"A lot of people really like him, so you’ll have a lot of people going, 'This is really cool.' And then you’ll have some people that’ll be like, 'What the fuck is he doing here?'"

"But hopefully the people who say, 'What the fuck is he doing,' when they realize why he’s here they’ll give him a second chance."

Said the producer of Kevin Spacey's new film, quoted in "Kevin Spacey to Make Surprise Appearance in Cannes to Accept a Lifetime Achievement Award" (Variety).

For the annals of Things I Asked Grok: "Tell me about the idea of a 'second chance.'"

From Grok's answer: "Christianity... emphasizes redemption through forgiveness, like the parable of the Prodigal Son. In Buddhism, the cycle of rebirth offers chances to correct past karma.... In stories, the 'second chance' trope is a classic—think redemption arcs in movies where the villain turns hero or the underdog gets a shot at glory. It’s compelling because it mirrors real-life struggles and the hope for a do-over."

In some of those second-chance stories, the second-chance getter goes on to do good things — Jean Valjean, Scrooge, etc. — but in other second-chance stories...

"After college, [Eboni] Thompson started annotating because she missed the feeling of analyzing texts and taking notes."

"One day, she went to the bookstore and bought 'Sense and Sensibility,' by Jane Austen, and as she started reading, she realized how much she wanted to remember about the book after she was finished. 'It wasn’t as intense or as thorough as I do now,' she said of her early annotations. 'It was mostly just little quotes here and there, maybe a word I had never known before, a star next to it, or an idea that I was like, "Oh, I want to come back to that."' Thompson began chronicling her annotations on Instagram and TikTok.... Thompson... recently finished reading and annotating 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame,' a book she said she was glad she read carefully. Annotating slows down her reading process, but the output is worth it.... Annotating feels a bit like homework — an assignment you give yourself that allows you to use special pens and highlighters, colored sticky notes and whatever squiggles and doodles you desire. Maybe it’s not scholarship in the traditional sense, but it’s studious, nonetheless."

From "On Instagram and TikTok, annotating books is an art/A historically academic pursuit is attracting hobbyists who delight in marginalia" by Hope Corrigan (in WaPo).

The first post ever on this blog was about marginalia, and for a day "Marginalia" was the name of the blog. And as for "'Sense and Sensibility,' by Jane Austen," I can't read that phrase without recalling this line from my all-time favorite movie, "My Dinner with André": "I mean there must have been periods when in order to give people a strong or meaningful experience, you wouldn't actually have to take them to Everest.... I mean, there was a time when you could have just, for instance, written — I don't know — 'Sense and Sensibility,' by Jane Austen...."

"For as long as there have been stages and screens, disability and disfigurement have been used as visual shorthand for evildoing..."

"... a nod to the audience that a character was a baddie to be feared. But disability rights advocates say this amounts not just to lazy storytelling but stereotyping, further marginalizing an already stigmatized community that is rarely represented onscreen." 

From "Scary Is How You Act, Not Look, Disability Advocates Tell Filmmakers 'The Witches,' a film in which Anne Hathaway’s character has disfigured hands, has resurfaced the debate over depicting evil as disabled" (NYT). 

Other examples given in the article: "The Joker. Lord Voldemort. All manner of scarred Bond villains and superhero antagonists. Dr. Poison. Freddy Krueger. The Phantom of the Opera. Shakespeare’s hunchbacked, butcherous Richard the Third." 

Yes, but — speaking of hunchbacks — the greatest disabled literary and movie character is a hero, "The Hunchback of Notre Dame":

 

Here's Anne Hathaway's apology:

"It is already evident that Trump, who can no longer run for reëlection trumpeting economic achievement, will likely pivot and campaign, like George Wallace and Richard Nixon, in 1968..."

"... on 'law and order': his own autocratic, self-serving version of law and order.... He encourages armed protesters in Michigan who stormed the statehouse because the governor had the temerity to shut down non-essential businesses and require people to wear masks in public. He hints, via Twitter, that his maga supporters should come out on the streets. Four years ago, Trump raised fear in the country by portraying a dystopian world of 'American carnage,' even as crime had been declining for years. Division is his talent. Who, really, is the agitator here?... Urban riots, [Martin Luther King, Jr.] said, using the language of the day, 'may be deplored, but . . . they are not insurrections. The rioters are not seeking to seize territory or to attain control of institutions. They are mainly intended to shock the white community. They are a distorted form of social protest.' Even looting, he insisted, is an act of catharsis, a form of 'shocking' the white community 'by abusing property rights.' Then King quoted Victor Hugo to deepen his point: 'If a soul is left in the darkness, sins will be committed. The guilty one is not he who commits the sin, but he who causes the darkness.'"

Writes David Remnick in "An American Uprising/Who, really, is the agitator here?" (The New Yorker).

There's a lot to talk about there, but let me highlight one thing: Why did Remnick specify that MLK was "using the language of the day"? What is that supposed to mean? Anyone speaking is probably "using the language of the day." One might, alternatively, have your own idiosyncratic style of speech or adopt an old-fashioned form of expression or be on the cutting edge of some emerging new way of speaking. If anything, MLK deployed an old-fashioned form of expression: Biblical. But it's strange to qualify the statement you're about to quote by telling readers it was "the language of the day."

I sift through the quote looking for what could have prompted this speed bump on the way to the big quote Remnick wanted to deliver. Is it something about "deplored"? It catches our attention, perhaps, because Hillary Clinton hurt herself badly by calling various people "deplorable," but MLK didn't call people deplorable. He called the riots deplorable ("may be deplored"). Is it "insurrections"? Is it "rioters"? It seems that Remnick wants to defend MLK over something that will strike readers today as wrong, but I don't know what it is.

There's much more that can be said about the MLK quote and how it can apply today. Is the "white community" supposed to absorb the looting as an educational shock to complacent love of our property rights? Note that "white community" and "catharsis" are paraphrasing by Remnick and not part of the "language of the day" used by King. Here's the verbatim quote by King:

“Urban riots are a special form of violence. They are not insurrections. The rioters are not seeking to seize territory or to attain control of institutions. They are mainly intended to shock the white community. They are a distorted form of social protest. The looting which is their principal feature serves many functions. It enables the most enraged and deprived Negro to take hold of consumer goods with the ease the white man does by using his purse. Often the Negro does not even want what he takes; he wants the experience of taking.”

If the verbatim quote had been used, the qualifier "using the language of the day" would have easily been understood as an explanation for King's use of the word "Negro." Perhaps some editor cut up the quote and used paraphrase to protect New Yorker readers King's word "Negro" and then failed to take out the other protection, the qualifier "using the language of the day," stranding that phrase where it did not belong.

"Why are adults going to so many superhero movies? How could they possibly hold your interest? I’m genuinely mystified by this aspect of our culture."

I wrote, in last night's café. I got some answers:

1. "Do you read Homer? 'Cause, maybe it ain't Shakespeare, but it *is* Homer" (Unknown).

2. "It's a mythos of sorts, if we wanted to get all sophisticated Joseph Campbell and the hero's journey, what makes a hero — are they born or just rise to the occasion?" (narciso, with typos corrected).

3. "Ann, the reason is people are more [unintelligent] than they were in times past" (wild chicken, with rude term censored).

4. "Dreams of our youth. The military adventure, the hot girl who finally agreed to a date, the university for finding answers, hitchhiking across the country, getting into a fist fight, making money, all ended in disappointment. Why the hell does anyone go to [a movie], especially romantic movies? An escape from the disappointment with our dreams" (Limited Perspective).

5. "My best guess is that Robert Downey Junior, who riffs on the tough [sci]-fi actors of the 60s, and the other highly paid actors who portray silly superheroes, are to the 2010s what Dylan, who riffed on the tough Delta Basin singers of the 30s, was to the 1960s. When a trained actor like Downey filters an older art form, to the kids who are watching, that is ancestor worship. They don't know they are getting something that is not quite the original. They are impressed by the backstory. (Tolkien pulled this trick in the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings, in a different way - making you think that there was some great archetypal background to a story about a bunch of simple little Victorian hobbits running around a landscape, seeking to do good and defeat evil). I think that the superhero movies mostly sell to people in their 30s and below, which makes sense - not that they are kids, but compared to someone like Downey, who was an adult in the early 1980s, when all sorts of great actors and actresses, now long gone, were still alive --- well, they (people in their 30s) actually are kids, more or less. Hence, while 'Ironman' may be a joke to me, someone who is older than Downey, to them it is something like art. Also who does not like to eat movie theater popcorn and drink huge sodas?" (Anonymous).

6. "There is a (Super-Hero) shaped vacuum in the heart of every man which cannot be filled by any created thing, but only by God, the Creator, made known through Jesus" (Ingachuck'stoothlessARM).

7. "I’m with Althouse, I don’t understand the appeal of these superhero movies either. Wife and I just finished binge watching 'Les Miserables' on PBS app and it was wonderful, great performances by Dominic Wast and Lily Collins, and perfect sets and costumes. You would literally think you were in 1830s France. Now watching season 5 of 'Bosch' on Amazon. Nothing in theaters as good as these shows" (MountainMan).

8. "I wholeheartedly agree. 47 years ago, I devoured all the Marvel comic books (cost .20/each), learned how to read and loved them all (Silver Surfer, The Hulk, Iron Man, Captain America, et seq.) As an adult nearly 50 years later, watch these loud ass movies with teens at some multiplex? Bah" (Bay Area Guy).

9. "Some of the appeal has to be in the archetypes. Hulk is a comic representation of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, for example ... and that story is about the duality of man. Civilization vs. barbarism. Jordan Peterson has a lot to say about archetypes in storytelling, and why they resonate so strongly with us" (Pianoman).

10. "For many of us, we grew up reading about these characters, and still love them. For others it the attraction is the story, a story as old as man himself...good guys versus bad guys and the good guys win. How could they possibly hold your interest? The same way women are fascinated by Harlequin romances and Fifty Shades of Grey. Who wouldn't want to be Tony Stark...rich, witty, super-smart and attractive to women. Or Captain America? Or Thor? The women in this universe are all smart, successful and heroic too. I’m genuinely mystified by this aspect of our culture. Don't look now, but your elitism is showing. At least you didn't call it deplorable" (Gahrie).

I'll go to 11 for Ice Nine: "Jeez, Ann, duh! Big explosions, and awesome car chases and crashes, and super cool magic flying guys, and hot shit outfits, and really easy to follow plots, and...Oh, you said 'adults' didn't you. Sorry."

Erstwhile idiot becomes genius.

I just ran across this cartoon from the March 19, 1949 issue of The New Yorker:



That caption is: "Wouldn't you think they'd have a place for withdrawals, too?"

At the time, she was laughed at as a fool, but from our point of view, she's envisioning the ATM machine. Genius!

Why am I reading the March 19, 1949 issue of The New Yorker?, you ask.

I wanted to see the old J.D. Salinger story "The Laughing Man," because I was talking about it in the comments to yesterday's post, "With a gun against my belly, I always smile." That post was about the criticism of the Covington Catholic schoolboy's smile, which was not a natural smile, but a forced smile, and I had got to thinking about our sensitivity to smiles that don't arise out of relaxed happiness.

That moved the commenter Nonapod to say, "One of the more tragic smiles is from the silent film 'The Man Who Laughs'" and to link to this:



I said:

Thanks, Nonapod. I had never seen that before. Fantastically melodramatic and completely effective.

It made me think of the J.D. Salinger story "The Laughing Man," and I see from Wikipedia:

"The Laughing Man" is a short story by J. D. Salinger, published originally in The New Yorker on March 19, 1949; and also in Salinger’s short story collection Nine Stories. It largely takes the structure of a story within a story and is thematically occupied with the relationship between narrative and narrator, and the end of youth. The story is inspired by the Victor Hugo novel of the same name: The Man Who Laughs (L'homme qui rit)."

From Salinger's story (click to enlarge and clarify):

 

In Hugo's story...

In late 17th-century England, a homeless boy named Gwynplaine rescues an infant girl during a snowstorm, her mother having frozen to death whilst feeding her. They meet an itinerant carnival vendor who calls himself Ursus, and his pet wolf, Homo. Gwynplaine's mouth has been mutilated into a perpetual grin; Ursus is initially horrified, then moved to pity, and he takes them in. Fifteen years later, Gwynplaine has grown into a strong young man, attractive except for his distorted visage. The girl, now named Dea, is blind, and has grown into a beautiful and innocent young woman. By touching his face, Dea concludes that Gwynplaine is perpetually happy. They fall in love. Ursus and his surrogate children earn a meagre living in the fairs of southern England. Gwynplaine keeps the lower half of his face concealed. In each town, Gwynplaine gives a stage performance in which the crowds are provoked to laughter when Gwynplaine reveals his grotesque face....

Since I'm talking about the Catholic schoolboy's face again and looking into literature, I wanted to link to my son John's blog post, "Why are adults freaking out about a smiling kid?" which begins:

In the novel 1984, George Orwell wrote about a dystopian future where “to wear an improper expression on your face (to look incredulous when a victory was announced, for instance) was itself a punishable offense.” It was called a "facecrime."

From "1984":

It was terribly dangerous to let your thoughts wander when you were in any public place or within range of a telescreen. The smallest thing could give you away. A nervous tic, an unconscious look of anxiety, a habit of muttering to yourself—anything that carried with it the suggestion of abnormality, of having something to hide. In any case, to wear an improper expression on your face (to look incredulous when a victory was announced, for example) was itself a punishable offense. There was even a word for it in Newspeak: facecrime, it was called. The girl had turned her back on him again.

"Both campaigns live in fear of one thing: the last seven days of the election being a referendum on why they stink. "

Said Mike Murphy (the Republican strategist) on "Meet the Press" today.

And the NPR host Audie Cornish chimed in:

I think for that last few months, we've learned that any time one of them is under the spotlight, they get roughed up in the polls. They don't look good. There's never a time they're in the spotlight and people say, "Gee, I think I like that person after all."

It made me think of the line from "The Hunchback of Notre Dame": "I frighten you. I am very ugly, am I not? Do not look at me..."

50 years ago today: the Vatican abolished its List of Prohibited Books.

"The 20th and final edition appeared in 1948, and the Index [Librorum Prohibitorum] was formally abolished on 14 June 1966 by Pope Paul VI...."

The aim of the list was to protect the faith and morals of the faithful by preventing the reading of heretical and immoral books....

The Index included a number of authors and intellectuals whose works are widely read today in most leading universities and are now considered as the foundations of science, e.g. Kepler's New Astronomy, his Epitome of Copernican Astronomy, and his World Harmony were quickly placed on the Index after their publication. Other noteworthy intellectual figures on the Index include Jean-Paul Sartre, Montaigne, Voltaire, Denis Diderot, Victor Hugo, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, André Gide, Emanuel Swedenborg, Baruch Spinoza, Immanuel Kant, David Hume, René Descartes, Francis Bacon, Thomas Browne, John Milton, John Locke, Nicolaus Copernicus, Galileo Galilei, Blaise Pascal, and Hugo Grotius. Charles Darwin's works were never included.

More of the list here, along with some discussion of what was not included:

Not on the Index were Aristophanes, Juvenal, John Cleland, James Joyce and D. H. Lawrence. According to Wallace et al., this was because the primary criterion for banning the work was anticlericalism, blasphemy and heresy.

"I think the books I read as a child made me want to write..."

E.L. Doctorow says, giving a quick list of things makes me feel this is exactly what a kid should read... for starters:

Stevenson’s “Treasure Island” and “Kidnapped”; C. S. Lewis’s “Out of the Silent Planet” and “Perelandra”; Mark Twain’s boy books, and his “Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court”; Jack London’s “Call of the Wild” and “White Fang”; Dickens’s “David Copperfield,”  “Great Expectations” and “A Tale of Two Cities”; Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories; Victor Hugo’s “Hunchback of Notre Dame” and “Les Misérables.” Poe’s detective and horror stories; the Horatio Hornblower sea novels of C. S. Forester; all the “Oz” books; and in middle school, “Mario and the Magician,” by Thomas Mann, and Kafka’s “Metamorphosis.” For starters.

Could they package these all in one nice ebook anthology?

A life made out of reading.

From an early obituary for Susan Sontag, who has just died of leukemia:

Sontag was reading by 3. In her teens, her passions were Gerard Manley Hopkins and Djuna Barnes. The first book that thrilled her was "Madame Curie," which she read when she was 6. She was stirred by the travel books of Richard Halliburton and the Classic Comics rendition of Shakespeare’s "Hamlet." The first novel that affected her was Victor Hugo’s "Les Miserables."

"I sobbed and wailed and thought [books] were the greatest things," she recalled. "I discovered a lot of writers in the Modern Library editions, which were sold in a Hallmark card store, and I used up my allowance and would buy them all."

She remembered as a girl of 8 or 9 lying in bed looking at her bookcase against the wall. "It was like looking at my 50 friends. A book was like stepping through a mirror. I could go somewhere else. Each one was a door to a whole kingdom."

Edgar Allan Poe’s stories enthralled her with their "mixture of speculativeness, fantasy and gloominess." Upon reading Jack London’s "Martin Eden," she determined she would become a writer. "I got through my childhood," she told the Paris Review, "in a delirium of literary exaltations."

At 14, Sontag read Thomas Mann’s masterpiece, "The Magic Mountain." "I read it through almost at a run. After finishing the last page, I was so reluctant to be separated from the book that I started back at the beginning and, to hold myself to the pace the book merited, reread it aloud, a chapter each night."

Sontag began to frequent the Pickwick bookstore on Hollywood Boulevard, where she went "every few days after school to read on my feet through some more of world literature — buying when I could, stealing when I dared."

I have never heard of anyone loving reading that much. Say what you will about Sontag and her various political ravings, the woman did truly love reading.