The Philosopher

This is the first of what surely will be several LOST-related posts in the near future. So, sorry to those who may feel marooned by such trivial talk.

Pops' last post delved into the underlying religious (mostly Christian) themology that informs much of the first season, specifically the idea of redemption and John Locke's role in that metaphysical mix.

As I briefly addressed in a post from my early LOSTie days, the first season contains much unmistakable and familiar Christian themology in some episodes (The Moth is a particularly clear example.) I originally found such reliance on overwrought literary technique a little annoying, though certainly not unbearable. Upon rewatching, it seems even less annoying, with the foreknowledge about how the concept of spirituality is addressed with increasing sophistication as the show moves through more seasons. Undoubtedly, one of the central figures in driving the spiritual element of the show is John Locke (Man of Faith, see season 2 episode 1).

This is just one reason why I find Locke to be one of, if not my number one, favorite character. I suppose I must explain my rationale for judging characters in the context of the show. For starters, I think how we view characters on the island is determined by both their actions on the island and what we learn about them from their respective flashbacks. Both parts must be there, though I'm not sure which aspect is more important.

Locke is awesome on both accounts. He is shrouded in duality, which in a show similarly shrouded in duality, makes him particularly compelling. From his earliest appearances, he is shown to symbolize two-sided conflict, and the difference between his off- and on-island selves adds to his mystique. In "Pilot, Part 2," the writers immediately establish Locke's duality, in his scene explaining to Walt under the auspices of backgammon that "There are two players. One side is light, and one side is dark." As we see throughout the series, the black vs. white motif is prevalent. The scar over his right eye is also a clear symbol of his dual nature.

He soon establishes his value and badass-ness on the island. He displays unshakable confidence and calm under the most harrowing of circumstances, a quality which I find among the greatest of humanity, both in fiction and real life. This places him in a role of quiet leadership, apart from both the panicky state of the other survivors and from Jack's frenetic drive to fix everything around him. An interesting sight-symbol I picked up on upon second viewing was the juxtaposition of he and Shannon in the crash scene. Shannon, a healthy and normal girl, stands, paralyzed by fear, whereas Locke, who only minutes early was actually paralyzed, is level-headed and almost immediately at peace with his earth- and life-shattering surroundings.

Though many dwell on his seeming awkwardness around the other survivors, I tend to see his actions toward them as, generally, magnanimous. He hunts and finds food for them. He makes Claire a cradle for her baby. He helps Charlie kick his heroin habit. He helps Walt and Michael find common ground, and he nourishes what he sees as Walt's 'special' abilities. He takes Boone under his wing when Boone is seen by most of the others as childish. Of course, he also clubs Sayid over the head, ruining what at that point seems like their best shot at rescue, and is unafraid to quibble with the other de-facto leader, Jack. He is dual to the core.

Off-island, Locke's backstory is so compelling because it is filled with emotional humanity and also because his old self stands in such distinct opposition to his on-island self. He fully takes advantage of the "Tabula Rasa" the island affords him.

It is no coincidence, I think, that the writers gave him one of the earliest flashback episodes, including one of the earliest and biggest revelations, or "holy-s***" moments, in the fourth episode, "Walkabout." The episode is still one of my favorites. It establishes the pathetic nature of his life, showing him being berated by his loser boss, Randy, at his loser job, filing TPS reports at a box company. He also is shown arguing on the phone with a woman, who is presumably an adult phone line operator, and we get the impression as he sits in his dingy apartment, that she is one of his few social contacts. Of course, the big reveal is when he is in Australia, at the Walkabout company, and shown to be wheelchair-bound.

As we learn even more about him, (see episodes 1.19, "Deus Ex Machina"; 2.17, "Lockdown"; 3.3, "Further Instructions") we see that his life off-island appears to be little more than a series of tragedies, with Locke being manipulated again and again by others for whom he feels love, admiration or sympathy. Almost as if his sole purpose in life is merely to serve as a pawn in some cosmic chess match.

All in all, the greatest judgment of a man is how he is viewed by and interacts with his fellow man. Off-island, he is tragic, pathetic, needy, dependent upon others to fill the emotional void in his life. Post-crash he is self-assured, spiritually and physically renewed, a leader of others, a divine creature.

In the words of John Donne, "no man is an island, entire of itself." But when self and island converge, the result can be magical.

**Image from wikipedia: John Locke, Philosopher.

Alpha and Arizona

I have made what I think to be a major, two-part, breakthrough in understanding LOST and one of its most important and mysterious figures. It is not necessarily a fully developed theory, but I think most will agree it is almost certainly a major corollary to the philo-mythological arc of the show. WARNING: This should only be read after viewing the entirety of season 5. I've put my thoughts online in .doc form here. You must wait about 5 seconds, then a blue link will appear that says "Proceed to File Download Page." Click it, then click the "Download file" button to see it.

UPDATE (3:39): This link is apparently non-functional now. I will try to do some fixing.

UPDATE (5:14): Try it now.

What a Dump

I just now got the chance to upload some of the photos I had on my phone. I'll display them on this post for you all to see, subjects varying. Let's begin with

Culinary Adventures

Baked Rotini and Cheese

Strawberry-Apple Tart (whole)

Strawberry-Apple Tart (piece, with vanilla-pomegranate swirl frozen yogurt)

PetSmart Kittums

Curious Kittum

Coy Kittum

Careful Kittum

Comforting Kittum

Hugs

Ron and Colleen (how are these two not an item, seriously?)

You can tell she loves this

Welcome Back

Rachael's window, mysteriously broken upon return from lunch

Please leave any questions/comments about the pics in the comments section.

Fat Day

Good Day to all, especially to all fathers. It's about 2 in the afternoon here, and I'm sure we've all sent, said or otherwise expressed our Father's Day greetings to those who have rightfully earned them. I chose an e-card with a clever animation spelling out words on a crossword puzzle. I thought it awfully appropriate for Pops Armstrong, an avid puzzle-wiz.

Also, not necessarily in recognition of anything, other than the fact that I had about a half pound of strawberries in my fridge getting ready to turn, I decided to make an experimental strawberry-apple tart. I pulled a quick and easy (though still messy) tart dough recipe off the web and improvised a filling of said strawberries and the only other type of fruit I had on hand, apples. The baking is done. I have not tasted it yet, so I cannot tell you if it succeeded in execution. But I can tell you the oven succeeded in heating my apartment up to an unbearable temperature.

To aid in the concluding of my first issue and to temporarily escape the other, I decided to head to the grocery store to pick up some vanilla ice cream to go on top of the tart (I took a picture of the tart on my phone but have not uploaded it to my PC yet. Perhaps, if I remember, I will later.) It was on the drive home from the store that I saw a greeting on a familiar chain restaurant's sign that would put to shame any words I could write or say to honor the fathers on their day, promising more than even my tasty tart could deliver.

The sign outside of Golden Corral, you see, was missing half its lights, burnt out. What I presume the intended message was supposed to read was: "Father's Day Endless Buffet."

What it did say was: "Fat Day End Buff."

They apparently are offering an all-day gorge-a-thon for all the hard-working fathers out there, while promising that all said eaters will end the period in fantastic physical shape. A perfect gift. Sorry we're not closer together, Pops, I'd like to challenge their claim.

The Literature of LOST

Even though my previous literature-themed post has proven powerless in prompting proper repartee, I'll follow it up with another. It really combines two of my more enjoyable topics to post about, literature and LOST. This show, more than any other I've watched, weaves together not only a brilliant independent storyline but also deft symbolism, allusion and straight intertextuality with lots of different works form the literary canon. The Simpsons has traditionally done of good job in referencing (or parodying) specific works over the arc of an episode, but that is clearly more of a cartoon-sitcom than a series with any kind of overarching storyline.

Among the more recognizable works clearly alluded to (and noted by lostpedia) are Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Stephen King's Dark Tower series, Lord of the Flies, Dickens' Our Mutual Friend, Slaughterhouse-Five, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, the Bible (of course) and numerous others that lend smaller bits of themology to specific episodes via episode titles (Through the Looking Glass, Catch-22, A Tale of Two Cities) or through characters being shown reading them (Carrie, The Brothers Karazamov, Watership Down).

A thorough analysis of how each of these titles fits into the larger literary world of LOST is more like the stuff of a master's thesis (one I wouldn't mind trying to use), but this post on a more superficial level will examine just a few of them.

As you know from previous posts, I've read several of the aforementioned titles, so I'll focus mostly on those, trying to do so without spoiling any future episodes for those who haven't gotten that far into the series yet.

The most obvious intertextual partner, even to people who've never seen an episode of LOST, would be Lord of the Flies. I think it's impossible for anyone to produce of creative work about castaways without at least some surface-level references to William Golding's masterwork. It is iconic, ubiquitous, plainly clear and, clearly, plainly good. Elements of the series evident even from the earliest episodes echo LOTF--the mysterious and unseen "monster" and Sawyer's references to going "Lord of the Flies" or "wild" in comparison to Jack's urges to create a peaceful society among the survivors, and rampant wild boars. LOST's storycrafters, though, have done a good job of resisting the urge to make mere, clear correlations in their references. For instance, Locke exhibits characteristics of LOTF's Jack--enjoyment and skill at hunting, a hinted-at dark side that could burst at any time (see backgammon pieces, eye scar), and later leading a rift in the group and crating a separate camp, yet also shares many traits with LOTF's Simon--an innate, peaceful connection with the island, pseudo-divinity, a secret retreat on the island away from others (the hatch). Jack Shepard shares his first name with LOTF's resident representative of the id, but exhibits more similarities with Golding's Ralph, the do-gooder, de-facto leader who wishes to keep the group together under the auspices of civility. Even Sam'n'Eric, the virtually identity-less twins of LOTF are hinted at in the ambiguous duo of Scott and Steve on LOST. The parallels of themes of technology and society and the human psyche are more complex and deeper.

Sticking with a time span of only the early part of the first season to avoid spoilers, the other clear partner so far is Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Casually, the entire experience of coming, or being transported in some way, to the mysterious, physics-defying and magical island parallels Alice's entering her fantastic world. Season 1's fifth episode is titled "White Rabbit," a clear reference to the animal that Alice Follows at the onset down the hole to enter Wonderland. In LOST's case, the clearest parallel is the appearance of dead (undead? reanimated? hallucination?) Christian Shepard, Jack's father, on the island whom Jack chases, eventually, to the caves. It is there that Jack wishes to make a new camp, for its shelter and fresh water supply.

Past that, it will be difficult to discuss much more without getting into spoiler territory. So, for those of you watching or re-watching episodes, please note on this blog or blogs of your own any literary points that strike you throughout the course of the show. I could talk (or write) about this stuff all day. If only there had been a "Literature of LOST" course while I was in college...

Image from wikipedia.

Fighting Words

In the past few months I've been trying to catch up on my reading of the "classics" of American literature. I've found that once people learn you majored in English, you often are expected to be well-versed in all such works. Unfortunately, in my case, I was a fairly disingenuous English major (I like to emphasize the '-writing' part of my English-writing degree, as I generally shunned the traditional American canon--and that of Europe, Asia, Africa or anywhere else, for that matter). In truth, the zenith of my belletristic consumption during those years lay somewhere between back copies of Sports Illustrated and copy from the back of my cereal boxes.

I generally avoided the likes of Baldwin, Steinbeck, Mailer and Whitman, except, of course, in those instances when I was without other recourse (such as my senior seminar that focused solely on the works of only one writer -- Emily Dickinson). To the surprise of some, I received exemplary grades in my literature courses. However, to the surprise of few, such achievement has thus far been of little value in the job market. (That includes my experiences applying to work, in part, for the Emily Dickinson museum and another job for which I interviewed with a hiring manager who wrote her senior thesis on the Nun of Amherst.)

There was one class I particularly enjoyed, ironically titled "Classic Fiction." We took on works such as Lolita, Slaughterhouse-Five and Lord of the Flies. But certainly outside of class, my literary intake was limited.

But now, while I have an abundant amount of free time, a shelf full of unread books and an inkling that pursuing graduate school may linger in my near future, I have decided having a slightly deeper reading repertoire may not be such a bad idea after all.

I started a few months ago with the granddaddy of all American literature, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. As for a review, I agree largely with Hemingway's assessment of the book, though I don't think it's THE best (but as for what is better, I'm not sure):

All modern American literature comes from one book by Mark Twain called 'Huckleberry Finn.' If you read it you must stop where the N***** Jim is stolen from the boys. That is the real end. The rest is just cheating. But it's the best book we've had. All American writing comes from that. There was nothing before. There has been nothing as good since.

Next I worked through most of an old anthology of short stories from Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Thurber, Barthelme and the like. I liked some of it. Mostly the wittier ones. After that, I delved for the third or fourth time into Catch-22, and this time I did manage to finish it. The first chapter is, unfortunately, a bit like finding the pot of gold before seeing the rainbow. I think that is what thwarted my prior attempts--I was absorbed at the beginning only to have the war-story fold in on itself so many times over its 400-plus pages I just couldn't stomach it. Heller's wordplay, which proves at the onset playful and bouncy, soon becomes tiresome and flat. But over a few weeks, I made my way through it and found the last hundred pages or so, when the storyline begins to move forward again, quite enjoyable.

After that, I took a break from war-torn and forlorn fiction and took up a piece of modern non-fiction, Jon Krakauer's Into Thin Air. A shorter and sparser work, I devoured it in about three days. It chronicles the tragedy that killed more than a dozen people on Mount Everest in 1996. Not exactly light subject matter, but it was told compellingly, and at least the subject was people who put themselves in grave danger by choice, not by draft, as was the case in Heller's work. It is probably the best non-fiction book I've read.

But now, alas, I've been deployed again to wartime writing. I'm about a quarter of the way through Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms, not enough yet to form a real opinion of the story. I'm torn over his writing style. I tend to have a preference for authors who previously worked as journalists, such as Hemingway, Vonnegut, David Halberstam and Mitch Albom. Their literature tends to reflect their news training, with generally simple sentence structure and brevity, yet great aptitude for describing setting and building character, presumably honed by having to make the printed word compelling on newsprint in a limited number of column inches. However, Hemingway's is almost so devoid of any unnecessary words that it is at times halting and less than reader-friendly. We'll see, though.

The original point of this post, actually, was to discuss the large volume of war literature that has become regarded as classic. I suppose, in short, that's due to the range of human emotion felt during war by so many different parties. But that will have to suffice, because I've already written some 800 words and buried the lead. And that doesn't fly in the blogosphere.

*Image from wikipedia.*

Trouble

Thanks to the relative success of a previous music-related post of mine, I have decided to again attempt to arouse some discussion by discussing a 60's era pop-folk singer. Yusuf, aka Yusuf Islam, aka Cat Stevens, aka Steven Demetre Georgiou, as mentioned in the previous post, is one of the more frequently appearing artists on my pandora radio station. Several months ago, I heard for the first of many times on my station Stevens' masterwork "Trouble."

I call this song a masterwork because, aside from its undeniably solid musicality, it grippingly tells Stevens' own personal story of nearly defeated agony, giving a completely transparent view of his feelings at that time. Stevens wrote the song at the age of 19, during a period of nearly a year of mostly bed-ridden recovery from tuberculosis and a collapsed lung. Addressing Trouble (interpreted by many as death) directly, Stevens virtually begs to be left alone after all he has been through: (see full lyrics here)

Trouble
Oh trouble set me free
I have seen your face
And it's too much too much for me

Trouble
Oh trouble can't you see
You're eating my heart away
And there's nothing much left of me

Musically unadorned, featuring mostly Stevens alone on acoustic guitar, songs from this period mark a musical and spiritual transformation for him, from highly orchestrated pop and pop star lifestyle to a more introspective folk style and life focused more on spirituality, including taking up meditation, yoga and vegetarianism.

Its simplicity, clarity and atmospheric style have made it a popular choice for inclusion on movie and TV soundtracks. It was most memorably featured in the 1970 classic black comedy Harold and Maude, during the scene of Maude's impending death. It also was featured on ER and the pilot episode of JJ Abrams' Alias, in a flashback sequence showing Sydney Bristow's ill-fated recruitment into the evil SD-6 program.

The song also has been covered by several artists, most notably by the tragic late-90s folkster Elliott Smith and Pearl Jam frontman Eddie Vedder, who often performs the song at PJ's live shows.

I encourage you to listen to Steven's original version as well as Smith's and Vedder's covers, and comment about the merits of each. I must say, Stevens' takes the cake for me, though this is one of the instances I feel Vedder's throaty howl adds to a performance rather than detracting from it.

Thence, I would also recommend giving a listen to two other songs titled "Trouble" which are not covers--Ray LaMontagne's more upbeat 2004 title track and Coldplay's 2000 piano ballad. Interesting tangents on a similar idea all.

Image credit http://musakazhim.files.wordpress.com/2009/02/yusuf-islam.jpg