Debbie's Writing

Debbie’s Writing

Deborah K. Barry

Variously writing under the surnames Fletcher, Atkin, and Palmer.

2 Debbie’s Writing

Published by:

Debbie Barry

2500 Mann Road, #248

Clarkston, Michigan 48346

Copyright © 2013 by Deborah K. Barry. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

ISBN-13: 978-1482388299

ISBN-10: 1482388294

Debbie’s Writing 3

Contents

7 Fictional Stories 7 A Quest

7 A Day on Olympus

8 Over the Rainbow

11 If I Could Roam the Stars

12 The Inner Realm

14 My Fantasy World

14 Brotherly Love?

18 A Time of Disappointment

19 Discussion of Elective Mass Inversion Apparatus

22 The Nearly Perfect Friendship

23 A Uniform Kind of Love

26 Ward of the Watchers

29 Joiya's Childhood

32 The Mother's Gift

36 Ancient One Born Anew

39 Avatar of the Wolf

43 Welcome to Wolfsinger Keep

44 Approaching the Keep

45 The Story of Katrin

47 The Legend of Whispering Tor

49 High School Essays 49 Hope

49 Theory of Historic Change

50 Imagination

51 The Electric Babysitter

52 Teenagers Versus Adults

54 Propaganda

55 Courage

55 The Importance of Fantasy

57 Innocence

57 The Great Encounter

58 Life

59 Perceptive Existence

60 Silent Speech

61 Death of a Universe


62 Hamlet: Grace or Revenge?

64 Mass Media

65 The American Frontier

67 Changes in America

71 High School Book Reviews 71 Parmenides' Reasoning

72 Malory and White

73 A Biography of Miss Havisham

74 Aesop's Fables

75 Stranger In A Strange Land

77 Linnets and Valerians

80 Patterns

81 Poe

82 The Patented Gate and the Mean Hamburger

83 Essays of Ralph Waldo Emerson

85 Benito Cereno

86 Daisy Miller

88 One Dash - Horses

89 Stranger In A Strange Land

92 Camber of Culdi, Saint Camber, Camber the Heretic, Deryni

Rising, Deryni Checkmate, High Deryni

94 Tehran Syndrome

96 The Problem

98 Firelord

101 Wuthering Heights

103 Ballads of the Green Berets

111 The Chaucerian Prologue

116 An Arthurian Review

119 A Review of Monty Python and the Holy Grail

120 Beloved Exile

122 The Last Rainbow

126 The Tempest

127 Information Suppression

128 Kim

129 Kim

133 High School Science Papers 133 The Shadow Universe

135 A Study of Normal

141 The Postdiluvian World


142 Dimensionality

143 Slicing Pi Into Millions

145 What's a Quark?

146 Adding a Dimension: Mathematics

152 Miscellaneous High School Papers

152 My Reason for Writing

152 Self Aware I

153 The Legacy of Edward Clark

153 Allegory for Liberty

154 65: William Shakespeare

154 Self Aware II

155 Self Aware III

156 Portrait of a Monster

157 Shoe City Blues


Receiving the First Place Award for 10th Grade for the Vermont Honors

Competition for Excellence in Writing. University of Vermont. May 9, 1985.


Fictional Stories

A Quest

September 30, 1983

If I were to go on a quest, it would be a quest for eternal peace.

I would start by visiting the heads-of-state of all the nations of the world. I

would talk to them about the uselessness or war and the wonderful possibilities of

peace. I would try to tell them about what war has done, is doing, and will ever

do, to ruin the earth for all peoples.

After visiting the heads-of-state, I would go and talk to the small children.

I would try to impress upon them the need for peace. I would try to shape their

thoughts and ideals so that they, too, would one day fight for peace.

When I was finished with talking to the children I would go out and talk to

church groups, business executives, housewives, and mill workers. I would try to

teach them the uselessness of anger and fighting. I would try to teach them to love

and to practice peace.

A Day on Olympus

November 9, 1983

One moment I was sitting in Mr. Beriau's English class and the next

moment I was in a great, glowing hall. On either side of the hall were six thrones.

On the thrones sat six gods and six goddesses. As I stood there, one of the gods

spoke to me. He told me his name was Zeus. He was the king of the gods. He told

me about the power he had as king of the gods. He told me that his power was

awful to him. He could never be lighthearted and careless as long as he had such

power, he could only brood, and think, and issue commands. From him I learned

that great power is not always a wonderful or satisfying thing.

The next person to speak was a goddess who called herself Athene. She

told me of her infinite wisdom and knowledge. She said that her wisdom and

knowledge often brought her great sadness. When I inquired as to the reason, she

said that it was because she could see all of the sadness, disease, and cruelty on


the earth and in the heavens. She said that she thought that humans were fortunate

because they could never realize all of the evils around them. From her I learned

that you couldn't always be happy just because you had what everyone else

craved. People have to accept small inconveniences along with great gifts.

The next thing that happened was that a great door at the far end of the

hall opened to reveal the face of the Titan, Atlas. His face was red from the effort

of upholding the earth and he was streaked with perspiration. He told me how

difficult it was to bear a world on one's shoulders. He told me that he had thought

it to be an insult to make him do such a task, at first. He also said that he had

discovered that from where he stood, he could see the world very clearly. He said

that he had seen that the world was not completely made up of sad things. He had

seen things that many of the gods and goddesses did not notice because their lives

were too taken up with wars against each other and against men. He told me that

he had learned to see the good things in people and, therefore, he could better

enjoy life. From him I learned that powerful people do not always have to be cruel

or war-like people. Anyone can enjoy life if they allow themselves to see past the

little flaws in people and things.

My day on Olympus was very good for me. In that day I had learned that

omnipotence and omniscience are not necessarily as desirable as people make

them seem. I also learned that if people could look beyond small imperfections,

they would realize that sadness is not the only thing in the world.

After Atlas had spoken, I heard a bell ringing. Then the scene before me

began to dissolve, the colours mixed and blended, and I was caught up in a

maelstrom of light and colour. I must have lost consciousness, because the next

thing I knew, I was in Mr. Beriau's English class again. I knew that I would never

forget my day on Olympus.

Over the Rainbow

November 16, 1983

I awoke feeling that I could do anything. Then I looked out of the window.

It was raining lightly. Somehow, even that didn't change my mood. As I watched,

I saw the sunrise beginning. The rain was lessening, and soon it became mist.

Then a rainbow began to blend across the sky. At that moment an unexpected

even occurred.

I began to feel that I was flying. I was lifted up, up, up ...up and over the

rainbow.


On the other side of the rainbow everything was glowing. The whole

world was clean and bright. I landed on the soft grass of a small clearing. There

was a little brook running through the clearing. The sun was high in the sky,

fluffy bits of cloud floated in the sky, and there were little people bustling about.

The people were each about two feet tall, they had long, pointed beards,

apple-red cheeks, and fiery blue eyes. They were dressed in green jerkins and

brown bloomers. They had green hats and hose and brown leather boots.

After a while, more of the little people showed up. These were little girls.

They looked like the fairies and gnomes that children are told of in the nursery.

They wore short gowns of gossamer, the colours of spring flowers. They all had

long, blonde hair. The older ones wore it plaited and pinned around their heads.

These tiny people had rosebud complexions, and eyes that mirrored the blue of

the sky.

As I watched, these tiny people began gathering the flowers which grew

along the banks of the brook. Several of the men searched for feathers, smooth

stones, and nuts.

These enterprises occupied the remainder of the afternoon. As the sun

wested toward evening, the little folk began to disappear into the woods. I

determined to follow them.

As I followed them, I noticed flowers that had been dropped along the

way. Without these flowers I would soon have been lost.

After a time, the path led me into another clearing. In this clearing was a

city. It was built of crystal, and shimmered with every colour of the spectrum. I

followed a path through the grass of the clearing and came to an open gate. I

passed through it, and found myself in a courtyard. It was paved with stones that

shone like opals. There was a fountain in the centre of the courtyard. The water

played over the tiers and lost itself in the pool at the base. There were coloured

lights around the base of the fountain. They circled the pond on a kind of carousel

and their light was reflected and refracted by the water.

As I stood gazing around the courtyard, three of the little girls ran up to

me. Two of them grabbed my hands and the other ran ahead. I was led to a door

into a palace. I found that the door was exactly my height. I followed the girls

through the door and through many corridors. Finally, I found myself in a great,

vaulted chamber. Everything in sight was glistening and white. It was a delight to

the eye. After a few minutes I noticed a man and a woman sitting on thrones on a

dais. They were old - very old! - but they looked very much like their subjects,

nevertheless. I stood with my mouth gaping at the thought of being in the

presence of royalty. Then, regaining control of my wits, I snapped to ramrod

attention and bowed low at the waist.


"Good day, my dear," said the wizened queen.

"Good day, Your Majesties," I said, bowing again.

"Please sit," said the king, gesturing to a cushion at the foot of the throne.

"It is not often that we are graced by the presence of humans."

I was hesitant at first, but finally I sat upon the cushion. I held my back

straight, my head up, and generally sat at full attention.

When the queen noticed this, she laughed and said, "Please, dear, try to

relax. You are very important here you know. Humans are always important to

our people."

"Please forgive me, Your Majesty. I am not accustomed to being in the

presence of royalty. I am a bit nervous," I said, by way of apology.

The queen waved aside my apology and began to tell me about the life of

her people. She told me that her people - she said we call them elves - had once

been human, too. She said that they had lived happily with nature and had never

harmed anyone. Then she said that a new race of humans had developed. She said

that they (the new people) had destroyed whole forests and polluted the air. The

elves had sought refuge from these evils. They had searched long for a place

where all was good and beautiful. After years of searching, an elven king found a

means of "crossing the line" from one universe to another - in essence, a means of

leaving the world of men and finding a simple paradise. This king took his people

over the rainbow and they started a new life.

By the time the queen had finished her tale - which I have shortened, as it

would take a full volume to relate - I found that I had tears in my eyes. I felt that I

was one of her subjects, and that I hated the people who had forced these people,

the elves, to leave their home.

I don't know what happened to me for the next few days - although there

are foggy images - the only thing I remember is being invited to give up my

mortal life and become one of the elves. I was told that I would be given as a wife

to the First Prince of the land. I don't remember my response, but I assume that I

declined - I'm here, after all!

I don't believe that I will ever return to the other side of the rainbow. I

consider it logical that, once I gave up my chance to join the elves, I had given up

any chance to go back.

I only hope that no one ever goes over the rainbow and ruins the land with

pollution - as men have tried to do to their own world.


If I Could Roam the Stars

November 7, 1983

I remembered sitting in Mr. Beriau's English class and then the next thing

I remembered was realizing that I was sitting in a large chair in the center of an

octagonal room facing a huge screen showing a glittering star field. As I became

oriented to my surroundings, I saw that all the walls of the room were flashing

with coloured lights. Also, there was a constant undercurrent of electronic sounds,

from humming and beeping to computerized voices.

Very soon, a young woman wearing a red uniform walked up to me and

said, "Captain, would you please sign these forms?"

"What did you call me?" I asked her.

"Why, Captain, of course. You are the captain of this ship, after all."

"What ship are we on?"

"The Starship Enterprise."

"I ... see," I said, hesitantly, "and what is your name and your rank, Miss?"

"My rank is yeoman, my name is Janice Rand."

All this was painfully similar to the day-dream I had been having minutes

ago in English class and made me fear that I had fallen asleep. I decided to accept

the situation.

"What is our destination, Yeoman?"

"I don't know, Ma'am. I just came on duty. Ensign Sulu ought to be able to

tell you."

"Thank you, Yeoman," I replied and, turning to the young ensign, I

continued thus: "Ensign, what is our destination?"

"We are on a plotted course for Starbase eleven, Ma'am."

"Change course for the planet Gateway in Sector 90.4, if you please."

"Aye, Captain."

After a new course had been plotted, we went at warp six through the vast

eternities of space. Just as we were entering Sector 90.4, Ensign Chekov reported

two vessels approaching at warp nine. They wee identified as Romulan warships.

Before I could utter a command, w felt the first impact of full phasers. We

returned their favour in kind and a full battle commenced. Then, through the red

glare of the lights, the screaming of sirens, the shouting of orders, and the static-

filled barrage of damage reports, I heard a cold, calm voice and, looking up, saw

the up-swept ears and eyebrows of the Vulcan first officer.

"The transporter is ready, Captain. You are due to pass through the portal

of the Guardian of Forever in precisely sixteen-point-three-eight minutes."


"Thank you, Mr. Spock. Can you tell me where and when I will be going

with the aid of the Guardian?"

"You will be returning to the exact place and time you were in before

arriving on this ship."

"Well, I suppose I ought to go now."

I was beamed to the surface of the planet Gateway and passed through the

Guardian. The next thing I knew, I was in Mr. Beriau's English class, and I was

being called upon to read. I knew I would never forget my chance to roam the

stars.

The Inner Realm

December 15, 1983

I was walking through the woods one day. I had been visiting friends inn

the north, and the house was surrounded by woods. As I walked along a path, I

began to sense something. The thing I sensed was an aura of power. I continued

along the path, far beyond the farthest I had ever gone before.

After a while I came to a point where another path branched off the one on

which I was walking. I decided to explore this new path.

The path led very steeply upward. I had not realized that the hill was so

large. Before long, I found myself on a ledge. Facing me was a cliff with a cave in

it. I was a bit nervous, but the power I had felt seemed to emanate from the cave. I

entered.

The cave was very narrow, and long. It was also dark. Nervously, I made

my way along the wall of the cave - it seemed to be an endless tunnel! The tunnel

descended steeply. I felt as though I was walking into the bowels of the earth.

Several hours later, I realized that the tunnel was not so steep as it had

been. It was now much easier to walk. I continued to follow the tunnel. After a

long time, I came to notice that the tunnel was not so dark. Was I coming to the

end of the tunnel, or was this some phenomena of the earth's chemistry? I pressed

on and soon found it to be the latter. I had come out into a huge cavern. The walls

were of some substance of which I knew nothing. They possessed luminescence,

though I could find no means for light to enter that place.

I soon gave up trying to discover the source of the light, and concentrated

on the beauty of my surroundings. I was on a wide ledge, which seemed to

encircle the entire cavern. There was a pond in the center, which my eyes and

nose told me was water, though I didn't taste it for fear of poison. The rocks along


either side of the ledge took the form of statuary, though closer examination

showed that no chisel made by man had touched these. There were many small

plants living in this region of the earth. To my surprise, these plants were green

and covered with flowers, regardless of the lack of sunlight.

I was marveling at the beauty of it, when the silence of the cavern was

broken by a sound like that of entire zoo, gone mad. I spun about and came face

to face with a huge creature. It was exactly like the mythical dragons that children

are told of. It was twenty feet tall, had mottled green skin, turquoise blue wings,

claws as large as my fist, and fiery red eyes. It did not look friendly! I considered

it wise to vacate the premises without startling the dragon. I began to talk

soothingly as I backed away toward the tunnel. Then something happened which

absolutely stunned me. The dragon blinked out and a young man stood before me.

We wore a green tunic and breeches, and the tunic had turquoise sleeves.

"Good morn, fair lass," he said." How came thee to the Inner Realm?"

I came through a cave on the surface. I don't know where I am," I replied.

"Thou art in the Inner Realm, the world within the world. Thy people

created this world through their telling of faery tales. Thy people have great

potential," he said.

"How could a world be created by the telling of tales? That can't happen.

A place like this can't be made from people's fancy," I cried. My voice had

reached a hysterical note.

"Please, lass, get thee not into such a state. It be not good for thee. Sit, and

I will attempt to explain that which thou hast called impossible," said he.

The remainder of that day, and perhaps several more, I lost track of time,

was spent in explanations. Naturally, the relating of fairy tales was par for the

course.

In time, I realized that the people of the surface would be worried about

me, so I asked the dragon to take me home.

"I beg thee to forgive me, but I canst not go near the surface, lest I be

killed by thy people. It wouldst be far better for me to remain in mine own world,

and for thee to return to thine," he said, sorrowfully.

"I understand. Thank you for your help. Would it be possible for me to

return one day? It is so beautiful here," I replied, questioning.

"Thou couldst return if thou so wished, so long as thou believed in fantasy

and magic. Otherwise, thou couldst not return. Farewell!" he cried.

I followed the tunnel back to the surface. When I arrived I heard voices

calling my name.

"I'm here!" I cried.


The people began to gather about, though many of them didn't know me.

When my mother arrived she hugged me tightly, and then scolded me for staying

in the woods for three days. She didn't punish me physically; she assumed that I

had been punished enough by my stay in the woods. If she could only know the

truth ...

My Fantasy World

September 12, 1983

I would like to have lived in England at the time of the legendary King

Arthur. I would have liked to be a lady in King Arthur's Court.

I would like this because I like the way nobility lived at that time, in that

place.

I think I would have done well in Camelot because I admire chivalry,

enjoy rich gowns and fine food, and because I am always more comfortable when

met with courteous words, gallant gestures, and attractive appearance. Also, I

think that I could have helped England. I have always been somewhat

imaginative, and I think I might not have been like other ladies, remaining in the

home, doing elaborate needlework. I might have hastened the advents of many

things not to be had in old England.

Although I would like to have lived in King Arthur's time, I don't think I

would have been accepted. This is because I tend to be more forward than many

ladies of the time. I also tend to express my views, regardless of other people's

feelings. Another reason why I might not have been accepted is that I tend to e

more comfortable participating in the activities of men and boys, than with the

giggling foolishness of girls.

Brotherly Love?

January 12, 1986

"Hi, Jess. How're you feeling?"

"Okay. Just the flue. Doctor says I'll be back in school tomorrow."

"Oh. Missed you on the bus. Ended up sitting with Jason."

"Ugh! Poor you. Alan told me you were looking for me. Said you wanted

me to call."

"Yeah."


"What's up?"

"Not much. Just wanted to talk. Gets lonely sometimes."

"Okay. What'd you want to talk about?"

"Who is it, Jess?"

"That you, Alan? It's me."

"Oh, hi, Bec. What's up?"

"Just talking to Jess. Didn't see her this morning, you know."

"Get off the phone, Alan. It's for me."

"Okay. But I want to talk to Bec when you're done."

"A'right, a'ready. Get off!"

Alan hung up the extension and sat down to wait. Jessica and Rebecca

continued to talk. They chatted about several different boys, siblings, school, and

the recent holiday. After about a half hour, Jessica called for her brother.

"Alan! Pick up!"

There was a pause, then Alan said, "Hi, Bec. We need to talk. Jess?"

"I'm off, Alan."

"Thanks, Jess."

"What's up, Al? You sound worried."

"I am. I've been talking to my mother. She told me something I didn't want

to hear. I'm not sure you want to, either."

"Then don't tell me."

"I have to. It's about you. Uh ... this is hard to say."

"What is it?" Rebecca was beginning to be concerned. Alan almost never

wanted to talk seriously, and he never had trouble with words.

"She said I was your brother. She said I should tell you."

"Oh, God." Rebecca sat down heavily on her bed. She felt dizzy, and not a

little sick.

"She said she'd promised our father that she'd tell me the truth when I was

old enough to handle it. Today was the day."

"But you're younger than me!"

"I know. I'm sorry." He felt that sorrow was a little inadequate, but knew

of nothing else he could say. He certainly could not change reality.

"I ... see. uh ... I knew there was a third child. I didn't know who, though.

What do we do now?"

"According to a contract between our father and mothers, when we both

knew the truth about each other, I would take your last name, and your mother

would adopt me. Also, I would be named your Protector."


"But Protector is only named to guard the heir to the family," Rebecca said

slowly, collecting her thoughts. "You're the only son. That makes you the heir, not

me."

"No. The contract was rigged so you'd be the heir, unless your mother had

a son."

"But why? Because you're only my half-brother?"

"Right. There's some family legal code that has precedence over

primogeniture."

"Oh. But about you being adopted, we'll have problems. It'll be pretty hard

to explain to people how you're my brother all of a sudden."

"I know. But worse than that, I don't know if i can handle being your

brother. I don't think I could stand you as a sister."

"Thanks alot!"

"Calm down. I'm serious. It's not that I don't like you - it's that I do. A lot.

And I don't know if I can be your brother."

"Oh, God. So it's mutual?"

"Yeah. I was a jerk about it because something inside me said to stay

clear. Didn't want to, though."

"I know what you mean. I had the same little voice in my head! But I

ignored it. It's caused trouble before, but this time I guess it was trying to keep me

out of trouble. I guess I made a pretty big fool out of myself. I should have stayed

away."

"But I wanted to go out with you just as much. I think you knew it, and

that's why you ignored it."

"That's just what we need! You saying you wanted to go out with me! An

hour I would've been thrilled if you'd said that."

"I know. I'm sorry. There's always Matt or Steve,: he said, trying to be

helpful.

"Don't be sorry. And don't try to make me feel better. Misery is what I ned

now. I'll cry myself to sleep. Then I'll starve myself in mourning for you."

"You're getting melodramatic. Cut it out."

"Okay. But I need the practice."

"Get it later. I won't be sorry if you don't want me too."

"Good boy."

"Okay."

"Bye."

"Bye."

That evening, Rebecca was playing the piano in the living room when the

telephone rang. She went to answer it.


"Hello?"

"Hello, Rebecca. Are you busy?" It was Alan's mother.

"No, Mrs. Randolph. What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to tell you that I've arranged a court date to have Alan's name

changed from Randolph to Hathaway."

"Oh. That's good. When is it?"

"We were very lucky. We got in for tomorrow morning at nine."

"Oh. I see. I guess that's pretty lucky. What about the adoption?"

"Alan'll move in with you this weekend. I saw your mother in town and

we decided that'd be best."

"I see. I'm sure you're right. The sooner he lives among Hathaways, the

sooner he'll call himself one. Okay. Thanks, Mrs. Randolph."

"Certainly, Rebecca. Good-bye."

"Bye."

The following morning, while Rebecca and her sister, Elizabeth, were

getting ready for school, Mrs. Randolph called their house.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, Elizabeth. May I speak to Rebecca, please?"

"Yep." She turned away. "Bec!"

Rebecca hurried into her mother's bedroom and took the telephone from

her sister. "Hello?"

"Hello, Rebecca. I'm glad you haven't left yet. I was hoping to drive you

and Alan into town, and drop Elizabeth to ride in on the bus with Jessica."

"Oh. Okay. What time?"

"Six-thirty? Alan tells me you usually leave about then. It'll give us time to

stop for breakfast before the hearing."

"Sure. Fine. See you then."

"Good. Good-bye."

"Bye."

Rebecca hung up the telephone and walked across the room to the living

room door. "Liz? Get your stuff together. Alan's mother'll be here in ten minutes

to pick us up."

"Why's she picking us up?" Elizabeth asked, not missing a beat in the

video game she was playing. "She works at the bank. She doesn't drive."

"She's taking Alan and me to court this morning. Remember? And she's

going to drop you to ride with Jess."

"Better tell Mom."

"Tell Mom what?" Mrs. Hathaway asked from the kitchen door.

"That Mrs. Randolph is driving us to school."


"Oh. All right. I'm not worried about you riding with her."

The sound of a car's horn caused the Hathaways to jump. Recollecting

herself, Rebecca said, "Liz! She's here!"

The two girls pulled on coats, picked up book bags and purses, and ran out

the back door, fiddling with coat zippers as they went. When they reached the car,

bruised from running too fast on an icy driveway, they piled in. Rebecca took the

front seat, next to Mrs. Randolph, and near the heat. Elizabeth took the back seat.

Both girls piled their belongings into the back seat.

When Rebecca and Elizabeth had settled, Mrs. Randolph gave them an

amused glance and pulled out of the driveway, heading north.

Five minutes later, Elizabeth was climbing out of the back seat, and Alan

was climbing into the front. Book bags were tossed in and out, scarves were

whipped about, Elizabeth stumbled onto the front porch, the car doors were

closed, and Rebecca and Alan were ready to go to court.

A Time of Disappointment

April 4, 1986

It was a damp, chill, April evening. The cadets had gathered at the Armory

for their weekly training. The basketball game had ended, and the cadets had

settled into formation. Each green-clad youth had joined the Civil Air Patrol for a

different reason. Each officer had memories of the green-clad days.

As Lieutenant King entered the drill hall, the murmur of discussion

subsided into stillness. He was their own age, yet the neat, blue uniform made him

seem older. He called the flights to attention. Cadet Fletcher allowed her mind to

turn to the standard dismissal ceremony. however, the evening was to prove itself

different from other evenings.

"Cadet Sergeant Cummings, front and center," Lieutenant King ordered.

At the order, Sergeant Cummings turned and marched to a position before the

Lieutenant, saluted, and reported.

After a moment of low-voiced conversation, the Lieutenant announced,

"Sergeant Cummings is now the Deputy Cadet Commander." Sergeant Cummings

moved to his new position. Cadet Fletcher's heart raced. She was next to the

Sergeant in rank; she knew that her promotion was imminent.

"Cadet King, front and center," the Lieutenant ordered. His brother went

forward, and received the position of First Sergeant. Cadet Fletcher tensed with

anticipation. It would be her turn next.


"Cadet Browe, front and center." Cadet Fletcher's heart missed a beat.

Gregg had gotten her command. She stood steadfastly at attention, tears running

freely down her cheeks, as Cadet Browe took his place as Flight Commander.

Later in the evening, after dismissal, cadet Fletcher approached Lieutenant

King about the matter.

"I'm sorry, Kathie," he said, "I forgot you were there."

Cadet Fletcher's anger boiled up in her, but she carefully concealed it. She

did not wish to add insult to injury by showing the boys her vulnerability.

As she walked out to the Skinners' car, she relived the promotion scene in

flashes, over and over. Her thoughts were interrupted by Lieutenant Colonel

Moors.

"Kathie, come here." He commanded and she obeyed. "About the prom,"

he began, "I'm really sorry, but I think I'm a little too old to go."

"Oh, Steve!" Her resolve finally broke, and she cried out. The tears ran

unchecked as she got into the car. An evening that had begun in fun had ended in

disappointment, and a sense of betrayal.

In the course of the next two days, Kathie Fletcher ignored every word and

motion of the Lieutenant. James King became a hated name. Nevertheless,

Kathie's belief that love and hate are synonymous carried her on. She hated

James, but his presence was a constant, fond reminder of good times past.

Discussion of Elective Mass Inversion Apparatus

1986

The Elective Mass Inversion Apparatus (EMIA) was originally developed

by T'pask, Sivek, B't'hr, and K't'lk, all outstanding in the field of creative physics.

The EMIA operates in deSitter space, which is a space continuum similar

to the third-dimensional space/time continuum with which each of us is intimately

familiar. (1)

The EMIA operates on the basis of infinite mass. This is a concept in

which ordinary matter is "injected" with the energy which is necessary to

transcend the speed of light. If the energized matter is not given accelerated

speed, it will remain at its original point of existence, but in a virtual state. If a

living being experiences infinite mass, it will experience duration without the

standard accompaniment of elapsed time. In essence, the subject will exist in two

time frames: subjective and objective. More on this later.

If the energized matter is accelerated, it will "travel" along any of a

number of time/space continua. With an EMIA, a pre-selected vector may be


programmed into the acceleration. With this travel, the traditional three

dimensions would become obsolete, because dozens of multi-dimensional

universes and/or realities would become available. (2)

The theory of the EMIA is to travel great distances, including intergalactic

and inter-universal. This concept permits the relatively safe crossing of the energy

barriers surrounding the galaxies. The longer the distance travelled, the more

uncomfortable does the subject become. This is because we are structured and

instructed to exist in three dimensions, and the EMIA places the subject in five

dimensions: length, width, depth, time, and consciousness. The alert reader may

notice that I here refer to common concepts with uncommon parameters. Many of

you realize that time and consciousness are integral parts of our lives. In the

dimensional context, however, these become physical dimensions.

The theory of the EMIA is based on super-tachyons. These are particles

which are capable of light warp speeds. The tachyons are energized to the point of

infinite mass, thereby increasing their speed. The fact of the infinite mass affects

all matter in the vicinity of the particles. The amount of time permitted between

the initiation of infinite mass and the introduction of acceleration determines the

amount of matter affected. The acceleration programming is set to stop the entire

effect immediately when sufficient distance is between the source and the point of

existence. I hesitate to say "distance travelled" because the phrase implies elapsed

time, of which there is none.

There are several problems with this concept, as with all others which

tamper with natural laws. In this case, relativity is in question. Does relativity

apply to actions which require no time? This is a difficult question to answer,

since this concept has been put into use only once, in prototype. At that time,

many natural laws were bent, broken, and/or changed. This occasion will be

referred to again later in this paper.

The problem which we will discuss first is the primary consideration for

humans. When the EMIA is in use, the consciousness of the persons operating

about it will tend to become merged. This phenomenon usually continues for the

"duration" of the jump (in this context, "duration" refers to the experienced time

as opposed to the actual time). When this occurs, the mental energies of the

subject become free of the restraints of physical structure. While the physical

being is in temporal stasis, the mental being operates as if it were physical. The

subject is able to manipulate space, time, and an infinity of dimensional

anomalies. This state is referred to as psycholocomotion, and it exists within and

without the area of temporal stasis, but not on the boundary (or physical limit).

The second problem which we will discuss is of more widespread interest.

It is the matter of spacial and temporal structure - in fact, dimensional stability.


The difficulty is that, under certain circumstances, the primary space/time

continuum will tend to "rip." This refers to the trans-dimensional entropy field

being turned inside out. To illustrate this, picture a sheet of paper, secured in a

rigid frame. If you put your first through the paper, one side of the paper will turn

over onto the other side. As you continue to push your arm - and now let's get

dramatic - your shoulder, and your body through the paper, the hole gets bigger

and the amount of turned-over paper increases, spreading out farther from the

point of initiation. The same principle applies to a rip in entropy. As the rip

grows, the reverse of entropy - anentropy - spreads out into the universe.

Anentropy is the absence of time and, hence, the absence of existence.

Only anentropy can overwhelm entropy, in effect stopping, or killing, time.

The hazard of anentropic infection becomes imminent only in the case of

frequent, long-distance jumps. Jumps of half-galactic distance are the minimum

safe tolerance, while single intergalactic jumps are the extreme maximum

tolerance distance. Near there limits, engineers, scientists, and doctors should

confer, and should exercise discretion. Suggestions on this subject should receive

the full attention of commanders.

An important problem of the EMIA which we will only touch on here is of

special interest to astronomers and historians. When long-distance jumps are

made within the gravitational spheres of unstable or multiple stars, these stars

may tend to supernova. If these stars are yellow or smaller, the effect will be a

nova more often than a supernova.

The fourth problem which we will discuss is one which has been treated

by many science fiction writers, and even by classical authors, such as Lewis

Carroll. This problem involves dimension doors. When frequent jumps are made

in the vicinity of black holes and/or similar anomalies, they may tend to open

corridors to other-dimensional universes. When the EMIA was tested in

prototype, this difficulty arose. During a particularly long jump, near an entropy

rip (which is considered in the same class of phenomena with black holes), the

test crew encountered a consciousness. This consciousness was in a dimension of

anentropy. The crew used its merged consciousness to instruct the entity in the

way our universe works. The entity then took the new knowledge and created a

universe with its own unique form of entropy within the "limits" of its

dimensional void.

The Elective Mass Inversion Apparatus is sufficiently effective and

efficient to allow it to be used as a standard means of long-distance travel in

starships, despite its problems. With reasonable discretion, this device could

become the primary mode of travel in this universe, transcending the basic warp

drive.


As a last note, a word of warning: any amount of infinite matter held in

one place for more than several nano-seconds will draw the matter of the universe

into itself, reversing the structure and entropy of the universe into a dimensional

black hole.

EMIA References

1. Nature. vol. 295, January 28, 1982, pp. 304-307. "Creation of open universes

from deSitter space."

2. Relativity. NY: Plenum Press, 1970. In Carmeli et al. "Spacetime as a sheaf of

geodesics in superspace." DeWitt, B.S.

3. The Wounded Sky. Diane Duane. Timescape Books, New York. 1983.

The Nearly Perfect Friendship

April 18, 1986

A nearly perfect friendship must begin with a nearly perfect friend. A

nearly perfect friend is a person who makes his friend complete. he listens to her

problems, and he shares in her joys. He is kind, sensitive, and very human. He has

his faults, but they make the bond of friendship stronger.

With a nearly perfect friend, a nearly perfect friendship is easily obtained.

This type of friendship consists of a sharing on many levels. The sharing is

material, intellectual, emotional, and spiritual. The strength of the bond within the

realm of spiritual sharing determines the nearness to perfection of the friendship.

This type of friendship, here considered between a boy and a girl, can

exist between any two people. There is no restriction on age, sex, or background;

the prime factor is much deeper than these. It is one of the few human concepts

without a name. Attempts at naming it have resulted in words such as "faith,"

"trust," "love," and similar virtues and emotions which are pale shadows of the

reality.

In a nearly perfect friendship, two people often seem to act as one. Their

thoughts, beliefs, and preferences are very similar. They share an empathic bond

which no outside force can touch.

In my own nearly perfect friendship, I have seen both the "nearly" and the

"perfect" in all their meanings. I have learned about myself through his insight.

We have both grown and matured in our friendship. Although the "nearly" can

never be dropped from the term, our friendship seems, at times, not to need it.


In a friendship such as that which I share, humanity is crucial. Through

humanity, each of us recognizes and accepts the other's faults. We support each

other, even though we are separated by half a continent.

As I have just stated, distance has no bearing on a nearly perfect

friendship. That nameless quality which allows such a friendship to exist also

allows it to survive separation.

A nearly perfect friendship is a very precious thing. It is not to be taken

lightly. It is the only thing which no one can ever harm or take away.

A Uniform Kind of Love

November 20, 1986

It was a warm, September evening. Bekka was in a good mood; she had

found an activity which she really enjoyed. She had become an Air Rescue cadet.

Her mood changed as she rode into the parking lot of the Rescue headquarters.

From her place in the back seat, she saw a white car, parked at the edge of the

parking lot. She couldn't see it very well, but she saw that it had Ohio plates.

There was a man in the driver's seat, and no one else around. She felt a sudden

chill, and panic washed over her.

She got out of the car and stood in place for several moments while she

decided what to do. She had only learned protocol in the past week, and was not

good at it, so she decided to avoid the strange man, whom she had realized was an

officer. She skirted around the flight school, adjacent to the headquarters, and

walked down the flight line to the main building. She walked quickly, painfully

aware of her too-large fatigues, men's-style combat boots, and hastily-braided

hair. She was just past fifteen, and she was beginning to realize that her uniform

was less than flattering to her.

As the meeting time drew closer, Bekka returned to the trailer, which the

Rescue used as its headquarters. The man from the car was standing next to his

car, putting on a jacket. Her fears were realized; he was an officer. She took a

deep breath and moved toward the trailer. She stood in the shelter of the steps,

pressed against the wall. Then he started toward the trailer. Bekka's panic

increased. The man was hardly three paces from her by the time she gained the

courage to raise a shaky salute. He stopped and returned her salute with a smart

snap.


Bekka was saved the additional problem of handling a conversation with

the man, whose uniform had identified him as Lindsay, by Chris' arrival. She

saluted him confidently, being accustomed to working with Chris.

After rendering the salute, Bekka said, "Chris, you've gotta teach me that.

I don't know what to do."

Chris laughed, and walked over to salute Lindsay.

The meeting passed well, with a full flight of cadets in attendance.

Lindsay stood in a corner, watching the proceedings.

As the meeting ended, Bekka and Randy began exchanging insults, as

usual; Randy was considered the squadron brat, and he had only been a cadet for a

month longer than Bekka. When she realized that Lindsay was still there, Bekka

became embarrassed. She was not used to having unfamiliar officers observing

her activities.

Three months passed, and Bekka became confident of her abilities. She

progressed rapidly through the ranks, learning everything she could. The squadron

moved to winter quarters, and she thrived on the attention that she received in the

new, closer quarters.

Then, on a frigid night in December, Lindsay returned to visit the Rescue

again. Bekka had learned to recognize grade insignia by then, and she recognized

him as a Cadet Major. Her fear was already gone from her, and realizing that he

was a cadet set her at ease.

The winter headquarters was locked when the cadets arrived, so Bekka

began talking to Lindsay. Both cadets were maintaining strict levels of protocol,

so neither learned the other's first name. Lindsay called Bekka by her surname,

MacLennan, and she avoided using his name.

Finally, about an hour after the meeting was supposed to have started, a

caretaker opened the doors. The headquarters were in no condition for a meeting

that night, so everyone called home for rides.

Almost a year passed before Bekka saw Lindsay again. She progressed

through the ranks as quickly as possible, gaining position and power, as well as

grade. She lost the last vestiges of her fear of officers, and gained confidence in

her abilities. Then, at the end of October, he returned again.

Bekka was surprised to see Lindsay at the meeting that night. He had

arrived in civilian dress, but he carried himself as though he was in uniform. His

assuredness impressed Bekka, and she saw that he was much friendlier than she

had thought during the winter.

Bekka and Lindsay talked during their free time, and they got along very

well. The Colonel, her commanding officer, was concerned about their friendship,

however, and he warned her to be careful of him.


Two weeks later, after another meeting, Bekka's telephone rang. She

picked it up and a male voice asked, "Is Bekka there?"

"This is," she replied.

"This is Sean," the voice said.

"Sean who?"

"Sean Lindsay."

"Oh! I didn't know your first name."

Sean and Bekka talked for nearly an hour. Then, just as they were getting

ready to hang up, Sean said, "You can take this any way you want, but I'd like to

take you out."

Bekka took a deep breath, then said, simply, "Okay."

They talked for a little while longer, then they hung up and Bekka went to

bed.

The next day, Friday, Bekka called Sean to tell him that a meeting, which

they were supposed to have attended for the Rescue, had been cancelled. Once

she had given him her message, they turned to more casual conversation. In the

course of their conversation, Sean asked Bekka to go to dinner with him on

Sunday. She accepted, and the conversation ended for that evening.

Sean and Bekka talked on the telephone several times between Friday

night and Sunday afternoon. Their conversation was light, but it had a serious

note. Their friendship deepened as the week progressed.

Sean arrived at Bekka's house a few minutes before six o'clock in the

evening. She had spent a long time getting dressed, and had done her best to look

nice.

Sean met Mrs. MacLennan, then he and Bekka left. They went to a

restaurant in the next town away from Bekka's home, and they had a wonderful

time. Bekka let Sean handle everything, including ordering dinner.

During dinner, Sean gave Bekka his class ring. She was hesitant about

putting it on, so she put it on the table during the meal. After dinner, she slipped it

on, but she felt shy about it, so she didn't tell Sean.

They drove around town for a little while, then they went to an

observation point with a view of the city's lights. They just sat for a little while,

then Sean told Bekka about himself. When he asked her about herself, though,

Bekka became self-conscious.

"I dunno. There really isn't much to say. I mean...." She trailed off into a

confused silence.

Seeing her hesitation, Sean took her hand in his. She looked up at him and

smiled. Then she relaxed and told him about herself.

After a while, Sean said, "Close your eyes. I have a surprise."


Bekka did as he asked. She heard him rummaging in a pocket, then he

took her hand again. He slipped a ring on it, fumbled for a flashlight, and told her

to open her eyes.

"Oh," she breathed. "It's beautiful." She looked up at him with her eyes

shining. The ring was a diamond solitaire.

"I wanted to see your reaction," he said. "You know what it is, don't you?"

"I think so."

"Good." He leaned over the armrest in the middle of the seat and kissed

her. Then they sat together, looking out over the city.

It was five minutes before ten o'clock when they returned to Bekka's

house. She had a ten o'clock curfew, so they were pleased by the timing. She

asked Sean to go in with her, and they sat in her kitchen for nearly an hour. It was

nearing midnight before she even got to bed; she didn't sleep that night.

The next day, Bekka was in a wonderful mood. She showed everyone the

rings, and told all of her friends about him. Everyone, except Tim and Rick, was

happy for her. It did not seem to matter, though; Bekka was in a wonderful mood.

Monday night, Sean surprised Bekka by showing up at her house. He

visited with her mother for a while, then Sean and Bekka went for a walk in the

yard. They ended up at his car, and he took a package out of the front seat. He

took something out of a bag, and put the bag in the back seat. Then he handed her

the thing from the bag. It was a little teddy bear. She smiled with a small, warm

smile that had never been there before. Then he kissed her and asked her to marry

him. She accepted, and the engagement became official.

Two years passed while Bekka went through her training with the Army.

Then, after her technical school, she and Sean moved to a base in central Texas.

They were married after a week on the base. Bekka knew then that she had never

known happiness before.

Ward of the Watchers

One day in my travels, I came upon a strange building. T'was a cylinder,

shining like a new silver coin in the sun. From it emerged two cloaked figures

who seemed to float rather than walk upon the ground. I saw not their features,

only glowing red eyes.

The two figures spoke to me, and whilst t'was no language I had ever

heard, yet did I understand them. They bade me join them in their ship. T'was no

seaport in sight, but they guided me into the silver cylinder.

I entered the cylinder and found myself in a chamber easily as large as this

hall. *gesturing* T'was impossible, I knew, yet I saw it. There were shelves


covered with flickering colored orbs along all the walls, and I saw several doors

leading out, though I had seen no other openings on the outside of the cylinder. I

was sore afraid that I might have hit my head, or been enchanted some way, but I

was thirsting for new knowledge, and understood that here was a magic I had

never envisioned. I allowed them to seal the door behind me whilst I examined

the colored orbs, seeing strange characters writ among them.

They spoke unto me yet again, telling me that they were called Watchers.

They spoke things to me that were unbelievable, yet something within me told me

to heed them. They spoke of being born before the birth of time itself, and of

seeing the creation of the universe. They spoke of travelling among the stars, and

of crossing the boundaries of time. I watched as they moved levers among the

orbs, and some glowed brighter, and others dimmed, and I heard the sound of

bells and of whistles.

After a long time, they spoke unto me again, saying that we had arrived. I

understood not, for we had never left the cylinder, but when they opened the door,

we stepped out into a place I had never seen. We were in a busy city. The air held

the sharp salt tang of the sea, and there was the calling of sea birds. I saw

multitudes of people of many races, though mostly of the Elven races, milling

through streets lined with temples, merchants stalls, and taverns. In the distance I

could see the towers of a great castle.

We walked through the streets, and the sea of people parted for my

companions, who seemed well known there. They took me to the castle gates,

where many were applying for audiences. We waited not, but were admitted

forthwith, and didst enter into the Great Hall of a glittering palace. The floor was

tiled in a mosaic of a great dragon, the walls of polished white marble.

Everywhere were silk hangings and golden figures. I was dazzled by the

opulence.

We were taken to an audience chamber by a Dwarvish footman. The

chamber had a raised dais with a golden throne, and no other furnishings. The one

of my companions who I believed to be male seemed unusually at ease, and even

joked with the servants as we passed. I was overwhelmed, but determined to learn

all I could. Soon, a king entered the chamber. The King asked my name and

lineage, which I told unto him, though I confess my tongue felt as wool in my

mouth so unused was I to any company, least of all that of such a royal personage

since I left my father's court.

I remember little of the conversation, so dazzled was I, but I remember

most clearly when the wise and kindly kind did of a sudden leave his throne and

transform into the largest gold dragon I had ever imagined, much less seen. He


gave unto me a pendant, which he said would summon his aid if ever I had need. I

have it still, though I rarely wear it now.

We departed the castle after a bit longer, having taken refreshment with

the dragon in his Great Hall. We went then to a nearby temple, where there were

chapels dedicated to truly hundreds of deities of the many races, all within one

massive structure. They took me through the aisles of this place, and I saw statues

to gods I had never heard of. Finally, as evening drew nigh, we retired to a local

tavern for the night.

The following morning, I awoke convinced that the experience had been a

dream brought on by some sort of bad food. Then I was fully awake, and knew it

was not so. I was in the common room of a large city tavern, and the servers were

already filling trenchers with bread and meat for breakfast. We breakfasted, then

my cloaked companions guided me back to the waiting silver cylinder. We

entered the impossibly large chamber within, and they sealed the door once again.

I had thought it impossible that a chamber should be so many times larger

than the structure which held it, and had determined to learn that magic, but I was

far unprepared for what followed. They offered to give me a tour of the ship. I had

seen a seaport in the city, and thought sure we would travel there, but instead they

opened a door in the far wall of the chamber, and led me into a long corridor,

which extended out of sight in each direction. The cylinder had seemed hardly

large enough to hold three people, but here was a corridor within it so long I could

see no ends. Every ten feet or so along its length was a door on each side of the

corridor as well. Truly this was a great magic, which I yearned to learn. I was

permitted to explore this corridor, and most doors I tried were unlocked. All were

oddly shaped, the corners not quite square, but in a manner I could not quite see

except through the corner of my eye. Each chamber I found was in itself too large

to be held within the silver cylinder I had first seen, yet I knew I had not gone out

from the structure.

I found libraries filled with many odd books in more sizes and languages

than I had ever imagined. I found rooms with great walls which seemed at first to

be tapestries, then revealed themselves to be more magic, paintings which moved

with the very colors and lines of a view through a window, save that they were

scenes I had never conceived. I found a menagerie with thousands (truly, I

exaggerate not!) of creatures from lands too far to ever dream of visiting, yet all

gathered in one place. T'was almost more than my mind could absorb.

Wast some hours before they led me to one door in particular, which led

not to a chamber, but to another impossibly long corridor. They showed me to one

which they said was my bedchamber, and I entered. The cloaked one who I

believed to be female spoke a word, and the room filled with soft light as of a


springtime morn. Another word, and the temperature within went from the cold of

midwinter to the warmth of midsummer's eve. T'was more powerful magic, and I

knew these people must be greatly blessed by the Mother. I passed a night in that

chamber, though I felt distanced from the Mother there, where I saw not the stars

and heard not the creatures of the night. I was unsure of the hour when the female

Watcher came to fetch me to the chamber where I had first entered.

For many days and nights I travelled with these people who called

themselves Watchers, for that is all I can call the magic they worked. We mounted

no horse nor boarded ship, yet each day we stepped from that silver cylinder into

a new and fantastic landscape. In those days that we moved from place to place, I

met many strange folk. I was blessed by opportunities to speak with dragons and

centaurs, pixies and vampiles. I seemed to absorb much more learning that I ever

had before, and t'was a great wonderment how many spells and potions I saw. In a

very short time, I found myself able to speak fluently many languages I knew not

before I met these folk. I could explain it not, save as a great and humbling

blessing of the Mother.

I remained with these folk for nearly a year, though t'was difficult to be

sure, for they made good their claim to cross the bounds of time, and we visited

times as well as places. Thus did I discover the unusually powerful wands we

sometimes see in the Castle of late. I have even wielded such a wand, but the

destruction they bring makes Nature cry out, and so I use them not any longer.

T'was among these folk as well that I received the gift of Healing, having

formerly depended on my training with herbs and salves to heal. I discovered one

morn that I had the gift of mental speech, as well. I still discover new powers

from time to time, and the wonderment never diminishes.

Joiya's Childhood

I was raised at the court of my father, Lord Justar Wolfsinger, along with

my four brothers and six sisters. I was the fourth child, the second daughter.

Remarkable as it may be, all eleven of my father's children survived the

precarious years of infancy, growing to be strong men and women.

My father was looked upon as something of an oddity, because he

believed his daughters should be trained in the arts of warfare, just as were his

sons. My elder sister, Elira, was the only other of my father's children to possess

more than a rudimentary skill with the arcane. She was sufficiently older than me,

however, so that we did not spend much time together. Many lords in our vicinity

found Father's ideas strange, and a few believed it dangerous to train daughters in

the arts of war. None tried to remove him from his place of power, however, for


they risked the rebellion of serfs, freeholders, tradesmen, soldiers, and even

daughters and younger sons throughout the realm. Father was a benevolent and

beneficent lord, and none was ever turned away who came seeking his aid in any

good thing. The villages were prosperous, with bountiful harvests in the fields,

strong, healthy babes in the cradles of nearly every house, and thriving herds. The

soldiers were the best trained in many days' walking. None could deny that while

Father's ways were unorthodox, they obviously had the Mother's blessing.

I do not even remember when I first held a practice sword made of

bundled sticks, but as I grew I saw my young brothers and sisters receive theirs as

soon as they could toddle about. Our days were spent at sword play,

horsemanship, and study. The boys also learned statecraft, while we girls learned

the arts of women: sewing, childcare, and supervising a household. I was quick at

my lessons, to my father's pride and my brothers' dismay. Where Elira had

spurned swordplay to study her magics, I was being held up to my brothers as an

example to be followed. I rode astride as they did, where she had always chosen a

lady's saddle. The horse and I seemed to think as one, and I hardly needed to

guide him. The same was true of the dogs we trained in the hunt and the hawks

we flew.

It was in my twelfth year that Father brought a mage to replace kindly old

Brother Jesham, our tutor. Brother Jesham was blind, though his mind remained

clear, but it was his increasing frailty of body that prompted Father to urge him

into retirement. Master Alcaran was very different. Where Brother Jesham had

been short, and tended toward pudginess, Master Alcaran was remarkably tall,

and so thin his bones showed through his palely translucent skin. Where Brother

Jesham's eyes were soft and warmly brown, always lit by a twinkle of amusement,

Master Alcaran's gazy was icy blue, as piercing as the lightning which seemed to

dance behind his eyes. Where Brother Jesham's hair was sandy brown, turning to

silver, cropped short and carefully tonsured, Master Alcaran's was black as jet,

flowing to his waist in unruly waves, seemingly touched by the same lightning

which hid in his eyes. The greatest difference of all, though, was that where

Brother Jesham was a simple, if very intelligent, monk, Master Alcaran was a

wizard.

Along with my brothers, and our little sister Caryla - the others not having

been born yet - I had studied languages, histories, astronomy, religions, legends,

music, and dance. Now, under Master Alcaran, we began to study numbers, and

ancient languages, astrology, herbalism, and animal lore. Very soon, Master

Alcaran informed my mother that I could not spare time for the study of

needlecraft, for he wished me to concentrate harder on my studies with hi. I began


to spend six, and sometimes more, hours each day with Master Alcaran after our

regular lessons were through.

Master Alcaran taught me the art of druidry, seeing that my natural

tendencies were toward all things natural. He tried to teach me necromancy, but I

was unable to learn more than the theories behind the magic. Still, he was pleased

with me, and continued my education. He knew already, it seemed, the simple

magics Elira had taught me almost from the cradle. I knew already how to make

myself clean without water and tallow-soap, how to light a room without lighting

a candle, how to light a candle with neither flint nor steel. Already, with no

training at all, I could take away another's pain, and I used this gift among the

children of our servants and tenants. Master Alcaran took all these things, and

built upon them, teaching me so much more.

Years passed in this manner. Elira disappeared from our lives, seeking a

fortune in the outside world with her self-taught magic. Mother gave birth to other

children, finally stopping after Bitesa was born in my fifty-fourth year. By then, I

had begun to be proficient at the arts Master Alcaran taught me. I had given up

the sword in my thirtieth year, much to the relief of my brothers, who had been

hard-pressed to match me for well nigh a quarter century. Joshar, my father's heir

and a full twenty-four years my senior, became betrothed to the Lady Assena

Goldenfern, a widow of ten years, with six children of her own. He was content to

do our father's bidding, and never questioned the choice, though his bride saw him

as a child, and could never love him.

On my seventy-fifth birthday, Father announced that he had arranged a

match for me, and had agreed to a betrothal. He brought forward a man more than

two centuries old, corpulent, with greasy, unkempt hair, a worn, patched tunic,

and so much gold about his throat and wrists that he seemed like to fall under the

weight of it. Rolls of fat showed under his tunic, swaying and bouncing

sickeningly as he waddled toward me, wheezing and gasping for breath. I was

appalled. This was Baron Sulvin Ferworth, who had already buried eight wives,

all of them dying in childbed before their hundredth birthdays. I felt ill at the

thought of allowing such a man to touch me, much less bed me as his wife. I

stood rigidly as he pawed me there before my assembled family. His hot breath

was rank with the odor of decay as he kissed my mouth wetly, bruisingly. I felt

tears of shame and rage rolling down my cheeks. I knew Baron Ferworth to be

powerful, and to possess wealth almost rivalling Father's, but I was shocked that I

should be given to such a man.

I fled the Hall as soon as I could, bathing to remove any trace of his touch.

I cried myself to sleep that night, near despair. When I woke in the morning, I

knew what I must do. I must leave my father's Court and seek my future in the


world, as Elira had done. It occurred to me to wonder whether a similar fate had

driven my sister from us as well, and I feared for our five younger sisters.

I quickly packed my belongings, being careful to take my herbs and the

small tools I had learned to use in my magic. I took with me the silver acorn,

delicately carved with mistletoe, with which I spoke to the Mother, and hung it

about my neck on a silver chain. I packed my harp with great care, wrapping the

mithril faerie in a soft cloth, her strings loosened to guard against damage. Having

seen my brothers pack for journeys in the past, I took a blanket, rope, a cooking

pot, flint, water skins, and all those necessities of travel.

I slipped into the family's armory and retrieved my old short sword, so

long unused, slipping a silver knife into my belt, slinging a finely crafted Elven

longbow and a quiver of arrows on my back, adding a half dozen of the special

silver arrows just in case. I was taking up my oaken staff, preparing to raid the

kitchen for food, when I saw my old armor of fine mithril chain, along with the

helm and shield. I quickly shrugged off the bow, quiver, and pack I wore, as well

as my sword belt, and put the armor on over my tunic and soft leather pants.

Knowing the family would soon be stirring, I gathered my pack and weapons

again, threw my cloak on over all, and hurried to the kitchen. It didn't take long to

gather cheese, dried fruits, and the hard bread the cooks always baked for the

dogs. I found a bit of salted meat as well, and soon was on my way.

I took my horse from the stable, saddling him quickly. My dog, Rommer,

insisted on following, and I was glad for the company. Knowing that the sea lay a

week's ride to the west, and that Master Alcaran had come out of the East, I

turned my face toward the sunrise and rode away.

The Mother's Gift

I was merely six years old when I felt the first touch of the Mother's

power. I was playing with the daughters of one of our grooms, who were near my

own age. We had swept the center of the hayloft in the carriage barn clear, then

dragged bales of prickly, dry hay into the cleared space to build a playhouse.

Alinna was eight years old then, and cared nothing for my position in the

household. Rayenna was five, though she would turn six at midsummer. Rayenna

was awed by the great wisdom her sister must possess at such a great age as eight.

For myself, I was just happy to find children my age with whom I could play.

We had been playing in our makeshift playhouse since shortly after

breakfast. I had gained a three day holiday from my studies because of the great

horse fair at a neighboring estate. Father had taken Joshar and Ralus, my brothers,

along with every man and boy on the estate, save those too elderly, or still in


diapers. Brother Jesham, our tutor, had gone to keep an eye on Ralus, who was

prone to mischief.

As the noonday sun beat down on the tile roof of the carriage house,

directly above our heads, we began to tire of our play. Alinna became snappish as

the heat increased, and Rayenna grew tired, near tears from her sister's irritation.

We were all loathe to leave our hay house, though, for fear our holiday would be

taken from us if we returned to the kitchens or Great Hall. Finally Alinna

complained once too often of an imagined fault. Rayenna burst into tears, running

blindly toward a shadowed corner where we might not see her crying. My heart

went out to her, and I rounded on Alinna, full ready to invoke my position as my

father's daughter to stop her abuse. I had not time to voice my displeasure, though,

before Rayenna screamed, and then abruptly was silent.

I turned in panic at the sound. Rayenna was nowhere to be seen. Moving

quickly, but being cautious lest I share my playmate's fate. whatever it might be, I

started off in the direction she had gone. The hayloft was huge, with piles and

bales of hay everywhere casting strange shadows. I had crossed perhaps half the

distance to the corner, when I came upon a square hole cut in the floor of the loft.

Dropping to my hands and knees, I crept closer, finally peering warily over the

edge.

Rayenna lay on her side on the floor of a horse stall below me. Her hair

had fallen across her face, and she lay very still. I felt faint with fear for her, but

forced myself to back away from the hole, grabbing Alinna's hand as I ran past

her on the way to the ladder that led down to the main level of the carriage barn.

She resisted at first, but I tugged on her arm, drawing her with me.

I scrambled down the ladder, careless of the tear I heard a nail make in my

dress. Once I was safely on the floor, I dodged between the wagons and carriages,

at last reaching the old horse stalls, unused since Father built the large, new stable

building. I ran along the row of stalls peeking into each one, until the blue of

Rayenna's dress caught my eyes. I ducked into the stall, calling for Alinna to run

for help as I dropped to my knees beside my friend.

Rayenna was very still, too still. I gently rolled her onto her back,

straightening her arms and legs. I was greatly dismayed by the odd angle of her

left arm, and alarmed by the pool of blood beneath her head. I had never seen

blood before, save from skinned knees and the like. I knew that Mama always

pressed towels to my brothers' cuts and scrapes, and that it seemed to make the

blood cease to flow. I knew I was crying, but I knew as well that Rayenna needed

me to help. I was older than she, and responsible for her.

My dress was already torn, and now I hooked my fingers in the tear,

ripping away my skirt, exposing the petticoat beneath. I held the cloth against the


gash in Rayenna's forehead, gasping with fear as the blood quickly soaked the

cloth.

Something new, and in itself nearly as frightening as Rayenna's injuries,

happened then. I felt a tingling somewhere behind my eyes, and sensed a

Presence, almost as if another person knelt at my side. I had been whispering

prayers to the All Mother, as Mama and Brother Jesham had taught me to do,

asking Her to let Rayenna be alright. Now, it was as though She was answering

me. A warm peace washed through me, and suddenly I was no longer crying, no

longer afraid. The tingling behind my eyes grew, and then seemed to move into

my hands. As I stared at my hands, holding the blood-soaked rag to my friend's

forehead, a light began to surround my hands, glowing and pulsing a clear, pale

blue. I had no words to express what I was seeing and feeling, but I knew deep

down that this was something good. I continued to ask the Mother to make

Rayenna whole, and when I glanced at her left arm, which I now knew had been

broken, I was stunned to see it smooth and straight again. Timorously, I eased the

bloody cloth away from Rayenna's forehead, blinking in surprise as I found the

gash closed, gone without a trace save for the flecks of dried blood on her skin.

I dropped the rag into the hay on the floor, running my finger wonderingly

along her forehead. The odd, blue light had faded away from my hands, but the

sense of incredible peace continued to flow through me. I held my breath when I

saw Rayenna's eyelids begin to flicker, releasing it only when she opened them,

her eyes clear and blue as the autumn sky. I sat back with relief, then, and began

to answer her whispered questions, assuring her that she was alright.

It was with surprise that I realized that Rayenna and I were not alone. I

looked up and saw Mama in the entrance to the stall, Alinna clinging fearfully to

her skirts, a dozen or more of the cooks and maids crowding behind her. The tears

on Mama's cheeks made me fearful for a moment, and I tried to reassure her that

Rayenna really was not hurt now. She came into the stall, dropping to her knees

and gathering us both into her arms.

Rayenna and I were taken back to the main house, despite protests that we

were both fine. A pallet was brought for her and set up in the corner of my

chamber, and we were both tucked into bed, though it was hours yet until dinner

would be served. Rayenna seemed wearied by her ordeal, but I was far from tired.

I felt excited, and tossed and turned restlessly in my bed. I had heard of Healers,

certainly, but so far as I knew had never met one. I had never thought that the All

Mother had much to do with such things, though. The magics my sister, Elira,

practiced were far from prayerful, and occasionally malevolent. She kept far from

Brother Jesham, and farther still from the Mother Chapel in the garden. Still, it


was clear to me that what I had felt, what I had done, had been an answer to my

fervent, frightened prayers to Her.

As the shadows began to lengthen across the room, and Rayenna

continued to sleep, her breathing slow and even, I gave up trying to rest and

slipped out of my bed. Pulling a robe over my cotton night dress, I slipped my feet

into the soft house shoes by my bed. I walked softly across the chamber, easing

the door open a crack. When I was sure no one was in the corridor, I slipped out,

closing the door gently behind me. I moved lightly along the dimly lit passages,

my destination clear in my mind.

When I reached the small side door which led into the gardens, I paused. I

had never been to the Mother Chapel alone, and never at night. Still, the need

within me was too strong to be denied. I eased the door open just enough for me

to pass through, silently thanking whosever conscientious oiling of the hinges had

prevented them creaking. Outside, the night was warm, with the sky filled with

multitudes of twinkling stars. The garden was a beautiful place under the bright

sun of day, but in this silvery starlight, the beauty was surreal, almost magical. I

laughed nervously at that thought, then set out along the grassy paths to the

chapel.

The Mother Chapel was built in a natural cave in the center of the garden.

The cave formed the back, the front portion being built of natural stones,

intricately fitted together so that they needed no mortar. The structure was

surrounded by a ring of thirteen oak trees, each one covered in clinging mistletoe.

Ivy grew over the stones, covering them so completely that not a hint of them

could be seen. Only the oaken door hiding behind swinging tendrils of ivy gave

notice that this was a building.

As I approached, I saw that the door stood ajar, and candlelight filtered out

between the ivy leaves, casting dappled shadows on the path. I moved closer,

cautiously now. I heard Mama's voice inside the chapel, telling someone about

what had happened in the carriage house. I pressed myself close to the ivy next to

the door and listened. Mama had seen almost everything. I was frightened now,

afraid of what would happen to me. I had heard of people being locked away in

obscure towers or dungeons because they could do what I had done. Still, my fear

was eclipsed by my deep certainty that the Mother had aided me that day, and that

I needed to enter Her chapel to thank Her.

I slipped into the Mother Chapel as silently as I could, not wishing to have

Mama or whomever she was talking to see me. I was surprised when I looked

about the candlelit chapel and saw that Mama was alone. She knelt on the floor at

the front of the chapel, her head bowed, a garland of violets twined about her hair.

She was speaking softly but clearly as she finished the tale of Rayenna's mishap


in the carriage house. It was when Mama began offering prayers of thanksgiving

that I realized that she was speaking to the Mother.

I felt strangely at peace in that moment, and all my fears left me. I walked

the length of the chapel and knelt at Mama's side. It was some minutes before she

noticed me, in which time I offered my own silent, childish prayers. When she did

see me beside her, she smiled so warmly that I knew I would not be punished for

what I had done. She reached out to me and I put my tiny hand in hers. Whe knelt

there together through all of that night, praying together. Never again did I fear to

use the Gift the Mother gave me that day, and from that night onward I was never

again a stranger to the Mother Chapel, holding a tiny piece of it in my heart.

Ancient One Born Anew

Lady Joiya was visiting the Castle one evening in early April, as the chill

breezes of winter attempted to overtake the growing warmth of spring. Her

youngest son, Taliesin, played nearby, attended by a page in the Helton livery,

and Snowflake, a huge white she-wolf.

Suddenly, a gust of biting frozen air moved through the room. Standing in

the balcony entranceway was a grey elf in snow silks. His shaggy mane of silver

hair fell wildly about his shoulders and his steel blue eyes sparkled with

supernatural intensity. Resting his hands on the hilts of his twin short blades

which hang upon his hips, he grinned at the assembled company.

Lady Joiya's eyes widened in happy recognition. Rising from the couch,

she hurried to him. "Greetings Correllan!" She hugged him enthusiastically,

surprise in her eyes, and kissed his cheek. Abruptly remembering who this was,

she stepped back, ducking her head in embarrassment. "I have missed thee,

M'Lord."

Correllan retrieved a tiny golden serpent from his pouch. He smiled gently

at Lady Joiya. "Peace to you, my child. I pray that all has been well?" As he

spoke, the little golden snake slithered up his arm and neck where it wrapped

itself around Correllan's hair, tying it back into a neat pony tail.

Seeing this new person, and feeling a strong attraction to him, Taliesin

squirmed free of his mother's arms. He crawled to Correllan, sitting at his feet,

gazing up at him with deep green eyes. Snowflake padded along close to him,

stopping before the Moonmage. Lowering her muzzle to the floor, her shoulders

low, she turned her eyes upward to gaze at him.

"Aye, M'Lord." Lady Joiya stood next to her son, smiling up at Correllan.

"All has been well, and the Mother has been generous to Her children. I am


greatly pleased to have thee return to us." Memories of an earlier time flickered

behind her eyes as she spoke.

Tal reached forward then, placing his tiny hand on the side of Correllan's

ankle, utterly without fear. A pale blue glow surrounded his pink fingers as the

Moonmage became aware of a strong flow of unharnessed Healing.

Correllan knelt in front of the child and Snowflake. He held out a finger

for the baby to grab hold of. "Hello to you, little ones." He scratched Snowflake

under the chin as he spoke. Snowflake's tail began wagging wildly at the attention

from the Moonmage, her body wriggling happily.

Tal moved his hand from Correllan's leg to grip his finger, still

broadcasting Healing, giggling and cooing, his eyes seeming centuries old in his

infant face. Correllan gazed affectionately at the tiny healer. He lifted the child

and stood holding him out to take a good look at him. "So....you are the one that

the Earth Mother has told me of....brilliant...." He spoke very seriously to the

child, "You are destined for greatness and your abilities will be a source of joy for

many peoples. I add the blessings of the blue moon to all your others." At the

words, Taliesin began to glow.

Lady Joiya listened as Correllan spoke to her son, glowing with pride.

"The Mother told thee of him, M'Lord?" Her eyes widened in surprise.

The man and the baby glowed in shifting chromatic hues. The Moonmage

continued to speak as if the two were old friends, "Ancient one born anew.... With

each phase of my sister the moon, you shall find that new and wonderous powers

will be yours.... The New Moon will bring rebirth, the Quarter shall bring an

untying from your bonds to this body.... The Half shall bring Sanctuary to you and

your loved ones, the last Quarter shall find in you your ability to sense all that is

around you, seen and unseen, heard and silent, felt and intangible. When my sister

shall show her face in full...it is thy strength that shall increase a score fold, and

then it might rival your heart's capacity to love...." He kissed the cheeks of the

child and placed him gently upon the floor. The glow faded.

Lady Joiya watched and listened, trying to absorb all his words. Kneeling

beside her son, she tentatively brushed his wispy golden-brown hair away from

his face, then gazed up at the Moonmage, awed. "M'Lord, what does it all mean?

He already learns and grows faster than I can teach him. The Avatar to Wolf of

Time has sent one to help teach him, but he is so quick to learn every lesson...."

Her voice trailed off to a whisper.

Correllan smiled gently at the baby, and then at his mother. "The Earth

Mother indeed told me that he would come to this place. I am pleased that you

were chosen to give birth to him. A better candidate would never have been


found. If there is anything that you or this child need, do not hesitate to request

it."

"M'Lord, thank thee." She blushed at his words. "Thee dost me much

honor. Dean and I are very proud of Taliesin, and love him deeply. I shall

remember thy kind words, and call on thee if ever there is need, as I have done in

the past, when I was so bold as to call thee brother, all unknowingly."

He smiled at Lady Joiya and nodded. "When an immortal is born into a

mortal shell, it is always very difficult...for all involved. His intelligence is vast,

his power is great, and most of all his ability to love is nearly infinite. He shall

love without question, without fear and without condition. This will be his

greatest strength and his most dangerous weakness." He held his hand out to her,

"You are truly deserving of such a gift. Be certain, it is not kindness....tis the

truth....."

"Aye, M'Lord, already he shows no trace of fear, no matter who he

meets." She smiled as Tal crawled about the room, carefully watched by

Snowflake. "An immortal, though?" Confusion was evident in her voice. "I know

such things happen, but I had not expected it for my son." Lady Joiya took

Correllan's hand in hers, feeling the love in him that she remembered from an

earlier time. "I shall keep thy words close in my heart, M'Lord. He will not have

an easy life, I fear, for few understand limitless love, and most fear what they do

not understand. He will never be without the love of his family, though."

Correllan looked very seriously upon the child and then upon Lady Joiya.

"Strange.... I do not feel them with me .... not since .... strange." Shaking free of

his momentary reverie, he looked at her again. "Make no mistake, my child. Your

sun is most certainly mortal. His physical make up is that of you and his father.

The spirit within him is that of an immortal...."

"Aye, M'Lord, I shall never forget that difference." Memories danced

behind her eyes for him alone to see. "He has some protection, though." She

indicated the bracelets on his wrists and amulet about his neck. "Gifts from

friends. I have been promised as well, by the guardian of the Gates, that Taliesin

shall never pass through. Though I wonder whether forever is good...." She

changed the subject. "Not since we last met, M'Lord?"

Correllan's brow furrowed. "Joiya, it is most important that you and your

family are wary of me. You see, when my body was destroyed, by the shattering

of my sister the Moon, I made an arrangement with the Caliban Syndicate. They

reconstructed this mortal shell that I might rejoin my friends here and see my

Heart once more in exchange for possession of my soul. However, as your child

neared me.... I did not feel them with me any longer.... Joiya, the time you


remember will serve you well. The Caliban have infiltrated this body before.

However, as I say, when I am near your child I think that they are suppressed."

"Is it not desirable to suppress their influence?" She frowned slightly.

"Never will I forget those times, particularly the day I truly knew you." She

smiled oddly, her eyes wide.

A moment later, she realized that the Moonmage had departed. She sat for

a time, considering her old friend's words, recalling the day she saw his mortal

body destroyed, his immortal spirit revealing his true identity to her. She smiled

softly, watching her son playing on the flagstone floor, happily unaware of the

great destiny which had just been revealed for him.

Avatar of the Wolf

Lady Joiya was working in her study one morning in March. She looked

up as someone knocked on the study door. The door opened, and a page ushered a

young man into the room. Recognizing his as a retainer in the household of

Typhus Draconis, and an old friend, she rose and stepped out from behind the

desk. Before she could even greet him, however, she noticed the excited look on

his face.

"Joiya, I wish you to know that the gods have given Mathius back his life

for his sacrifice, after having thought it over. Hannah already knows."

Her face brightened, and she stepped forward to embrace him joyfully.

"That is wonderful news!! I'll be looking forward to having the lad with us again."

Together, they moved to the large, black, leather couch in front of the

study's fireplace. They sat, turning to face each other, and he continued his news.

"However, even though he is five years of age, he has been chosen as the Avatar

for the very god Wolf of Time himself, and has been given great powers beyond

what he has had before. He is also much much wiser, despite his young age."

"Ah, that should be interesting." She smiled at her old friend. "The Wolf

of Time? An interesting choice for one of dragonkind. He should get along well

with my son Cash, Caitlyn's twin. Cash bears wolf symbols on his wrists and neck

which are similar to the dragon symbols both Mathius and Caitlyn carry. Of

course, the twins were aged from five to ten a little while back, so they are no

longer the same age as Mathius. Will Mathius still seek to be an apprentice

Healer? It seems as though he needs to learn safer methods of Healing. The infant

Taliesin is already manifesting signs of great Healing power, which also need to

be harnessed, so this may well become very complicated."

His eyes widened slightly at news of the change in the twins, but made no

comment about it. "Well, Mathius won't need to seek further apprenticeship, as he


knows now all that he will ever need. Mathius will be aging himself to match

Hannah's age though, just so you know. Wolf of Time is the god of creation, just

so you know. Being the great Wolf's Avatar will give Mathius great powers, but

he will still be the same sweet child though."

She smiled as his words reminded her of her early lessons of the gods, as a

child. "Oh, Hannah is still three. It's Caitlyn and Cash who aged. Unless she's

forgotten to tell me something." Thinking for a moment that the way her children

experiment with their magic, it was quite possible that her daughter might have

aged herself again and not yet told her mother. With so many children in such a

large Keep, it was not unusual for Lady Joiya to go a day or two without seeing

one or another of her children. "I'm glad he'll still be the same sweet child, since I

was growing very fond of him."

He grinned at Hannah's age, knowing his employer's young son was very

fond of her. "I'll keep that on mind." He smiled again. "Anyway, how did Caitlyn

take to the visit from Mathius the other day??? I hope she understands that he is

alive once again, and that he is by far more powerful than he was before. Perhaps

Mathius could teach them a couple of little things if they would be interested."

Surprise showed clearly on her face. "I haven't heard from Caitlyn in

several days, so I didn't know you had visited her. I hope they understand, too. I

suspect that Caitlyn will, since she's ten, but Hannah might get confused, since

she's only three. She got aged to about thirteen a while back, then went back

again. Maybe she'll want to use the magic stone that aged her to do it again."

He nodded his understanding. "Well, Mathius explained it as best he could

to Hannah, and she seemed to understand what he told her, so I think it's well

understood."

"Good, I'm glad to hear that! She's a sensitive child, and took his death

very hard."

"I know. Typhus found that out the hard way."

"I know, I remember. We all express things badly sometimes. Mathius is a

sensitive child, too, so I am sure he was able to help her understand."

He smiled, nodding. "Too true, my friend. I think that's why Hannah takes

to Mathius so well. Both of them seem to think and understand along the exact

same line, which I think will serve them both well together in the future."

"Yes, I think Hannah and Mathius can look forward to a lot of happiness

in the future. Hmmm....." Her eyes took on an odd gleam as she smiled. "I wonder

if one day I will have a Draconis for a son-in-law....."

His expression matched hers for a moment as her words trailed off. "Who

knows, Joiya, you might very well have a Draconus for a son-in-law. Mathius


really cares about Hannah, and, if permitted, he would like to age both of them to

about seventeen or eighteen though."

"If Hannah wants that, I'll certainly permit it, and I believe Dean would go

along as well. We're all a little upset right now because Hannah's sister Nala's

marriage didn't work out. Unfortunately, Epic has left her for another. I know I

wouldn't need to worry about Hannah and Mathius, though. I know how sweet

and trustworthy he is."

"Well, Since Epic is the adopted brother of Typhus Draconus, I'll have to

have Typhus talk to Epic, so that he might find out why Epic did that. If his

reasoning isn't understandable, I will have to see that Epic is punished as is

appropriate, if that is what you would like me to do. And you are right about

Mathius, though he might not be able to spend much time in the physical realm,

being an avatar, and all. But, should Hannah and he get married, Hannah will also

become an Avatar to Wolf of Time, which would give her much greater powers,

and would give her total control over what powers she already may have. I'll have

Mathius talk to her when he gets a chance."

"Epic's reasons were honorable, just unfortunate. He discovered only a

few days after the wedding that he already had a wife, from a wedding his parents

arranged when he was a child." She frowned a moment, remembering her

daughter's pain at that discovery. "Yes, I'm familiar with being an avatar. You

might not be aware that Reyeka is an avatar, and that at one point he and I

considered marriage. He was investigating ways to become fully mortal so we

could be together in the physical realm. Last I heard he was dating my daughter

Saphire, but that was when she was sixteen, before she got regressed back to six.

Confusing? You bet! But I care about both of them, and in fact all of you, so I do

my best to keep up." She laughed cheerfully, dismissing the sense of gloom that

had begun to surround them as they spoke of Nala's marriage.

Her friend chuckled softly. "Well, It's not as confusing as you might think.

You explained it very well. Well, I'll just talk with Epic, as he and I are friends."

"Thank you. I try sometimes to explain it all to myself, just to keep track. I

don't think Nala will be having a continuing problem with Epic, since she has

already moved on to a new relationship. I forgave him publicly in a gathering of

Shadow Clan last evening, understanding the situation. I think it will all work out

alright. I wonder whether Mathius might be interested in helping to train Taliesin?

The child is barely crawling, but he is already exhibiting great Healing potential.

He keeps Healing people who pick him up to play with him, whether they need it

or not. I am hardly equipped to teach him to control such a strong gift so early. I

was six the first time I used the Gift, and that was in a crisis, without having been

taught to use it. I don't want him doing anything like Mathius did. Fortunately, all


his Healing comes from the Mother, not from incantations or other sources of

magic, and as such is thoroughly benign."

"Well, that is all good to hear, and I guess that will save me the trouble of

having to speak to Epic. Anyway, I would be glad to ask Mathius to teach when

he can. The time he has to himself is limited after all. I'll see what I can have

Mathius do. Who knows, Wolf of Time might give him time to himself so that he

can teach."

"Yes, I'd like that, too. Taliesin, especially, will be needing some

direction. He's truly developing faster than I can teach him. The child is barely

crawling, yet he is Healing rats in the Castle. I suspect the Wolf will allow him

the time he needs, since teaching would help the pattern of the world to develop."

The man rose then, apologizing for not staying longer, explaining that he

had already stayed longer than he should have. After he departed, Lady Joiya

spent some time gazing into the flames on the hearth, considering his words,

before returning to her work running the household.

Several days later, the man returned, finding Lady Joiya wandering among

the winter-brown vines of the rose garden at Wolfsinger Keep. He walked up

behind her silently.

"Joiya, Mathius has inquired into having time to teach Taliesin, and the

Wolf has given him all the time that he will need in order to instruct the child.

Mathius will be needing to stay at the keep for the duration of the teaching

though."

She jumped at his words, as she had been deep in prayer, and unaware of

his approach. Realizing who he was, and knowing that she would have sensed

him if he had been a threat instead of a friend, she smiled and embraced him. "I

had intended that, and will be happy to provide him any room that is open, or one

of the open cottages in the village. You've seen the map, so I'll let you choose a

room. We'll be very happy to have Mathius with us again, and I know Hannah

will be especially happy."

The two wandered into the Keep, and Lady Joiya showed him the open

bedrooms in the family wing. Smiling broadly, he selected a bedroom. "Well, this

one will be okay, this way Mathius can be right next to the person that he will be

training, as well as being close to Hannah as well."

Nodding, recognizing his thinking, she smiled. "Very good. I'll have the

servants prepare the room by this evening so he can get settled as soon as

possible."

"To put it simply, thanks."

"You're welcome. Please have Mathius move in and let me know when he

would like to start teaching Taliesin.


He hurriedly took his leave then, returning to the Manor of Typhus

Draconis to tell young Mathius all that had transpired.

Welcome to Wolfsinger Keep

You walk through the main courtyard of the Keep, the stables visible at

your right, a high, round tower to your left. You approach the huge double doors

of the main house, climbing the steps to examine the iron-bound oaken doors a

moment. As you consider whether to knock or to depart before you are noticed,

the dragon makes the choice for you, hooking a talon in the crack of the door and

pulling it open. Having come this far, you step across the threshold.

Entering the Great Hall, you see a fire crackling on the huge hearth

directly across from you. Two high-backed chairs stand before the fire, a small

table next to each. You begin to walk around the large trestle table that fills the

center of the hall. Just as you reach the hearth, a door opens to your right and a

tall woman walks in, followed by the baby dragon. The woman is clad in a

flowing gown of richly brown satin, her pale golden hair coiled on top of her

head. She moves gracefully toward you.

"Greetings, fair traveler. I welcome thee to my humble home. I pray thee

forgive the clutter. The workmen have not yet completed all the construction."

She sits in the nearer chair, motioning for you to join her.

"Before I let Alandra (she pauses to smile at the dragon which is now

curled like a dog at her feet) show thee the Keep, I would tell thee a bit about

myself."

"My name is Lady Joiya Wolfsinger Helton. My husband is Colonel Dean

Helton. My titles include Druidess, Starfire Paladin Knight, and Ward of the

Watchers. Dean and I are members of ShadowClan, and I am the Mistress of

Wolfsinger Keep. My father was the Lord Justar Wolfsinger, and my mother the

Lady Hasla Lightsong. Along with my ten brothers and sisters, I was raised in my

father's hall, taught to read and to write, to sing and to play. Along with my

brothers, I learned the great arts of war. My father's mage was well pleased with

my progress, and took me apart from my siblings to study more. While my sisters

toiled over their sewing and needlework, preparing themselves to marry powerful

lords and bring our father strong alliances, I worked alone in the mage's tower day

after day, studying the arts of healing and the uses of herbs. He taught me to know

the stirrings of spirit and power in earth and tree, rock and stream."

"I was already becoming a powerful Druid, though I was barely 100 years

old, when my father decided to marry me away. He chose not a young lord but an

elderly merchant. Elderly when seen by a young Elven lass such as I was then, at


any rate. He was at least three times my own age, and possessed no physical

beauty. I could have tolerated the age, and even the appearance, but his soul was

as ugly as his face, and he was possessed of a deep anger. Rather than allow

myself to be chained to such a man, I packed up my belongings, my clothes, my

herbs, my weapons, and fled my father's Keep in the dark of night."

"I travelled alone for nearly a score of years, studying at every

opportunity. In time, I fell in with a band of young wizards, priests, and warriors.

More and more it fell to me to seek the side of good, to defend the innocent, to

avenge the afflicted. In time, goodness and right became my passion. I turned my

skills with herbs and plants, my skills with bow and sword, to the cause of good.

In so doing, I became a true Paladin."

Seeing the question in your eyes, she smiles softly. "Yes, I know what

thou art thinking. Thou art thinking that a Druid may not wield a sword, that I

could not possess the skills I speak of. I tell thee only that it is so, and that I do not

question the gifts I have been given. Instead, I give thanks for all that I have

learned, all that I have received."

She rises then, rousing the baby dragon. "My dear, please show our guest

whatever part of the Keep may be of interest. Go not into the unfinished wings,

though. I shouldn't like to lose thee."

With that, she walks through the door, closing it softly behind her.

Approaching the Keep

As you walk along the road, the shadows growing longer before you as the

sun sets at your back, you slowly begin to realize that the woods have become

predominantly oak. Twined about the gnarled branches of majestic oaks grow

vines of mistletoe. The ground to either side of the road is hidden by lush ferns as

high as a man's hip, with clusters of snowy white mushrooms huddled beneath the

waving fronds.

Just as the first cool breeze of evening begins to ruffle your hair, the road

turns sharply around the base of a redstone cliff, rising abruptly from the forest

floor. You become aware of the sound of splashing water and the scent of many

flowers. Turning the corner, you see before you a Keep. The walls gleam with the

freshness of newly hewn stone, though you can see that a village is already

growing up about the base of Keep's outer walls. Beyond the Keep, you see well-

tended groves of fruit trees, giving over to fields of rippling grain. You hear the

bustle of local industry, the clanging of the smithies. Children play among the

whitewashed cottages, accompanied by dogs and - to your surprise - the


occasional young dragon. Beside the Keep, dominating the view of the serene

village, you see a majestic waterfall cascading from a height several times that of

the Keep.

Curious to see a prosperous settlement in these woods, you walk forward,

your feet landing silently on the springy, moss-covered road. Suddenly, you hear

a flapping a wings and a young purple dragon with shimmering blue wings,

appears directly in front of you, hovering several feet above the road. Startled,

you step back before realizing that this creature is a bit larger than the draft horses

on your father's estates.

The dragon makes several soft clicking, whirring sounds, glancing at the

Keep, then back to you, then back to the Keep again. With a last look at you, it

turns and flutters its way to the Keep, flying in at the topmost window of the

Keep's single tower. You decide to follow, and walk through the village to the

gate of the Keep.

The Story of Katrin

I was born Katrin Tangwystl Verch Gruffydd Ap Cynan, Princess of

Malltraeth, Wales. My father, King Gruffydd Ap Cynan, ruled our people with

fairness and a deep sense of honor.

Raised as a Welsh Princess, I was schooled in the arts, literature, and to

some extent the sciences, as well. My father was a great believer in education,

even for his daughters, as is the Welsh way. That being the case, I was allowed to

study with my six brothers, save for the arts of war. While they studied sword and

bow, horse and hawk, I learned the feminine arts of stitchery, cooking, herbs, and

running a royal household.

Prince Luther Josephus was a strong supporter and friend to my father. His

own father's kingdom was not many days journey from our home when we were

growing up. I met Prince Luther many times in childhood, when one household

would visit the other for the Christmas holidays, or for the summer festivals and

tournaments. The Prince and I became good friends, and in time he asked my

father's permission to court me.

Prince Luther left his father's Hall before his courting of me could begin in

earnest. It was a long time before I learned that, like many other younger sons, he

had gone to war for another King. I heard nothing of Prince Luther for some time.

When I was grown, and my eldest brother had become King of Malltraeth,

I embarked on a journey. I did it without my brothers' knowledge, as I knew they

would forbid me to travel without them. I took my serving maid, a groom, and


only four of my brother's guards, who had always spoiled me as a child. I had

heard tales of a shining land away to the West, across the great sea which lapped

at the shores of my home. Merchants spoke of great dangers in crossing the sea,

but I knew of several slaves who had escaped the warriors of the North, who

spoke of having seen those shores.

With my few retainers, I boarded a hired ship and sailed west. The captain

of the ship was not pleased to be crossing the great ocean, much less to be doing

so with two female passengers. A generous portion of the gold which was to have

been part of my dowry convinced him to continue the voyage.

After several months of endless sky and sea, we finally reached land. The

shore was pristine, as the escaped slaves had promised, but the air was warmer

than they had spoken of. The ship's captain said we had landed far south of where

he had expected. As I was seeking youthful adventure, not a particular

destination, I was undaunted.

The groom and my guards loaded our belongings on the pack horses we

had brought with us, and we set out into the rolling forests of this new land. We

journeyed a full fortnight, enjoying the fruits and nuts of the land, hunting the

plentiful game for our suppers, before we met other people.

The travelers we met were an assorted group, who had each left our home

land, or the lands across the small sea to the east, for varied reasons. Some sought

treasure. Some were younger sons, seeking land of their own. Some were retired

soldiers, seeking healing for their bodies and spirits. A few were even criminals,

sent away from the world into the unknown.

We continued to travel, going west for no special reason. The rolling

forests became mountains. Food continued to be plentiful, and my companions

were in the same good spirits I enjoyed.

One morning, we found ourselves entering settled lands. The forests were

interspersed with plowed fields. We asked directions of the farmers we passed,

and soon came to a mountaintop castle. Deciding that a break from our travels

would be enjoyable, I sent one of my guards to ask the castle's hospitality for my

group. It was quickly granted, and we were escorted to chambers in the castle.

Our horses were led to the stables to be cared for, as well.

I had a great shock at dinner that night. Seated at a table near the high

table in the hall, I got my first look at the King of this strange land. My heart

stopped for a moment when I recognized Prince Luther Josephus, who was now

King Luther Josephus. He saw me in the same moment that I saw him, and I saw

recognition in his eyes.

I remained in King Luther's castle, at the heart of the Kingdom of

Whispering Tor. Messengers were sent east across the great ocean to tell my


brothers of my whereabouts. By the time the three youngest came to seek me, I

was wed to King Luther, and reining at his side as his Queen. My brothers

remembered our father's friend well, and gave their blessing to the union, staying

with us at the castle for the Christmas celebration, and on trough the winter until

spring made travel safe once again.

The Legend of Whispering Tor

Long ago, a young prince found himself wandering in a forest of majestic

oaks and gnarled pines, which blanketed mountain after mountain, as far as the

eye could see. He found peace in the solitude of the forests. As he wandered, he

heard not another human voice. Instead, he listened to the whisperings of

benevolent spirits all about him in the trees.

The prince, a younger son of a great king, decided to make the forests of

the whispering spirits his home. Their soft, musical voices soothed his battle-

scarred soul, slowly healing him. Having made this decision, he began to seek just

the right place to put up a cottage he could call home.

In time, the prince found himself in the very center of the vast forest. He

had climbed many mountains, seeking his new home. He had explored many

valleys. Finally, one evening, he found himself atop the highest mountain near

about. He looked out over the valleys which spread out all around the mountain,

and saw the forest awash with the gold of the setting sun. A soft breeze carried the

scents of the forest flowers to him as he listened to the whispering of the forest

spirits. He knew at that moment that he was home.

The prince built a small cottage on top of his mountain. He settled into a

simple, rustic life. Several seasons passed without him seeing a single person.

Then, on an evening much like his first on the mountain, a small band of travelers

stepped into the clearing before his cottage. The prince's soul was well healed and

peaceful by now, and he welcomed the strangers to his home. They told him a tale

of being displaced from their home when their village was destroyed in a war

between two battle lords. In all, there were five women, nearly a score of children,

three elderly men, and just two young warriors to protect them.

The strangers stayed on the prince's mountain. The men and boys helped

him enlarge his cottage to a small hall, with space for each family and common

kitchens and gathering rooms. The former villagers followed the prince's lead in

nearly everything, sensing his nobility without knowing his past identity.

As the seasons passed, the children grew, and other bands of displaced

villagers came to the prince's mountain. Young warriors who had seen enough of


battle came there as well. All were comforted by the spirits who whispered among

the trees whenever the wind blew. As more people came, they all worked together

to add on to the simple hall, building a small fort, and then a larger castle, from

the native stone. A small village grew up against the castle's walls. Some of the

travelers had brought livestock with them, and seeds. They grazed the animals in

the clearings scattered over the slopes of the mountain, and tilled the valley

meadows to grow vegetables and grain. The people revered the prince, still not

knowing who he was, and in time came to call him King. The king took a wife

from among the young widows who came to him, and together they had a family

of strong, healthy children.

As the children grew up, a few travelled forth from the mountain, carrying

news of the new kingdom on its forested mountain. They spoke of the whispering

spirits. Some settled in the far lands, but most returned, often bringing new

families with them, as well as visitors who often chose to stay. Any who

wondered about the new king ceased wondering when they met him, and knew

the goodness in his heart as he led his people.

In the language of the distant lands that heard of the kingdom, a mountain

which stood alone, as the new king's mountain did, was called a tor. The kingdom

was often called the Tor of the Whispering Spirits. As time passed, and the king

passed the leadership of his people to his eldest son. The king was buried under

the oaks, his grave guarded by the whispering spirits. The new king was as caring

of his people as his father had been before him. His son and grandson, as well,

were wise, caring rulers in their turns. As time passed and the crown was handed

from father to son, the Tor of the Whispering Spirits slowly came to be known

simply as Whispering Tor.

Finally, the time came when the king of Whispering Tor grew old without

having any children to come behind him. He was nearly ready to despair when a

young prince came to his castle. The young warrior was through with battle, as

indeed the king's own ancestor had been when he first came there. The prince told

the aging king that he was a younger son, and so could not inherit his father's

kingdom. He had fought in the service of the High King of the region, and had

been promised his own kingdom for his service, but had refused to take any

kingdom away from its rightful ruler.

The king considered the prince's words as the days passed. He thought of

the younger man's honor, which kept him from accepting a kingdom from his

patron. Finally, the king called the prince to him. He told the prince that he had no

heir, and that he would like to treat the prince as his own son, and give him the

Kingdom of Whispering Tor when the king's time was done. The prince was

touched by the king's offer, and graciously accepted.


The prince lived in the castle as the king's own son. He learned the ways

of the people, and loved them as much as they came to love him. When the king's

days were ended, the people gladly acclaimed the prince as their new ruler. He

was crowned King Luther Josephus, Ruler of Whispering Tor.

High School Essays

Hope

June 17, 1986

Hope is an intangible force in the lives of men and women which helps

them to face the uncertainties of the present. It is the future existing in the present.

Hope is the dove of peace that sings in our hearts. It is that which controls

the lives of men. It gives a steady foundation on which to build the future.

Without hope, there is nothing.

Hope is a happy glimpse into the things of God. It is a breath of Heaven

and a draught of heavenly pleasure. With hope in one's heart, one may accomplish

anything. Hope knows no bounds. If one hopes, one may reach places on high

which the hopeless seldome reach.

The child, seeing something which touches his heart, can have hope, for

children are innocent and trusting and can be filled with true hope for the future.

Hope is a confidence in, and reliance on, the good of man to improve the

world that he has been given. Such hopeful confidence often leads one to try to

change the evils of the world to goodness.

Hope is everlasting and, like love, it "endureth all things and believeth all

things."

Theory of Historic Change

October 1, 1983

My theory of historic change is rather different from the accepted theories.

This is because it seems a bit less believable than others.

My theory is that historic change is caused by genetic "seeds" planted in

the minds of selected individuals. These seeds came from beings who visited our


planet in the early days of man's existence. The beings planted ideas and

knowledge in the subconscious minds of these individuals. This knowledge was

then passed down through generations by the use of genes.

Then, according to my theory, these ideas were brought to the surface by a

subconscious timer set to awaken these ideas when they would be most beneficial

to mankind.

The idea of beings from space coming to our planet is substantiated in

several ways. One of these substantiations is that there have been discovered, in

Mexico, drawings of figures resembling men in space suits. These drawings were

identified as Aztec artifacts.

Another example of evidence of visiting space beings is Easter Island.

This island is populated by huge stone figures. These figures are carved of stone

not native to Easter Island. According to evidence that has been discovered thus

far, the ancients did not have the equipment to move these huge blocks of stone

from another land mass. This would seem to imply that there was some

intervention by a higher life form, capable of moving many-ton weights for great

distances.

Some theologians have said that even Jesus and the prophets were

members of this space-going people. This is because many of their miracles

would not have been possible without advanced science. Of course, this is

assuming they were not true miracles.

A fourth example is Jericho's wall. This Biblical reference mentions the

wall crumbling at the sound of trumpets. A possible explanation for this

occurrence could be sonics from a ship from space.

These evidences all point to space beings visiting earth. Therefore, it

stands to reason that these beings could have tampered with life and thought on

our planet.

Imagination

May 30, 1984

Imagination is that function of one's mind which causes the unreal to

become reality. It helps one to be many people, to do those things which could

never be done. It is often a subconscious reaction to the events of the day. These

reactions usually come out at night and are called dreams.

Imagination inspires great writers and painters. Many of the world's

greatest works of art and literature would never exist if not for imagination.


Imagination often leads one to romanticism. Many young girls romanticize

about the ideal man. They know that they may never meet him, yet they think

about being married to such a man. Boys are not immune to romanticizing. Many

boys dream of being President, King, or Premier. Others dream of discovering

lost cities in the Amazon. Still others look to the stars for fulfillment of their

dreams. Even the simplest, down-to-earth ideals are to be considered

romanticism. The old dream of a "vine covered cottage in the woods" is seldom

realized, but still many people dream it.

Imagination need not, however, be pure fancy, or fiction. It can be very

real. A young mother thinking of new ways to amuse the baby may employ a

great deal of imagination. A young girl learning to bake will invariably use her

imagination by substituting an available ingredient for an unavailable one. A

housewife trying to make ends meet uses imagination to make the usual meal

unusual and interesting.

Imagination is used in all sorts of businesses all over the world. It is a

constant. While imagination lives, advances will be made in science and in the

home.

Imagination is the hope of tomorrow.

The Electric Babysitter

October 24, 1984

In this academically oriented age, there is a wonderful aid for working

mothers. It is an excellent device for the feeding of young minds.

Many things can now be taught by a machine which previously were only

taught by parents. These things include English, values, correct behavior, and

prudence.

The English of today's society is absorbed by the children, primarily from

this device. Words such as "ain't," and the use of double negatives have been

deeply impressed on the minds of today's youths. Such English has never before

been so effectively taught.

The values learned by today's youth are of a unique sort. Never before

have values been so firmly embedded in children's minds. The values of today are

sexual freedom, lying, killing, opposing authority, and sloth. There has never been

such an effective teacher of sexual freedom and lying as the modern soap opera.

Killing, opposing authority, and sloth have never been taught so well and

effectively as by the cartoons.


Correct behavior is taught very effectively by one cartoon and one

comedy. The cartoon "Heckle and Jeckle" teaches children to lie, cheat, and steal.

These things have never been taught so well. The comedy trio, Mo, Curly, and

Larry, teaches children to hit, slap, and poke at their friends. They also teach

children stealth and lying. These fine standards of behavior were not taught so

well at any time before the coming of the Three Stooges.

Prudence is best taught to the youth of our generation by such cartoons as

"The Roadrunner," "Yosemite Sam," and "Tom and Jerry." These fine cartoons

are wonderful teachers. They teach our children to jump off cliffs, to play

"chicken" with sharks, to shoot their playmates, to swallow explosives, and to

drop boulders on others. Such displays of caution and lessons in care have been

sadly neglected until very recently.

By this point, the reader ought to have noticed that the electric babysitter

is the device commonly known as the television. This device, as has been

illustrated in this paper, is a wonderful teacher of proper English, good systems of

values, correct behavior, caution, and care. The children of this generation have

been taught these things very effectively by the television. It is to be hoped that

these teachings will continue and increase for many years to come.

Teenagers Versus Adults

May 9, 1985

One of two essays which combined to win First Place for Grade Ten in the

Vermont Honors Competition for Excellence in Writing held at the University of

Vermont.

Teenagers face many difficulties in their lives today. One is the need to

express their feelings on a variety of major issues. These feelings are often very

strong, and are usually based upon the volatile mixture of adult maturity and

juvenile innocence experienced by the great majority of teenagers. For this

reason, the views of teenagers often conflict with those of their elders.

One issue which is commonly discussed between teenagers and adults is

that of the legal drinking age. The feelings on this issue are mixed in all quarters,

but there seems to be some prevalence in each case. Adults tend to feel that the

legal drinking age should be very high, with "very high" being used in relative

terms. Teenagers, on the other hand, tend to feel that the legal age should be fairly


low. Adults feel that the youth of the world would be able to drink more

responsibly if their birth certificates bore a given birth date. Teenagers feel that

responsibility would become theirs if they were treated as responsible citizens.

The conflict between teenagers and adults concerning the drinking age has

caused some rather predictable problems. Teenagers have found that alcoholic

beverages need not be purchased in the liquor stores in their states; they are

readily available at the stores on the far side of the state lines. The young people

find that drinking out-of-state can be more exciting than drinking at home. There

is a thrillingly dangerous feeling associated with such renegade activities.

A second problem caused by the legal drinking age issue is an increase in

car accidents, and accident related deaths, due to teenagers driving under the

influence They often feel that they must drive themselves home immediately after

a drinking party, and seldom will a member of a group abstain for an evening in

order to drive home safely.

The issue of apartheidism is also quite prevalent in teenage-adult

conversations. Again, there is no consensus on either side, but there is a

generalized reaction.

The adults of today were subjected to the peace movements of the 1960's.

Their minds were carefully and repeatedly subjected to the concepts of peace and

equality for all. Some were even directly involved with these movements.

Today's youth are faced with a more conservative way of life. Change,

even when it appears to be part of a bettering trend, is difficult for them to accept.

They tend to want the framework of society to be made of rigid steel, rather than

pliant plastics. They want a strong foundation for their lives; and they're used to

achieving it.

This difference of background and opinion has caused a slight rift in

society. The elder generation seems to be opposed to apartheidism, while the

younger generation seems to be in favour of it. This is not to say, however, that all

adults desire equality and all teenagers desire dominance among the races; it is

often quite the opposite. I am simply saying that this is what the trends indicate.

The proposed "Star Wars" plan is a third issue which has received heated

argument. Many adults feel that the "Star Wars" plan is a simple waste of tax

monies. Many teenagers callously believe that mankind's exodus to the stars

would be beneficial.

The adult view is strongly backed. So far, no one has found a practical

purpose for star travel. No alien races have been discovered. No inhabitable

planets have been seen. Mankind has not, as yet, found his brothers in the far

cosmos.


The teenage point of view is heavily biased by Star Wars, Star Trek, E.T.,

and Buck Rogers, to name a few. The youth of the world see the technology of the

future in the ventures of the present. They see space travel as glamourous and

gratifying. They see it as mankind’s escape from the noise and pollution,

overcrowding and starvation, of earth. They see the stars as mankind's Promised

Land.

The conflict concerning the space program has greatly affected many

people. A form of worldwide paranoia has set in, and plagues the hordes of people

it has touched. The world of the stars holds great fear for many people. The

possibilities for life – and the possibilities for death – are overwhelming.

The young people of our world have a great deal of growing to do, both

physically and emotionally. The issues of today will ultimately take part in

forming the future.

Although it is not always pleasant to face difficult issues, it is a healthy

way to learn. The youth of today will be the adults - the parents, teachers, and

government leaders - of tomorrow. They must have a steel-girdered basis on

which to build their dreams, hopes, and goals. They must be aware of all sides of

every issue in order to be successful adults.

Discussing the issues can be frightening for teenagers, but it is helpful in

the long run to be able to be involved in the discussions.

Whatever the issues, and whatever the views, the conflicts of the present

will be printed indelibly on the way of the future.

Propaganda

June, 1987

Written as an assignment for a Modern Communications class at

Wilmington High School.

I was taken in by propaganda when I became deathly afraid of fire when

my first grade teacher told us we could kill our families by playing with fire. I

was so frightened by that that I refused to light matches or handle candles until I

was ten years old.


Courage

September 7, 1983

Courage is the ability to face whatever may happen to you without trying

to run away. A courageous man is a man who can stand up against any foe, be

merciful to that foe, and accept the possibility of death as a result of mercy,

without flinching.

Courage is the way a man thinks. If he is able to aid others in the face of

some danger to himself, and know what he is doing and what he must face, he is

courageous.

Courage is unshakable resolution in the face of adversity. It is the splendid

heroism of a man sure of life. It is a bold disregard for danger one is aware exists.

One of man's greatest virtues is courage. It is having the confidence,

manliness, and grit that are necessary to face perils beyond mortal belief or

imagination. It is the ability to be loyal and true to one's friends and loved ones

when the going gets rough.

Courage is one of the things that held our country together and the lack of

courage is what will make our country die, for as long as there is courage and

manliness, nothing can ever destroy man. He will always win as long as he is

courageous.

The Importance of Fantasy

May 9, 1985

One of two essays which combined to win First Place for Grade Ten in the

Vermont Honors Competition for Excellence in Writing held at the University of

Vermont.

Fantasy can be defined in many ways. It can be defined as an escape from

the trials i\of the real world. It can be defined as a way of buffering the confusion

of our fast-paced society. It can be defined as wishful thinking. It can be defined

as a fictional world coexisting with the world we see with our eyes. I find the

second definition to be the most inwardly satisfying of them all.


Fantasy plays ay important role in our modern lives. it gives us an outlet

for our creative selves in a society where rushing practicality is generally

favoured. This is necessary because without such an outlet, our creativity would

eventually disappear. The imaginative individuality of each person would be lost

to a limbo, where it would remain trapped forever. Each person would then

become, essentially, a clone of each other person. There would be no room in our

lives for the pleasures of distinct selfness. The reality of ego would give way to

the separate reality of pure logic.

Fantasy gives mankind a unique means of looking at reality. It forces each

one of us to see what we could become, given a proper amount of drive. Through

fantasy, we may find secrets within ourselves. These secrets might be positive or

negative, but either kind could be used to improve our personal lives, and our

interactions with others.

Fantasy allows each person in the world to play. Whatever form the play

might take, fantasy will always add a dimension of relaxation and enjoyment to it.

Fantasy can make such games as Cowboys-and-Indians, House, and School seem

real. To a non-participant in the game, the fantasy is lost and the reality seems

foolish. To a participant, though, the fantasy is omnipresent. It brings broom-stick

horses to life, makes gourmet meals of mudpies, and gives authority to a five-

year-old teacher.

Fantasy has a part in adult games as well. It adds adventure to the on-

going game of Life, instills power in the participants of the game of Parenting,

and brings the game of Death into sharp focus. Granted, Life, Parenting, and

Death are not commonly considered to be games, but they take on an aura typical

of games when they are coupled with fantasy. Life loses some of its bitterness.

Parenting becomes a great pleasure. Even Death is filled with joy in the

deceased's escape from the trials and tribulations which affect all people.

Fantasy makes the world into a game so that each of the world's

inhabitants can have a chance to sit back, relax, and play life by a set of rules. The

rules that fantasy gives to life are, one: slow down and take each even as it comes;

two: everyone is as lost as everyone else and each person should help the other

person to play the game successfully; and three: never let yourself be discouraged

by an unspoken rule of the game. The rules are short, but often difficult to obey.

Each one of us is too strongly conditioned with "rush," "fight," and "survive" to

play the game well, but each believer in fantasy makes the attempt.

Fantasy allows us to relax, to put aside the problems of life, and to rejoice

in the individuals we are.

Fantasy, more than many elements of life, is crucial to healthy, emotional

survival. Without fantasy, life would not be worth living.


Innocence

November, 1986

Innocence is an abstraction for a virtually nonexistent state of being. It

refers to the condition of never having willfully done wrong. It is not the total

absence of evil within the being of an individual, for all people have the capacity

for eveil, but, rather, the abstinence from willful use of one's evil capabilities.

Innocence is a difficult concept to discuss, because the term has so many

meanings. It is used to mean youth, or naiveté, though not necessarily both at

once. It is used to mean physical or emotional purity, though, again, not

necessarily simultaneously. It is used to mean goodness, simple and

unadulterated. It is used to mean truth. In courts of law, it is used to mean not

having committed a given, wrongful act, whether willfully or not. Each person,

and each institution, has a separate concept of innocence.

Some religions state that innocence is the opposite of sinfulness, thus

negating all meaning of the word, for these same religions state that a capacity of

evil, or a single lapse in innocence of a parent, condemns a child as a sinner from

birth. The rationale to that argument is a combination of the Banishment and the

Crucifixion. In the Banishment, the evils of Adam and Eve were passed into Cain

and Abel, causing all future descendants of man to be banned from Paradise. in

the Crucifixion, Christ descended into Hell to cleanse Man of sin through the

cleansing of His own sin, showing that even the human-born Son of God carried

the curse of inherent sin.

The Great Encounter

October 6, 1984

The Great Encounter is life. It is not just existence, but Life, with a capital

L. It is a striving to conquer the unconquerable. It is every man trying to do that

which no man can do. It is the attempt to bridge the gap between the physical and

the spiritual, and bring them together in a better way of life. The essence of the

Great Encounter was expressed best in "The Impossible Dream" by Joe Dorion,

"To dream the impossible dream; to fight the unbeatable foe; to bear with

unbearable sorrow; to run where the brave dare not go; to right the unrightable

wrong; to love, pure and chaste, from afar; to try when your arms are too weary;


to reach the unreachable star." These phrases, in my opinion, express the meaning

of the Great Encounter.

The Great Encounter is the eternal Ego of the universe. I feel that it is

what is expressed as the "All in One." It is every pure and/or perfect thought or

idea. It is ideals in their purest form.

The Great Encounter is the soul and the conscience. It is that part of us

which allows man to choose his own destiny. It is "IS." The Great Encounter is

choice and decision. It is all that makes man human.

The Great Encounter is the differentiating of right from wrong. It is the

use of morals and ethics in one's dealings with others. It is the eternal Right; the

right that exists in the mind and soul, though it may not be the accepted right. It is

the application of this right in all things. It is careful, honest dealings with all

people. It is a civilized thing which helps to make our lives bright and wonderful.

It is the only true constant.

The Great Encounter is a freedom allowed all living creatures. It is one of

the truly undefinable parts of reality. It is often equated with "fate," "destiny,"

"preordination," "God's will," "chance," and "choice." It is also equated with

"philosophy," "religion," and the undefinable feelings experienced at each new

cusp; or point of conflict and decision.

The Great Encounter awaits each human being throughout eternity. It is

the only thing which can never be done away with. The Great Encounter is LIFE!

Life

December 1, 1985

Life is a dream, for it is only that which we believe it to be. For each

person, there exists a unique reality. Though not all of life is "grotesque and

foolish," yet it could seem so to any who do not see the reality which their minds

have created.

Sanity is a subjective state. I believe that every man possesses his own

brand of sanity. If this were not so, then the only alternative is that no man is sane.

This must be so, for we are assuming that reality is a state of mind, and is not

sanity defined as a state of mind?


Perceptive Existence

May 2, 1987

This is my philosophy of the existence of all things. It is a philosophy of

self- awareness and perception. By my philosophy, i define the existence of all

persons, and of all things. I define the existence of emotions, and of Heaven and

Hell. I define all things by my own, conceited, view of myself as a being of

creative perception, and of a strong self- awareness.

I am a being of self-awareness, possessed of a conviction that within my

essence exist free will and initiative. By my personal perception, I have created all

that which exists within my perception, including a host of beings like myself.

each of these beings is self-aware, and each is possessed of perception, free will,

and initiative. You, the reader, are such a being, for so do I perceive you to be.

Each of the self-aware beings which are created by my perception has a

special power of creation, which has the same potential from one to another, and

which is the same as that power which created each of them. each being of self-

awareness creates all that which exists within its perception, and each one

bestows powers, rules, and limitations on all that which it creates. You and I are

created by all those which perceive us, and we are truly created by their images of

us. Therefore, all things are cyclical and circular, as described y Parmenides:

"It is necessary to speak and think what is; for being is, but nothing is

not... to be and not to be are the same and not the same, and (that) the road of all

things is a backward- turning one."

As I have created all that which I have perceived, so do I perceive all that

which i create. Among the great things in my perception is a creation which i

perceive to share with many of the self-aware beings of my perception. This great

thing is a perception of the Creator - that which is called God. The Creator is, has

been, and will be, and it has created all things. Therefore, all self-aware beings

may be perceived to be God, though many perceive God to be a being apart from

the perception of creation. This varying of creation according to belief and

perception was worded neatly by René Descartes: "I think, therefore, I am."

I perceive emotion as a huge part of creation. I perceive that the only two

emotions which exist apart from other thought processes are love and hate, which

are greatly synonymous, though hate is not required for love, whereas love is an

absolute requisite for hate. No being in my perception can truly hate unless it has

first loved every detail of its object. The most vile feeling which can exist without

love is mild dislike, and that is a truly loveless feeling.


There are two places within my perception which are not of the sphere of

physical existence. These two are Heaven and Hell. Heaven is the place which my

perception reserves for those who have tried to do what is right, for all other

beings, as well as for themselves, throughout their periods of physical existence,

and for those who have tried to make retribution for their wrong acts. Hell is the

place which I perceive to be a great void - a place of terrifying nothingness. This

is the place where my perception exiles all those beings who do not go to Heaven

after their periods of physical existence. Both these places are controlled by the

perceptions of all self-aware beings, and each has its own perception of Heaven

and Hell.

My philosophy is strictly my own, but I apply it to all of existence. I exist

of my own, power, as does each being in existence. This is my philosophy of

existence.

Silent Speech

March, 1987

A description of a painting written for the Writing Seminar class at Mount

Anthony Union High School.

The piece is primarily painted in dark, somber shades. The forms and

composition are unsettling, yet, somehow, appealing. It is a work of harsh lines

and colours, with a unity which makes it pleasing to the eyes.

The focal point of the piece is a pair of bronze-coloured lips, which seem

to draw the other elements in to the center. The lips are strongly highlighted,

although the only light which is visible is in the form of rays, radiating from a

deep purple orb.

The background is a series of hard, angry lines which overlap and join.

The upper ground is black and dark gray, with the gray overlapping the orb. From

the upper right, the colours move through pastelline shades of gray, striking a

sharp contrast with a pronounced orange peak to right center.

The lower part of the painting is done in deep purples and blues, with

gentler contrasts than above. The lower right seems to hold a land formation,

which curves up and left to embrace a body of somewhat lighter water.


The center of the work is a band of yellow and orange, shocking and

unsettling, yet lending coherence to a piece with which it has little in common.

At center depth, the light rays seem to be refracted by the lips. They leave

the orb in straight bands, strike the lips, and shoot out again, this time fanning out,

and seeming to come off the canvas as they approach the right boundaries. These

rays are a very pale lavender at the orb, and at the edge of the canvas, fading and

brightening to a warm, lemon, yellow as they reach the lips from each direction.

This painting seems to speak of the incongruities of the spoken word in a

world where water, hills, mountains, and the void blackness of night speak

eloquently of beauty and contrast without aid of human articulation. It speaks also

of the emphasis and attention which the spoken word receives, leaving the speech

of nature in darkness and obscurity.

Death of a Universe

June, 1987

This piece was written as part of a writing seminar at Mount Anthony

Union High School, describing a color painting from a magazine.

This vivid work is a statement in contrast. It speaks of line and depth. It

has an expansive background, with an intensive foreground.

This painting is done in violent reds, yellows, and blues, on a black

background. The primary focal point is a startling yellow and orange starburst in

the upper left. It has a searing, white center, and it expands through shades of

yellow and orange until the orange fades into the black.

The starburst has a long tail which tapers from the lower right of the

starburst to the center right of the painting. The tip of the tail seems to become

lost in a muted explosion of fuscia and purple.

The exploding cloud, in turn, has a thin tail which arcs down to just below

the center of the painting, tapering to a fiery, white line, which ends in a point of

white flame. The flame, which is the center of the secondary focal point, is

focused by expanding rings of red cloud, broken in the upper right of the rings by

an indigo haze, and joined, each to the others, by bolts of blinding, pink lightning.

The entire painting is overlaid by a line matrix, which is distorted at the

point of white flame to become a funnel. Strangely, the funnel passes by the spark

which seems to draw it inward. The funnel extends toward the lower right of the

painting, seeming to reach back into the blackness, yet also seeming to reach


toward the viewer. It deepens in hue as it extends, passing through shades from

gold to red, pausing at a point of whiteness as it passes through a cloud infested

with electricity.

Extending back from the funnel, the matrix continues to a horizon beyond

the range of vision. It passed beneath the starburst, and is lost in the shadow of a

void blackness.

Other than the starburst, the space above the matrix seems to be a true

void: blackness, unbroken by light or matter. Below the matrix, however, and

extending out from the funnel, are tiny flecks of blue-white fire, destroying the

perfection of the void. Even the sphere of cloud rings is enveloped in a net of

barely perceptible flames.

The colours in the painting encompass light, darkness, and spectral

extremes. Light is represented in the starburst, and in the golden beams which are

reflected from the lines of the matrix nearest the source of the light. Darkness is

represented by the utter blackness of the void, and is intensified by the piecing

whiteness in the centers of the focal areas. The clouds, and the distant reflections

on the matrix, represent spectral extremes. Thus, sharp contrasts are used which

ultimately bind the elements of the painting into a cohesive unit.

Hamlet: Grace or Revenge?

March 3, 1987

When William Shakespeare composed the tragedy of Hamlet, he used a

ghost's vengeance as his main stimulus. For this to be effective, it had to be quite

clear that the elder Hamlet had died unshriven and before his time:

Thus was I sleeping by a brother's hand

Of life, of crown, of queen at once dispatched,

Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,

Unhouseled, disappointed, unaneled,

No reck'ning made, but sent to my account

With all my imperfections on my head.

I, v, ll. 74-79.

A question stands, however - separate from, yet related to, the immortal

question, "To be, or not to be," - which must be considered. That question is:

Would King Hamlet have returned to the earthly plane to avenge himself against

Claudius if he had received the proper sacraments, or would he have ascended to

Grace, as would be his right?


If Hamlet had chosen Grace, the story of his son would never have needed

to be written. Certainly, young Hamlet would have had to deal with the marriage

between his mother and his uncle, and, surely, life throughout Europe would have

continued apace, but the themes of madness and revenge would have been absent.

However, the question concerns a simple man, to be considered as an

historic figure, rather than as a character in a play. It does not concern the plot

itself.

King Hamlet is given as having lived at a time when learning was heavily

stressed, giving the impression that it was also a time of religious feeling and

awareness. His statement (as a ghost) of having died unhouseled and unaneled

shows him to have been a Catholic. Knowing this, we can determine that he knew

his Bible and felt strongly about the incestuous relationship between Claudius and

Gertrude:

Let not the royal bed of Denmark be

A couch for luxury and damn'ed incest.

I, v, ll. 82-83.

This incentive alone would be strong enough to cause a spirit to turn from

Grace to the haunting limbo of salvationless souls.

Grace, on the other hand, would be a strong force in the mind of a

warrior's spirit. The warrior king lives a long and difficult life. As King, he

protects his subjects from all manner of danger and wrong-doing. Ideally, he uses

his power to help the populace, putting forth great effort to do what is right for

their welfare. This monumental effort is very exhausting, and the rest and quiet to

be found in Grace would be a solace to the wearied spirit, and a strong incentive

to leave mortal hatreds behind.

Also, as we have already determined that Hamlet was Catholic, and that he

had at least a rudimentary knowledge of the Bible, we know that he would pay

heed to God's utterance:

'Vengeance is mine,' saith the Lord.

Deuteronomy 19:21.

This would certainly deter King Hamlet from seeking vengeance against

his brother.

With strong religious, and personal, considerations on each side of the

issue, it is difficult to determine whether Hamlet would actually have chosen

Grace or revenge. Certainly, even dying unhouseled and unaneled, he leaves

vengeance against Gertrude for her marriage to Claudius in God's hands:

... nor let thy soul contrive

Against thy mother aught. Leave her to heaven

And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge


To prick and sting her.

I, v, ll. 85-88.

Perhaps, as mortals, we can not contrive to understand the inner workings

of a spirit's thoughts. Perhaps the question must stand: Grace or revenge? - a

difficult question for the temporal plane.

Mass Media

May 7, 1987

With the growth of the media, the world is becoming the global village

which was proposed by Marshall McLuhan. Within moments, the entire free

world can be informed of scores of events.

Unlike the presidential election of 1798, modern elections are broadcast

worldwide as they occur. Similarly, the choosing of a Pope, or the succession of

royalty can be, and usually is, broadcast live to an eagerly waiting world.

National and international disasters, such as volcanic eruptions,

hurricanes, earthquakes, droughts, and flooding are witnessed by the world, side-

by-side with appeals for social and financial assistance for the victims.

The minute-to-minute details of wars, battles, rebellions, and takeovers are

witnessed by the entire free world, and by the less-than-free world if its leaders

feel it is appropriate. Hostage crises, rescue attempts, and peace talks are similarly

broadcast.

All of this tends to make the world community treat major world events as

everyday events, to be dealt with or ignored as is convenient. It makes people tend

to forget how large the world is, or how many diverse peoples live in the world. It

makes one more bombing, or one more hostage, or one more rebellion of

oppressed peasants and mercenary soldiers seem insignificant. Occasionally, a

name, place, or event will register in the mind, but only those events which touch

an individual or his close acquaintances mean anything to that individual.

The state of the world is changing constantly, and camera, recorders,

pencils, and paper are tagging along to catch the news as it happens. Still, word-

of-mouth news about local events tends to keep the interest of the public. The

world knows what the world is doing, but each tiny community within the world

village cares more about the personal or social activities of, and news about, its

own John Smiths and Mary Joneses than about those previously earth-shattering

events which tend to be tuned out of the mental noise as "just-one-more-

whatever-wherever-again."


Death, destruction, royalty, and religion - what has happened to our

concern for our world? Perhaps the rush of media has made it all so commonplace

that we really don't care as much anymore, or perhaps we are suffering from the

"just one more" syndrome, and don't notice what happens in the world, or don't

recognize its importance to the world.

The American Frontier

January 20, 1986

There have been five great frontiers in the history of America. Each time,

it has been man's need to know the unknown and do the undone which has cast

him from the security of his home to a place which neither he nor his brethren yet

know. The first of the great frontiers was opened in the Seventeenth and

Eighteenth Centuries. It stretched from the Atlantic coast to the foot of the

Appalachian Range. The second of these frontiers was opened in the Eighteenth

and Nineteenth Centuries. This frontier spanned the wilderness from Appalachia

to the great Mississippi River. The third frontier stretched from the Mississippi to

the majestic shores of the Pacific Ocean in California. This frontier was opened in

the mid-Nineteenth Century. The fourth frontier was opened from the mid-

Nineteenth Century until just before the dawning of the Twentieth Century. This

frontier was the Plains. The fifth frontier opened in the mid-Twentieth Century,

and is yet in the early stages of exploration. This is the frontier beyond the Earth -

the frontier of space. However, it is the fourth frontier that we are interested in at

present.

The Frontier, as the plains are affectionately referred to, even now, began

to be opened when President Thomas Jefferson purchased the Louisiana Territory

from France. This huge tract of land was explored by the survey team of Lewis

and Clarke. They, and the pioneers who followed, invoked Manifest Destiny as

their authority to claim the western lands. This all-purpose excuse said that only

white Americans were suited to control the continent - and they were determined

to control it, from sea to shining sea.

With the opening of new lands came the beginning of the prairie

homesteader. Early in this period, families or groups of families would travel by

covered wago from the "civilized" East. They would go to a country without

towns, where a man and his family could build a farm almost anywhere his

wished.

It was not easy to build a farm, though. Trees were scarce on the plains

and prairies. The few which did grow were small, and unsuitable for building.


With this lack of traditional building supplies, men were forced to use their

ingenuity. This led to the building of houses and barns from sod bricks, cut from

the living Earth. It also led to building dugout houses in the banks of rivers. Both

sod houses and dugouts were practical for the frontier, both because the materials

for them were readily available, and because their well-insulated warmth was

excellent protection from prairie blizzards.

The land of the plains was rich, fertile, and open. This made it very

popular for homesteaders and farmers. It was so popular, in fact, that when

Oklahoma Territory was opened for settlement, all land was claimed in a period

of two hours.

The Indians were already in residence when white men decided to claim

the West. The tribes had their territories, laws, customs, and freedom. They would

have had sovereign rights to the land, as well, except that white men regarded

them as heathens, or at least as less-than-human.

The American Indian got a raw deal from the white man. He was given

treaties which were honoured only when it was convenient for the whites. He was

removed from the land of his fathers and placed on reservations. He was

slaughtered by glory-seeking military men who felt that the only good Indian was

a dead Indian.

Each time the United States gained a new territory, they also gained a new

group of Indians. Hundreds of thousands of resident Indians were slaughtered,

starved, or confined to reservations.

The American Negro, newly freed from bondage, was a common

homesteader or cowboy on the American Frontier. Little is said of these

courageous men, who fought the odds and won, surviving in a brutal land among

Whites. In fact, almost nothing is known of them. It is known, however, that

many freed slaves left the South to settle in the freedom of the West.

The first cowboys of the American frontier were Mexican vaqueros. In the

late 1860's, as the pioneers discovered the great amount of open land on the

plains, cattle ranching became a widespread occupation. The men of the West

took to their horses, and followed the example of the vaqueros, by riding with the

herds as they roamed the ranges.

Cowboys were not the god-like men that they were portrayed as. They

were rugged, resourceful men who had seen the dark side of life, and had

interwoven it with their own lives. They were usually fond of liquor, and the

women they knew were rarely innocent damsels in need of aid.

The woman of the frontier was a sturdy woman who bore as much of the

labours of the homestead as her man did. The work of the woman was long, as


were her days. One of her main duties was to produce children to work the land,

and many of her other duties stemmed from it.

The frontier woman produced the family's food and clothing, from

growing or raising it, to feeding it to or putting it on them. She was teacher and

nurse for her children, and often for the children of neighbouring families when

the en and other women shared the work of the homesteads.

Women were not worshipped, nor were they even given the respect which

women of a later age received. Even the sanctity of the body was not then in

evidence, and bastardy was not uncommon.

The emergence of mercantilism on the frontier was an inevitable result of

homesteading. Merchants were very important, and came in various types. The

itinerant merchant was the forbearer of the modern travelling salesman. He

travelled from town to town and from homestead to homestead.

Merchants who settled in the frontier tended to settle at popular

crossroads. As pioneers moved West, some would stop at the crossroads stores.

Eventually, towns would come into being.

The outlaws of the frontier are among the most glamourous men in

history. They were not always so, however. When the layers of legends are

removed, these outlaws are no better than any others - and many are much worse.

The law of the West was the six-shooter – if it had its six bullets, and if the

wearer knew how to use it, the law was on the side of the man (or woman) who

had the hardware.

The frontier was a difficult place to live. The men and women who

peopled it were sturdy and enterprising. Their success at taming the West has

made possible much of that which we know now.

Changes in America

March 17, 1986

There were many changes in the United States in the years following the

Civil War. Many of these changes involved economics; most involved big

business. The single largest change in the character of the Union was the

corporation. A corporation is a form of business organization in which many

people own parts of the business by buying stocks.

The theory of the corporation centered around the theory of Social

Darwinism. Social Darwinism was first conceived by Herbert Spencer when he

applied the biological theories of Charles Darwin to human society. 1 When


applied to corporations, this comes to mean that the company owned by the

greatest number of persons is best suited to continue.

In the post-Civil War era, the philosophy of laissez-faire became fairly

wide-spread. The philosophy is one in which business should be permitted to

operate without government restraint.

During this era, there were several great men who became inordinately

wealthy through business dealings. These were men such as Rockefeller and

Carnegie, whose fortunes are known and referred to to this day.

The great men of the post-war era followed a system set down by Horatio

Alger:

There are many boys, and men too, who ... have never had a fair chance in life.

Let us remember that, when we judge them, and not be too hasty to condemn. Let

us consider also whether it is not in our power to give someone the chance that

may redeem him.2

Andrew Carnegie was one who was given such a chance. He began as a

bobbin-boy in Pennsylvania in 1847, earning a sum of $1.20 a week. From those

mean beginnings, he went on to be a symbol of capitalism in America.

Considering this, he wrote: "I am sure that I should never have selected a business

career if I had been permitted to choose."3

Another view was taken of life by adult business men than by bobbin-

boys. The former had spent their lives improving their personal economies. This

often meant increased production and decreased salaries in the factories that they

owned.

John D. Rockefeller, an oil giant, wrote:

I ascribe the success of the Standard Oil Company to its consistent

policy of making the volume of its business large through the merit

and cheapness of its products.4

The Standard Oil Company was the Rockefeller cash-flow machine. With

it, he continued in business until he, and a group of friends, owned or controlled

over one-fifth of the oil businesses and railroads in the United States.5

Big business involved not only great profit for the rich, but great risks for

their employees. Women and children worked twelve or fourteen hour days with

heavy machinery, dust, heat, noise, and fast-spreading disease. Many times, farm

families sent their children to the cities to help support the family. In protest of

this last, Charlotte Gilman wrote "Child Labor":

No fledgling feeds the father bird!

No chickens feed the hen!

No kitten mouses for the cat -

This glory is for men:


We are the Wisest, Strongest Race -

Loud may our praise be sung!

The only animal alive

That lives upon its young!6

Charlotte Gilman was not the only writer to criticize child labor, nor were

the writers afraid to describe the conditions under which children were employed.

John Spargo described the conditions in a mill that made felt hats as follows:

So long as enough girls can be kept working, and only a few of them faint,

the mills are kept going; but when faintings are so many and so frequent that it

does not pay to keep going, the mills are closed.7

Conditions were similar where adults were employed. Workers in meat-

packing factories risked tuberculosis, acid burns, knives, extremes of heat and

cold, blood poisoning, and drowning, among the more common dangers.8

Some attempts were made to regulate child labor. One bill was proposed

which would ban the interstate transportation of goods made by children. This

was intended to cease child labor.

Albert J. Beveridge, the Senator from Indiana, said in his speech in favor

of the bill:

Why is it then only when we attempt to stop the murder of children

and the debasement of our race and the ruin of our citizens by

prohibiting the transportation of child-made goods in interstate

commerce that Senators are aroused in defense of an artificial

liberty?9

After the turn of the century, reforms began to be established. In 1908, the

Supreme Court declared a maximum ten hour work day for women, reduced from

the standard twelve to fourteen hours. In 1913, Congress created the Department

of Labor, which improved working conditions. In 1916, the Child Labor Act was

put into effect, at last restricting child labor and protecting the children.

As the nation began to take shape, a new pattern was laid over it; the

immigrants began to come in masses. This was nor unusual, as it was already an

immigrant nation, but the flood of humanity was a shock. As Oscar Handlin

wrote: "Once I thought to write a history of the immigrants of America. Then I

discovered that the immigrants were American history."10

The immigrants to America were welcomed by Lady Liberty, and the

words of Emma Lazarus:

Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,


Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost, to me:

I lift my lamp beside the golden door...11

The face of America has changed many times since her birth, but the days

of big business and social reform have left some of the deepest, most vivid marks

upon it. The great fortunes of that day are beloved myths, even as the factories are

horrifying nightmares. It was a time of contrasts and changes that shaped our

nation for ever.

End Notes

Allan O. Kownslar, Discovering American History (New York: Holt, Rinehart,

and Winston, Inc., 1979), p. 481.

Horatio Alger, Fame and Fortune (Boston: A.K. Loring, 1868), pp. 273-279.

Andrew Carnegie, "How I Served My Apprenticeship As a Business Man,"

Youth's Companion, Vol. LXX, No. 17 (1896), pp. 216-217.

John D. Rockefeller, Random Reminiscences of Men and Events, (Garden City:

Doubleday & Doubleday, Inc., 1909), pp. 81-83, 86-87.

"Ida M. Tarbell on the Methods of the Standard Oli Company," from The

Progressive Movement 1900-1915, edited and with an introduction by

Richard Hofstadter (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1963), pp. 20-

27.

Charlotte Gilman, "Child Labor," The Cry for Justice: An Anthology of the

Literature of Social Protest (New York: The MacMillan Company, 1906),

pp. 175-178.

John Spargo, The Bitter Cry of the Children (New York: The Macmillan

Company, 1906), pp. 175-178.

Upton Sinclair, The Jungle (New York: The Viking Press, Inc., 1906), pp. 42,

116-117.

Albert J. Beveridge, Senator, Congressional Record, 59th Congress, 2nd Session,

Vol.XLI, Pt. 2 (Jan. 29, 1907), p. 1882.

Oscar Handlin, The Uprooted (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1951), p. 3

Emma Lazarus, The New Colossus, Statue of Liberty, New York Harbor

Bibliography

Alger, Horatio. Fame and Fortune. Boston: A.K. Loring, 1868.

Beveridge, Senator Alber J.. Congressional Record. 59th Congress, 2nd Session

, Vol. XLI, Pt. 2. January 29, 1907.

Bryan, William Jennings. "Menace to Government and Civilization." The

Independent. Vol. LIV. 1902.


Carnegie, Andrew. "How I Served My Apprenticeship As a Business Man."

Youth's Companion. Vol. LXX, No. 17. 1896.

Gilman, Charlotte. "Child Labor." The Cry for Justice: An Anthology of the

Literature of Social Protest. ed. Upton Sinclair. New York: Holt, Rinehart,

and Winston, Inc., 1915.

Handlin, Oscar. The Uprooted. Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1951.

Hofstadter, Richard, ed.. "Ida M. Tarbell on the Methods of the Standard Oil

Company." The Progressive Movement 1900-1915. Englewood Cliffs:

Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1963.

Kownslar, Allan O.. Discovering American History. New York: Holt, Rinehart,

and Winston, Inc., 1979.

Lazarus, Emma. The New Colossus, Statue of Liberty, New York Harbor.

Rockefeller, John D.. Random Reminiscences of Men and Events. Garden City:

Doubleday & Doubleday, Inc., 1909.

Sinclair, Upton. The Jungle. New York: The Viking Press, Inc., 1906.

Spargo, John. The Bitter Cry of the Children. New York: The Macmillan

Company, 1906.

High School Book Reviews

Parmenides' Reasoning

September 16, 1983

"It is necessary to speak and think what is; for being is, but nothing is not.

These things I bid you consider. For I hold you back from this first way of

inquiry; but also from that way on which mortals knowing nothing wander, of two

minds. For helplessness guides the wandering thought in their breasts; they are

carried along deaf and blind alike, dazed, beasts without judgment, convinced that

to be and not to be are the same and not the same, and that the road of all things is

a backward-turning one."

Parmenides

(c) 1968 by John Mansley Robinson

This form of reasoning, translated from the original Greek, is probably one

of the first forms of reality based therapy (Peter Rabow), recognizing what is, and

not what past influences may have contributed - concrete and tangible. The


Cartesian philosophy parallels this form of reasoning, "I think, therefore, I am"

(Rene Descartes).

Malory and White

October 28, 1983

Thomas Malory and Thomas White were authors of the same subject. In

spite of this fact, there were many differences between their works.

Malory wrote in a straight-laced, serious manner. White, however, wrote

in a more humorous manner. Malory seemed preoccupied with fighting and death.

He seemed almost morbid. White seemed more inclined toward education and

humor. Whereas Malory was writing in order to gain God's forgiveness, White

was writing for entertainment.

The characters in Le Morte d'Arthur were serious, war-like men and

scheming women. They were often single-dimensional, dull characters. In

contrast, the characters in The Sword in the Stone were human, humorous,

interesting characters. They were warm, caring, and three-dimensional.

One notable difference in characterization between the works of Malory

and White is the portrayal of Merlin. In Malory's work Merlin is serious, cold,

powerful, and resourceful. He is shown as a grand magician with few human

traits. In White's work Merlin is a lovable old man whose spells seldom work. He

is shown as helpful, wise, caring, and human.

The dialogue in the two works also differs. In Malory's book the speech is

formal and stilted in most cases. In White's book the speech is that of ordinary

people, with all of the slurrings, shortenings, and mispronunciation of an old

English dialect. This is illustrated very well by Little John's speech in chapter 10,

page 132 of The Sword in the Stone.

Detail was very much neglected by Malory when he composed Le Morte

d'Arthur. Lists of people and enumerations of battles took precedence over

details. However, in The Sword in the Stone far more attention was paid to

colorful, interesting description than to dull lists.

Malory's style in writing was very typical of the time period in which he

lived. His was a stilted style which caused his work to be difficult to read or to

understand. White's style of writing was more relaxed than Malory's style. This

fact made his works more easily read. It also made his work more interesting and

comprehensible than Malory's work.


A Biography of Miss Havisham

May 30, 1984

Miss Havisham was a beautiful child. She had long, blonde hair and clear,

blue eyes. Her manners were as pretty as she was.

Miss Havisham, who bore the Christian name of Adelaide, was born of a

wealthy family. She was a well-educated young lady. She was also proud and

spoilt. Even so she was admired by many young men.

When Adelaide reached womanhood she met a young man under rather

unusual circumstances. She was travelling abroad with a group of young ladies.

They were travelling in a carriage on the road to Amsterdam. It was a very dark

night and it was raining. The carriage had just passed a wayside inn when one of

the wheels of the carriage slipped off the road into a ditch. In an attempt to free

the wheel, the driver managed to land the remaining three wheels in the ditch with

the first.

Realizing that there was no hope of going on, the young ladies left their

carriage and made their way back to the inn.

When they reached the inn, they found that there was also a group of

young gentlemen staying there. They had given up in the attempt to reach

Amsterdam until after the storm. Two of these young gentlemen gave up their

room so that Adelaide and one of her companions might have it.

One of the two was quite dashing and he and Adelaide loved each other

upon sight. They saw as much as possible of each other in Amsterdam and

continued their coutship on their return to England. In time they were engaged.

Wedding clothes and decorations were ordered, a cake was made, and all

was made ready for the marriage. Then, at twenty minutes to nine on the morning

of the wedding, Miss Adelaide Havisham received a letter calling off the wedding

and breaking off the engagement.

Miss Havisham became a recluse because of the pain caused by her

fiancé’s letter. She boarded up the windows of her home, Satis House, and laid

waste to the estate. She never saw the light of day again, nor did she ever forgive

the race of man for her pain.

This is the history of the young Miss Havisham.


Aesop's Fables

September 27, 1984

Aesop was a Greek slave who seemed to possess a fine sense of morality.

His fables illustrate many human flaws and, in many cases, the way in which one

can overcome these flaws. They also illustrate strengths of human nature.

Common topics of Aesop's fables are: greed, pride, and pity. They were

used in fanciful tales to teach people virtue, propriety, and grace.

Aesop never wrote down any of his fables. They were handed down by

word-of-mouth for many generations. Because of this, the meanings of many of

the fables have become obscure. Also, the wording has changed through the ages

to suit changing language conventions. The meanings of the words were also

altered by bridging the gap between languages. They still have deeper meanings

for observant readers, however. To better illustrate the fables of Aesop, I will now

discuss two fables.

The first fable I will discuss is entitled "The Dog and His Shadow." It

deals with a dog who was overcome by greed. This dog was crossing a smooth

stream by means of a bridge. He had a piece of meat in his mouth, and was

wishing he had more. Partway across, he noticed his reflection in the water.

Thinking it was another dog, with another piece of meat, that he saw, he tried to

snap the meat away from the reflection. In his greed, he dropped his own meat in

the stream and lost it.

This fable seems to be a very good illustration of man's tendancy to desire

that which another has, even when the first man has all that he needs.

The second fable is entitled "The Ants and the Grasshopper." This fable

illustrates the results of all play and no work. It deals with a grasshopper and

some ants. The grasshopper had spent the summer singing and making music. The

ants had spent the summer putting food aside for the winter. When winter came

the grasshopper was starving. He went to the ants and asked for food. The ants

asked what the grasshopper had done all summer. When he said that he had spent

the summer singing, they said, "Now, then, you can dance."

This fable is a good illustration of the results of irresponsibility. Aesop has

used this tale to show that nothing is gained without hard work of some sort.


Stranger In A Strange Land

January 6, 1985

A review of "Stranger In A Strange Land" by Robert Heinlein.

The book that I read was Stranger In A Strange Land. It was written by

Robert A. Heinlein. It was published by Berkley Books of New York.

The title of this book was probably meant to attract attention to the fact

that the min character was unlike the other characters. It may also have been

meant to point out that the state of affairs on Earth at the time of the story was

apparently a constant SNAFU.

The main setting of Stranger In A Strange Land was Earth in the early- to

mid-twenty-first century. Earth's government had been reformed so that the entire

planet was ruled by a Secretary General. Ground travel had become nearly

obsolete and most people travelled in hovercraft. Two missions had been sent to

Mars. One had been lost; the other had found and rescued the sole survivor of the

first. There was a great deal of conflict on Earth concerning custody of the

survivor. He was wanted by politicians, scientists, and the military.

The final part of the setting was the most important part to the story. This

was because the survivor of the first mission to Mars was the main character of

the story. He was the Man-Martian Valentine Michael Smith.

The protagonist in Stranger In A Strange Land was Valentine Michael

Smith, commonly known as Mike. One of his most important traits was a total

adherence to Martian law and customs, which were the only laws and customs he

had ever known. Mike considered himself to be a Martian. It was not until two-

thirds of the way into the book that he believed that he was human.

The antagonist in Stranger In A Strange Land was the government. The

government tried at various times to take Mike into custody or to make him

disappear. This was because he was considered to be too dangerous to have

around. The government was afraid of him.

In the course of the story, and the final third in particular, many characters

changed. Mike started a church and converted Jews, Catholics, Atheists, and

Protestants. His church preached a new philosophy: "Thou art God." It taught

total awareness and all the members were at peace with themselves, each other,

and the world.

Mike's total devotion to the teachings of Mars contributed greatly to his

success and the success of the church. His own total self-awareness was projected

to all those around him. Without it, his church probably could not have succeeded.


I neither admired nor disliked any characters in the book. They were all

equally convincing and well-rounded, in my opinion. I felt that they were all well-

constructed and that they all unfolded equally well in the course of the story.

Mike's rearing on Mars was the main factor that made him the way he

was. He was taught to respect the Old Ones of Martian society and to take no

credit for his own successes, as all such credit belonged to the Old Ones. He was

taught total honesty. He was also taught to place total trust and faith in those he

was close to. He was taught that those who had shared water with him (a Martian

custom, important because of the scarcity of water on Mars) could not do

anything to harm him or to lead him astray.

Mike's main connection with the plot was that the plot was caused by his

existence. Jill's connection with the plot was in the fact that she had been the first

person to take an active interest in Mike's welfare on Earth. She had helped him to

escape from the government and had taught him Earth's customs. Jubal's

connection with the plot was the fact that he took Mike and Jill into his home and

became Mike's lawyer. Ben was connected to the plot for two reasons: he was

Jill's boyfriend and became jealous of Mike, and he was a newspaperman and

tried to uncover the government's plot to get rid of Mike. Mr. Douglas was

connected to the plot because he was the head of the government.

The main problem that Jubal was confronted with was the problem of

ensuring Mike's safety. He also had to protect Mike's interests, which included a

controlling share of Lunar Enterprises, the largest source of income for the

government. His interests also included sovereign ownership of Mars. Jubal

finally settled the problem by having Mike place Mr. Douglas in charge of all of

his affairs.

The main turning point of the story was when Mike discovered the

meaning of being human. At that point he decided to show all of humanity that

life need not be wretched. In order to do this, he founded his church.

The main plot was very realistic, however the scenes in Heaven were very

unrealistic. The angels just stood about and chatted or argued about affairs on

Earth. Some of the stunts which Mike pulled off were also unrealistic, but must be

attributed to his upbringing.

I felt that the ending suited the story in that Mike's martyrdom proved that

he was truly dedicated to his preaching. He died by stoning so that his disciples

would be free to continue their ministry. The ending almost paralleled the death of

Jesus in the Bible; he was killed so his followers could continue to spread his

truth.


For all the philosophies stated in Stranger In A Strange Land, there did not

seem to be a universal truth involved, outside the plot. It seemed to be written for

entertainment alone.

This novel has not influenced my thinking, though i am certain that it

could if I allowed it to, since I am very impressionable.

My awareness of social problems has not been affected, either. This is

because no current social problem was stated clearly enough to affect my

thinking.

I think the book would make a very successful movie. I cannot name the

actors who I would cast for the movie, however, because I have almost no

knowledge of actors or actresses.

I do not feel that there were any particularly strong or weak parts in

Stranger In A Strange Land, I feel that all parts were equally strong.

Linnets and Valerians

March 20, 1985

The title of the book I read was Linnets and Valerians. It was written by

Elizabeth Goudge. It was published by Avon books which is a division of the

Hearst Corporation.

This book was entitled Linnets and Valerians because the main characters'

surnames were Linnet and Valerian.

The setting of Linnets and Valerians was the West Country of England in

the year 1912. The main part of this setting was the village of High Barton, a

small village of "crooked houses and winding narrow streets" grouped about a

"pocket-handkerchief size" green. Above the village was a wooded hill, above

which rose two rocky peaks - one shaped like a benevolent lion, and the other,

above the lion, shaped like a city blending up into the clouds. The hills were

called Lion Tor or the Lion and the Castle.

This setting greatly influenced the characters because there was a great

evil in the village and the castle, which the Linnet children had to undo.

The setting was very closely related to the story because only under the

circumstances described could such elements as the witchcraft of Emma Cobley,

the power of the bees, and the autocracy of Grandmama have existed. These

elements were extremely important to the plot. The reason for this was that the

evil in the village was caused by Emma Cobley, and it was dispelled by the power

of the bees and the children's grandmother.


There were several protagonists in Linnets and Valerians. These were:

Nan, Robert, Timothy, and Betsey Linnet, Uncle Ambrose, Grandmama (although

she appeared as an antagonist at the beginning), Ezra, Lady Alicia, Moses Glory

Glory Alleluja, Abedneo, Jason-Rob-Roy, Absolom, Daft Davie (who later

became Francis Valerian), and the bees. Nan was quiet, thoughtful, and practical.

Robert was self-assured and money conscious. Timothy was delicate and

sensitive. Betsey was hot-tempered and loyal. Uncle Ambrose was strict and

concerned about his neices and nephews. Grandmama was autocratic. Ezra was

kind, patient, and respectful. Lady Alicia was grieving and kind. Moses Glory

Glory Alleluja was melancholy and holding to the departed glory. Abednego was

playful, mischievous, and helpful. Jason-Rob-Roy was loyal and understanding.

Absolom was loving. Daft Davie was kind, friendly, and loving of all life. The

bees were simply good.

There were also several antagonists in Linnets and Valerians. These were:

Emma Cobley, William and Eliza Lawson, Tom Biddle, Frederick, and the

bulldog. Emma was a black witch by earliest teaching. William and Eliza were

innately evil. Tom was enchanted by Emma. Frederick was also enchanted by

Emma. The bulldog was as naturally evil as its master.

Emma Cobley, Tom Biddle, and Frederick became good, law-abiding

citizens as a result of the children's burning of her spell book. This was because

they were not truly in possession of the power for evil; it was lent to them by the

spell book.

Daft Davie regained his voice and his memory because the children

removed the pins from a figure carved of mandrake root, and then burned the

figure. When he regained his memory, he was reunited with Lady Alicia, who was

his mother, and with Moses and Abednego, who were servants from his

childhood.

Lady Alicia's husband regained his memory because the children removed

pins from the head and feet of a mandrake figure, and then burned it. He was then

found in Egypt by the children's father, who brought the squire home and reunited

him with Lady Alicia.

The return of her husband and son made Lady Alicia much happier, and

she ceased to hate the sunlight.

Each character in the book owed a great deal of his success (or failure) to

his natural goodness (or evil). The story could not have taken place otherwise.

I admired Nan because of her constant good temper and her ability to

empathize with the other characters.

Robert earned my admiration because he tried his hardest in all he did.


Timothy was admired because he always tried to overcome his delicate

condition and to do what he could to aid his siblings' cause.

Betsey was high in my admiration because her youthful sensitivity

allowed her to help others when she might rather have done her own will.

I admired Uncle Ambrose because of his undying conviction that

goodness would prevail. I also admired his constant concern for all those under

his care.

I admired Grandmama because she did her best to do what was right for

her grandchildren, though they gave her a particularly hard time.

I admired Ezra because he employed his craft for the good of all.

I admired Lady Alicia because she never allowed herself to completely

give up hope.

Moses Glory Glory Alleluja was admired because he never gave up; he

retained the glory of the estate, even after it was gone.

I disliked all the antagonists simply because they caused their own evil

and never tried to dispel it.

Each character in Linnets and Valerians was the way he was as a result of

the time and place of his life.

The Linnets were all involved with the plot because it fell to them to set

right all that was wrong.

The Valerians were involved with the plot because they were the victims

of the evil.

Emma, Tom, William, and Eliza were involved with the plot because they

had caused the evils of the village.

The only true obstacles that the characters faced were each other in the

battle between good and evil. The Linnets and the Valerians, with their servants

and animals, overcame the evils by proving that good conquers evil.

The main turning point in the story came when Nan found Emma's spell

book and realized that it was up to the children to set things right.

The plot was true to life in nearly all respects, if taken literally, and in all

respects if taken symbolically.

The ending of Linnets and Valerians was pleasing. It was the "happy ever

after" sort of ending, and was an enchanting bit of work. All the pieces of the

story were pulled together and everyone was reunited with everyone else.

The universal truth underlying the plot was the concept of good versus

evil, and the ultimate prevalence of good.

I do not feel that this novel influenced my way of thinking or my point of

view in any way. Rather, I feel that my thoughts, feelings, and beliefs were

echoed by those behind the story.


Linnets and Valerians did not deal with any overwhelming current or past

social problems. Therefore, it did not alter my awareness of them.

I believe that Linnets and Valerians would make a good movie, but I do

not feel that it would be successful.

I felt that the strongest feature of Linnets and Valerians was the way Ms.

Goudge tied each part into each other part, but left enough of a mystery to keep

the reader's attention. I did not feel that there were any truly weak points to this

book.

Patterns

September 5, 1985

A review of "Patterns" by Amy Lowell.

The uniquely sophisticated simplicity of description used in "Patterns"

produces the effect of allowing the reader a realistic view of the poem's scenes.

"... all the daffodils are blowing, and the bright blue squills..." is one of the most

powerfully descriptive phrases in the entire poem for very reason of its simplicity.

Imagery is one of the strongest qualities of "Patterns." The description of a

young woman walking through a garden produces a vivid picture. The reader can

easily visualize rows of gold and azure flowers waving as banners in the breeze,

edged with walks paved in flagstones. Ornamental fruit trees, clad in the glory of

spring blossoms may be seen among the paths and garden beds. The gold-veined

white marble of bench and fountain is seen to gleam in the afternoon sunlight.

Even the sound of water in the fountain is as vividly realistic to the reader as if he

is sitting beside it.

Imagery is a very important aspect of any poem. Without intense imagery

in description, the poem becomes little more than a random collection of words.

Amy Lowell has made exemplary use of imagery and description throughout

"Patterns."

The word-play of poetry is greatly variable from poet to poet, and from

poem to poem. The order of the phrases greatly affects the mood and cadence of

the poem. The simplicity or complexity of vocabulary determines the tone and the

psychological effects of each phrase, individually and combined to form the

whole.

Amy Lowell's use of the highly variable language of her poetry - the

English language - brings every tear-filled phrase and fairytale line to the reader's


immediate attention. Her manner of combining these phrases and lines gives

"Patterns" a unique flavour: that of bitterness, mingled with beauty and joy. The

beauty of "... a pink and silver stain on the gravel ..." contrasts movingly with "...

that sunlight carried blessing.... Now he is dead."

The theme of "Patterns" is the pattern itself. Patterns are rigid and

confining, if one is to take the wording of the poem quite literally. The pattern of

life for an eighteenth century lady was rigid and confining. Her spirit and freedom

were imprisoned by the patterns of society as surely as by the patterns of

"whalebone and brocade." Similarly, Amy Lowell has called attention to the irony

of patterns by noting that war is a pattern, imprisoning a man even more certainly

than a woman is imprisoned in her gown. The varying severity of these patterns is

noted in the fact that the woman may be freed by removing the gown, while the

man's freedom lies in death.

Poe

September 19, 1985

According to the context of the poems "Sonnet - To Science" and "To

Helen," Edgar Allan Poe tended to equate beauty with the classically mythic

beauty of Greece and Rome. In "To Helen" Poe has written, "... Thy Naiad airs

have brought me home To the glory that was Greece, And the grandeur that was

Rome." In Greek mythology, the Naiads were beautiful water nymphs, similar to

the houris of Moslem Paradise. Earlier in the same work, Poe stated that beauty is

in the mythic Greece by writing, "Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean

barks of yore,...." "Nicean" seems to refer to the ships used by Ulysses, or

Odysseus, in the ancient land.

Poe seems also to have discussed beauty by writing about those things

which are typically symbolic of a lack of beauty. When, in "Sonnet - To Science,"

he wrote, "... Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?" he wrote of a classical,

though not mythic, symbol of ugliness. In alluding to ugliness, Poe stressed more

vividly the beauty of such things as "... treasure in the jeweled skies,..." "... shelter

in some happier star...," and "... the summer dream beneath the tamarind tree...."

Edgar Allan Poe seems to have taken pleasure not only in references to

classic beauty, but also in classically beautiful references. "... Hast thou not torn

the Naid from her flood, The Elfin from the green grass, and from me The

summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?" is an example from "Sonnet - To

Science" of a reference to classic beauty that is also a classically beautiful


reference. Naiads from the ancient myths of the Mediterranean isles and Elfin

from the forests of Old England bring to mind deep, mysterious forests, magically

intertwined with glowing olive groves and emerald hills. The entire scene seems

to be surrounded by a clear, blue sea, and to be lit with the softly warm sunlight of

the British Isles.

Through his use of classical references, Edgar Allan Poe has shown his

love of nature's beauty. Many of the ancient Greek and Roman myths center

around nature, and Poe's use of the ancient myths was extensive.

The Patented Gate and the Mean Hamburger

October 14, 1985

A review of "The Patented Gate and the Mean Hamburger" by Robert

Penn Warren.

The title of this work refers to the main characters in the story. The

Patented Gate is Jeff York. The Mean Hamburger is Mrs. York.

The story is written in the third person external point of view.

The environment in "The Patented Gate and the Mean Hamburger" is

neither hostile nor safe; it is neutral. Each character seems to have control over his

own life, and no character has to be affected by the set of the surroundings.

Warren's attitude toward his characters seems to be one of pride in their

accomplishments. He discusses the typical oppression of York's contemporaries,

then explains how York broke away from the established mold.

"It had taken him more than thirty years to do it, from the time when he

was nothing but a big boy until he was fifty. It had taken him from sun to sun,

year in and year out, and all the sweat in his body, and all the power of rejection

he could muster, until the very act of rejection had become a kind of pleasure, a

dark, secret, savage dissipation, like an obsessing vice. But those years had given

him his place...."

This passage shows that Warren is sensitive to his characters' efforts and

to their resultant accomplishments.

The atmosphere of this story is one of anticipatory calm. From the

beginning, the story is fairly easy-going, yet there is a constant feeling of "waiting

for the shoe to drop." Even the end is so quiet that it leaves one waiting -

regardless of the fact that the main character has died.


With the exception of the initial description of Jeff York, there is very

little figurative language in "The Patented Gate and the Mean Hamburger." The

language that is used, however, produces a vivid picture.

"His long wrist bones hang out from the sleeves of the coat, the tendon

showing along the bone like the dry twist of grapevine still corded on the stove-

length of hickory sapling.... The big hands, with the knotted, cracked joints and

the square, horn-thick nails, hang loose of the wrist bones like clumsy, homemade

tools hung on the wall of the shed after work.... The face does not look alive. It

seems to have been molded from the clay or hewed from the cedar...," is a

description of Jeff York. The typically rustic references seem to bring the man to

life.

Warren has used easy, sometimes colloquial vocabulary in this work.

Terms such as "stuff" for "things" and "place" for "property" or "homestead"

make the reader feel comfortable and familiar with the work.

"The Patented Gate and the Mean Hamburger" flows slowly and easily,

calming, rather than exciting or dragging.

This story has an easily believable plot. The story of a man bettering

himself to the point where he cannot bear the effort to improve further is classic.

It has been well used in this case. Each event is presented in an unexpected

manner.

The theme of this work is man's struggle to overcome stereotypes and to

gain pride and self-respect. This theme is underlying in reality, as well as in

fiction. The theme is well-presented and effectively developed.

Jeff York, as the best described character, is the most memorable character

in this work. This is primarily because a vivid picture of him is formed in the

mind. The realism of the picture helps to realize his ultimate suicide.

Essays of Ralph Waldo Emerson

October 21, 1985

A review of "The Over-Soul," "Intellect," and "The Poet."

Each of these essays was titled in direct accordance with the subject matter

that is discussed in it.

Emerson's essays do not have point of view in the manner of a novel.

There are no characters, and there is no story line.


The essays are extremely didactic. Each states its topic, enlarges upon it,

and explains the various facets of it.

The figurative language is well used and effective. Particularly effective is

the personification of the elements of nature through deific capitalization. In "The

Over-Soul," words such as "Unity," "Over-Soul," "Wisdom," and "One" are

capitalized. The phrase "Justice we see and know, Love, Freedom, Power," seems

to illustrate the use of capitalization very well.

In "Intellect," natural figuratism is effectively used. At one point, Emerson

wrote, "All our progress is an unfolding, like the vegetable bud. You have first

and instict, then an opinion, then a knowledge, as a plant has root, bud, and fruit."

In this work, capitalization is also used, as it is in "The Over-Soul."

In "The Poet," the ancient deities are referred to. These, combined with the

traditional Christian deity, and the philosophical answer for deity, become a form

of figuratism. "For the Universe has three children, born at the same time..., Jove,

Pluto, Neptune;... the Father, the Sprit, and the Son;... the Knower, the Doer, and

the Sayer," may seem to be an unusual combination of names, yet it is meant to

stand for "... the love of truth, for the love of good, and for the love of beauty."

The passage also illustrates, again, figurative capitalization.

The vocabulary in Emerson's essays is that of an educated man addressing

an educated audience. The meaning is somewhat difficult to grasp. The language

is, however, appropriate to the essays.

The essays read rather slowly, as they are similar in content to schoolroom

lectures on philosophy. The pace is also affected by the didactic nature of the

works. Their purpose can be realized early in each work and, therefore, the reader

is compelled to attempt to learn from the essays.

Overall, the essays were very formal. The manner was still. There were no

colloquialisms in these works.

The theme of "The Over-Soul" is that there is a higher Being which

contains the minds and souls of all mankind. It states that "With each divine

impulse the mind rends the thin rinds of the visible and finite, and comes out into

eternity, and inspires and expires its air. It converses with truths that have always

been spoken in the world,..."

The theme of "Intellect" is that "Intellect is the simple power anterior to all

action or construction." It deals with existence for the sake of existence, rather

than with existence for material gain.

The theme of "The Poet" is that certain members of mankind are capable

of making sense of the universe and of translating that sense into art, music, or

poetry. "... this hidden truth, that the fountains whence all this river of time and its


creatures floweth are intrinsically ideal and beautiful, draws us to the

consideration of the nature and functions of the Poet, or the man of Beauty;..."

In all, Emerson's essays are highly educational and exceptionally well

written.

Benito Cereno

November 14, 1985

A review of "Benito Cereno" by Herman Melville.

"Seguid vuestro jefe." For many men, this advice would indicate an

ascendance from meanness to glory, as the leader of much of the modern world is

Jesus. He rose from the son of a lowly carpenter to the recognized Son of God.

The conception that "follow your leader" implied a descent from discovery to

corruption is precisely opposite to the religious idea.

When Melville wrote "... mindful of their higher master; while serving,

plot revenge," he could as easily have been making a commentary on the modern

Christian as on the eighteenth century Negro. In Benito Cereno, the Negroes

professed to follow their master, and serve him, while in reality plotting his death.

Similarly, modern Christians often profess to follow the teachings of their Master,

while spending much of their time hating, lying, cheating, and in many other ways

denying His teachings.

If the analogy hold true, then Benito Cereno was cast in the Christ role, the

Negroes in the role of modern Christians, and Amasa Delano in the role of the

true, innocent Christian. When Don Benito responded "The Negro." to Captain

Delano's question of what had cast such a shadow over him, it was like Christ's

sorrowful admission that his followers had betrayed him.

The suggestion that nature is the higher master also bears credence. When

nature is affronted by mankind's habitual misuse of its resources, it reacts

violently, claiming revenge on those who sought to destroy it.

As before, the characters of Benito Cereno may be cast in roles. In this

case, Don Benito represents nature, the Negroes represent the bulk of humanity,

destroying nature, and Captain Delano represents the innocent members of

humanity, who do not see the causes of the destruction, only the tragic effect on

nature's countenance.


In this drama, the response "The Negro." is nature's admission that

mankind has done this to it, which admission is spoken in confidence to those of

humanity who have not schemed to destroy it.

If Benito Cereno was the moral commentary that it could easily be taken

to be, then Melville was a writer centuries ahead of his time. The moral

implications of Benito Cereno are applicable in today's world. On the surface, it is

a simple maritime horror mystery. Its deeper meaning, however, seems to be that

of a society which is traditionally acceptable in appearance - long suffering, yet

still surviving - but which is corrupt and deceitful in reality. This is the

appearance that is often given by modern society; moral, God-fearing, and

righteous to all but the most critical eyes, but vice-gripped and corrupted when

seen by the eyes of the truly righteous - those who are innocent in the ways of the

world.

Herman Melville has accomplished a greatness in the writing of Benito

Cereno. Whether taken as a mystery tale, or as a lesson in mankind's morality, it

is a great American literary monument,

Daisy Miller

January 17, 1986

A review of "Daisy Miller" by Henry James.

Daisy Miller is a novel written by Henry James and published in 1878.

The story takes place in Vevey, Switzerland, and Rome, Italy.

This novel traces the unusual relationship between Mr. Winterbourne and

Miss Daisy Miller. They meet in the garden of the Trois Couronnes in Vevey. He

is visiting his aunt; she is travelling in Europe with her mother and brother.

Very soon after meeting, Mr. Winterbourne and Miss Miller travel to the

Chateau de Chillon. Throughout the trip, Miss Miller flirts with and chides Mr.

Winterbourne.

The following winter, Mr. Winterbourne travels to Rome to see his aunt.

He finds that Miss Miller is there as well. He also finds that she is "going about"

with several Italian men, and that there is one whom she particularly likes. Mr.

Winterbourne becomes jealous and watches them, trying to see her whenever he

can.

The story ends tragically with Miss Miller contracting a fever in the

Colosseum, and, eventually, dying.


David Galloway, who outlined the life of Henry James in the

Encyclopedia Americana, said of Daisy Miller:

"Daisy repeatedly challenges convention, and although she dies in

consequence, her role in the novel is essentially comic. James

delightfully exploits the contrast between Daisy and her European

acquaintances, and while, like them, he often seems to deplore her

behavior, he endows her with an innocence and naturalness that

clearly establish what he regarded as the 'poetry of her type.'"

(Galloway, David. Encyclopedia Americana. "James, Henry." Vol.

15, pp. 678-681. Grolier Incorporated. Connecticut. 1985.)

The dialogue in Daisy Miller helps to give Miss Miller the innocence and

naturalness which Galloway cited. Her speech is simple, with commonly accepted

grammatical errors giving it an American colloquialism. The use of the word

"ain't" at judicious intervals gives her a subtle humanity.

The description which James used in Daisy Miller is beautiful. As I read

it, I found myself picturing the scenes with wonderful clarity. One example of this

is as follows:

"... he encountered her in that beautiful abode of flowering

desolation known as the palace of the Caesars. The early Roman

spring had filled the air with bloom and perfume, and the rugged

surface of the Palatine was muffled with tender verdure."

The story begins rather slowly, but it is not long before the reader finds

himself enjoying it. The introduction of Randolph Miller brings a bit of humour to

the story, and makes the reading more pleasant.

Daisy Miller is a novel worthy of placement among the modern classics.

Unlike many "great literary works" which are often assigned reading in English

and American literature classes, this novel will capture the reader.

Neither the title of the novel, nor the section titles (i.e.: "Part I," "Part II:

Rome") are gauged to entice the reader, unless their very simplicity can count as

enticement.

Daisy Miller is a light, yet somewhat serious, story of the contrast between

American and European cultures of the Nineteenth Century. Sallie Sears, in her

article in Collier's Encyclopedia, said of Daisy Miller:

"... concerns generous but naive Americans who are defeated by a

corrupt European environment."

(Sears, Sallie. Collier's Encyclopedia. "James, Henry." Vol. 13, pp.

441-445. Macmillan Educational Company. New York. 1984.)


One Dash - Horses

February 3, 1986

A review of "One Dash - Horses" by Stephen Crane.

One Dash - Horses is the story of an American whose courage - and

absolute terror - caused him to face a mob of would-be assassins. Luck and fate

were instrumental in preventing him from being robbed and killed by a group of

drunken Mexicans. A stalemate between terrified bluffing and drunken bravado

had been reached, and the outcome was questionable. The arrival of the women

broke the tension of the stalemate and prevented its solution.

The American and his servant made an amazing escape from the Mexican

settlement, despite the clashing of spurs and the calling of equines. They were

well away from the settlement when the pursuing Mexicans came in sight, but the

American's terror-based paranoia caused him to see pursuers in every dust cloud.

The American and his servant were saved when they met a squad of

rurales, the law of the plains. The Mexican assassins turned tail and removed

themselves from the vicinity at a great pace when faced with uniformed rurales.

The American's courage was evidenced when he faced down his attackers

in the small, Mexican house in the middle of the night. His strength allowed him

to bluff the fat Mexican when his own life was at stake.

The American's honest fear was apparent in his hasty dawn departure from

the Mexican settlement. His terror stiffened and numbed his fingers, making it

difficult for him to saddle his horse.

The American's courage and fear, and the Mexican's drunken ignorance,

saved the lives of the American and his servant. Nothing, however, could have

saved any of them from the rurales, had there been a conflict.

Crane's familiarity with fear, and his knowledge of the Southwest, granted

this work an insight which brought the scenes into vivid relief. The American's

emotions were almost tangible.


Stranger In A Strange Land

March 14, 1986

A review of "Stranger In A Strange Land" by Robert Heinlein.

Stranger in a Strange Land was published by Berkley Books of New York.

It was originally published in 1961, and the fifty-fourth printing was in September

of 1981.

Stranger in a Strange Land is a futuristic, Earth-based, science fiction

novel which addresses socio-political issues of this age.

The main theme of this novel is that different races of humanity are

basically alike, and they are capable of understanding each other and sharing each

others' cultures.

The theme is presented by a man of human lineage and Martian rearing.

This man, Valentine Michael Smith, is cast into Earth society in a bustling period

little more than a quarter of a century after the founding of the first human colony

on Luna.

Due to having an evolutionary cycle completely different from that of

Earth, the Martians have skills, customs, myths, and societies vastly different

from those of their human neighbors. Naturally, the orphaned Valentine, known

as Mike, is taught the Martian way. Therefore, when he begins to associate with

Earth-humans, he is very different from them.

As Mike learns to think in English, he begins to teach his friends, Jill,

Jubal, Anne, Dorcas, and Miriam, to think in Martian. Thus do they discover that

Mike's metaphysical "miracles," such as levitation and a method of disposing of

items, consisting of turning them ninety degrees from everything, are simple

techniques which he learned as an infant. He teaches the techniques to his friends,

and the two alien cultures begin to merge.

Robert Heinlein's style of writing is, in my opinion, superb. He combines

elements of political intrigue, familiar family life, the political and economic

aspects of college admissions, social satire, and the Crucifixion to produce a well-

rounded story with vivid scenes and characters who feel like old friends. Even the

"bad guys" are not all bad; in several cases they are so likeable that it is difficult

to tell whether they might not be intended heroes.

Stranger in a Strange Land is written in a third person perspective. It

permits the reader to form conclusions according to thoughts and moods, as well

as dialogue.


The dialogue, in keeping with other aspects of the book, is generally

superb. It is stilted only when the speaker intends that it be so. Otherwise, slang,

colloquialisms, conversational metaphors, and standard hyperboles are used, and

are seasoned with a liberal sprinkling of subtle - or sometimes not so subtle -

statements about religion, politics, government, colleges, and other usually taboo

topics. Also, the characters each have particular mannerisms of speech which add

to their realism.

The satire in Stranger in a Strange Land is presented subtly, with one

exception: Jubal E, Harshaw, LL.B., M.D., Sc.D., bon vivant, gourmet, sybarite,

popular author extraordinary, and neo-pessimist philosopher. This unique

character is not afraid to speak his mind, and does so on numerous occasions. The

most memorable and significant of these instances involve doctorates, the concept

of gratitude, table manners as applied to cannibalism (and vice-versa), religion,

and politics.

Jubal Harshaw's view of doctorates is:

... when they began handing out doctorates for comparative folk

dancing and advanced fly fishing, I became too stinkin' proud to

use the title. I won't touch watered whiskey and take no pride in

watered-down degrees.

This is clearly a small satirization of the degrees handed out today, though

slightly exaggerated - very slightly.

Jubal's view of gratitude is:

Now let's get something straight: you are not in my debt.

Impossible - because I never do anything I don't want to. Nor does

anyone, but in my case I know it.... next you will be trying to feel

gratitude - and that is the treacherous first step toward moral

degradation.... "Gratitude" is a euphemism for resentment.... The

Japanese have five ways to say "thank you" - and every one

translates as resentment, in various degrees.... English can define

sentiments that the human nervous system is incapable of

experiencing. "Gratitude," for example.

This is not satire, strictly speaking, but it is a definite and significant

statement about the human condition, which becomes satire when considered in

all seriousness.

In attempting to explain religions to Mike, who has no cultural basis for

any concept of "religion," Jubal touches on two standard religious topics, with

little success. His view of Creation is not a quote from Jubal, but from the

narration:


He decided to try another approach; God the Creator was not the

aspect of Deity to use as an opening - Mike did not grasp the idea

of Creation. Well, Jubal wasn't sure that he did, either - long ago

he had made a pact with himself to postulate a created Universe on

even-numbered days, a tail-swallowing eternal-and-uncreated

Universe on odd-numbered days - since each hypothesis, whole

paradoxical, avoided the paradoxes of the other - with a day off

each leap year for sheer solipsist debauchery.

He said, on the topic of Truth:

... each religion claims to be truth, claims to speak rightly. Yet

their answers are as different as two hands and seven hands.

Fosterites say one thing, Buddhists say another, Moslems yet

another - many answers, all different.

On the topic of Creation, I feel that Jubal's theory for handling the theories

is quite sensible. It seems to be the only way to handle many explanations of the

same thing. This ties in his statement about religious Truth; all religions claim to

be right, but who is? Truth is the basis of facts, which produce and support truths.

Therefore, I find that this cycle is either completely self-perpetuating or

completely self-destructive.

The types of settings shuttle between hostile and salutary. The characters

produce their own havens out of hostile places by filling them with people who

believe as they do, and who are willing and able to love each other fully,

regardless of conventional standards.

All settings, hostile or otherwise, contribute to Mike's progression toward

maturity as a human. He learns from every situation, and cherishes even the bad

things as part of his growing.

The tone of Stranger in a Strange Land is neither overly formal nor overly

familiar. It is a comfortable tone, which allows the mind to form images as the

reader absorbs the words.

The pace is swift, but not so swift that the reader gets lost. It moves along,

allowing neither boredom nor high blood pressure. The story flows smoothly, and

all aspects are linked together to avoid juts and jars.

Most of Heinlein's more colorful phrases are within the dialogue. His

infrequent use of them elsewhere is refreshing, as they would saturate the work

and make the reader feel bogged down.

I feel that this book was well worth reading, to the point where I have read

it several times. Although it becomes predictable with multiple readings, it is

always enjoyable. I, personally, plan to read it many more times.


I have great admiration for Robert Heinlein, which has increased since

reading Stranger in a Strange Land. It is his crowning glory, far overreaching such

of his novels as The Star Beast and The Unpleasant Profession of Jonathan Hoag.

Camber of Culdi, Saint Camber, Camber the

Heretic, Deryni Rising, Deryni Checkmate, High

Deryni

September 8, 1986

A review of the Camber of Culdi Trilogy and the Deryni Trilogy by

Katherine Kurtz.

Although the assignment called for one book, I read a series of six books

by Katherine Kurtz. Camber of Culdi was published in 1976, Saint Camber in

1978, and Camber the Heretic in 1981. The second trilogy of the series was

published previously, with Deryni Rising published in 1970, Deryni Checkmate in

1972, and High Deryni in 1973.

The Legends of Camber of Culdi and The Chronicles of the Deryni are

fantasy novels, set in the mythical land of Gwynedd.

Katherine Kurtz is an accomplished and qualified author. She received her

B.S. in chemistry from the University of Miami, and an M.A. in medieval English

history from UCLA. She has worked in marine science, anthropology, cancer

research, cataloging of Chinese painting, educational and commercial television,

and police science. She is an active member of the Society for Creative

Anachronism, where she is an accomplished costumer, calligrapher, and

illuminator, herald, expert on court protocol, and student of medieval fighting

forms, as well as Bevin Fraser of Stirling.

Ms. Kurtz is fully involved with her work, to the point of having a

husband who wears kilts, a son named Cameron, and a vintage Bentley motorcar

once owned by HRH the Duke of Kent. She has recently published a World War

II thriller called Lammas Night. He third Deryni trilogy, The Histories of King

Kelson, is in publication, with the first volume, The Bishop's Heir, already in the

bookstores.

The six volumes of the Deryni series average about three hundred fifty

pages each. Each volume is divided into many chapters, all having introductory

Bible verses, rather than titles.


The Legends of Camber of Culdi take place in the late ninth and early

tenth centuries, while The Chronicles of the Deryni take place in the early to mid

twelfth century. They are set in Gwynedd, which is supposedly northern Wales.

The Legends of Camber of Culdi chronicle the last open use of Deryni

magic in Gwynedd for two centuries. In this trilogy, Camber of Culdi used his

Deryni magic to dethrone the usurper, Imre, and restore the royal Haldane line,

embodied by Cinhil Haldane, a one-time priest-monk. In order to save Gwynedd

from destruction, Camber was forced to take on the appearance of a dying friend,

giving the friend his own appearance. Following the transformation, chance

glimpses of Camber's true form caused the people to believe he was a saint. The

trilogy ended with Gwynedd dying from a holy war, and Camber truly dying.

The Chronicles of the Deryni tell of the struggle of Kelson Haldane, a

descendant of Cinhil Haldane, to crush a religious uprising against the Deryni.

The discovery that Kelson, King of Gwynedd, was also of Deryni ancestry caused

civil, as well as holy, war. The war was ended by the judicious use of magic,

proving that Deryniness was not necessarily evil.

Camber MacRorie, 7th Earl of Culdi, was the protagonist of The Legends

of Camber of Culdi. The primary conflict which he faced was the deliverance of

Gwynedd from tyrannical Deryni and ecclesiastic rule. The conflicts basically

translated into a question of the inherent good or evil of Deryniness.

Kelson Cinhil Rhys Anthony, King of Gwynedd, was the protagonist in

The Chronicles of the Deryni. The conflicts which he faced were continuations of

those faced by Camber of Culdi several centuries earlier, but the emphasis on

good versus evil was accentuated.

Chance and coincidence played very little part in the books, since most of

the events were controlled by magic. Taking the magical element in stride, the

events become logical and plausible.

All six books were written in the third-person, omniscient point of view,

allowing the reader to experience mental communication - which was of prime

importance - as well as articulate speech.

Katherine Kurtz used complex characters for all of the main roles, and

introduced their personalities through simple statements, reactions of the other

characters, and through the characters' own behavior.

The characters were all well-developed from the start, and the changes as

the story progressed were no more than if the reader had simply been getting to

know real people.

The primary theme of the series is good versus evil. The intent is to show

that good and evil are individual, not racial, qualities.


The books employ religious symbols, as the characters are extremely

Catholic. The symbols show that everyone is capable of goodness and virtue

through the Lord.

Love, fear, anger, and grief are strong emotions in all six books, evoking

emotional responses from the reader. The emotionalism gives a feeling of reality

to the story.

The books are based on fantasy, taking magic as their main point.

Everything which happens is based either on fantasy or religion. The use of magic

helps to make the point that good and evil are not racially dependent.

Katherine Kurtz uses a smooth, concrete language, and a steady rhythm.

The sentences vary in length from one word to several lines as necessary. The

flow of the reading is interrupted periodically by passages of ritual Latin which

add to, rather than detract from, the story as a whole.

The titles of the individual volumes indicate their placement in the

trilogies. Each states simply what the content of the volume will be.

I did not learn from the books, because I was not seeking to learn.

The two things I liked best were ritualistic descriptions and character

interactions. The rituals were described in detail, with detailed ritual formulae and

dialogue. The characters interacted as real people would, looking out for each

other, but ultimately preserving themselves. There was nothing that I disliked

about the books.

I feel that these books, as a set, rate an eleven on a scale of one to ten.

They are well-written, neatly integrated, chronologically accurate, and contain

refreshingly realistic fantasy.

I would like to read other books by Katherine Kurtz, and am currently

involved in the seventh book of this series. The books are wonderful, and their

historical accuracy is sufficient to make the fiction mildly frustrating.

Tehran Syndrome

September 15, 1986

by Paul Chiapparone - in absentia

Iran was an experience I could have done without. It wasn't too bad when I

was simply the head of EDS Corporation there, but it started getting a little scary

in December, 1978. I remember it really clearly. It started when Dadgar decided

to arrest us....


Bill and I were in Dadgar's office in the Ministry of Health. The room was

small and dirty. Everything was gray. It turned out to be an appropriate setting.

Dadgar interviewed us separately - though "interrogated" might be more accurate.

When he had finished, he posted bail on us. We were shocked; bail was set at

thirteen million dollars!

After bail was set, we were forced into a car. The Ministry of Health is in

western Tehran; we drove southeast to the Ministry of Justice. The ride was

terrifying; riots and bombings were all around us, and our driver seemed to be

possessed.

The prison that they took us to was depressingly cold and dark - not to

mention the filth. It was filled with people - mostly Iranians - and the smell made

it obvious.

When a guard came for us the first time, I was sure our imprisonment was

over. I was disappointed, though; we were returned to our cell. Bill had the bunk

above mine; mine was a mattress on the concrete floor.

The next day, we were taken to a little visiting building to talk to Ali and

his colleague, Bob Sorenson. They had brought us a few things, but no chance of

release. When the guards took us back, they took us to a semiprivate cell.

The new cell was in a part of the prison with a television and a library. It

wasn't as crowded, either, but I ended up on the floor again. Neghabat was in our

cell, and he showed us the kitchen, commissary, library, and other areas of the

block.

Food was poor in our new cell, but I was sure it was better than what we

would have gotten in Cell 9. A standard meal was rice, lamb, bread, yogurt, and

tea or Pepsi.

We had been in prison for a few weeks when Jay Coburn came to see us.

He told me that Ross was planning to break us out of jail.

Bill and I started getting restless before long. The daily routine became

automatic, and there was nothing to do. Bill taught me to play chess, but it was

still awfully dull.

From what Jay had told me, it was exactly three weeks into our captivity

when the guards moved us. When we left, I gave our cell father my pictures of

Karen and Ann Marie. It was the least I could do for somebody who had been as

concerned about us as he was.

The new prison was a fortress. It was a little better, though; there was a

bakery, a mosque, and six cell blocks. The ground floor of our building was a

hospital

Bill and I shared a cell with only one other person: an Iranian lawyer who

spoke English. The food was better, too.


Ross came to see us the next day. He brought us groceries, clothes, mail,

and books. The fact that he was there meant most, though.

One day, not long after Ross' visit, rebels attacked the prison. There was

total chaos, and Bill and I walked right out. We hitched across the city to the

Hyatt, where our men were staying. We found John Howell's room, but he wasn't

there, so we checked in.

Before long, everyone was either there or calling in. We ate a real meal,

got cleaned up, and got some rest. Then we moved out of the Hyatt.

We met at the Dvoranchiks'. There we made our final pland for escaping

from Iran. I stripped the kitchen for food. Then we got in the cars. I drove the car

with Jay and Gayden in it. The cars were Range Rovers, and they were packed

full.

We didn't see many people on our way out of Tehran, but the city itself

was a disaster. Everything was burned and broken.

We went northwest, toward Turkey. The trip through Turkey to Istanbul

was rough. We were stopped frequently. I was so nervous and tired that I can't

remember much of it. The landing at Heathrow, though, was a huge relief;

England was practically home.

We dealt with customs, then checked into the Post House Hotel for some

rest. The next morning we flew out of Gatwick Airport, heading for Dallas.

Home. Everyone met their families when we got home to Dallas. Ruthie

was right there with Karen and Ann Marie. It was a great feeling to be home at

last.

Now I'm home to stay. It's been eight years, but most of it is still firm in

my mind. Iran was one of those nightmares that haunt you forever. Thank God for

Ruthie, my girls, and a bunch of executives who knew how to take a chance.

The Problem

September 22, 1986

A review of "The Problem" by Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1840.

"The Problem" is a lyric poem, written in stanzas of rhymed couplets. It

consists of four stanzas, each one longer than the last. The first is a statement of

preference, ending with a question of why. The second is a sad tribute to the past.

The third is a comparison of nature and religion. The fourth is a transition from


past to present, ending with the statement of preference which began the first

stanza.

The first stanza says that the poet likes modern religion, with its simple

beauties, but that he would not be bound by formal religion. He says,

"... on my heart monastic aisles

Fall like sweet strains, or pensive smiles;

Yet not for all his faith can see

Would I that cowled churchman be."

He then goes on to ask himself, or possibly the reader, why he would not

be bound.

In the second stanza, the poet begins to answer his own qquestion by

saying that the Christian faith lacks the fantastic qualities of the older religions,

but that it has been burned "like the volcano's tongue of flame" into the general

consciousness of the people. He realizes that the churchman cannot free himself

from a commitment to the formal worship of God, partly because his belief has

become sincere, and partly because Christianity has changed the glorious temples

of Rome in favor of cathedral domes. He says of the priest:

"He builded better than he knew: -

The conscious stone to beauty grew,"

meaning that the priest, and those before him, have built the new faith too well.

The third stanza begins by speaking of the beautiful miracles of nature,

which formed the basis for the ancient religions. He speaks of the woodbird's nest,

the fish, and the pine tree, saying,

"Such and so grew these holy piles,

Whilst love and terror laid the tiles."

The passage seems to refer to the beginning of Man's creation of religions.

This is enforced by the next two couplets:

"Earth proudly wears the Parthenon,

As the best gem upon her zone,

And mornings opes with haste her lids

To gaze upon the Pyramids."

The stanza ends with a union between nature and the early religions.

The fourth stanza begins by stating that however strong religions have

become, they cannot surpass nature, which is God's own art:

"These temples grew as grows the grass;

Art might obey but not surpass.

The passive Master ...."

It then goes on to say that all people and tribes belong equally to God,

whether His word is spoken by a priest in a shrine, or by a sibyl in a grove of oak.


It says that the old religions will always be remembered, because they all spoke of

various accents of the Holy Spirit. It ends with the poet reiterating his feeling that

he would not wish to be bound to a formal religion.

In "The Problem," Emerson has made very effective use of classical and

Biblical references, giving equal time to Jove and to Peter. He referred to "awful

Jove," "Peter's dome," the Parthenon, and Ararat.

Emerson used colorful, vivid language. The volcano's tongue of flame, the

fiery Pentecost, and the chanting choir are typically stirring religious phrases. The

third stanza, which discusses nature, paints a picture of birds, fish, pine trees, the

Parthenon, and the Pyramids, all grouped together majestically with England's

abbeys, Ararat, and the Andes.

The religious theme runs through the entire poem, beginning with a church

in the first line and ending with a bishop in the last. It is, however, a naturalist

poem, typical of the mid-nineteenth century.

The problem in "The Problem" seems to be the conceptual conflict of

nature and modern religion. Emerson discusses the problem in some detail, but

gives no solution to the reader.

"The Problem" is beautifully written. It flows well, and has a steady

cadence. It does not tend to become a sing-song. It has a message, which is

delivered clearly.

Firelord

October 24, 1986

A review of "Firelord" by Parke Godwin.

Firelord was published in 1980 by Bantam Books in an arrangement with

Doubleday & Company, Inc..

Firelord is a Arthurian romance, written from Arthur's point of view. It is

written in the form of memoirs. All of the thoughts and actions are portrayed as

Arthur experienced them.

Throughout the novel, names are important. Where Arthur is concerned,

these change frequently: Arthur, Artorius, Artos, Artos-tallfolk, Druith, Dru,

Belrix, Arglywydd, Artorius Imperator, and Artos-Rix Cymri. Arthur is his name

as a simple Briton. Artos is his name as a Celtic warrior. He is Artorius when he

is a Roman Centurion. In his early days with the Prydn, he is Artos-tallfolk.

Druith, Dru, and Belrix are his Prydn names, meaning Fool, Oak, and Firelord,

respectively. Aerglywydd is his name from the days before the Romans. He is


Artorius Imperator when he is King of a still-Roman Britain. He is Artos-Rix

Cymri when he becomes Britain.

Similarly, though not so drastically, stages in the lives of other major

characters are marked by alterations of the names. Guenevere is also

Gwenhwyfar. Launcelot is also Ancellius. Kay is also Caius. The list goes on. The

most important name, however, is the one which the Prydn give to Guenevere:

Adaltrach. In their tongue, it means second wife, but to the Britons it means

adulteress. That name causes the rift which causes the ultimate downfall of

Britain into the Dark Ages.

Firelord is more historically accurate than the majority of the Arthurian

myths. It does not revolve around knights in armour and genteel ladies, or around

tournaments and quests; it revolves around the very real problems of a man trying

to cement a collection of feudal kingdoms into a nation, and around the personal,

and often less-than-pleasant, aspects of the life of a warrior-king.

The dialogue in Firelord is also very realistic. The Prydn and the northern

tribes (Pics, Venicones, Taixali, etc.) speak an early dialect. The phrases tend to

be short. A passage of typical Prydn dialect follows:

Did wait till Redhair rode away, then sprinkled over a's nose the

powder Morgana made. Then, oh so gentle, did li-i-ft. And carry

the great lump of it under the hill of the fires.

Another is:

But a's crying silent tears, and his men stand about with long faces.

A day passes and a day after that, Redhair striding back and forth

up hill and down, sniffing for tracks to follow. The others ask him

to leave: the chief is dead, they must go home. Aye, but it's gently

said to Redhair, as a looks like to kill someone. So, did ride off

from the hill of the fires, Redhair last and always looking back.

The language of the court is plain, as well. Flowery, fourteenth-century

language has no part in the dialogue.

The characters in Firelord are basically well-rounded. Arthur, Gwenevere,

Bedivere, Gareth, and Kay are superbly formed, and are sketched with verbal

details which are not normally found in a paperback novel.

The characters change as the story changes, each one adapting to the given

situations. Each character's basic personality remains constant, however, with

only the details changing, as they do in reality.

The setting is well-chosen. It is defined by the seemingly-casual mention

of place names, and is further defined by a researched listing of Celtic/Roman

sites and their modern equivalents. For example, Ynnis Witrin is now


Glastonbury, Somerset; Neth Dun More was on the River Neth between Cornwall

and Devon; and Cair Legion is now Chester, Flintshire.

The time for Firelord is the late sixth to early seventh centuries, as is

indicated by historical references, such as the Saxon invasions and the Anglo-

Saxon kingdoms.

As a novel of legends, Firelord employs a rich blend of fact and fantasy.

Parke Godwin is a master with legends, causing them to become more illustrious,

while playing down the typical legends of the bards.

Firelord has received excellent reviews from authors, publishers, and

critics. A sampling follows:

With its superb prose and sweeping imagination, FIRELORD

brings to life a realer King Arthur than we have ever seen before. -

Chicago Sun Times

As in his other books, Godwin's strength is in his vibrant portrayal

of human nature in a rich, witty, sensual prose. - Publishers

Weekly

A BLOCKBUSTER ...I'm incredibly impressed. This just might be

the most vivid novel I have read for many years. - Marion Zimmer

Bradley

Essential for readers of both fantasy and historical fiction. -

Library Journal

To this list I would like to add my own glowing approval. This is indeed a

superbly written novel.

Parke Godwin, who is called Pete by his friends, was born in New York

City. He drifted a great deal while growing up, and was involved in a variety of

activities including: the army, government, professional acting, research

technology, advertsing lay-out for Sports Afield, short-order cooking,

dishwashing, and maître d'hôtel.

In 1952-1954, Godwin appeared in Stag and Male. He later contributed to

Popular Embalming and The American Pederast. Following these activities,

Godwin submitted to the Donner Pass Cookbook a recipe for filet d'enfant

Cretient, which uses basil, ginger, and pressed garlic juice. In 1971, Godwin won

the World Fantasy Award for his novella "The Fire When It Comes."

Godwin was an early student of Parker and Lardner, and firmly believes in

shutting up when it's been said once. His chief delight is drinking coffee and

wasting time. He enjoys watching the beaches at Cape Cod or relaxing on the

Staten Island Ferry. He loves dogs and Prokofiev, cooking, jogging, and

collecting obscure records. He tolerates children and cats (if tethered) and


conservatives (if muzzled). Sources reveal that, following investigation, he was

found to be completely uninvolved in the mystery death of Warren G. Harding.

On a more serious note, Firelord is the best-written book I have read in a

long time. It is realistic, and it reads smoothly and easily.

Wuthering Heights

November 4, 1986

A review of "Wuthering Heights" by Emily Bronte.

Wuthering Heights was written by Emily Bronte under the pseudonym

Ellis Bell. It was originally published at the end of 1847. The most recent

publication of the Norton Critical Edition, edited by William Merritt Sale, was in

1972.

Wuthering Heights is a Victorian novel. It is vivid and energetic. It is not a

typical novel of Victorian England.

Emily Bronte was one of three sisters, and the daughter of a clergyman.

She did not possess a demonstrative character, nor was it wise to intrude upon her

affairs. Very little else is known about her.

Wuthering Heights was set at Thrushcross Grange and Wuthering Heights,

in England, beginning in 1771 and ending in 1803. The opening scene is set in

1801, and the story of Wuthering Heights is told as the memories of a character,

Nellie Dean, related to another character, Mr. Lockwood.

The story centres around two families, which become intermarried. The

main character, Heathcliff, is adopted by the Earnshaws. Hindley Earnshaw

detests his adopted brother, who is their father's favourite, while Catherine

Earnshaw becomes very close to Heathcliff.

Edgar Linton, the son of the other family, marries Catherine, causing

Heathcliff, who loves her, to hate him. In spite, Heathcliff marries Edgar's sister,

Isabella.

Catherine has a daughter, but dies in childbed. The child is named

Catherine in her honour. After the death of the elder Catherine, Heathcliff

removes a lock of Edgar's hair from her locket and replaces it with one of his own

to claim her as his love.

Isabella leaves Heathcliff and moves to London, where she gives birth to a

son, Linton Heathcliff.

When Catherine is thirteen years old, she meets Hindley's son, Hareton.

She disdains Hareton's country manners, but returns to Wuthering Heights with


him. Nellie Dean, Catherine's servant, is waiting for her at the Heights, and she

gives Catherine a scolding.

While at the Heights, Catherine meets Linton. They write to each other,

Linton's writing being forced by Heathcliff. When Linton becomes ill, Catherine

begins to visit him secretly. This continues for nine months, at the end of which

time Nellie takes Catherine to visit Linton openly. Heathcliff kidnaps Catherine

and Nellie, and forces Catherine to marry Linton.

Catherine is miserable at the Heights, so she runs away to Thrushcross

Grange, where her father lives. She finds that he is dying and stays there

overnight. Edgar dies during the nights, and Catherine is heartbroken when

Heathcliff takes her back to the Heights.

Linton dies a month after Edgar's death, leaving Heathcliff as heir to both

Thrushcross Grange and Wuthering Heights. Following Linton's death, Hareton

makes advances toward Catherine.

At this point, the story ceases to be a memory of the past and becomes a

simple narrative.

Early in 1802, Hareton's arm is injured when his gun explodes. He loses a

lot of blood, and is forced to spend a good deal of time at the kitchen hearth.

Catherine also spends a lot of time there, and they eventually become friends.

Some eight months after Hareton's injury, he and Catherine marry,

resolving the problems between the two families.

There is a good deal of symbolism in Wuthering Heights, most of it

stemming from the characters' superstitious natures. Ghosts, demons, and

appropriately symbolic weather are common.

The dialogue is very realistic. The city-bred characters speak a modern,

sophisticated dialect of English, while the country-bred characters speak an older

dialect. An example of this older dialect is a speech given by Joseph, a household

servant, in Chapter XXXII:

Aw'd rayther, by th' haulf, hev 'em swearing i' my lugs frough

morn tuh neeght, nur hearken yah, hahsiver! It's a blazing shaime,

ut Aw cannut oppen t' Blessed Book, bud yah set up them glories

tuh Sattan, un' all t' flaysome wickednesses ut iver wer born intuh t'

warld! Oh! yah're a raight nowt, un' shoo's another; un' that poor

lad 'ull be lost, arween ye. Poor lad! he's witched, Aw'm sartin on't!

O, Lord, judge 'em, for they's norther law nur justice amang wer

rullers!

Heathcliff is the main character of Wuthering Heights. Although he is a

continued bad influence in the novel, he is also the hero. He overcomes having


been born in the streets, and he becomes a very wealthy man. His main downfall

is his love for the elder Catherine.

This is a very good novel, worthy of its rating as a classic. It seems to be a

purely entertaining book, and I can find no universal themes, beside love, in the

novel.

Ballads of the Green Berets

November 16, 1986

A review of the record by SSgt Barry Sadler.

Ballads of the Green Berets is a set of songs written during, and about, the

Vietnam conflict. They reflect the thoughts, the dreams, and the fears of one man

who was forced to fight for the freedom of a people half a world away from his

own people.

The songs on this record are part of an ancient, soldierly tradition.

Throughout history, military men have written and sung songs about their wars.

The songs are of courage, home, victory, defeat, fear, loneliness, and even the rare

moments when the war seems far away, and the men enjoy a brief respite from

death and destruction. In the case of the ballads of the Green Berets, the songs

cover most of these areas. "BADGE OF COURAGE" and "SALUTE TO THE

NURSES" are songs of courage. "LETTER FROM VIETNAM" is a song of

home. "LULLABY" is a song of family. "GARET TROOPER" is a song of the

ironies of war. "BAMIBA" is a tribute to the lighter moments. "THE BALLAD

OF THE GREEN BERETS" is a tribute to the men who lived and died in the

conflict that was never even a war. "SAIGON" and "I'M WATCHING THE

RAINDROPS FALL" are songs of loneliness in a strange land and stranger life.

"I'M A LUCKY ONE" is a song both of victory and of defeat. It is one man's

"victory" of staying alive and going home, however badly wounded, and it is the

"defeat" of the many men who did not go home. "THE SOLDIER HAS COME

HOME" is a song of fear and death. It is also a tribute to the men who died while

others, in the same battles, lived to continue the fight. "TROOPER'S LAMENT"

is a song of a paratrooper's courage in the face of imminent death.

It is easiest to understand the feelings of a soldier if one is a soldier, as I

am, however inexperienced in war. However, the civilian can understand these

feelings as well, for there are parallels in everyday life. In order to facilitate an

understanding of the Green Berets in Vietnam, I will attempt to analyze each song

as an entity apart from the rest.


The "BALLAD OF THE GREEN BERETS" sums it all up in its opening

lines:

Fighting soldiers from the sky,

Fearless men who jump and die.

The Green Berets were the best fighting force America ever formed. They

were:

Trained in combat,

Hand to hand.

Very few - an average of three out of every hundred - men made it into the

Green Berets. It was a coveted position, which each Beret wanted for his son. The

Berets were honest, but they said very little:

Men who mean

Just what they say:

The brave men

Of the Green Beret.

With the difficult - and, very often, nearly impossible - conditions in

Vietnam, the Special Forces soldiers, the Green Berets, were trained to survive:

Trained to live

Off nature's land.

They were also trained to fight when necessary, since the Viet Cong were

not the gentlemanly European fighters which our men were used to. These were

guerillas. Therefore, our men were

Men who fight

By night and day;

Courage leaps

From the Green Beret.

"I'M A LUCKY ONE" tells us very plainly of the terrors of the Vietnam

conflict. The few men who left the Asian theatre during the 1960's always

remembered their comrades. They were - and still are - haunted by dreams of

death.

But at night when I sleep

I know my dreams will be

About the friends I left

Across the sea.

The dreams and memories were almost as terrible a torment to the

survivors as the war was. There were strong feelings of guilt in those who walked

away:

My friends, they fought

And gave their all.


My friends, they died

For freedom's call.

and:

And they some something which fills

My heart with pain:

"Tell them about us, Sadler;

Don't let us die in vain."

Far too many men died in the great conflict. Many of those were members

of the elite corps of the Green Berets.

Then I hear the sound

Of bullets whining overhead -

Feel the crash of mortars

And all my friends are dead.

These terrible memories - the waking nightmares of unacknowledged

devastation - brought about the widespread tragedy of drug addiction which

gained the Vietnam conflict a dubious distinction in the annals of history.

"LETTERS FROM VIETNAM" is a personal statement of a soldier's

loneliness in a foreign land. Many of the men in that conflict had families at

home, and memories of their families gave them strength and courage to get

through the fighting.

Last night we had a firefight,

Machine guns firing tracers through the night,

And as we fought, my thoughts, they turned to you,

And I knew, somehow, darling, I'll come through.

The loneliness of the conflict gave the men a sense on insecurity, which

needed to be assuaged time and again.

So remember that I love you.

That, my dear, is true.

Just say a prayer for your man.

This letter's postmarked Vietnam.

The men of the Special Forces in Vietnam suffered the most of all the

soldiers in that conflict. They were the first ones in, and the last ones out, every

time. For them, the war seemed never to end. They were far from home, and their

best friends were themselves. It was not wise to make close friends, as each man

faced death through every terribly real moment of the conflict. The greatest wish

of all was the wish to go home.

Oh, Lord, I'm tired and sad,

And I want you all so bad.


I've been away so very long.

Now I want to go home.

Far too many of these great men - the Green Berets - never made it home.

Barry Sadler was one of the few who saw their families and homes again. He was

also one of the many who knew the horrors of the conflict which even our own

generation witnessed, at least in part.

The Medal of Honour is one of the most coveted awards in the armed

forces. only those who have accomplished great feats of heroism have even a

chance of receiving it. "BADGE OF COURAGE" is a song which tells the less

glamourous aspects of the Medal of Honour - from the viewpoint of a man who

wears it. SSgt Sadler describes the Medal of Honour:

What is the Badge of Courage?

It's sweat and blood and tears.

What is the Badge of Courage?

It's the work of many years.

This medal was often awarded posthumously. The few who received it

while still alive were the elite of the elite. To the Green Beret, though, medals

were not as important as the men who died for them.

What is the Badge of Courage

For which brave men try?

It's a simple little thing we wear,

but a thing not just anyone can share.

The men who earned the Medal of Honour were a breed apart. It was they

who represented our country. It was their efforts that made it seem worthwhile.

In the Asian theatre, there were men who had seen death, and who knew it

on intimate terms. Those men needed to forget sometimes, and there were places

where forgetting was as easy as a bottle and a prostitute. "SAIGON" is a song of

one such place, and of the loneliness and defeat that drove men there. It is a strong

song, filled with the false sense of security which any soldier could feel there. It

was easy for a man to lose himself in the temporary solace of a woman's arms.

A young soldier far from home

Will sit down for a drink

And a Blackard girl with almond eyes

Will help him not to think.

In desperation, the men would spend their money on women and drugs,

hiding in an oblivion which soves nothing. The nights in Saigon would separate

the men from their money, while giving them almost nothing. They would leave

their desperation intact, and their wallets empty. Most of those who made it home

were broke, and they were almost invariably addicted.


Then for a while life is good,

The night is sweet as honey,

'til the morning with bloodshot eyes

You find you're out of money...

...You've forgotten what it was

You really came here for.

Though you feel sick your money

Is at an end.

As you look down on old Saigon

Think 'I'll be back again.'

These memories are the ones that cause the flashbacks which so many

veterans of Vietnam experience. The horrors of the conflict were not lessened by

places like Saigon; if anything, the level of terror was heightened.

There was one corps of the Vietnam conflict which was almost more

important than the soldiers themselves. This vital group of people was the Corps

of Nurses. "SALUTE TO THE NURSES" is a song about the courage and faith

which the nurses instilled in their patients. These men and women saw the vivid

realities of the war that no soldier ever knew. These were the people who put the

soldiers back together after each barrage, often performing near-miraculous feats

to preserve lives.

After the battle,

After the fight,

Many owe their lives

To the ladies and men in white.

The conflict was deadly at best, and brain-numbing at the usual level, on

the front, but the doctors and nurses in the M.A.S.H. units, and at the evacutation

stations, could not allow their minds to be clouded by the constant stream of

screaming, bleeding men. They could not shut down their sensitivities, for it is

that which makes a person become a nurse.

To each of the wounded

On the operating shelf

These nurses give a part

Of themselves.

Even at the heights and depths of oblivion, the soldiers remembered the

nurses. The hospitals were stillness in the chaos of battle. There the men could

find the solace that was not to be found in places like Saigon.

I know every soldier

To the last man


Will sometimes say a prayer

For the nurses of Vietnam.

Today, many of us owe a great deal to the nurses of Vietnam, and of every

war, for sending our fathers, grandfathers, sons, and brothers home to us.

Often, during the Vietnam conflict, very small things could remind a

soldier of his home and family. The soldiers needed to remember their homes,

because they needed to be reminded of a purpose for the fighting. In "I'M

WATCHING THE RAINDROPS FALL," Sadler sings of the loneliness of the

battle, and of the universal comfort of something as simple as a thunderstorm. He

hears the thunder, and sees the raindrops and shadows, and thinks of his wife and

son at home.

The rain, it reminds me of you

When it's soft and makes things new,

And the thunder reminds me

Of the little fights we had -

The lightning was when you made me mad.

This is a sad song, reflecting the feelings of so many soldiers, even today.

The feeling of loneliness is universal, especially among fighting men in distant

lands.

In every military unit, there is one soldier who does nothing to earn the

name. Such soldiers do very well with spit and polish, and make a good showing

on the parade field, but haven't the slightest idea about the realities of war. Such

ignorance is understandable in peacetime, but in a war, it is invariably a subject

for teasing. "GARET TROOPER" is a song about the parade-field soldier.

The Garet Trooper is a useless soldier, and he is an annoyance to

dedicated soldiers like the Green Berets. He is marked for ridicule, and can be

easily recognized.

He's five foot four,

Two hundred twenty pounds of blubber,

Got him a nickel-plated .45 tied down low,

Quick-draw holster,

Two bandoliers of Brassoed ammo.

To be called a trooper, especially by a Beret, was to receive the worst

insult possible. The trooper would brag and exaggerate about his victories, but

...out in the hills

And the jungles and the swamps,

Living like a bunch of dogs,

Are some men wearing funny little green hats.

They stay out there for months on end.


They don't say much

'cause they're not troopers.

The Garret Troopers were dangerous to their units, because they didn't

have the commitment of the real soldiers. They brawled in bars, and got into

trouble. They never had the respect of the Green Berets.

Every man knows he will die someday, but death becomes a tangible

reality in wartime. Sometimes, a tired and frustrated soldier will feel that he has

died, or wish that he could die. "THE SOLDIER HAS COME HOME" is a song

about that feeling of having died. In its modern way, it echoes the motto of "Come

home with your shield ... or on it."

The death-wish elements are apparent in the first lines:

Lay the green sod on me,

Carve my name in stone.

It is not a song of defeat, however. It is a song of finishing something. The

Beret has done more in the name of freedom than any man should have to do, and

he welcomes death. He does not want his death to be a sadness, however; he

wants it to be an end and a homecoming.

Don't mourn for me, my darling.

Don't cry when I am gone.

Don't mourn for me, my darling;

The soldier will come home.

Throughout this song, SSgt Sadler sings of his own burial arrangements.

He mentions the grave and the gravestone several times. These are not morbid

thoughts, though; he thinks of it as a release from pain and exhaustion.

Let me go to sleep now,

To march and fight no more.

Let me go to sleep now;

I'm tired, my body's sore.

Unfortunately, many of our soldiers had this wish granted, and never saw

their homes again.

When a man's orders came, he had very little time to prepare to leave.

Often, he didn't even have time to say good-bye to his children properly. When

Barry Sadler's orders came, his three-year-old son was asleep. "LULLABY" was

written as the good-bye that he didn't have time to say.

Leaving home is a painful thing for a soldier to do under the best of

circumstances. For a man to leave his son is more painful still.

Son, can I have

A little kiss,

Just a small one


You won't miss?

That's right, close

Your sleepy eyes;

You shouldn't see

Your Daddy cry.

The sadness of "LULLABY" is very deep. Every war is sad for the

children, but it is worst when a baby boy has to become the man of the house

when he can barely toddle.

In wartime, dedicated soldiers face death with a smile. They don't smile

for lack of fear; they smile because they have done their duty to the cause, and

have done their best. The paratroopers - the Green Berets - were aware of their

imminent death at every moment, yet many of them went to their deaths with

smiles on their faces. "TROOPER'S LAMENT" is the story of one Beret who died

in the flames of battle. There are modern songs about the perils of a paratrooper,

but none tell the story so well as this one.

Death is a painful topic, so it is treated with a lighthearted tone. The men

whose job it was to jump from the sky had loved ones at home. Thoughts of these

loved ones kept the smiles on their lips.

As he went up into the cloudy sky,

He sang a sad song on his way to die.

He sang "My love is far, far from me,

Far beyond the South China Sea.

I left her there with a tear in her eye,

For I must go where brave men die." ...

... As he fell through the night, his chute all in flame,

A smile on his lips, he cried out his girl's name.

A paratrooper's greatest fear is that his parachute will fail to open, or will

catch fire. A failed chute is the cause of most paratrooper deaths, and of many

heartbreaks.

So all ye young maidens,

Come listen to me:

Never love a paratrooper;

You'll never be free.

For some dark night

When he falls through the sky

His chute will not open

And your love will die.

The last song of the ballads of the Green Berets is more lighthearted than

most. In fact, it is almost a joke. The pain and frustration of the battles led to a


need for relief, whether it be comic or tragic. "BAMIBA" is both comic and

tragic. It is also very real.

One sure, temporary relief from the war was to become drunk. It was very

common for a Sergeant to have to bail a soldier out of jail after a few drinks and a

fight. Often, the soldiers didn't even know how they came to be in jail.

Won't ya help me, Sergeant?

Get me out of Plai-Ku jail.

I don't know how I got here;

I was drunk from the Ho-Chi trail.

The jails were not sanitary, and the conditions were often more of a

punishment for delinquent soldiers than the fact of their imprisonment.

Now this dunging jail has rats and fleas,

And snakes crawl on the floor.

Take me back to camp, Sarge,

And I won't get drunk no more.

As a whole, Ballads of the Green Berets is a well-produced album. It is a

serious and heartfelt comment on a conflict which the government did not even

acknowledge as a war. SSgt. Sadler was removed from combat in 1965 when he

fell into a mantrap and was speared by a pungi stake (a poisoned spear made of

sharpened bamboo). He had already completed the dozen songs on this album by

that time. When Ballads of the Green Berets was released in 1966, Sadler was

stationed at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, as Medical N.C.O. for the Green Berets

(biographical information published by Arnold Falleder, Contributor, Saturday

Review, 1966).

I recommend this album highly, and give it an overall rating of twelve on

a scale of one to ten.

The Chaucerian Prologue

November 14, 1986

A review of the prologue to "The Canterbury Tales" by Chaucer.

In the prologue to The Canterbury Tales, Chaucer's author-character uses

several tones, which I will here discuss.

The author places himself on a level with his characters very early in the

prologue. He does this by saying:

It happened in that season that one day

In Southwark, at the Tabard, as I lay


Ready to go on pilgrimage and start

For Canterbury...

...there came into that hostelry

Some nine and twenty in a company...

I'd spoken to them all upon the trip

And was soon with them in fellowship.

(pp. 19-20)

As you can see, the author uses a great deal of superfluous verbiage. For

the sake of brevity, I have deleted some nine lines of the canto from my quote,

while still retaining the meaning. This manner of writing is common throughout

the prologue, and it is this which makes it a masterpiece of writing.

Once he has established himself among the pilgrims, who are the main

characters of The Canterbury Tales, he describes each of the major pilgrims, and

touches upon each group of lesser pilgrims.

The author begins his description of the pilgrims with an introduction of

the Knight, as is proper, according to social tradition. He seems to hold the Knight

in high regard, saying of him:

There was a Knight, a most distinguished man,

Who from the day on which he first began

To ride abroad had followed chivalry,

Truth, honour, generousness and courtesy.

(p. 20)

And though so much distinguished, he was wise

And in his bearing modest as a maid.

He never yet a boorish thing had said

In all his life to any, come what might;

He was a true, a perfect gentle-knight.

(p. 21)

He speaks grandly of the Knight, enumerating his battles, and often using

legitimate historical references to support his description.

The second pilgrim to be discussed by the author is the Squire, who is the

Knight's son. He describes the Squire as being young, but already of a courtly

nature.

The description of the Squire is simple, yet vivid. It shows him as having

curly hair, and wearing an embroidered tunic with long, wide sleeves. For his

courtly attributes, he makes songs and poems, recites, jousts, dances draws, and

writes.

Accompanying the Squire is his Yeoman. The Yeoman is rather better

armed than most boys, carrying brace, bow, arrows, sword, shield, and dirk. He


wears a green coat and hood, a green baldric, and a medal of St. Christopher. The

author seems to make fun of the Yeoman a little, stressing his armaments, while

playing down any other attributes which he might have.

The Nun, Madam Eglantyne, is described as being a rather polished lady.

She wears more jewelry and finery than a prioress ought to wear, but she seems to

be pious enough.

With the Nun are another Nun and three Priests, who lend propriety to her

pilgrimage by escorting and chaperoning her.

A none-too-holy Monk is among the pilgrims. He is shown to be rather

modern, for his calling, and he is wealthier than the average monk:

I saw his sleeves were garnished at the hand

With fine grey fur, the finest in the land,

And on his hood, to fasten it at his chin

He had a wrought-gold cunningly fashioned pin;

In a lover's knot it seemed to pass.

(p. 24)

There is also an excellent description of the Monk's features, showing him

to be fat and bald.

The Friar in the group is described as being very easy about giving out

penance. He collects fees from all who he shrives. The Friar is described as

wearing a double-worsted semi-cope flowing from his shoulders. He has a lisp,

and he sings and plays the harp. His name is Hubert.

The author seems to have fun with Hubert. He treats him lightly:

But anywhere a profit might accrue

Courteous he was and lowly of service too.

Natural gifts like his were hard to match.

(p. 26)

and:

... And how he romped,

Just like a puppy!...

(p. 26)

The Merchant is a seemingly well-to-do gentleman, but he is actually in

debt. He covers this by being apt in administration, loans, bargains, and

negotiation. The Merchat is described to us as having a forking beard and motley

dress. He wears a Flemish beaver hat and daintily buckled boots. He is not

described particularly thoroughly, so he is not known to the author's audience.

The scholar of the party, the Cleric (or Clerk) of Oxford, has the look of a

cleric: thin, hollow of expression, and sober. He is described as wearing


threadbare clothing, and spending his money on books and learning. The author

seems to make fun of the Cleric:

Though a philosopher, as I have told,

He had not found the stone for making gold.

(p. 27)

By this the author seems to be implying that the scholarly endeavors of the

Cleric are useless if they will not turn a profit. Similarly:

His only care was study, and indeed

He never spoke a word more than was need,

Formal at that, respectful in the extreme,

Short, to the point, and lofty in his theme.

A tone or moral virtue filled his speech

And gladly would he learn and gladly teach.

(p. 27)

Here the author implies that the Cleric sets himself above the rest, when

the truth probably is simply that he is better educated than the rest.

The Serjeant at the Law is a well-known barrister. He is well-versed in the

cases and crimes of Britain, beginning in King William's time. He is described as

wearing a parti-coloured coat with a belt of pin-stripe silk. The author makes fun

of the Serjeant in two ways:

Though there was nowhere one so busy as he,

He was less busy than he seemed to be.

(p. 28)

and:

He could dictate defenses or draft deeds;

No one could pinch a comma from his screeds

And he knew every statute off by rote.

(p. 28)

The first of these quotes show him as being somewhat wasteful with time,

and as padding his reputation with piddling deeds. The second quote shows that

he strives for perfection, probably spending every moment memorizing, but never

actually understanding his references.

The Franklin is a simple freeman, with a fondness for good food and

drink. He is high-coloured, and he wears a white, silk purse at his waist. The

description of the Franklin is predominated by a discussion of his favourite foods.

This causes the reader to associate the Franklin with food and drink.

Among the party is a liveried group consisting of a Haberdasher, a Dyer, a

Carpenter, a Weaver, and a Carpet-maker. These are all dressed alike, and each


wears a knife wrought with silver. They are all married men, and this gives them a

wisdom not to be found among the bachelors in the party.

The Cook is an accomplished culinary artist. He can cook by taste, and

can distinguish London ale in the same manner. Unfortunately, he bears an ulcer

on his knee.

The Skipper is from Dartmouth. He is not accustomed to equestrian travel,

and he has some trouble keeping his seat. He wears a knee-length, woolen gown,

with his dagger hung about him on a bit of rope. He is something of a rogue,

appropriating whatever he needs. The author employs some subtle understatement

in describing the Skipper:

Many a draught of vintage, red and yellow,

He'd drawn at Bordeaux, while the trader snored.

The nicer rules of conscience he ignored.

If, when he fought, the enemy vessel sank,

He sent his prisoners home; they walked the plank."

(p. 30)

The Doctor is an astronomer, better versed in superstition than in surgery.

He knows of the great medicine-men of history. He is also a bit cheap, refusing to

spend his gold. He travels in red robes, slashed with grey.

The Wife of Bath is very proper and respected. She is also somewhat deaf.

She has travelled a good deal, and she has seen many famous places. She is

heavy, she gap-teeth, and she practices the arts of love.

The Parson is truly a holy man. He is conscientious about his parishioners,

and he practices the Gospel which he teaches. There is little substance to the

description on the Parson, per se, but the enumeration of his good deeds is a

strong comment on his holiness.

The Plowman is the Parson's brother, and he follows his brother's

example. The lowliness of his social status makes him a better man than most of

the men in the party.

The Miller is a large, brawny man. He is violent, and he enjoys fighting.

His stock of tales are mainly filthy, and they reflect his mentality. He is given to

us as being "full of hot air," as well :

"He liked to play his bagpipes up and down

And that was how he brought us out of town."

(p. 34)

The Manciple is an illiterate man from the Inner Temple. He is wise in the

world, however, and survives better than his educated masters.


The Reeve is old and priestly-looking. He is in charge of his master's

livestock, and bargains better than his master in order to grow rich. He is from

Baldeswell, Norfolk.

The Summoner is a frightening man with scabs, whelks, and pimples all

over his face. He tends to drink, but can speak nothing but Latin when he is

drunk. He is easy on the people in his care, releasing them from sin for the fee of

a quart of wine.

The Pardoner rides with the Summoner, and he is nearly as easy as the

Summoner when issuing pardons. He carries and sells holy relics, together with

liberal doses of hypocrisy.

The party being so formed, it is easy to see that Chaucer gives his author a

good sense of description. Wherever a pilgrim is described, leaves the Tabard.

The Host, Harry Hailey, joins the party. He is a cheerful and open man.

Chaucer's tone changes from pilgrim to pilgrim, as I have shown. He

observes each pilgrim as what he or she is, however, rather than what he or she

pretends or appears to be.

An Arthurian Review

December 12, 1986

A review of the "Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

Monty Python's The Holy Grail is a parody of the Arthurian Legend, set in

the tenth century. It is juxtaposed with modern times, and with animated

sequences at various points. The geographic setting is England.

The main characters of The Holy Grail are King Arthur, Sir Bedivere, Sir

Launcelot the Brave, Sir Galahad the Pure, and Sir Robin the Not-So-Brave. Sir

Robin is the only one of the five who is not part of the original legend.

In The Holy Grail, King Arthur sets out on a quest for the Grail. He

approaches a castle, and the guards discuss swallows carrying coconuts. This is an

anachronistic touch which adds to the overall humour of the movie, as it is

returned to several times.

Arthur rides through a town which has been struck by the plague. Carts

drive through the streets, collecting dead bodies. At one point, a sickly man is

carried out for the cart. He protests and his health improves rapidly . The cartman

kills him and carries him away. The dialogue in this scene is very funny,

contrasting sharply with the piles of dead bodies.


Leaving the town, Arthur meets up with a group of peasants who live in a

commune and have a democratic system of government. One of them, Dennis,

lectures Arthur on political repression of peasants. This parallels the Saxon

philosophy during the Arthurian period.

As a parody of typical chivalry, Arthur fights the Black Knight in single

combat. Arthur hacks the knight into pieces, and the knight continues fighting

until Arthur puts a sword through him.

Entering another town, Arthur meets up with a procession of monks who

do penance by hitting themselves in the face with boards.

This is an apparent parody of such things as hair shirts and whips.

In the town, the peasants demonstrate imbecilic logic in the course of a

witch trial, eventually proving that she is not a witch.

Arthur meets up with Bedivere, Launcelot, Galahad, and Robin, and they

all go to Camelot. The knights revel at Camelot, performing music-hall stunts.

Some time later, while "riding," Arthur and the knights have a holy vision.

This is a semi- animated sequence, with God appearing in a rift in the sky.

The knights meet up with Frenchmen who hold a castle in England. The

French throw livestock at the knights . The knights retaliate with a huge wooden

rabbit, but forget to put the people in it. The rabbit is heaved over the battlements

by the French. This sequence illustrates the war between the Frankish and British

tribes, and also parodies the siege of Troy.

After the "Trojan Rabbit" scene, the movie switches to a sequence called

the Tale of Sir Robin. In this section Robin meets a three-headed knight who has

an argument with himself, then decides to attack Robin. Robin runs away and

escapes. This sequence is prefaced by the appearance of the "Famous Historian, "

who is a modern figure, talking about the quest. He is an anachronistic element of

the film.

An animated sequence of monks, jumping off the earth separates the Tale

of Sir Robin from the following sequence: the Tale of Sir Galahad.

Galahad climbs a mountain in search of the Grail. He sees a castle in the

distance with a golden Grail shining over it. He goes to the castle and meets the

teenage girls who live there. They tell him that the castle is Castle Anthrax. He

introduces himself as Galahad the Chaste, but the pursuit he suffers from the girls

makes Galahad the Chased a more appropriate name. He is rescued by Sir

Launcelot.

Meanwhile, Arthur and Bedivere talk to an old man in a town. The old

man sends them to an enchanter, and the man and town disappear to become a

typically mist-filled forest. They meet a group of knights, the Knights Who Say


"Nee!," and are made to go on a quest for a sacrificial shrubbery. An animated

sequence, showing the quest for the shrubbery, follows.

The Tale of Sir Launcelot follows the sequence of the Knights Who Say

"Nee!." In this sequence, a rescue mission is turned topsy-turvy by Launcelot's

realization that the "damsel" whom he has saved is a young man named Herbert.

This is a parody of the typically chivalric element of the Arthurian legends in

which the knights -- especially Launcelot -- always save damsels in distress.

The knights join together again, and an animated sequence shows them

looking for the enchanter. The rapid change of seasons in the sequence illustrates

the passage of time. They eventually find the enchanter Time, who tells them that

they will find the Grail at Caer Bannog.

The knights make their way to the cave at Caer Bannog and meet up with

a killer bunny, which looks harmless but inflicts carnage. Among the well-known

knights ( from the original legend ) who are killed by the bunny are Gawain,

Ector, and Bors. The bunny is finally killed with the Holy Hand grenade of

Antioch. A ceremony is performed in which a priest reads from The Book of

Armaments, chapter two, verses nine through seventeen.

After the bunny is killed, the knights enter the cave and find an Aramaic

inscription made by Joseph. They are suddenly attacked by the Black Beast of

Aargh. This is followed by an animated sequence of the Black Beast chasing the

knights. The animation is terminated abruptly when the animator has a heart

attack.

By this point, modern British police are following the knights,

investigating the murder of a knight whose body is found by a local woman.

The knights come to the Bridge of Death, which spans the Gorge of

Eternal Peril. They are added three questions each. Those who answer correctly

can cross, while those who are wrong are thrown into the Gorge. This parallels the

Riddle of the Sphinx, in which travelers were traditionally questioned. The death

of the old man who guards the bridge parallels the suicide of the Sphinx when he

received an answer to his riddle.

Once across the bridge, Launcelot is arrested by modern police on a

charge of murder. This is a juxtaposition of two different periods of British

history.

The remaining knights finally reach Castle Aargh, and find it occupied by

the same Frenchmen who they meet early in the film. They find that there is no

Grail there, and attack in the name of the Lord. A host of mounted knights floods

in to help Arthur. The battle is cut short when the police drive up and start

arresting the main characters. The film ends when a police officer puts his hand

over the lens of the camera. The knights never find The Holy Grail.


The theme of The Holy Grail is a parody of the Arthurian myths. It

includes political satire, and a satirization of modern film-making conventions.

The pseudo-Swedish subtitles in the opening frames are a parody fo the subtitles

on foreign films.

All of the elements of the film, Arthurian, modern, and animated, are tied

together at the end, when people from two different time periods are thrown

together.

A Review of Monty Python and the Holy Grail

December 16, 1986

Monty Python's The Holy Grail is a humourous parody of Malory's

Arthurian legend. It is liberally sprinkled with anachronistic elements, including a

modern historian, modern police officers, automobiles, and coconuts, all of which

add colour to the film.

Some elements of The Holy Grail parallel history, including such episodes

as the French occupation of certain parts of Britain. Other elements parallel

classical literature and comedy, such as the "Trojan Rabbit," which is a takeoff on

the Trojan Horse, the scene in the tower, in which the guards are reminiscent of

Laurel and Hardy, and the scene at the Bridge of Death, which is reminiscent of

the Sphinx of ancient Greece.

Comments on filmmaking, politics, and honourable behavior include:

Swedish-style subtleties, socially-aware peasants discussing sociopolitical

repression, and knights joined in single combat, respectively.

The imagery in The Holy Grail is excellent, and the technique of inserting

animated sequences is highly effective. The photography is generally superb, and

the scenery which is used adds to the effect.

The Holy Grail is a movie well worth watching, and it is sure to make

even the most sober person laugh.


Beloved Exile

January 9, 1987

A review of "Beloved Exile" by Parke Godwin.

Beloved Exile is a modern expansion of the Arthurian legends, written by

Parke Godwin. It is the second book in a series, preceded by Firelord and

succeeded by The Last Rainbow.




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Beloved Exile is four hundred thirty-seven pages long. It consists of ten

chapters, averaging about forty-four pages each, although the final chapter is

considerably shorter than the average - about four pages.

The novel is placed in the time period immediately following the death of

Artos-Rix Cymri, also known as Arthur, King of Britain.

The story begins with a description of Gwenevere's fight to retain the

unity of Britain after Arthur's death. It is laced with political conventions,

personal loyalties, and the fortunes of war.

The more important section of the book begins when Gwenevere is

abducted by Saxon slavers and sold to Thegn Gunnar Eanboldson. Slavery

teaches Gwenevere, who calls herself Gwenda, about the realities of life and love.

She struggles to survive in an alien culture, eventually fitting in so well that she is

accepted by the democratically organized Saxons.


Gwenevere learns true loyalty when she and Gunnar pull a plow through

dry earth with their own strength, after the ox has died. This brings them together

spiritually and physically, and they fall in love.

Gunnar eventually frees Gwenevere from bondage, returning to his

birthplace in the Midlands. When she returns to her own people, she finds Emrys

Pendragon and the Romanized Constantine contending for the throne. Just as the

two princelings are going to have Gwenevere executed for various political

reasons, Gunnar shows up and saves her. She is exiled to Constantinople in a

compromise among Emrys, Constantine, and Gunnar.

The very last of the book is Gwenevere's return to Britain once it has been

taken by the Saxons, or English.

The main character is Gwenevere of Britain. She faces humiliation,

degradation, physical injury, and exile in the course of the novel. Each time,

however, her indomitable spirit pulls her through.

The conflicts are not clear-cut, for they are conflicts among the tribes

which eventually joined to become the British nation.

Chance and coincidence are employed minimally in Beloved Exile. Most

events occur because human hands and human minds cause them to happen. The

events are extremely plausible for this reason, and this is among the most

believable Arthurian legends that I have encountered.

The point of view is completely first person, in Gwenevere's point of

view. This is advantageous because it gives us a clear, consistent view of the

situations which she encounters. The point of view lends coherency to the novel.

Most of the characters are well-formed, and they change and develop

according to the events of the story. The characters seem very real, and that effect

is heightened by the fact that the characters possess sixth-century attributes, rather

than those of the fourteenth century.

The primary irony of Beloved Exile is the fact that Gunnar exists to

enslave Gwenevere only because Arthur spared Gunnar's mother when the

combrogi cleared the Saxons out of the Midlands.

The setting of the novel is early Britain, which has a direct effect on the

story, as it is very historically accurate.

The language of the novel is simple and direct. The sentences tend to flow

together smoothly, and the story proceeds easily. Figurative language and

metaphors are refreshingly limited, so that the reader's mind is not bogged down

in words that are not necessary. The title is directly related to the story, as

Gwenevere is referred to directly as a beloved exile.

I am impressed with this book because it is realistic in nearly every

respect. I like the fact that the characters are allowed to be human beings, rather


than chivalric tapestries. I also like the fact that the good aspects of Saxon culture

are expressed, rather than just the blood-thirstiness of the Saxon massacres. There

is very little, in all honesty, that I do not like about Beloved Exile.

I rate this book as a ten on a scale of one to ten, because of its realism, and

because I found it difficult to put down. I recommend it, and the other books in

the trilogy, highly, as I have read them all and find them to be of equal calibre.

The Last Rainbow

March 31, 1987

A review of "The Last Rainbow" by Parke Godwin.

The Last Rainbow is a Celtic legend, written by Parke Godwin. It is the

third book in a series, preceded by Firelord and Beloved Exile.




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The Last Rainbow is four hundred seventeen pages long. It consists of

seven major sections, each of which is divided into smaller chapters. The seven

sections are: "Dorelei," "Gift from Raven," "She Who Is Called Mabh," "Rod into

Snake," "Glory to God Alleluia," "The Road of the God," and "Where the Magic

Lives."


The Last Rainbow is set some time before the birth of Artos-Rix Cymri. It

is the story of the life of Magonus Saccatus Patricius, better known in later

centuries as Saint Patrick.

The story begins with a brief description of the relationships within

Dorelei's fhain, or clan. It is a small fhain of the Prydn people, who lived in the

isle of Britain even before the Druids. The fhain consists of Dorelei, who is Gern-

y-fhain; her husband, Cruaddan; her sister, Neniane; Neniane's husbands, Atcois

and Bredei; Dorelei's cousin, Guenloie; and Guenloie's husbands, Drust and

Malgon. The Prydn are children in age, but are more mature, in their way, than

children because of their difficult life in the open. Like children, they make up

stories to explain their world. Their gods are Earth Mother and her husband, Lugh

Sun, who created everything. The Prydn search for Tir-Nan-Og, which is their

version of Paradise. This lays the basis for much of the story.

Meanwhile, the other main character is also introduced. He is Magonus

Saccatus Patricius, a young priest of the Roman Church, obsessed with God. He is

sent to the Pictish peoples as a missionary. Coincidentally, the Pictish lands are

also the Prydn lands. This gives Patricius the chance he needs to fulfill his dream:

I want to find the Grace I preach, else I'm no more than a scribe babbling

his master's word. I want to find it where it is, dig for it, hold it in my hand, define

it. Hold it up and say, "Here! Here is ultimate truth!"

From this point the story outlines how Patricius is hurt by the Picts and left

to die in Cnoch-nan-ainneal, a circle like the Giants' Dance in the south. Dorelei

and Cruaddan find him, and the fhain nurses him back to health. The Prydn

rename him Padrec, and he lives as one of them. He learns their ways, and begins

to teach them of Christ. His teaching is ineffective until he learns to speak in their

language:

Now, Jesu, the Man-Son of God, was of the House of David. Tens of

seasons before He came into the world, David was a king who was himself born a

shepherd, even as Dorelei. In his obedience to the fhain-way of his people, he

made many songs to God, and they are the first words that I would teach you to

say with me.

The words of Luke mean nothing to them, but this story of a shepherd-

king touches them all. As the story progresses, Drust becomes thoroughly

enthralled by Christianity, and worships with pure conviction. As part of their

awareness of God's power, Dorelei's fhain learns to control iron, which is an evil

to them - an evil so terrible that they can be literally burned by the touch of the

substance - so terrible that it can be spoken of only as Blackbar, never as iron.

Their convictions and faith in Padrec's God allows them to overcome their almost


instinctive fear of iron. Their faith also allows them to be more generous to the

people of Pictland, spreading God's word with Rainbow's gold.

This brings us to the middle of the section titled "Rod into Snake." Here,

Padrec decides that it will not damage his vows in the priesthood to admit his love

for Dorelei, and they are married in both their traditions. Soon after the marriage,

Padrec sets Malgon to making iron weapons. He has a talent for weapons-craft,

and makes swords and knives for the fhain. Soon, Padrec and Dorelei bring many

fhains together and teach them of iron. Dorelei's faith is so strong that she leads

all the fhains.

The strength of Dorelei's fhain brings it to dine among the Venicone.

Ambrosius is there, looking for an army to fight in a holy war. The Venicone

challenge the Christian beliefs, and Drust declares that he will face the dogs in the

arena, unarmed, to prove the strength of a faith in God. The victory he has over

the dogs, calming them, rather than harming them, entices the men of the Prydn to

join Ambrosius, in return for a promise of land for the Prydn to keep as their own.

The Prydn fight a losing war, ending with Drust, Malgon, Padrec, and two

others as the only survivors of the Prydn army. The five are captured by the

enemy, and Drust is crucified between the two others as an attempt to make a

mockery of his faith. Drust's faith endures to the end, but Padrec's wavers:

The lowered is my septic and shall not mount. He leadeth me beside stale

waters. Drust, you were the reality of my love, not that. Without you it was only

an echo, a dream of vanity.

Ambrosius and his Romans arrive moments after Padrec witnesses Drust's

crucifixion. Padrec is nearly mad with the pain as he smears Drust's blood on the

face of the man who crucified him, saying:

It is the blood of the lamb, tallfolk. And none so deserving as you

and I.

Padrec and Malgon, as the only men remaining to the Prydn, go north,

searching for their fhain. In their travelling, they see visions which foretell the

coming and the greatness of Arthur. They do not find their women for a long

time. They walk all the way to the shores of the northern sea before finding them,

living in an ancient, Roman tower.

When they are reunited, Dorelei's fhain begins searching in earnest for

Tir-Nan-Og. They search until Dorelei has a vision from her ancestress, Mabh,

who tells her how to take her fhain across the western sea (which would one day

become known as the Atlantic) to a land of beauty and peace.

Padrec and Dorelei lead their fhain to the sea. On their way, they find

Cruaddan, who has been lost since before the war. He joins them, and they go

one. Padrec leaves them before they reach the sea, but they continue. They hire a


ship and sail west until they come to land, where they find more of their own

kind.

Meanwhile, Padrec returns to receive the See of Ireland. He scandalizes

the clergy by wearing a cross, rather than the Chi-Rho. He defends his choice:

Padrec touched the cross. "Call it my last heresy. Rome need never know."

"Not from me at any rate," Meganius promised. "Why, Sochet?"

Padrec had settled unconsciously into that stillness never learned in

Auxerre. "Do you think it is Christ's death I remember in this?"

Meganius remembered Malgon and eloquent pictures in the earth. "No, I

suppose not."

"Chi-Rho is Christ in symbol. It was on that dirty cross that I saw the

reality. What He tried to say and how we are made to hear it. Some of us. Better

men than me. From the cross it was that I was taught. It is not for other men but

myself." The novel ends with an exerpt from a letter to the Virginia Company,

London, on the vanishment of the Roanoak Colony, September, 1652:

Thus far I digress only to return to the surer of my argument, that the

vanished company most certainly met them and knew their name which falleth on

the ear as CRUATHAN and is writ in English as CROATAN ....

The conflicts in The Last Rainbow are conflicts of faith and survival,

which are closely meshed for the disappearing race of Prydn. Their acquired faith

in God helps them to survive, although many of them die in the name of their

faith. It is a classic theme of one race wiping out another because of superficial

differences of culture and belief.

The point of view is third person omniscient, allowing thoughts to be

understood. This is very important, since the Prydn have some telepathy with the

animals, and have several conversations of the telepathic variety. It is also

important for the sake of the many visions and dreams, about half of which

foretell the coming of Arthur, and the rest of which lead to the fhain's journey to

Tir-Nan-Og.

The main characters are well-formed, and they interact very realistically.

They change as their circumstances change, and each has a definite personality.

The characters behave as natives of Roman Britain and pre-Arthurian Pictland

would behave, rather than with the Renaissance attributes usually given to

characters in tales of that period.

The greatest irony is the wealth - both material and spiritual - of the Prydn,

who are conquered by the more civilized, and more barbaric, Roman-Britons.

Their gold and their faith cannot save them from the larger, more modern men

who fill their island.


The setting, as with others of Parke Godwin's novels, is very historically

accurate. It is vividly described, and it ties in directly with the story. It seems that

no aspect of the setting is out of place.

The language of the novel is simplistically beautiful and realistic. The

archaic overtones make the speeches seem like songs, while not using

unnecessary verbiage. There are few metaphors, and there is little figurative

language; the pictures in the words are painted with description and emotion, not

with word games.

I like every part of The Last Rainbow. It is a beautiful, poetic ending to a

very realistic trilogy about the misty past of the British peoples. I rate it as a ten or

better on a scale of one to ten, and recommend it highly for its historical, poetic,

and narrative qualities. The entire trilogy is a must for students of early British

history and lore.

The Tempest

April 3, 1987

A review of "The Tempest" by William Shakespeare.

The plot lines in the Tempest all parallel each other. Each major group of

people has an ambition similar to that of the others. Each group intends to set up a

government on the island, placing one of its group as the ruler of the island.

Prospero's plans are larger, but the plot line is still parallel.

In Act II, Scene i, we find that Sebastian and Antonio are plotting to kill

Alonso, King of Naples. Antonio has already removed his brother, Prospero, from

the Dukedom of Milan, and hopes to put Sebastian, Alonso's brother, on the

throne of Naples.

Meanwhile, in Scene ii, Caliban and Trinculo swear to follow Stephano as

their king. They are on a different part of the island, and do not know that they are

not the only survivors, so they do not need to account for the plans among the

royals.

In Act III, Scene i, we see that Prospero plans to regain his Dukedom, by

uniting Ferdinand, the son of King Alonso, with his own daughter, Miranda. This

plot line surrounds the other plots of the play because Prospero, through his spirit-

servant Ariel, has caused the other characters to be shipwrecked on the island.

Prospero's plot line expands as he summons spirits to torment both

Stephano's and Sebastian's groups. Stephano, Trinculo, and Caliban are all drunk,

and the spirits give them "hallucinations" with music and voices. The three are not


coherent enough to wonder what is causing the sounds, and they proceed with

their plans to destroy Prospero, who controls Caliban, and to make Stephano a

king.

The royal characters receive a treatment more in keeping with their

somewhat more sophisticated status. Again, the spirits play music, but this time a

banquet appears, complete with dancing spirits. Just as the King and his men

prepare to eat, Ariel appears in the guise of a harpy and causes the banquet to

vanish. The members of the royal company believe that they are going mad, yet

Alonso and Sebastian decide to fight the "fiends" that are tormenting them.

Of all the characters on the island, Ferdinand and Miranda are the only

humans who speak to Prospero until the last scene. Then, however, all of the plot

lines are culminated in a reunion of the various characters. Then, Prospero reveals

his true identity to all of the characters. He warns Sebastian and Antonio that he

knows of their plans to kill Alonso. He then reveals the relationship between

Ferdinand and Miranda to Ferdinand's father, Alonso, and their betrothal is

arranged. Finally, Stephano, Trinculo, and Caliban are brought before the royal

company. Prospero tells Stephano that he knows of the plans for Stephano to be

king of the island, and the three are recognized as missing servants.

In the end, Prospero regains his dukedom, Alonso retains his kingdom,

and the plans of Sebastian and Stephano are repressed. Prospero releases Ariel

from bondage, and the humans sail home to Naples.

Information Suppression

1987

The Vietnam Experience: Combat Photographer, by Nick Mills, was

published in 1983 by the Boston Publishing Company, Boston, Massachusetts. It

describes the lives and experiences of the military combat photographers of the

Viet Nam Conflict in a unique photo-documentary. It tells of pain, death, fear,

grief, sadness, and friendship, but one of its greatest - and most subtle - ironies is

the difficulty which photographers had in getting photographs out of the battle

zone and into the public's eye.

One of the greatest problems was the tight security which the military

placed on combat photographs, and the suppression of many of the photographs

which they took. The photographs which became part of the permanent record

also became part of the public record, so many photographs which put the army in

a less-than-flattering light were destroyed. Many real-life photographs, which

included soldiers in less-than-perfect uniforms, or with cigarettes, or committing


acts which were not sanctioned by higher authority were destroyed so that the

world's image of the United States' military would not be marred. To prevent this

injustice, many photographers retained prints, duplicate transparencies, or rolls of

film which they exposed with their personal cameras.

One of the most important cases of a photographer's retention of a roll of

film exp[osing a military suppression was in the case of the massacre at My Lai

on March 16, 1968. In that case, Sergeant Ronald L. Haeberle witnessed and

photographed American troops shooting down, burning out, and raping

Vietnamese civilians for no cause. He witnessed approximately fifty men,

women, children, and infants being murdered, but did not know whether that was

a normal military action or not. When he turned in his black-and-white film to the

Public Information Office of his unit, he retained a roll of color slide film from his

own camera. He left the army two weeks after the massacre. Later, he made a

slide show of his military career which included the slides of the massacre. He

showed the slides to family, friends, and organizations for months until the

Criminal Investigation Division found him in one of their investigations. His

slides helped to convict the commanders of Haeberle's unit of some five hundred

counts of murder in courts martial.

Haeberle's case prompted new regulations restricting the use of film from

personal cameras in combat, and the pictures he took were sold to Life magazine.

Those pictures made Haeberle the most notorious of all the military

photographers in Viet Nam. They were also a telling case of one man beating the

system.

In The Vietnam Experience, lost or not-quite-legal photographs of the Viet

Nam Conflict have been brought together. Some are anonymous. Others are water

damaged. All represent the reality of death, destruction, and hope in Viet Nam.

Kim

May 26, 1987

A review of "Kim" by Rudyard Kipling.

Kim opens with an introduction of the title character, Kimball O'Hara. He

is a white boy who has been raised by an East Indian woman, and who has

learned to survive on the streets of Lahore. He is cunning, and wise for his age.

Before long, the second main character enters. He is a lama from Tibet,

who is on a holy journey to find a river of healing. Kim joins him in his quest,

also hoping to find his own destiny, which was left for him in a prophecy.


All of this occurs within a few hours before the Wonder House of Lahore

in India. The entire story takes place in similar cities, villages, mountains, and

plains of that region in the time when England still held India as part of the

Empire. It is set in a time of magic and superstition, and a time of war and

intrigue.

The main conflict in Kim is the Great Game, which is a matter of survival

for the boy. It is triggered by the lama's quest, and leads him to his late father's old

regiment. Kim is educated, then enters government service, all because he found a

red bull on a green field and learned his own identity.

The secondary conflict is the search for the lama's river. This takes Kim

and the lama all over India, and brings Kim a great deal of growth and learning.

The climax for Kim is when he enters government service as a political

spy and becomes deeply involved in the Great Game. This is the point where he

begins to be a man, and to be held accountable for his own actions.

The climax for the lama is almost at the end of the novel, when the lama

falls into a river and finds that he has found his river of healing. This happens at

the point where Kim finally collapses from exhaustion, and everything begins to

come together, because Kim has finally found proof to condemn the Indian kings

who have been causing trouble throughout India.

The end of the book follows immediately after the second climax, and

Kim goes on to play the Great Game. The lama knows that his sins are ended and

is at peace.

Kim

June 2, 1987

A review of "Kim" by Rudyard Kipling.

Rudyard Kipling wrote Kim in 1901, paralleling his own childhood as an

Indian-born Briton, left alone by his parents at age five, and raised in an English

school from age twelve. He returned to India at age sixteen, and his experiences

there strongly influenced his novels. He went back to England at age twenty-four

and became a literary celebrity. He married Caroline Wolcott in 1891, and they

settled in Brattleboro, Vermont, for eight years, after which they moved to

Sussex, England. Kipling's Kim, Just So Stories (1902), and Puck of Pook's Hill

(1906), were written in Sussex, earning him the Nobel prize for literature in 1907.


Kimball O'Hara is an Irish boy who has been raised by an East Indian

woman after the death of his parents, who lived in Lahore City in India. Kim has

learned to survive on the streets of Lahore, and is cunning, and wise for his age.

Early in the novel, a Tibetan lama enters Kim's life. He is on a holy quest

to find a river of healing. Kim becomes his disciple, hoping to find his destiny,

which was revealed to him in a prophecy about two men who would prepare the

way for a red bull upon a green field. The bull is later shown to be the flag of a

regiment of Irish Mavericks in which Kim's father served.

Kim and the lama meet before the Wonder House of Lahore in Victorian

India. Their travels take them through the cities, villages, mountains, and plains of

India. They experience native magic, superstition, war, and intrigue.

Kim's destiny is the Great Game, which he finds when he is taken in by

the Maverick regiment, and is educated in an Indo-European school. The Great

Game takes Kim into the service of the Indian government as a political spy. He

travels across India with the lama, learning and growing, until he completes his

first mission by bringing about the fall of a group of errant kings.

About the time when Kim succeeds in his mission, the lama wanders into

a river, where he is almost drowned. One of Kim's colleagues pulls him out of the

water and revives him. The lama is certain that he has found his river, and that he

has been cleansed of all his sins.

The end of the book is the beginning of Kim's adult life as a player of the

Great Game, and of the lama's peace. The only end is the end of Kim's association

with the lama. Kim's destiny, which he found in two men who prepared the way

for a red bull on a green field, goes on.

Kim is written ostensibly for and about children, but examines on a deeper

level the opposition of East and West. Kim is a white boy, born of white parents,

raised by an Indian nurse, schooled in a white school, apprenticed to a Tibetan

Lama, and employed by the Indian government. In Kim, the vast chasm between

the East and the West is bridged in the person of the young Kimball O'Hara, who

reconciles his two cultures by living one at a time.

Morton N. Cohen writes, in his introduction to Kim:

It is, however, Kipling's theme of East-and-West, the Indian stories

and verse, the landscape of Empire, that he is best known for and

in which, in fact, he did his best and most original work. Among

these works, Kim stands out above the rest, like the tallest peak of

the Himalayas.

The peaks of the Himalayas are an appropriate simile, since the character

who helps Kim the most is Terhoo Lama, the Holy Man from Tibet. He represents

the Far East, bringing a second, lesser opposition of East and West to the novel,


and emphasizing the conflict within the boy, Kim. He helps Kim to discover and

achieve his destiny as a Sahib, a European boy in India. He also takes Kim to

many parts of India, allowing him to use the knowledge which he has gained at

the madrissah, or Indo-European school.

Kim's mixed heritage allows him to be both an Indian and a young Sahib.

He changes from one to the other, and also to other identities, by simple changes

of clothing and manner. Since he has grown up as a spy for various members for

the community of Lahore, he is very good at becoming other people. When he is

taken in by the Irish Maverick unit, he uses this ability to survive. He puts on the

bright red of the unit, speaks English, and lives the identity of his birth. When he

leaves the school, he becomes a Hindu boy again, dressing, speaking, and

behaving like a Hindu, even using some of the more colorful expletives (but he

also incorporates his new knowledge of medicine and mapping, shielding them as

holy magic). In this way, he begins to blend his two cultures into a unique,

personal culture. He merges his cultures so well, in fact, that when he returns to

the school after vacation, the servants in the bazaar, who are of a naturally

observant race, do not realize that he has grown up as a Hindu rather than a

European. Kipling writes:

He slouched to the tree at the corner of a bare road leading towards the

bazar, and eyed the natives passing. Most of them were barrack-servants of the

lowest caste. Kim hailed a sweeper, who promptly retorted with a piece of

unnecessary insolence, in the natural belief that the European boy could not

follow. The low, quick answer undeceived him. Kim put his fettered soul into it,

thankful for the late chance to abuse somebody in the tongue he knew best.

Even before his schooling, though, he is able to become anyone, and to

deceive even those people who have seen him in a different guise only a few

hours before.

The East and West theme, which is embodied in Kim, is not only a

contrast of clothing, language, and manners; it is a contrast of texture, flavour,

inflection, and character. The East has an auro of mystery and excitement for

those of us from the Western reaches, while the West, as represented by the

English and the Irish, has a stolid, humdrum quality. This difference within the

spirit of the title character is commented upon by Cohen:

... When Kim is Indian, when he is in the bazaars or on the Grand

Trunk Road, when he's living and sharing adventures with the

lama, when he's free of Western and British restraint, he lives

intensively: it is then that Kipling's imagination soars and ranges

heavenward. When Kim ceases to be an Indian vagrant, when he

dresses up in white man's clothes and goes to school, he becomes


far less interesting, he ceases to be mysterious. But even after that,

Kim is able to escape the sahib's life on holidays, and again the

story picks up and we get more of the mystery that enthralls us.

This difference of East and West, the flavours, the colours, and the

textures, are presented throughout the novel. The Western elements are barely

described, since Western readers recognize them almost by instinct, but the Indian

scenes are brought into vivid relief. George Moore comments in a 1904 edition of

Pall Mall magazine upon a passage from the novel which describes an Indian

evening in great detail:

It would be difficult to find a passage in literature of the same length so

profusely touched with local color.

The texture of Kipling's India is made up of plains, hills, and mountains;

brilliant sunshine, choking dust, and fierce and endless rain; a multiplicity of

races, religions, castes, and dialects; and all that which was woven together to

form the complex society of Victorian India. The texture of his Irish camp,

however, is simply tents, pots, pans, bundles, and regimental flags - the British

military camp with which we are all familiar.

Although born with a Western heritage, Kim has learned to think and feel

as an Asian. He trusts almost no one, and knows the value of lies. He also has an

Asian's sense of himself.

"Now am I alone - all alone," he thought. "In all India is no one so

alone as I! If I die to-day, who shall bring the news - and to whom?

If I live and God is good, there will be a price upon my head, for I

am a Son of the Charm - I, Kim." A very few white people, but

many Asiatics, can throw themselves into a mazement as it were

by repeating their own names over and over again to themselves,

letting the mind go free upon speculation as to what is called

personal identity. When one grows older, the power, usually,

departs, but while it lasts it may descend upon a man at any

moment. "Who is Kim - Kim - Kim?"

Kim is also sensible of the value of showing affection when it is felt,

something no Western-bred person of the time could do. The lama, as a symbol of

the farther East, is even more capable of showing affection, and his affection for

Kim helps Kim to follow his destiny. These phenomena of emotion are noted by

Cohen:

When the lama speaks of "the red mist of affection" that he feels for Kim,

he admits publicly to something no Englishman of the time could possibly have

uttered. In Victorian times, the English did not feel publicly, and yet Kim is a

book in which emotion is visible everywhere. It is a book where people not only


feel openly, but where they even go further and act upon their emotional

convictions.

As the novel progresses, and Kim matures, the blend and contrast of East

and West also matures until, at the end of the novel, Kim uses his training from

both cultures to achieve his mission for the Indian government. He changes the

identities of himself and his co-workers, he weaves stories of intrigue and magic,

and he employs tools of mapping and documents stolen from errant kings. His

unscrupulousness and his English education, allow him to be successful as an

employee of the government.

Nirad C. Chaudheri writes that Kipling has written, in Kim,

... not only the finest novel in the English language with an Indian

theme, but also one of the greatest English novels.

Furthermore, as written in a 1901 edition og Longman's Magazine,

His theme is India, where he is always at his best; and we learn

more of the populace, the sects, the races, the lamas, the air, the

sounds, scents and smells from a few pages than from libraries of

learned authors.

This aspect of Kim is Kipling's greatest contribution to literature. His

personal experiences in India have allowed him to write vivid, exciting poetry and

fiction, filled with details which can only come of an intimate knowledge of his

subject.

High School Science Papers

The Shadow Universe

December 17, 1985

A review of "The Shadow Universe" by Dennis Overbye.

This article was published in the May, 1985 issue of Discover. This

volume, as per usual, is a part of my personal library.

"Dark matter, mysterious and invisible, may make up 99 per cent

of the cosmos and provide the key to the origin of the galaxies and

the fate of the universe."

Dark matter is among the newest phenomena which the world's

astrophysicists are using in their attempt to reconstruct the creationary forces of


the universe. In 1980, neutrinos were considered to be the basic substance of the

universe.

Neutrinos are "massless, invisible particles that could race through

millions of miles of lead at the speed of light, and are so insubstantial that cubic

light-years of them wouldn't weigh a flea's breath." These particles, once

considered the dominant mass of the cosmos, are now becoming publicly

inconsequential once again. The reason? Dark matter.

"The shadow universe may be ordinary matter that failed to

achieve the grace of light, exotic particles that have yet to be

created in earthly accelerators, relic energy fields from the Big

Bang, or even forms of matter and energy for which science has no

theory."

Fritz Lwicky, an astronomer at Caltech, discovered in 1933 that the orbital

velocity of galaxies exceeded that which should have thrown them on tangent

trajectories. This discovery was based on mass. The fact that the galaxies

maintained basically static orbits indicated that they must be approximately ten

times as massive as they seemed.

Vera Rubin, astronomer from the Carnegie Institution, W. Kent Ford,

Norbert Thonnard, and David Burstein made a study of rotation curves for the

Andromeda Galaxy. Rotation curves should reveal the distribution of mass in a

galaxy. At the outer edge of a galaxy, the rotation curve should drop off. In the

case of Andromeda, the rotation curve continued beyond the galaxy. Not realizing

what they had found, the scientists repeated their studies on other galaxies. The

rotation curves continued to register flat. Proof was forming for the theory,

presented by Jeremiah Ostriker and P.J.E. Peebles, both Princeton astronomers,

that spiral galaxies might be embedded in halos of material which prevented disc

warping.

"... If there's enough of it, dark matter could some day cause the

universe to collapse in fiery and terminal splendor."

Aleksandr Friedmann, a Russian mathematician, determined that the

course of cosmic history is determined by the rate of expansion of the universe -

the Hubble constant - and omega. Omega is the ratio of the density of the universe

to roughly three hydrogen atoms per cubic yard. If omega is greater than one, the

combined gravities of cosmic matter will overcome universal expansion and the

cosmos will retract into a "Big Crunch." This is a closed universe.

If omega is less than one, the universe is open, infinite, eternal. This type

of universe is typified by eternal expansion, with matter being reduced to ash.

If omega is equal to one, the universe is flat, stable, and correct in respect

to Euclidian geometry.


According to Jim Gunn, astronomer at Caltech, at the beginning of the

universe, "dark and light matter were intermixed, but as the universe expanded,

the dark stuff formed clumps, pulling light stuff with it. The ordinary matter

within these clumps cooled, like hot coffee radiating away its heat, and sank to the

centers. There is the seven per cent froth that you and I are made of."

The dark matter, not being electromagnetic, couldn't radiate, and couldn't

get rid of energy acquired from falling together. The dark particles reacted with

stellar-like gravity and formed pressure-supported clouds around the light matter.

The subject of dark matter is still largely theory, but its implications have

had similar effects on the scientific world as those cause by facts - such as

galaxies and rotation curves. But are they facts? The answers may lie in the

darkness before us.

The subject of dark matter intrigues me because a favorite pastime of mine

is discussing astro- and meta-physical creation of the universe with my

colleagues.

I have learned from this article that the phrase "all is not as it seems" has

scientific bearing.

A Study of Normal

January 24, 1985

Introduction

Normal is a non-existent psychological state. Normal behavior for one

individual may be abnormal behavior for another. Even the people who teach or

practice psychology have trouble when they are asked to state a clear-cut

definition of "normal" behavior.

The guidelines for normal behavior are usually set by a group. When a

behavioral trait does not conform to the most common behavioral patterns of a

group, it is termed "abnormal." it is seldom, if ever, taken into account that the

"abnormal" behavior might actually be normal for the individual. This will be

more fully illustrated in a later section.

Normal by Conditioning

An individual may be termed normal according to his usual, and often

unconscious, reactions to given conditions.


In a study done by Watson and Rayner in 1920, a small child was taught to

fear a white rat. Each time the child approached the rat, a frightening sound was

produced by the experimenters. This agonizing noise became associated with a

proximity to the white rat. Soon, the child began to fear the rat, and also similar

objects. (1)

This child was considered abnormal because he did not conform to the

standards of behavior dictated by the psychologists in our society. However, this

behavior would not be abnormal. The child would be abnormal if he did not fear

the white rat after being conditioned to associate it with a loud and fearful noise.

If, however, the child had received a piece of candy, or a word of praise

each time he went near the rat, he should have come to associate the rat with

pleasurable experiences. If that child, who had no reason to fear the rat, suddenly

began to fear it, he would then be behaving abnormally. according to the

standards of society, however, he would be behaving normally.

This backward-turning logic, which allows a society to determine the

ways of the individual, is false. Society is determined by the behavior of

individuals. We are not a group entity. The way each group of persons behave is

not set by one or two other persons. Presidents, kings, and dictators usually

comprise the group of individuals who set the standard for society, which sets the

standard for individuals.

Studies in "Normal" Behavior

Study One: Contrast of Behavior for Sharon and Deborah Fletcher

Sharon and Deborah Fletcher are each normal in their own right. each

follows a predictable pattern of habits, hobbies, likes, dislikes, and small

idiosyncrasies. However, each is abnormal by the other's definition.

For Sharon Fletcher, normal behavior means rising before dawn every day

of her life; reading Gothic novels, listening to Broadway musicals on cassettes;

playing Frogger and Q-Bert; and getting to bed by 8:00 or 9:00 at night.

For Deborah Fletcher, normal behavior means sleeping as late as possible

whenever possible; reading science fiction and fantasy novels; listening to Simon

and Garfunkle cassettes; watching soap operas, Star Trek, and game shows; and

staying up until midnight whenever possible.

As has been stated, each of these persons considers her behavior normal.

Would it be normal, however, if they suddenly reversed roles? No, it would not.

Each would then be behaving abnormally. Of course, this allows for the fact that

Deborah is a high school student and cannot keep the hours she normally would if


she were not affected by society. On the same note, Sharon often has to stay up

until 10:00 or 11:00 because her daughter goes out and she (Sharon) waits up.

Normal behavior is often that behavior which is exhibited naturally, rather than

that which is forced upon the individual by society.

It has been stated that Sharon and Deborah are normal on an individual

level. Are they normal on a societal level? that seems to depend upon the society.

we will decide whether an individual's behavior is societally normal in a later

section.

Study Two: Behavior of Kimberly Lerzo

Kimberly Lerzo believes herself to be normal. She behaves in a manner

which is customary and expected. However, she is not normal by the standards of

many people in society.

Kimberly is very shy. She dresses conservatively. She spends a good deal

of her leisure time reading and writing. Her manners are neat and polite. She is a

very good student.

It would be considered normal for Kimberly to wear dress jeans and a

patterned sweater to school, get several high grades while there, speak politely to

the principal, and read during her study period. If she had a substitute teacher,

Kimberly probably would not initiate a conversation with her.

The same behavior might be considered abnormal by a person who

habitually wore punk clothing, spent her leisure time with a number of different

boys, failed many of her classes, and would curse at the principal if she saw him.

Actually, both girls may be both normal and abnormal; they are normal on

an individual level, but they may be abnormal on a societal level.

Morning Behavior - a Hypothetical Case

"It is five fifty-nine on a Tuesday morning. Mr. Smith is asleep. He does

not have a reason to be awake. The clock reaches 6:00 and Mr. Smith's alarm

clock rings.

"Mr. Smith rolls over, slaps the alarm button, and peers at the clock. He

decides that it really is time to wake up and get out of bed.

"He walks across the rug to the open bathroom door. Going in, he turns on

the tap and picks up his toothbrush. He brushes his teeth with a methodic, up and

down motion. Then he puts down his toothbrush and turns on the hot water. He

shaves and dresses, choosing corduroy pants and a striped silk shirt.


"He then returns to the bedroom and chooses a tie; the choice is not

difficult, as he only owns two.

"After straightening his tie, he goes downstairs to the dining room. He is

the only one there. He always starts the day early so he can walk to the office,

rather than drive.

"The waitress hands him a menu. He orders ham, eggs, rolls, and coffee.

Then he picks up his newspapers and reads the headlines while he waits for his

breakfast." (2)

This account of a morning's activities is purely hypothetical, but for some

individuals it might be very real and definitely normal. It would, however, be

considered abnormal by many others.

Societal Normalcy

According to definition, normalcy is determined on a societal level.

According to another definition, "normal" is "conforming to what is standard or

usual." (3) This second definition seems to indicate an individualized level of

normalcy. I am, however, dealing with "normal" on a societal level in this section.

William Sheldon did a study of criminals in 1949. as a result of his study,

he found that "a disproportionately high percentage of criminals had a stocky

body type" and that "body type could be linked to criminality." (4) This study

seems to have failed to take into account the large number of law-abiding citizens

who also have a stocky body type. It also failed to take into account the large

number of criminals who have a pleasing appearance. Doctor Sheldon's study

seems to have been weighted in favour of Cesare Lombroso's idea that "criminals

were biologically less advanced than law-abiding citizens." (5) It also seems to

mirror Earnest Hooten's conclusion that "criminals were genetically and

physically degenerate." (6)

By society's standards, the criminals are not normal, but citizens exactly

similar to the criminals, except in occupation, are. This seems to indicate that

society's views of normalcy may be tailored to exclude those who are considered

to be unsavory.

Another case of society determining a groupeople to be abnormal is the

case of the hippies. These individuals were very much concerned with finding

themselves and divining the true nature of the universe. They were much more

concerned with spiritual awareness than with material belongings. They preached

the idea of loving everyone and trying to find true happiness. These behaviors

were commonly considered abnormal.


Societally, these people were abnormal. They did not behave according to

an established norm. They were termed abnormal because of this. (7)

A Behavioristic View of Normal

"... The savage believes that incantations can bring rain, good

crops, good hunting, that an unfriendly voodoo doctor can bring

disaster to a person or to a whole tribe; than an enemy who has

obtained a nail paring or a lock of your hair can cast a harmful

spell over you and control your actions ...." (8)

The preceding passage is taken from John Watson’s view of man. It

describes normal beliefs and behavior of a savage. Although such beliefs are

normal for a savage, they are not normal for most New York businessmen. Such

men would be considered abnormal in the extreme if they began casting spells in

order to secure business deals, fearing barbers because they fear being controlled

by the barbers, or cringing before what they believed to be the "evil eye."

Conclusion

Normality cannot be accurately defined for all people. A definition may be

formed for societal normalcy, but nor for individual normalcy.

In my opinion, normalcy does not exist. Too many definitions formed by

society are conflicting. A definition ought to be universally binding, and,

therefore, a term such as "normal" cannot have a definition.

Definitions of "Normal"

1. Webster's Seventh New Collegiate Dictionary

according to, constituting, or not deviating from a norm, rule, or principle;

regular

2. Oxford American Dictionary

conforming to what is standard or usual

3. The New American Webster Dictionary

conforming to a certain type of standard; regular; average

4. Webster's Dictionary

conforming to type or natural law

5. Webster's Practical Dictionary

according to an established norm, rule, or principle; conforming to a type or

regular form; ordinary; analogical


Notes

1. Richard E. Diamond and R. J. Senter, Psychology: The Exploration of Human

Behavior. (Glenview: Scott, Foresman, and Company, 1976), pp. 98-99.

2. A. T. Poffenberger, Principles of Applied Psychology. (New York: D.

Appleton - Century Company, 1942), pp. 20-21.

3. Gorton Carruth et al., Oxford American Dictionary. (New York: Oxford

University Press, 1980), p. 454.

4. David Popenoe, Sociology. (Enlewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1980), p.

222.

5. Ibid.

6. Ibid.

7. Ibid.

8. Gerald L. Hershey and James O. Lugo, Living Psychology. (London: The

MacMillan Company, 1970), p. 150.

Bibliography

Allee, John Gage, Ph.D., ed., Webster's Dictionary. Springfield, Mass.: G&C

Merriam Comany, 1967.

Carruth, Gorton; Ehrlich, Eugene; Flexner, Stuart Berg; and Hawkins, Joyce M.,

Oxford American Dictionary. New York: Oxford University Press, 1980.

Diamond, Richard E., and Senter, R.J., Psychology: the Exploration of Human

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Dockeray, Floyd C., Psychology. New York: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1942.

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New American Library, 1972.

Morse, William C., and Wingo, G. Mar, Psychology and Teaching. Second

edition. Chicago: Scott, Foresman and Company, 1962.

Poffenberger, A.R., Principles of Applied Psychology. New York: D. Appleton -

Century Company, 1942.

Popenoe, David, Sociology. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice - Hall, Inc., 1980.

Porter, Noah, D.D., L.L.D., Webster's Practical Dictionary. Springfield, Mass.:

The Reilly and Britton Co., 1910.

R.R. Donnelley & Sons Company, comp., Webster's seventh New Collegiate

Dictionary. Springfield, Mass.: G&C Merriam Company, 1967.


The Postdiluvian World

January 14, 1986

A review of "The Postdiluvian World" by Stephen L. Gillett, Ph.D..

This article was published in Analog: Science Fiction/Science Fact. The

date of publication was November, 1985. The volume is a part of my personal

science library. The article was found beginning on page forty.

The Postdiluvian World dealt with the terraforming of a planet. It began

with a landscape of a planet in the earliest stages of terraforming, and moved in

quickly to a discussion of human terraforming on Venus.

The first division, "The Near Term: Nova Terra," dealt with the erosion of

the soil and rock of the Venusian surface. It played down, to a certain extent, the

difficulties caused by this erosion by calling them "instabilities." However, this

translates simply into "landslides."

The second division, "The Land," began with another landscape, cutting in

to discuss the shaping - carving and building - of the surface of the planet.

The third division, "The Climate," began, once again, with a landscape.

This was followed with a discussion of Venusian temperatures. The temperature

was discussed as follows.

The equation for the temperature of a rapidly rotating planet with no

atmosphere is:

T=4(S *(1-

In this equation, T is the temperature in degrees Kelvin, S is the solar

constant, A is the albedo of the planet, and s is the Stefan-Boltzmann constant. -8

watts per square meter per degrees Kelvin

to the fourth. The solar constant of Venus is approximately 2560 watts per meter

squared. The albedo is 20%.

The equation for the temperature of Venus, discounting the greenhouse

factor for the moment, would look like this:

T = 4 (2560 watts/m2 * (1-0.20)) 4 * 5.67 * 10

-8 .

That's quite a mess of numbers, but, reduced to conventional Fahrenheit, it

comes to about 95º. Adding 35ºC to this (or doubling it) brings you a balmy

Venusian day of 190ºF.

This section goes on to discuss everything from clouds to Coriolis -

climate-wise, at least - including seasons (can you imagine seasons on a planet

where cold days make our hottest look frigid?).


The next division was "Interlude: The Geological Midterm." Once again,

we opened with a glimpse of the newly terraformed Venusian landscape. This

discussed the stability of the terraforming for a short hundred million years or so -

on the geological calendar, that is.

The next-to-last division was "And In Ten Million Years - and Beyond?"

This time, the opening landscape was reminiscent of adolescent Earth, still

changing with violent quakes and eruptions. The discussion began with the

simple, but certainly noteworthy, fact that Venus has no plate tectonics. It

continued with a discussion of natural radioactive isotopes. These isotopes should

give Venus an internal heat similar to that of Earth.

The last division was "Notes on a Self-Sustaining Planetary Environment.

This section simply touched on the Gaia hypothesis whereby "terrestrial life

actively maintains its environment with a vastly intricate network of biologic

feedback loops."

I chose this article because it was next on a list of randomly-chosen, self-

assigned topics for these papers. I had no idea what the article would be about,

nor did I care; my interest in science is such that almost any article will prove

interesting.

I have here learned that building a new home for Earth's masses of humanity will

be far more difficult than we are led to believe, since our twin is so inhospitable.

Dimensionality

November 14, 1985

A review of "Dimensionality" by Arthur F. Smith.

Dimensionality is a concept dealing with length, width, and depth, and the

relationship among them. It is the concept which permits us to know the

difference among the formulae for perimeter, area, and volume. The concept

involves ratios, or proportions.

One example given for dimensionality was this: "If a man is twice as tall

as his son, how much should he weigh compared with his son (assuming they are

similarly proportioned)?" The logic used for this problem under dimensionality is

as follows: "the 2:1 ratio for linear dimensions becomes an 8:1 ratio for volume."

This is true because three dimensions (length, width, and depth, or thickness)

were increased. The three dimensions indicate that the numbers in the ratio should

be cubed, or raised to the third power.


In my opinion, the concept of dimensionality is one which bears further

study. I feel that it could be an effective means of teaching math, particularly if

the concept was taught from early in elementary school. I, personally, have often

found myself applying the dimensionality logic to geometry and proportion

problems, though I never before knew what to call the method. It is comforting to

know that this is a legitimate procedure, and heartening to consider that this might

one day be taught as a topic for its own merit. I hope that I shall see that day.

Slicing Pi Into Millions

February 13, 1986

A review of "Slicing Pi Into Millions" by Gene Gardner for my Honors

Chemistry class.

This article was found in the January, 1985 issue of Discover, beginning

on page fifty. It deals with strictly mathematical science, rather than the "usual"

sciences (physics, chemistry, etc.). Once again, the volume is a part of my

personal science library.

"If we take the world of geometrical relations, the thousandth decimal of

pi sleeps there, though no one may ever try to compute it." - William James, The

Meaning of Truth.

This article was primarily based on the above quote and the calculations

which have followed it.

The common formula for calculating pi is pi=4/1-4/3+4/5-4/7+4/9-.... This

equation is long and bulky. It is most accurate when it is carried out to rather

small decimals.

In 1909, a British mathematician named William Shanks calculated pi to

707 decimals. His first 527 decimals were accurate. However, the 528th decimal

of pi is 4, and Shanks designated it 5. All of his following digits were wrong.

In 1949, John W. wrench Jr. and Levi B. Smith, both American

mathematicians, accurately extended the value of pi to 1,120 decimals. This was

the last effort to compute pi on a pre-electronic desk calculator.

Pi has been computed by large computers many times. The ENIAC was

the first computer to attempt pi. It achieved 2,037 decimal places in seventy

hours. Five years later, the NORC computed it to 3,089 places. In 1957 an

IBM7090 computed pi to 100,265 places, taking eight hours and 43 minutes to

complete the task. In 1973 an IBM7600 calculated pi to a million places in 23


hours and 18 minutes. In 1983 the HITAC M-280H computed pi to 16,777,216

places in less than 30 hours.

William James predicted that the thousandth decimal place of pi existed,

but that it was unlikely that it would be computed. That was in 1909. Today it is

known that this decimal place is occupied by the numeral "9." The question: "Was

the thousandth decimal of pi 9 before 1940?" has been raised by mathematical

philosophers. To some, this is a timeless truth, regardless of man. To others,

mathematical objects have no reality independent of the human mind and,

therefore, the thousandth decimal was not 9 until it was calculated to be 9.

A view between these two is that the uncalculated decimals of pi exist in

an abstraction in which they possess a pseudo-reality. They do not gain true

reality until they are calculated. Even then, their reality is of relative degree.

It may well be asked, "Why waste time figuring out thousands of decimal

places for a number, anyway?" In the case of pi, there are four reasons:

Pi is there - wherever "there" is!

Such calculations have useful spinoffs. much is learned about calculating

and checking large numbers on computers.

The calculation of pi to tens of thousands of decimals provides useful

exercises for testing new computers and for training new programmers.

The more digits of pi that are known, the more mathematicians hope to

answer a major unsolved problem of number theory: Is pi's sequence of digits

totally patternless, or does it exhibit a persistent, if subtle, deviation from

randomness?"

Pi contains a number of remarkable numeric patterns. Beginning with pi's

710,100th decimal is the stutter 3333333. A matching run begins with the

3,204,765th decimal. Among the first ten million decimals of pi, there are

corresponding runs of every digit except 2 and 4. There are four runs of 9's, two

runs each of 3's, 5's, 7's, and 8's, and one run each of 0's, 1's, and 6's. There are 87

runs of just six repetitions of the same digit.

The sequences 23456789 and 876543210 begin with decimals 995,998

and 2,747,956, respectively. The first six digits of pi occur six times. The first six

digits of e occur eight times, plus one occurrence of the first seven digits. The first

eight digits of the square root of 2 appear beginning with the 52,638th decimal.

A pifor is a prime number found in pi while reading forward, or

conventionally. A piback is a prime number in pi, found by reading the digits

backward. There are four pifors: 3, 31, 314159, and

31415926535897932384626433832795028841. There are seven known pibacks

through the 432nd decimal of pi. These are: 3,31, 51416, 951413, 2951413,

53562951413, and 979853562951413.


The fraction 355/113 was discovered in the fifth century A.D., by the

Chinese astronomer Tsu Ch'ung, to be pi to six decimals.

The square root of the square root of 2143/22 is pi to eight decimals. This

was discovered in 1914 by the Indian mathematician Srinivasa Ramanujan.

As a final note for the superstitious: "The first 144 decimals of pi add up

to 666, the New Testament's notorious number of the Beast, or anti-Christ

(Revelation 13:18). Note that 144=(6+6)x(6+6). The three decimals of pi that

begin with the 666th are 343=7x7x7."

This article has been very interesting, if a bit mind-boggling. The puzzles

of mathematics are always fascinating. I greatly enjoy them.

I have learned that pi is much more than a squiggly figure which students

are forced to use in math classes. I have learned that pi may be the key to the

secrets of the universe.

What's a Quark?

April 10, 1986

A review of "What's a Quark?" by Robert Palmer.

This article was similar to The Theory of Everything, which I have

previously reviewed. It deal with the basic structure of quarks.

A quark is an elementary particle of matter, which is the fundamental

building block of the universe. However, there are six flavours of quarks: up,

down, charm, strange, top, and bottom; each flavour comes in three colours.

Therefore, the fundamental becomes complex.

In order to understand the variety and structure of the quark, Fermilab is

working with CERN, and Stanford Linear Accelerator Center to build the 60-

mile-circumference Superconducting Super Collider. This gargantuan accelerator

would consist of a double ring of superconducting magnets cooled by liquid

helium. Proton beams would circle the rings in opposite directions, colliding at six

points. The energy necessary for this would be a mere 40 TeV, or 40 trillion

electron volts.

In 1983, six-tenths of a TeV were used by Rubbia and van der Meer at

CERN to discover the radioactive W and Z particles. The Superconducting Super

Collider, however, would look not at simple quarks, but at the Higgs particle,

which is on the quark.

The Higgs is theorized to have been acquired by the, then massless, quarks

when the universe was cooling down after the Big Bang. Therefore, the next


logical step toward understanding the creation of everything is to go beyond the

theory of everything to the study of the Higgs.

This article was shorter and simpler than those I have read previously on

this topic. It was extremely easy to understand, but it would have been better if it

had been longer, even if comprehension had been partially sacrificed.

I have found, in this article, the impetus to send me toward further studies

of quarkian particles. I have learned of the Higgs, and intend to find its

companion Snarks and Boojums; the corresponding real and virtual sub-

elementary particles.

Adding a Dimension: Mathematics

January 9, 1987

A review of "Adding a Dimension: Mathematics" by Isaac Asimov.

Adding a Dimension: Mathematics is a collection of essays dealing with

mathematical principles. It was published by Lancer Books, Inc., of New York, in

1969. It consists on ninety-six pages, which are divided into seven chapters.

The first chapter is entitled "T-Formation." It deals with extremely large

numbers, and systems by which to classify and use them. The first number to be

introduced is the googol, which is defined as the number 1 followed by a hundred

zeroes.

The googol opens up a subject of extremely large numbers, specifically

multiples of a trillion, which are abbreviated into a system called T-formation, in

which a trillion is denoted by T-1; a trillion trillion T-2; a trillion trillion trillion

T-3; and so forth. In order to visualize T-1 (bearing in mind the publication date),

Asimov has estimated that T-1 is the number of dimes it takes to run the United

States for one year ($100,000,000,000). To further visualize T-formation (or

"Asimovian") numbers, he gives that T-2 nucleons make up about 1/16 of an

ounce of mass, while T-3 nucleons have a mass of about 1.67 trillion grams, T-4

nucleons equals the mass of the earth's oceans, T-5 nucleons equal the mall of a

thousand solar systems, T-6 nucleons equal the mass of ten thousand galaxies the

size of our own, and T-7 nucleons are far more massive than the entire universe.

Considering the size of a nucleon (proton or neutron), such dimensions are more

than a little staggering.

From T-formations and googols, Asimov moves on to more familiar

numbers, such as the Fibonacci series. The numbers of this series begin small (1,

1, 2, 3, 5, 8, ...), but by the fifty-fifth number is greater than T-1.


The next move is to prime numbers. Again, the early numbers of this set

are easy: 2, 3, 5, 7, 13, 17, 19, .... Higher primes, however, are difficult to

ascertain quickly. Marin Mersenne developed a formula about 1600 which would

calculate any given prime:

2p - 1, where p is a prime.

This formula seems to work, and the numbers obtained by it become

known as Mersenne numbers. However, M67 and M257 are not primes, while M61,

M89, and M107 (which he did not list as primes) are prime.

Finally, in this chapter, is the introduction of the googolplex, which is

defined as 10 raised to the googol. For this, the T-formation system is expanded,

and a googolplex is just over T-(T-8). [T-(T-1)] is equal to 1012000000000000,

which is more than 101013. A googolplex is equal to 101034.

The second chapter is entitled "One, Ten, Buckle My Shoe." This chapter

introduces several number systems, including: two-based, three-based, four-

based, five-based, and so on. The two-based system is the familiar binary system.

The first seven numerals in the binary system are:

1 equals 1

10 equals 2

11 equals 3

100 equals 4

101 equals 5

110 equals 6

111 equals 7.

A system for converting ordinary numbers to binary numbers is given by

the following example, representing 131 in binary form:

131 / 2 = 65 remainder 1

65 ÷ 2 = 32 remainder 1

32 ÷ 2 = 16 remainder 0

16 ÷ 2 = 8 remainder 0




1 ÷ 2 = 0 remainder 1.

Therefore, 131 is written 11000001. In order to compare this with the

other systems, the following table is provided for 131:

2-based system

11000001

3-based system

11212


4-based system

2003

5-based system

1011

6-based system

335

7-based system

245

8-based system

203

9-based system

155

The remainder of the chapter discusses examples of converting between

differing systems.

The third chapter is entitled "Varieties of the Infinite." This chapter begins

by defining infinity as a non-number. In this chapter, rules of infinite arithmetic

are given:

ì - n = ì, where n is an integer;

ì - ì = ì;

ì + n = ì;

ì + ì = ì;

ì / ì = ì; and

ì * ì = ì2 = ì.

It then looks at infinite series, and discusses why the infinite series of odd

integers is the same size as the infinite series of all integers.

Next, infinity is done one better by continuum, represented by C. It is

given that ìì = C. Even this is a fairly small number, relatively speaking, since

George Cantor discovered the transfinite numbers in 1895. These are represented

by the Hebrew letter ale - 0.

The single arithmetic rule for transfinite numbers is that

0 0 1 1 1 2; ....

Also, infinity is equal to alpha-null, and the continuum is aleph-one.

The fourth chapter is entitled "A Piece of Pi." This chapter describes

to get under usual circumstances.

Next, Asimov differentiates between rational and irrational numbers. The

The fifth chapter, "Tools of the Trade," is almost a continuation of chapter

four. It begins by defining ideals of geometry: lines, points, and circles. It also

introduces the basic tools of plane geometry: the straightedge and the compass. It


just these tools.

"Squaring the circle" is an ancient construction which cannot be

performed with ju

is a number which cannot be measured precisely with a compass and straightedge,

and which is basic to the circle.

Equations are considered next. The quadratic equation is given:

(- 2 - 4AC)) / 2A

This is done to show that a polynomial equation can be manipulated.

Chapter six is entitled "The Imaginary That Isn't." Obviously, it deals with

complex numbers.

First, it is postulated that every equation of the nth degree has exactly n

solutions. This is easily seen with equations such as

x + 3 = 5

2 + 3 = 5

x = 2

or

x2 + 4x - 5 = 0

1 + 4 - 5 = 0

x=1

and

25 - 20 - 5 = 0

x = -5.

It is not so easy, however, with

x2 + 1 = 0,

-1). This is handled with imaginary numbers (i-

numbers), which are given, with their arithmetic rules, in the table:

+i

times

+i

=

-1

-i

times

-i

=

-1

+i

times

-i

=

1

This gives the solutions to x2 + 1 = 0 as ±i.

The seventh, and final, chapter is entitled "Pre-fixing It Up." It deals with

units of measure, and with the magnitudes thereof.

The chapter begins with the metric system. It explains the advantages of a

ten-based system of measure, as opposed to a set of systems using miles, feet,

inches, rods, furlongs, pecks, bushels, pints, drams, ounces, pounds, tons, and


grains. In that system, it is not even possible to cross over from one system to

another, while it is common to do so in the metric system (one cubic centimeter

equals one milliliter). A table of the system of lengths is given for the metric

system:

1 kilometer

=

1000

meters

1 hectometer

=

100

meters

1 dekameter

=

10

meters

1 meter

=

1

meter

1 decimeter

=

0.1

meter

1 centimeter

=

0.01

meter

1 millimeter

=

0.001

meter

The qualifying portion of each term is the prefix, which is built upon the

root, in this case the meter.

With advancing technology, larger and smaller prefixes are necessary. A

table of these prefixes is also given:

Size

Prefix

trillion

(1012)

tera-

billion

(109)

giga-

million

(106)

mega-

thousand

(103)

kilo-

hundred

(102)

hekto-

ten

(101)

deka-

one

(100)

tenth

(10-1)

deci-

hundredth

(10-2)

centi-

thousandth

(10-3)

milli-


millionth

(10-6)

micro-

billionth

(10-9)

nano-

trillionth

(10-12)

pico-

quadrillionth

(10-15)

femto-

quintillionth

(10-18)

atto-

The chapter continues with examples of the uses of the extremely large

and small measurements of length, volume, mass, and time. One time-table is

interesting:

1

second

=

1

second

1

kilosecond

=

16 2/3

minutes

1

megasecond

=

11 2/3

days

1

gigasecond

=

32

years

1

terasecond

=

32000

years

The chapter ends with a summarization of the ranges of the systems of

measure to the effect that the measurable lengths cover 41 orders of magnitude,

the measurable masses 83 orders of magnitude, and the measurable times 40

orders of magnitude. The metric system covers 30 orders of magnitude.

Over-all Adding a Dimension: Mathematics was a fascinating work. It

presented many topics, which are usually tedious to learn, in an interesting

manner. I have gained a clearer understanding of infinity, particularly, through

this book.


Miscellaneous High School Papers

My Reason for Writing

November 1, 1985

It is said that writing is a writer's extension of his own being. I believe in

this saying, as I have found that it applies to my work. I seldom write a story,

poem, or essay without incorporating my emotions, dreams, and views into the

piece. This is particularly true of my poetry, which is often quite subjective.

Writing is one of my few true passions. I usually write spontaneously, and

I seldom find that I have written something that I would rather not have said. I

find pleasure in all of my writing, no matter whether the structure is correct, or

even accepted; I write for the pure joy of putting the thoughts of my heart, mind,

and soul to paper.

I have seldom considered myself to be a writer, primarily because the term

tends to imply a profession, which, in its turn, implies effort. My writing is almost

effortless much of the time. However, in the true sense of the term, I am a writer -

because I love my writing and put all of myself into it.

Self Aware I

June 4, 1986

I am a being of self-awareness. I possess initiative and free will. The

world exists as I perceive it, for only by my perception can it exist. Nothing can

exist in the world of my perception unless I perceive it to exist. Therefore, that

which I perceive must exist. However, you are also a being of self-awareness

because I perceive you to be self-aware. Since you possess perception, and since I

perceive that you acknowledge my existence, then I perceive that I must exist by

the power of that which my perception has caused to exist.

If this is the case - as it must be, since I perceive it to be so - then each of

us is the creator of everything. The perception of the creator of everything is

called God, for such do I perceive its name to be. Therefore, I perceive that I am

that which is called God, you are that which is called God, and each being of

perception is that which is called God. I know this because I perceive the matter

to be so.


The Legacy of Edward Clark

September 8, 1986

Based on "The Clark brothers sewed up a most eclectic collection" by

Robert Wernick.

Smithsonian. April, 1984, pp. 122-131.

Edward Clark graduated from Williams College in 1831. He studied law

with Ambrose Jordan in New York. He managed the Singer Manufacturing

Company, leaving substantial inheritances to his grandsons.

The Clark family founded many museums in upper New York State,

including the Baseball Hall of Fame.

The Clarks were art enthusiasts and maintained large collections in their

homes. The collections formed the base of the Clark Art Institute in

Williamstown, Massachusetts.

Sterling Clark also owned excellent race horses, matching the Queen for

victories in his final year of racing.

Allegory for Liberty

January 19, 1987

I am Liberty. My mother was Freedom, who serves all creatures of the

earth. My father was Justice, who balances the good and evil of the earth,

tempering his rulings with cool reason. I am a melding of my parents. I guarantee

equality to all who follow me. I deal with rich and poor, educated and illiterate,

healthy and handicapped, black and white - all alike. I scorn no man who does not

scorn me, for Freedom has taught me that each man must follow his destiny,

though that may be different from the destiny of another man. i judge no man

without basis, for Justice has taught me the value of learning all sides of an issue,

and of considering not my emotion, but the greater good.

In the course of my life, I have often been abused by men who did not

truly know me. My name has been given to enterprises by those who have no

understanding of my nature. Men have repressed men, using my name to

legitimatize injury and ignominy, and forcing such things on those who should


have been their equals, had I been invoked in fact as well as in name. This is great

tragedy, for in abusing me, they have also abused both my parents. Freedom is

outraged every time one man prevents another from doing anything, so long as the

act which he has prevented would have done no damage to the common good.

Justice is outraged whenever men deny other men the right to follow Freedom, the

wife of justice, for reasons of race, beliefs, or origin, for these reasons do not

originate in the cool logic which Justice always upholds.

65: William Shakespeare September 8, 1986

A review of Shakespeare's poem number 65.

Although one may be unhappy with one's life, remembering a person's

love will make everything seem better. Such memories make a person give up

aspirations even of royalty.

Self Aware II

June 5, 1986

As a self-aware being, I perceive the existence of emotion. Emotion is a

perception for which I have no perception of words. The emotion which I

perceive to be called love is perceived differently by each being of self-

awareness. It is the most frequently invoked emotion in the world of my

perception. The diversity which I perceive to exist in the emotion called love is a

bond which I perceive to hold self-aware beings within the sphere of perception

of each other being.

The perception of love is that which I perceive to be the key which allows

one self-aware being to enter the sphere of perception of another being of self-

awareness, because one being perceives the other as the object of the perception

which that being perceives to be the emotion called love.


Self Aware III

June 6, 1986

As a self-aware being with a perception of emotion, I perceive the

existence of hate. I perceive that the emotion which I perceive to be hate is the

same as the emotion which I perceive to be love. I perceive that the bonds which I

perceive to exist as a result of that which I perceive to be love apply to that which

I perceive to be hate. That which I perceive to be hate is that which I perceive to

be the second key which will permit one self-aware being to enter the sphere of

perception of another self-aware being.

I perceive that since each being of perception is that which is called God,

then each being of perception is each other being of perception, and that as such,

all beings of perception and self-awareness are parts of a single being of self-

aware perception. Since I perceive this to be so, then each being of self-awareness

and perception which perceives love or hatred toward another being of self-

awareness and perception from its own self-aware being must perceive the same

love or hatred toward every being of self-aware perception which is included in

the whole, thus perceiving its own self-aware being of perception to be the object

of the love or hatred which it perceives.

However, I perceive that since I perceive that the emotion which I

perceive to be love is the same as the emotion which I perceive to be hate, then a

being of self-aware perception which perceives love toward another being of self-

aware perception must also perceive hate toward that being of self-awareness and

perception, thus perceiving both the emotion which I perceive to be love and the

emotion which I perceive to be hate toward each being of perception and self-

awareness, and thus perceiving both the emotion which I perceive to be hate and

the emotion which I perceive to be love toward its own self-aware being of

perception. Therefore, I perceive that every self-aware being of perception must

perceive the emotions which I perceive to be love and hate toward every other

perceiving being of self-awareness, including itself.


Portrait of a Monster

September 29, 1986

Grendel was of the issue of Cain, conceived in the slime which begat the

multitudes of spirits, fiends, goblins, monsters, and giants. he dwelled in an

earthly hell among the wild marshes of the moor.

Grendel was formed in the shape of men, save that his features were

grotesque, his evilly scaled skin tough and hard. Hard-forged iron could make no

mark upon his body, and his great arms could hold a score or more of warriors.

His great claws rent and tore at the bodies of those whom he left behind, leaving a

trail of blood away from Herot. the hands which bore the claws were as hard as

steel, so that not even the sharpest sword could cut them.

Grendel's skin was mottled in shades of slimy brown and green. His claws

were dyed forever a dark red from the blood of men. His eyes were large and

black, adapted to the murky darkness of the marsh. His face was pock-marked,

and scarred by the evil serpents which inhabited his pond. His hair was a slimy

mimicry of men's hair, the dark brown, weedy strands matted to his head, or

hanging in limp tendrils about his scarred face and scaled body. The hair gave

him an appearance of being draped in marsh weeds, giving men's hearts more

reason to fear him. His huge teeth, with which he did so much killing, were

stained likewise to the claws, the blood color having been absorbed into the very

heart of each tooth so that it had become indelible.

Grendel's mind seethed with bitter evil, remembering the banishment of

Cain by the Almighty God after the foul murder of Abel. He shared the savage,

murderous lust for violent death which was felt by all the children of Cain. Never

could murder be enough to quench his demonic lust for evil carnage. He fought

the servants of the Almighty Lord of all, spreading fear to conquer righteousness.

Grendel's reign of Hell-spawned terror lasted for twelve years upon the

people of Denmark. He killed as often as he could, savagely murdering young

warriors and old alike, taking no offering of peace or truce from the terror-ridden

people of the kingdom.

Grendel thrived on the fear of men. His horrible visitations were

strengthened by their terror. Without fear, he could do nothing to harm man.

When he met Beowulf, he knew for the first time that he was not invincible. He

was afraid, and his fear made him weak. He was overwrought with cowardice

when he found himself faced with an adversary equal to himself. The guardian

shepherd of evil crimes found himself faced with the same Good which had first

banished his Godless ancestor from the gardens of Paradise, and he was afraid.


In Grendel's confrontation with Beowulf, evil confronted good, and the

good triumphed. Grendel shrieked and cried in agony, furious at his defeat, yet

powerless to save himself. All of his iron strength was taken from him, and he

was beaten.

Grendel's psychological condition caused his physical appearance. His

malice and ill-will, inherited from his ancestors, caused the misshapen body, the

huge arms, the clawed hands. His fear of the light, which caused him to hunt only

when men slept, gave him his fearsome appearance.

In all, Grendel was an evil creature whose deformed appearance added to

the evil which he visited upon men, by casting fear into their hearts while his teeth

and claws attacked their bodies.

Shoe City Blues

December 9, 1986

These kids are drivin' me nuts! Forty-eight of 'em in one house! Gad!

Sometimes I dunno what to do. I can barely feed 'em anymore. I mean, the

government's cuttin' back on the checks, an' the stores're gettin' more expensive.

(What?... Don't tell me your brother hit you. Go help your sister with the

wash.)

They're all brats. I used to hit 'em, 'til one of 'em turned me in to Child

Protective. I lost three that time; they're half of 'em foster kids anyhow.

(I said help your sister! I meant it. What?... No, we're not havin' bread

tonight; you know we can't afford it. No, no meat in the soup, neither.)

That's all those brats think about: gimme, gimme, gimme! I just can't take

it anymore. Once more, an' those kids get whipped before bed tonight.

(No! That's final!)

That does it! Those brats'll wish they hadn't got me riled! Who cares what

they do; a few less kids an' I can relax a little.

Debbie's Writing

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