Le Tout Nouveau Testament

Le Tout Nouveau Testament (The Brand New Testament) is a film nicely established by its first line: "God is real, and he lives in Brussels." The premise is extended by the stipulation that God lives in a top-floor apartment, which he has never left since the beginning of time, with his wife and 10-year-old daughter (his son having snuck out in a well-documented episode and Gotten Into A Bit of Trouble With The Romans). He runs everything through an outdated computer in his bigger-on-the-inside home office. And "runs everything" really means everything: we see him devising weather disasters, the rule that "the other line always moves faster", and managing individuals' lives, all through this computer.

God is also kind of horrible, true to the Old Testament version of things. Corporal punishment, strict rules, no empathy with suffering. His daughter sneaks into his office, SMSes everyone on the planet with their exact date of death, changes the root password, and then escapes the apartment (Jesus told her that the washing machine has a secret tunnel down to the Earth!). When God (of course) follows her, to try to retrieve (1) his daughter, and (2) access to his omnipotent computer, he is confronted with the unpleasantnesses of the world that he devised. To great comedic effect. The directors, editors, and writers clearly want God to be an unsympathetic character, and they are successful. His sympathetic daughter, of course, seeks apostles while on Earth and has a scribe (homeless man) following her, writing a new testament. She does some miracles, just light ones --- doubling a sandwich, walking across a canal. Nothing showy, but played for laughs in contrast with God's clear lack of powers (he plunges into the canal, and is hungry, dirty, and eventually deported).

It was a neat movie, although it didn't contain as many laughs as I expected from the premise. Many of the apostles' stories (interwoven, of course, throughout the film) were lonely and bleak, and invited serious reflection in the audience. (The color palette, dominated by greys and rain, echoed this.) These were intercut with cute "news" segments showing ridiculous things, but the overall tone was more somber than expected. (I think I expected something more silly, like the tone of Amélie.)

I recommend.


This post's theme word is naches, "emotional gratification or pride, especially taken vicariously at the achievement of one's children." Not much naches is on display here.

Statuary at the Victoria & Albert

The Victoria and Albert Museum is a beautiful, well-lit, thoughtfully arranged collection of art and art-like objects. It breaks with the stereotypical joke about British museums: most pieces are accompanied by a title plaque which indicates their provenance. (British Museum, I'm looking at you: "basically an active crime scene." - John Oliver) The day was too beautiful to spend much of it indoors, but I did sneak in and poke around the astonishing collection of statuary and... statue-like things:

The scrolling scenes on the pillars tell a story.

The rooms containing these items were themselves pretty, although a bit toned-down and plain, I think to divert visual focus onto the art. Solid-colored walls, understated balcony railings, beautiful square skylight grid.

Door decorations, things to hang on the wall, and freestanding... art? of religious significance?

The pulpits, excised from the cathedrals and collected like medical specimens.

The museum entrance is luminously bright, with a giant open space. In the center of this space was hanging a special... piece. Not quite a chandelier, since it served no lighting function, but in the place a chandelier would go and of similar size, vertical style, and eye-catching details.

The view from below as our tentacly overlords dangle the bait.

I don't remember finding a title placard for this piece of magnificence, but I think of it simply as "default hair behavior without intervention". Yes, in blues and greens.

Level side view of the glassy fuzz of curls.

Across the street from the V&A sits the Natural History Museum, which sprawls over a much larger footprint and is completely and totally delightful. Again, since I was in London for The Single Sunny Day of 2015, I did not spend much time inside. But still... I spent several hours. It was very, very cool. I went on a quest for the whale skeletons --- large, but surprisingly difficult to locate in the museum's people-flow maze. Their full majesty was impeded by the extensive scaffolding supporting the scientists employed to clean and stabilize the whale skeletons, in what must be the coolest boring job title in the city: Blue Whale Rib Duster.

This open space filled with a fine lace of metal and wood.

This post's theme word is crepitate, "to make a crackling or popping sound." The suspended cetacean skeleton's crepitating boded ill for the giraffes and hippopotamuses below.

Victoria really, really loved Albert

Just in case you had any doubt, a huge tract of land in valuable downtown London is devoted solely to a giant plinth and statue of Albert. The perspective does not give scale, but this statue is massive:

I think the intended message is: "Look at Albert. He was wonderful. I seriously miss him."

But personally, I find the physicality of this statue (a short walk away in the same park) much more compelling:

This post's theme word is emulous, "eager to imitate, equal, or surpass another" or "jealous or envious." No royal love can be emulous of that between Victoria and Albert.

Nightvale and Jason Webley in London

The venue was gothic, lit for high drama or an alien invasion. It was a Welcome to Nightvale show, so the combination event was a quite reasonable expectation.

I wondered what the builders of this church would have thought, if they could see the future and extremely secular performances that would one day take place here. Hopefully, they'd be delighted that art and community are alive.

The stagecraft was great, which has always impressed me about Welcome to Nightvale. The professionalism. It's amazing how much of a show they can put on from an audio-only podcast. Cecil Palmer is a breathtaking performer. Last year, his creepy hand gestures alone gave me goosebumps; his voice made me sigh; his energy is direct and electric, even when he is simply standing still onstage and not even using his melodious voice at all.

If you haven't listened to Welcome to Nightvale, please do. Start at the beginning. See for yourself if it grabs you, or tickles you, or is simply a nice backdrop for washing the dishes.


This post's theme word is mithridatism, "the developing of immunity to a poison by taking gradually increasing doses of it." Over time, Nightvale exposure will inoculate against Lovecraft- and purple prose-sensitivities via mithridatism and the pure joy of Carlos.

Tehanu

Ursula K. Le Guin's Earthsea series continues with Tehanu, which despite the long authorial pause between books, starts about 10 minutes after the previous book ended. Ged is powerless and lost, Tenar is a widow, landowner, farmer, and responsible for an abandoned child (herself victim of horrible abuse).  They must all figure out how to live in the world again, each relying on the others. The book --- like so many of Le Guin's books --- is ultimately a gentle, soft paean to the power of community, and of the people standing behind the heroes (or even distantly offstage).

The book's main actions are small and the fantasy world's magic is secondary, since none of the main characters have any puissance left (Ged spent his in book #3, Tenar in book #2), so this book ends up being mostly about daily choices, doing chores, resolving again and again to live on past tragedy. It is a book of small enjoyments, where a single peach, ripe and juicy, is a recurrent focal point. The conflict is not clear (at least to this reader), and does not build steadily to a climactic denouement; rather, the many small conflicts of daily life are each resolved, or deferred, as they arise, and eventually the book has a very unexpected dramatic scene, then it ends.

Because I am on an Earthsea binge, this book was over before I realized; it is quiet, and subtle. The author's note at the end contains many noteworthy thoughts about the book, as well as summarizing various critical responses which touched on my too-fast reading: it was heavy-handed, or nothing happened, or it was radically pro- or anti-feminist. Really it's none of those things, but calling this a continuation of a "young adult" series is, IMHO, misleading ---- this book requires much more thought and slow consumption than usual young adult fare. Or perhaps I misremember my youth of voracious reading; this book will certainly be better savored in a reread, as the point is not what happens in the plot or even how the plot is written, but rather, what happens in the characters' minds between and around plot events. This requires a lot of attention from the reader to simulate and examine.

Still recommend! Start at the beginning of the series, though. Otherwise the emotional weight of these characters, making these decisions, will be missing for you.


This post's theme word is hircine, "of or relating to a goat; having a strong odor; lusty, lewd." The island of Gont has much that is hircine: goat milk, various wools, shepherding, etc.

France in the distance

Reputable authorities assure me that yonder, past the clouds and across the lake, France awaits.

It's a lovely view.


This post's theme word is lucriferous, "lucrative, profitable." All of Switzerland is mysteriously lucriferous.

Nourissez la poubelle!

Public campaigns are often dour, lots of carrot and not much stick. But this one to reduce garbage is magnificent: each public garbage can is decorated like a monster, with a gaping mouth, and a solar-powered computer detects when garbage is thrown out in the can and makes a NOM NOM noise.

Nourrissez la poubelle! (Feed the trashcan!)

Apparently there was a problem with overzealous children throwing out things that were not garbage in order to get the silly noise. It's weird when public service campaigns go too far.


This post's theme word is adhibit, "to let in," or "to administer" or "to affix or attach" (transitive). The monster-face stickers, once adhibited, were unreasonably successful in adhibiting garbage.

Lausanne pagoda

On the lakefront of Lausanne, there is a park.

In this park, there is a pagoda.

The pagoda is elaborate, gold-leafed, ornately painted and detailed, and entirely exposed to the weather (which by inference is mild).

It's an imposing sight.

But it's snugged away in a little corner.


This post's theme word is cote, "a shelter for animals," or "to pass by." What an eccentric cote, how lucky we didn't cote it!

The Farthest Shore

I continue to trundle my commuting-way through Ursula K. Le Guin's Earthsea series: the next book to fall before my omnivorous eyes was The Farthest Shore.

... wherein we return to our hero, Ged, now the Archmage, widely recognized as important and powerful. He has matured and is generally better-regulated in terms of mood and garrulousness. But the dilemma of the book is that all magical power is being sapped out of the world, as well as all hope, determination, faith, and fellow-feeling. All apparently gone, to be replaced by isolation, fear of death, substance addiction, slavery, etc. --- dark subjects not previously indicated as widespread in Earthsea. Yet here they are, with a focal point somewhere in the west.

Having previously travelled so far east that he went beyond maps and map-monsters to a mythical location in the ocean, where he confronted his own death, Ged and his intrepid sidekick Arren now travel to the western extremity of the world, encountering again the dragons we remember there, and go beyond --- into the very realm of death. Which of course they do not conquer, but they at least come to terms with it, which is all that decent people can be expected to do in this life. Again Le Guin's powerful writing is about people trying to find satisfaction in their own lives, without seeking glory or any other outside acknowledgement.

Having travelled now furthest east, furthest west, to the southernmost islands, and spent his power to close a hole in the world, the worn-out Ged is given a merciful retirement to his home island, delivered as all heroes are on dragonback. The balance of the world is restored, a king is placed on the long-empty throne, and all people have a giant attitude-adjustment so that everything works better and more smoothly in society. Hooray!

This book was as magical as the others, but the sneaky parts about despair and suspicion and distrust were not sneaky enough --- I thought it was clear, based on the language used, that the suspicion of each character for the others was being imposed by a cloud of evil magic, and I wondered why the main characters just went with it instead of introspecting about their own suspicion for even a minute. But that's okay, it's a "young adult" book, I cannot expect everything of every book. It was still great, and the author's note at the end of the book featured all the grown-up introspection that I knew was hiding beneath the surface of the novel, delivered in beautifully clear and poetic prose.


This post's theme word is onomasticon, "a dictionary of names, esp. personal names or place names." The onomasticon is the most powerful tome in Earthsea, since magic, power, and control are all rooted in knowing proper names of things.

Tombs of Atuan

The wonders of Earthsea continue with Ursula K. Le Guin's The Tombs of Atuan. The second book in the loose series features another protagonist, another coming-of-age of sorts. This time the protagonist is a teenage girl, Tenar, the reincarnated focus of a religion that (to pick up on outside clues) is confined to a small part of Earthsea, and diminishing.  Tenar is in many ways the opposite of young Ged: she is accustomed to solitude, and not asking too many questions or receiving too many answers. She does not receive training or much guidance. She has no great dreams of adventure or power, content to be more inward-looking; but she fully explores her domain (a remote religious installation in the desert) and masters it. Like Ged, she must give up childish ideas to become adult, and like Ged, her choices have far-reaching consequences which she must learn to accept and weave into her own character in order to be a whole, complete person.

Just like the previous one, this book was a short, quick, satisfying read. As you, dear reader, may perhaps have realized, I am usually reading several books at once, and this means that my brain draws strange connections between them. This book was wonderful in contrast with Philip K. Dick's The Man in the High Castle (blog post forthcoming), which robbed its sole featured female character of any agency. Here, women are abundant, and interact with each other as people. The book passes the Bechdel test with flying colors, surpassing that minimum requirement and going on to make female characters important, to make their choices matter, to make important plot points and even the continuation of the book, or the universe. Also, to make this not a big deal.

Our previous protagonist, Ged, does make an appearance. He shows up partway through the book, and serves as a nice connection to the rest of Earthsea outside the parched abbey's walls and closed mindset. This is nice, but Ged doesn't take center stage, and although we readers know the outcome of the book from quite early (it is listed in Ged's long list of mythic accomplishments, at the end of the previous book), it is nice to see the detail that surrounds the one-sentence Summary of Legend. And this does not detract from Tenar's centrality or importance. Ged himself bows to her decisions, puts his life in her hands, and listens carefully when she decides, and often changes her mind, about what she wants to do.


This post's theme word is darkle, "to make or become dark." The darkling cave quenched all light, crushed all hope, and was decorated with many pretty pictures (which unfortunately no one would ever see again).