On Holy Wars

For that same word, rebellion, did divide
The action of their bodies from their souls;
And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd,
As men drink potions, that their weapons only
Seem'd on our side; but, for their spirits and souls,
This word, rebellion, it had froze them up,
As fish are in a pond. But now the bishop
Turns insurrection to religion:
Supposed sincere and holy in his thoughts,
He's followed both with body and with mind;
And doth enlarge his rising...

Edge

Just finished Margaret Atwood's The Year of the Flood. While I haven't loved other things that I've read by her lately, Atwood's dystopia always manages to get under my skin.

The novel is partially told from the perspective of a young sex worker, and, from the first chapter, this snippet struck a chord:

"[The strip club] was well run, though it was in a seedy area -- all the clubs were. That was a matter of image, Mordis would say: seedy was good for business, because unless there's an edge - something lurid or tawdry, a whiff of sleaze - what separated our brand from the run-of-the-mill product the guy could get at home, with the face cream and the white cotton panties?"

Six Impossible Things

I finally saw Alice in Wonderland, courtesy of the in-flight movie selections on my latest trans-Atlantic flight. Overall, I really enjoyed it: I thought Mia Wasikowska captured the right mix of wide-eyed Alice and skeptical Alice, Helena Bonham Carter's tone was appropriately imperious, and Johnny Depp was brilliant.

But -- and, you knew there was a but! -- I cringed (multiple times) at the deviations from Carroll's original storylines. e.g., Alice's famous line in the film? Not actually said by her in the original:

"I can't believe that!" said Alice.
"Can't you?" the [White] Queen said in a pitying tone. "Try again: draw a long breath, and shut your eyes."
Alice laughed. "There's no use trying," she said: one can't believe impossible things."
"I dare say you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.''

Of finding happiness in the extremes

''You tell me there is no fighting or hatred or desire in the Town. That is a beautiful dream, and I do want your happiness. But the absence of fighting or hatred or desire also means the opposites do not exist either. No joy, no communion, no love. Only where there is disillusionment and depression and sorrow does happiness arise; without the despair of loss, there is no hope.''

Blink

After some moving mishaps, I recently found myself book-less and browsing a friend's shelves for something to tide me over until my boxes arrived. I stumbled across Malcolm Gladwell's Blink, and while I know a number of people consider him to be a hack, I thought the book was an interesting examination into the decision-making process of individuals and institutions. Basically, Gladwell argues that there are situations where it makes sense to follow your first instinct over careful, reasoned analysis... but not always. Which left me in a bit of a tizzy: how am I supposed to know when to make weighted average spreadsheets and when to just follow my gut?!? ;)

But, tucked in the Afterword is the following explanation:

One of the questions that I've been asked over and over again since Blink came out is, When should we trust our instincts, and when should we consciously think things through? Well, here is a partial answer. On straightforward choices, deliberate analysis is the best. When questions of analysis and personal choice start to get complicated -- when we have to juggle many variables -- then our unconscious thought process may be superior... It seems as if [Sigmund Freud] agreed: "When making a decision of minor importance, I have always found it advantageous to consider all the pros and cons. In vital matters, however, such as the choice of a mate or profession, the decision should come from the unconscious, from somewhere within ourselves. In important decisions of personal life, we should be governed, I think, by the deep inner needs of our nature."

Makes sense to me!

Well, there's some comfort in that

Whenever I think about all of the ways that I manage to constantly make mistakes, I'm reminded of this passage from Anne of Green Gables. The snippet is a dialogue between eleven-year-old Anne, an orphan with a penchant for getting into trouble, and Marilla, the woman who adopts her:

"Marilla, isn't it nice to think that to-morrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?"

"I'll warrant you'll make plenty in it," said Marilla. "I never saw your beat for making mistakes, Anne."

"Yes and well I know it," admitted Anne mournfully. "But have you noticed one encouraging thing about me, Marilla? I never make the same mistake twice."

"I don't know as that's much benefit when you're always making new ones."

"Oh, don't you see, Marilla? There must be a limit to the mistakes one person can make, and when I get to the end of them, then I'll be through with them. That's a very comforting thought."

The Winter's Tale

Forget Twilight; when it comes to romance, Shakespeare makes the ladies swoon:

When you do dance, I wish you
A wave o’ the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that.

- The Winter's Tale, Act iv. Sc. 4.