Know Thy Translator

It’s a problem I’ve met before. When dealing with ancient and medieval literature you are largely dealing with translations. A good translation can take a text and make it great. A bad translation can make you hate Homer forever. Usually the problem is financial. I can’t afford to buy all the translations of a text to find the best one. I do have access to academic libraries, but it involves driving and parking downtown. Over time I’ve developed a system of internet and bookstore research. A lot of times it’s common sense, except when it isn’t.

I love Barnes and Nobles Hardcover books. They are beautiful, well-bound and a pleasure to read from. I saw their edition of Arabian Nights and it is stunning! I did what I seldom do and bought it for me. Thank you to whoever gave me the gift card! When I came to reading The Arabian Nights for Crowhook I was quite eager to pull it out and get reading. Until I wasn’t. Crowhook is for middle school to high school kids. The graphic depictions of an orgy is front and center. While my kid in that age bracket reminded me that people do have sex. I still feel, perhaps an old-fashioned need for decorum when working with young people. I hit the internet looking for options. I came to the conclusion that Musawi’s translation was more appropriate for my purposes. As a grownup I can appreciate the more accurate translation, but I like to allow kids to bloom at their own pace.

Musawi is working out quite well so far. Arabian Nights is a treasure of stories. Kids certainly ought to be reading it.
 

The Ent Wives

 I may need to create a label for beautifully ugly women’s movies. Women Talking fits right in with the other three.

It is a challenging thing to be a religious woman sometimes. Men usurp God’s role and power and you must decide how you will rectify all of that. This movie tackles that head on, no holds barred. The women never even consider leaving God, but they have to decide what to do about the men who have been drugging and raping women and the men who are supporting rapists. 

I won’t speak it for you. You will have to listen to it for yourself, but I will endorse it heartily and say that you should not speak about women of faith unless you do. There is a lot to be heard.

It is probably ironic that as much as I loved all of these strong female characters my favorite is August who takes the minutes because the women cannot read or write. His compassion, decency, restraint, and honesty keep the film from becoming a rant on all men. To know an August is something special.

A Right not a Perk

 I joined Planet Fitness, and I am rapidly rediscovering the joys of working out. A lack of time and or money has always made my connection with organized exercise tenuous at best. At ten dollars a month and with all but one of my kids in adulthood I can foresee a long and sweaty relationship with the gym. 

Everyone should be able to go to the gym or whatever floats their boat. Health insurance should list gym membership as the first benefit to policy holders. Husbands should insure that wives can get out of the house long enough to work out. It shouldn’t be as hard as it is to get something so beneficial. 

Angie, Re-homer of Furniture and Bunnies

 One of my three favorites from Nova Scotia, Angie does beautiful things with junk furniture. She creatively repairs and refinishes each piece until they shine. Her modus operandi is to keep old furniture out of the dump. I don’t generally like painting furniture, though I know it can be really stunning. Angie uses her tattoo skills to make some very artistic and unique pieces. Add in the rescued bunnies and Nacho footage, and this is a very soft, watchable channel. She hasn’t made something I don’t like yet.

Cuddly Jesus!

 Why didn’t they have these when I was little? They probably thought I’d commit idolatry or something. My Jimmy had a baby Jesus he was fond of snuggling as a small person, but this grown up version takes it one step further.

“Let the little children come unto me.” When I think of all my little whispered prayers, how sweet it would have been to have Jesus right there in the crook of my arm. Of course he was always there, but I’m one to embrace the aids to faith. 

Power

Rape was something we weren’t to talk about or to know. Sex in general was treated in a surface manner. Basically be a virgin on your wedding night and you will live happily ever after. The nitty gritty of all of this we weren’t supposed to know. We were taught that men were superior to us and long as we dressed modestly and kept a reasonable distance then all would be well. And it wasn’t. I never found the happy balance that led to the magical world of righteous matrimony. I lurched from one end of the spectrum to the other all the while expecting “good” men to be something men aren’t.

The aftermath of rape as a plot has seldom crossed my reading desk. I spend too much time on “men’s books” trying to understand the mystery of male selfishness without facing the whole rape thing head on. I’m sure it is a great body of literature, but I have had other priorities. I know a little about the African Queen who gave the Portuguese hell, so I was excited to see the rebellion of slaves, and the power of a woman. What I was not expecting was the frank, emotional, freeing story of Nanisca and her struggles after being raped. The most powerful person in the room was the one who had been most fucked. The courage of Viola Davis in her portrayal of Nanisca allows us to see both the broken woman and the amazing life she made out of the brokenness. It is the great kindness of the writer to restore her daughter to her, when she was ready. It is another beautifully ugly woman movie. I dearly loved it.

Book of the Month

 

I have a plan to read assigned books each month. Last month was Archaeology of Knowledge. This month a love story seemed appropriate, so I chose Joy, Poet, Seeker, and Woman Who Captivated C.S. Lewis, by Abigail Santamaria. I read a biography of Joy in my teens and found it lacking in real information. This book is better than that. Joy’s life is fully fleshed out starting in her teens. The voice of the biographer is a pained kind of neutral that seldom sympathizes with her subject. It is impressive that Santamaria wrote such a good book without enthusiasm. I would say perhaps it is because she wrote without judgement, but she does judge, a lot. 

I liked Joy in spite of her biographer. Living in a time when brilliance in women was at best tolerated she tried to keep herself going while heroically saving Bill Gresham the burden of being a house dad even though they were both Communists at the time. I liked her poetry and would like to read more of it. I liked how scrappy she was. I liked her enough to wonder if she would have liked me.