• -Raano Retro Reviews, Revisited

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    September 25, 2005 /  Book Reviews

    Before I started with the WordPress format, I wrote some older pages. The musings moved over; these are 5 old book reviews. -raano is Luhya for 5, from Kenya. Thanks, Internet numbers page. To adjust to the new format, I made slight edits to provide notes on time. For instance, because I played cards from 2002-2005, I noted that. I also added numeric ratings. As a reminder, score 0: waste of time, 1: below average, 2: average, 3: above average, 4: recommended, 5: fantastic.
    [This was transferred in October 2009, from a page originally dated September 2005.]

    • Positively Fifth Street, James McManus: This was one of the first books about poker, and back then (by back then I mean 2003) editors felt that a book needed something more. That’s what Mr. McManus tries, weaving in the murder of Ted Binion. The poker description is quite good, including the qualifying tournaments, the main event, and current player interviews. The murder stuff is distracting, but not annoying. What is annoying is “Bad Jim”. Apparently, the author felt it necessary to pad his book with continual updates on his finances, and European trips with his wife, and Richard Nixon, and Girolamo Cardano, and way too many other things. Instead of a narrative, we get the introspections of an old unlikable man. This makes the book far less enjoyable than it could have been. Given the many other options available today, I can’t recommend this poker book. 1 out of 5.
    • Word Freak, Stefan Fatsis: Like Positively Fifth Street, this was another of my travel fun books, a book I would get for a plane or train ride. I read this on the train home in 2002. Like the poker book, Mr. Fatsis chronicles his journey through a strange and different world, in this case competitive Scrabble. But it’s a lot better, because this author knows enough to minimize his neuroses, and stick to the games and colorful players. It’s amazing, and scary, to see how competitive he becomes. And it somehow feels better when the result matches his true skill, which he takes in the proper perspective. This book has the right tone, the closest to the world (trading card games) that I inhabited. 3 out of 5.
    • Crying, the Natural and Cultural History of Tears, Tom Lutz: This is a very comprehensive book, which is commendable. It includes biology, history, anthropology, and sociology, including lots of things I didn’t know. The disappointing part was the sociology, his consideration of the social aspects of crying. That’s why I read the book, and Professor Lutz is wrong. He vastly overestimates the effect of a few male examples and “metrosexual” culture. (He did in 2004, and he still does in 2009.) It might be misreading from his position, but he didn’t research typical American response as much as he did tear ducts. There still is strong American stigma against crying, and he doesn’t answer why, and for that I felt less than full at the end of this text. 2 out of 5.
    • The Mythical Man Month, Frederick Brooks, Jr: Highly recommended. I think all bosses should be forced to read and understand the lessons in this book. For one, he admits where he’s wrong, with information hiding; that’s a strong lesson in itself. The other basics – favor small teams, provide administrative support, maintain conceptual integrity, assign people to communication and organization – apply to all products, not just computer systems. There are too many fads of management. This book is not one of them. In my limited experience, I’ve tried to follow Brooks’ principles, and I don’t seem to be disappointing. 4 out of 5.
    • Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 6, J. K. Rowling: It’s not like this book needs another review, but one of my friends posted some thoughts. That she could cry and need ice cream is one of her truly wonderful qualities. As literature, book 6 does not suffer from the excess of book 5; someone edited it to a reasonable level. This is particularly evident in the climactic scene, where unlike last time, things progress in an order that doesn’t require a flowchart. On the negative side, it seems that Hogwarts had a major outbreak of love potions. I’m not against teenage romance; for most people, it’s a part of life. The strange thing is how students across several grades all seem to have caught the bug at once, that it moved from barely discussed to topic number one. At least we get romanticism from it: “Harry looked around; there was Ginny running toward him; she had a hard, blazing look in her face as she threw her arms around him. And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry kissed her. After several long moments – or it might have been half an hour – or possibly several sunlit days – they broke apart.”
      Killing Dumbledore was an inspired thing to do, for it takes away Harry’s most parental figure. Yes, that’s the typical pattern for a fantasy world, but the tried and true become tried and true because they work. I wasn’t sure it would happen until it did, so that’s good suspense. Having Malfoy stutter, but Snape finish the job, is also well planned. We now know that Snape is not all good, but the exact level of his deceit is unknown. Is he fully evil or conflicted between promises? There’s one book left, and the table is set. The amount of Hogwarts in Book 7 is debatable, and I think it should be small – we have a climactic battle to fight! I won’t say Book 6 is the best of the series (Book 4 and especially Book 3 are better) but this is a substantial improvement over the last one, and a good read. 3 out of 5.

  • The Violence of Love

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    September 5, 2005 /  Book Reviews, Catholicism, Musings After Midnight

    From time to time, I am violent. I do not mean physically violent, gunplay and beatings. The only Love associated with physical violence should be Leave Out Violence, a Canadian group. And by the title, I definitely don’t mean violence within love, domestic violence, more grave evil. For that effect, you can look at Shattered Love, Broken Lives, articles by SouthCoast Today of Massachusetts. By violent, I mean the definition – force, swift and intense, that attracts people, challenges them, perhaps changes them. Let me tell you a story.

    In 2003-2004, I was assigned to TA two undergraduate courses, Mathematical Statistics and Regression Analysis. Over the two quarters, I got to know some of the students. At least five looked into the field. One of those undergraduates was Lucy. Lucy is extremely cheerful, friendly, and open. She was rare summer in the U of C, the land of perpetual winter. Not one to initiate, but one to reciprocate and return affection, I was very pleased to deal with her. By the end of our two quarters, we would greet each other with hugs. Lucy continued in statistics, was accepted to masters’ programs in biostatistics, and graduated in June. While I’m happy that she entered the field, I’m happy that at least four other people from those classes are in statistics as well. That’s good, and I take pride in doing my job well, that’s not the violent act.

    At the Statistics “Holiday” party in December 2004, Lucy and I attended separately. Earlier, I had served as one of the three dancers to the live band, and we drew a small crowd. I hadn’t seen Lucy in a couple months, and so we chatted a bit. She was in the application process, and I offered her my personal statement as an example. We talked for a while, then said goodbye with an expression of happiness and thanks, a giant hug. I saw the expressions on those who saw us, like one professor. He was shocked, almost alarmed, that we could have a connection like that. Like the dancing, we had gawkers. Violence, indeed.

    What is the Violence of Love? I borrowed the title from a book of Oscar Romero quotes, available as a free e-book from the Bruderhof. Romero was a priest, considered fairly conservative, who was appointed Archbishop of San Salvador, El Salvador in 1977. Latin American churches have a reputation for supporting governments, even corrupt and oppressive ones, and most thought that Archbishop Romero would at most protest quietly. Not so. Almost immediately, he began speaking of the murder and torture, exhorting for peace and forgiveness and justice. The Catholic radio station broadcast his sermons each Sunday, except when it was jammed or bombed. It’s surprising that he lasted three years before he was assassinated. There are so many pieces I could use here, but I’ll stick with the quote for the title, from November 24, 1977.

    We have never preached violence, except the violence of love, which left Christ nailed to a cross, the violence that we must each do to ourselves to overcome our selfishness and such cruel inequalities among us. The violence we preach is not the violence of the sword, the violence of hatred. It is the violence of love, of brotherhood, the violence that wills to beat weapons into sickles for peaceful work.

    Setting aside “never” (the Crusades are a little messy), no wonder Romero was killed. We have to transform ourselves, force inwards. It’s not easy; more than anything else, this journal is about my transformation and my failings, my fallible nature. And I’m committed; I have no idea how hard it must be without the willpower. It’s far easier to plod along, find someone to marry and purchase a house in the suburbs and raise two kids and keep steady work and watch football on Sundays. When the TV shows a tragedy, like
    Katrina, send a check. That’s something, and it’s better than doing evil. But that safety is not violent.

    Worse yet, violence hurts. Occasionally, love-violence can be joyful and beautiful, like the story above. Usually, it’s not. Outwardly, love-violence makes adversaries and enemies. Romero got killed. I’m unlikely to get shot, yet I’m still careful, to not push hard or make people so uncomfortable that they reject the message and me. Inwardly, one has to expect failure and setback and unrequited love and pain and tears. Lots of people, even good Christians, shy away because of the vulnerability. Augustine once wrote that Christians should love God alone, because human love is transient and will expire. Augustine was an idiot. In The Four Loves, C. S. Lewis states the counterargument better than I might:

    To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket — safe, dark, motionless — it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.

    About six months ago, I introduced a new concept of dignity and love, the AntiMortification, in an strong critique of Negative Obedience. As I’ve journaled through Lent and Eastertime and summer, I’ve always had the goal of defining a positive Christianity. I thought about some summary with bullet points, or a list of recommended actions. That’s too specific. Instead, I’m going to illustrate the idea with a reading and a comment. The reading is Isaiah 61:1-3, read by Jesus in his first public act in Luke – so it meant something. At the Mass before the Conclave, of all the readings available, the Cardinals heard these words – so it means something.

    The spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me; He has sent me to bring glad tidings to the lowly, to heal the brokenhearted, To proclaim liberty to the captives and release to the prisoners, To announce a year of favor from the Lord and a day of vindication by our God, to comfort all who mourn; To place on those who mourn in Zion a diadem instead of ashes, To give them oil of gladness in place of mourning, a glorious mantle instead of a listless spirit. They will be called oaks of justice, planted by the Lord to show his glory.

    As for the modern interpretation, there’s Romero. Security forces invaded a retreat house where a youth retreat was occurring, murdering a priest and four young men. Archbishop Romero preached at the funeral, to thousands both inside and outside the cathedral. He is not Pelagian, as many would argue; God has a role to play, both as source and actor. The day of his sermon was my fourth birthday, January 21, 1979. 26 years later, I don’t know how I’ll be judged. And I know I don’t have to be violent all the time; severe force is restricted to severe occasions. But I do know that when I hit that final evening of life, whether today, tomorrow, or in 40 years, I’m hoping that the scales of my justice exist and tilt the right way. With love.

    All pomp, all triumphs, all selfish capitalism, all the false successes of life will pass with the world’s form. All of that passes away. What does not pass away is love. When one has turned money, property, work in one’s calling into service of others, then the joy of sharing and the feeling that all are one’s family does not pass away. In the evening of life you will be judged on love.

  • The Violence of Nature

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    September 2, 2005 /  Musings After Midnight, Politics and News

    This week, I’ve watched hurricane coverage. Too much coverage, I suspect, for how many times do I want to see a desolate convention center, or a floating casino three hundred feet inland, or suffering people? New Orleans, Gulfport, Biloxi, and the smaller less known towns of Mississippi effectively do not exist, when two weeks ago they were fully functioning. Like Speaker Hastert, I wonder about the brilliance of building a medium-sized city below sea level, surrounded by three bodies of water. Yet this is not the time to consider rebuilding; it’s a time of survival. It’s not even a time to consider reasons, even though this quote is telling, from the Washington Post: “God’s angry with New Orleans. It’s an evil city. The worst school system anywhere. Rampant crime. Corrupt politicians.”

    The speaker of this quote is black, and struggling down there. Is it true, that as Kanye West suggested, things would be different if more trapped people were white? Or rich? Have you seen a white person in the convention center? The FEMA director said those who “chose not to leave” needed help. For those with no car, or not enough money to stay away for two months, the choice was quite forced. Where was the evacuation assistance? Where could they go? There are lots of links about disorganization. That’s frustrating, particularly since organization is one of my strengths, but not what I’m thinking about.

    More immediate are the concerns about lawlessness. The term post-apocalyptic is very common in science fiction and role playing. I won’t say I never thought this could happen. After all, I’ve read many accounts and even written a little<. When applying for the Ph. D., my statement referred to a talk I heard on analyzing records to estimate the number of people murdered by a Central American government. I called the movie Hotel Rwanda too kind, for I at least vaguely remember the actual reports. There are other tales. Further, sometimes I've heard the White Man's Burden, "But not in America", when we read reports of tsunami victims or Haitian hurricane refugees. Between the stories of looting and armed gangs and gunfire, any confidence we had is shattered. I didn't expect it, but that may be the gravest lesson of this hurricane, that our natures are easily broken and fallen. I would not be surprised if the conservatives of Hate Radio started up about the "people", with subtle reminders of my last paragraph. It's too hard a lesson to learn, and there's still dissonance, when there should be shame. This BBC article, not biased with patriotism, asks the long question. It’s not a question for now, as immediate needs should come first. Maybe, though, the violence of the hurricane will force America to consider that question.

    Hurricane Katrina, such a quiet name, dealt such violence. Interestingly, that’s what “Violence” means, according to my Webster’s Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary: “swift and intense force; the violence of a storm.” The most common definition, physical force, appears second. That makes it easier for me to say that I am a violent man, for I am.