafia muddled his brain so that he saw fit to mix me up in his April Fool post on Muffins.To give him the credit he is due, he said that he would take the post down if it really bothered me that much. I was really tempted to take the offer, but in the end we ended up with a compromise where the post stayed where it was, but a) I got to write a rant against April Fools day, b) I refused even to look at the post he wrote.

    So if you found it funny you can feel sorry for this sad bastard who does not understand the intricate beauty of April fools day jokes, and if you – like me – don’t much care for them you have my condolences and apologies.

  • Carpe Diem

    Posted by jukkahoo

    There are moments in life when you just know that "this is it". It’s time to "seize the day" and "just do it".

    That moment is here and now. Some of you might know, that I’ve been writing articles & reviews for various fanzines and semi-prozines, as well as written an odd piece of stuff for different netpapers and e-zines. And then some. During this past year, after you-know-what, I’ve written a fair share of this in English; to various places, like Emerald City, SF-Chronicle – and SF-Site.

    Talking about the last one… They offered me a part-time job as a reviewer-editor-collector-younameit! -person. Not a lot of money, not a lot of publicity, but a heckuva amount of work, name-recognition and most importantly – a real chance to go out and try to make it in the Big world.

    This doesn’t mean I/we have to move. Right away. But if (and hopefully When!) they and I are satisfied with what I’ve been doing, it’d mean that I’d have to pack my things and, well, go.

    Where? Well, Canada.

    Which isn’t all that bad in my book. Of course, this would mean that I’d have to give up most of my Finnish duties and positons of trust. Like Tähtivaeltaja, Wsoy, Legolas, HSFS and – most importantly – the Chair of Finncon 2006 -committee. I have already talked with Vesa Sisättö about this and he is "willing" to take the big responsability. This of curse provided that I get the job after the initial three-month trial period. Fingers crossed!

    And what about Sari? I’ll let her say her piece:

    The SO(B) 🙂 may think that he can leave me behind, but there is a very good chance that after I’ve finished with my PhD in July, I could be eligable for a year-long tenure as a visiting Fellow at the University of Woolamaloo, in Toronto. UWT and Helsinki have a Albright-scholarship program for History and the current Fellow in Helsinki, this Canadian chap by the name of Noble Hyphen-Hyphen is willing to recommend me for the position. This would mean a LOT of hard work in order to finish the thesis, as well as a small canine problem, but this is (as Jukka says) one of those possibilities you shouldn’t waste.

    Part of me (Jukka, again) cannot actually believe this is at all happening. I’m aghast, flabberghasted and totally stupefied. What ever will tomorrow bring?