The Season For Reading

Freddie de Boer has launched a book club blog – the subject is Umberto Eco's 1980 novel In The Name Of The Rose. Freddie is hoping to have participants start reading on December 7th:

[T]his is a book, I've always thought, to be read in winter. Not merely because it takes place in the winter, and not merely because the image that persists in my mind is that of a hay-strewn abbey, warmed by torchlight and ringed with snow. Winter is a season for reading, for turning inwards, into interior warmth. I mean this in the simplest sense and less speakable ones as well. It's cold out, in winter, and to curl up with a book in the light of a fire in your own hearth is wonderful. Internally, too, it's often necessary to turn inward to artificial heat and light. And the best reading for those times, I think, is reading that is intricate and varied and rewarding and, yes, labyrinthine. The Name of the Rose is a book that you can retreat into, deep for a deep winter.

Did McCain Change?

Ta-Nehisi asks:

There's some sense that the press, in 2000, was basically hoodwinked by McCain. I'm sympathetic to that argument, and basically agreed with it, until I read this. I don't know Jim to be the sort to be taken in by press access and banter, so I am tempted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Still, I'd like to hear more about the 1980s McCain that Jim is referencing. I don't know much about McCain during those years–except that he opposed the MLK holiday.

Cigarettes Will Go The Way Of Spitoons?

Anna Blundy interviews P J O’Rourke. One of her questions prompts a rant on government interference:

My grandmother was able to keep people from smoking indoors with one cold stare. Why would laws and parliaments and police powers and courts and all sorts of annoying and ugly signs everywhere be necessary? All this expense and exercise of power of one group of people over another – why is all this needed to achieve what my grandmother could achieve with one cold stare?

He offers the counterexample of spittons:

[U]p until some time in the 1920s or so, virtually every American male chewed tobacco and spat constantly. It went away because women put their foot down and said: ‘That’s disgusting!’ I suppose that all had to do with the changing role of women but there didn’t have to be any politician around to think of taking the credit for that, though I’m sure they would have been glad to.

A Poem For Saturday

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"The Sound of Trees " by Robert Frost appeared in The Atlantic in August of 1915:

I wonder about the trees:
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees sway
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice,
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone.

(Image by Flickr user lambertwm)

Is The Pill To Blame For Declining Fertility? Ctd

Amanda Marcotte joins the chorus and lets loose on New York Mag's piece on the pill by Vanessa Grigoriadis:

Grigoriadis doesn't veer from the formula one bit. Implying that women are too stupid to realize that delaying pregnancy until your 30s raises your chances of infertility? Check. Implying that infertility is a much bigger problem than it actually is in a country that has a relatively high birth rate for an industrialized nation? Check. Focusing on the complaints of side effects without checking the actual scientific studies on the prevalence? Check. Characterizing the entire female population as being exactly like your free-wheeling fun time friends in their 20s who are the kind of girls who match their pill cases to their shoes, without considering that mothers, the fiercely monogamous, and the totally unfashionable also have a need for the pill? Check. And above all, freaking out about how "unnatural" it is, as if it's somehow more unnatural than every other drug on the market, not to mention air conditioning, latex, television sets, and the wearing of shoes? Check.

The Purpose of Copyright

Cory Doctorow states his preference:

In my world, copyright’s purpose is to encourage the widest participation in culture that we can manage – that is, it should be a system that encourages the most diverse set of creators, creating the most diverse set of works, to reach the most diverse audiences as is practical…

Diversity of participation matters because participation in the arts is a form of expression and, here in the west’s liberal democracies, we take it as read that the state should limit expression as little as possible and encourage it as much as possible. It seems silly to have to say this, but it’s worth noting here because when we talk about copyright, we’re not just talking about who pays how much to get access to which art, we’re talking about a regulation that has the power to midwife, or strangle, enormous amounts of expressive speech.

Those Who Can Write Will Teach

Chad Harbach rants against the rise of MFAs:

It was announced recently that Zadie Smith—one of the few writers equipped by fame to do otherwise—has accepted a tenured position at NYU, presumably for the health insurance; perhaps this marks the beginning of the end, a sign that in the future there will be no NYC writers at all, just a handful of writers accomplished enough to teach in NYC. New York will have become—as it has long been becoming—a place where some writers go for a wanderjahr or two between the completion of their MFAs and the commencement of their teaching careers.