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Friday, July 17, 2026

Notes For A Friday: Ethics, Mary Beard, Odysseus, Rejections. Morons In Government

I did group, almost falling asleep at the end. I came home and did a nap. Something like 4 hours. When I woke, I was a little disoriented about time and date. The sky outside was as dull and gray as it had been this morning.

 What I thought would be a small diversion became this post. It has been at least 4 hours since I started. Now, I have run through my emails and have nothing more to say about the outside world. Or life. Or whatever you find here.

I regret to notify you that it has been decided that "Agnes" will not be published in Flying Island Journal at this time. On behalf of the journal's editorial team, I wish you the best of luck with your writing endeavors.

Sincerely,

Hiromi Yoshida

--
Hiromi Yoshida, MA, MLS, SpLIS
Poetry Editor

And:

Thank you for allowing us to consider "Pieces About A Small Indiana Factory Town, 1976 -1984" for Midwest Review. We are sorry to report it was not selected for publication. 

We are honored you thought of us as a home for your work. 

Sincerely,

The Editors, Midwest Review

‘The Odyssey’ Review - by Sonny Bunch ( The Bulwark )

The Odyssey is more fractious, more fissured. It is, first, two hours of abuse and defeats and arguments and disappointments and the occasional bit of grubby cleverness, followed by an hour of glorious vengeance. (So glorious, in fact, that people in my audience were clapping at the mere plucking of a bow and the beautiful twang of its reverberations.) Odysseus, like Oppenheimer, is a man who changed the world, albeit one who had some regrets after the fact: Change is momentous, change is dangerous. When you shatter norms and fail to respect what has come before, you risk calamitous darkness. 

Nukes, Data Centers, A VAT in our future: Race and Gender-Based Contract Practice Ends | Indiana Week in Review | July 17, 2026.

 

Donald Trump claims election insecurity; Markwayne Mullin warns states to cooperate - and so we all join the madness?

Trump's remarks on election security: What to know is that there is no meat on this bone.

John Ware: troubling light on The Troubles (The Article)

Neither Confirm Nor Deny is a book written by a journalist who, with his colleague Geoff Seed, took personal risks and now presents a rigorously researched and balanced account of what happened in Northern Ireland.  It is not a book that makes you want to go into the garden and hoist a Union Jack — nor, come to that, an Irish Tricolour.   Ware explains – in almost too much detail — how undercover security work during serious conflict can, unimpeded by the law, take an ethical nose-dive.  It is to be hoped that this book will make such events, and the moral judgements behind them, much less likely in the future. 

‘At times I felt I’d bitten off more than I could chew’: Christopher Nolan on sweeping the Oscars, making The Odyssey – and getting a puppy (The Guardian).

Bitten by Willie Nile - again!


 The Odyssey review – Nolan goes god-tier with breathtaking epic of men, monsters and moral metamorphosis (The Guardian)

The result is a gigantic, shimmering mirage, a mysterious three-hour vision of crazy episodes that does not yield up wisdom or contentment, but only a grim resolution to continue with the fight, to make sense of ruined lives, to re-enter the scorched battlefield of loss. 

 I've seen only one John Waters movie, Hairspray, but maybe I should have seen more. He was just not on my or my friends' radar. Still, I knew who he was. ‘The minute I had success, I stopped taking drugs’: John Waters on 60 years of screen carnage (The Guardian) is a good reminder.

Nor should the comedy in either film disguise their underlying seriousness. Hairspray may treat the Civil Rights era with a deft touch but its indignation is palpable. Both movies celebrate resistance in the face of racism, fascism and tyranny. What do these movies have to say about the US in 2026? “I think they say that anger can be good, but the way you change things is through humour.” Is there anything he wouldn’t joke about? “I’m certainly not going to go into Israel and that whole situation. It’d be a lose-lose for me to even try. But I’ve always walked the edge of what you can’t make fun of. In all my movies, I make fun of things I like, not things I hate. That’s why I’ve been getting away with this for 60 years.” 

The Day She Returns review – another Hong Sang-soo round of slow, reflective boozing really hits the spot  (The Guardian) has some interesting writing advice:

...The film withholds overt meaning like a short story … and is quietly engrossing.

Our Hero, Balthazar review – a darkly comic satire of incel culture and gun violence | Movies (The Guardian) hits on a subject I have no understanding of and has me pondering this paragraph:

Deathdealer_16 turns out to be Solomon (Asa Butterfield), a Texan living in a trailer with his grandma, none too pleased to see Balthazar. But the two strike up a friendship, with Balthazar besotted by the shooting range, and Solomon eager to prove to the New Yorker there’s more to him than incel futility. Hitting a homoerotic pitch (“You wait to see the rest of what I’m packing,” says Solomon after revealing his glove box pistol), the film is at its strongest outlining this queasy interdependence. It’s a buddy-movie travesty of the mutual incomprehension and fascination between liberal and red-state America, suggesting that resignation to and glorification of gun violence aren’t so far apart. 

It seems to me we are now a nation of the infantilized. I thought that was the goal of prison. Have the powers that be learned their lessons from the pirson-industrial complex and applied them to the nation at large? 

Why Is Digital Freedom Making Us Exhausted and Sad? (The New Atlantis)

For more than two decades, Han has shaped a form of writing equal to his concerns: brief, concentrated books that think in movements rather than arguments. Their brevity feels deliberate, as if composed for the attention economy yet guided by another sense of time. Winding through subjects as varied as Zen, smartphones, and gardening, they often return to the same question: What has become of freedom in the digital age? 

***

Burnout, depression, anxiety: these are the maladies of our time. No one denies their spread, but their wider significance is a matter of debate. For Han, they are not signs that the new order is breaking down. They are signs of its success. We are free — and the result is not liberation but exhaustion. 

***

What Han would later diagnose as burnout is not just a condition of exhaustion; it is a condition of perception. Moods are how we feel the world, even before we think about it. They are less like emotions than the background conditions of our experience, like slow-moving weather patterns that give times and places their character. They cannot be examined like objects from the outside — we are always already within them — but they can be named and described. In Heidegger, Han found a way to notice them. And it made him weather-wise, alert to the world at a time when the weather was changing.

The Berlin Wall came down during Han’s years as a student, marking the end of the Cold War. For most in the West, the mood was jubilant. Liberal democracy and the free market had triumphed, and the specter of totalitarianism seemed to recede into history. The future, many assumed, belonged to societies that were more market-driven — and therefore more free. Han, however, had seen enough to question that story of progress. Growing up under the extreme pressures of Korean capitalism, he knew that domination could take many forms. South Korea had not followed the Big Brother model of the North, yet its people labored with an intensity that suggested another kind of domination — one rooted not in surveillance or prohibition but in competition, achievement, and the inner compulsion to perform.

If the twentieth century had feared domination by the state, the twenty-first would reveal another possibility: domination by freedom.

***

By now, we understand the basic mechanics of the profit model. While complex in one sense, its logic is painfully simple: keep users using; sell their attention to advertisers. In the early 2010s, news about predictive algorithms came as a shock. It seemed uncanny that an advertising algorithm could detect a woman’s pregnancy before anyone else knew about it. But the headlines have long since moved on. What once seemed unsettling has faded into the din of daily life, normalized under the regime Shoshana Zuboff calls “surveillance capitalism.”

When Zuboff began writing about it in 2015, the public imagination often returned to a familiar nightmare: Orwell’s Big Brother, the all-seeing avatar of the surveillance state. Zuboff argued that the comparison was misleading. Today’s most powerful surveillance systems are not instruments of the state, nor do they rule by repression. They are transnational, driven by a market logic that shapes behavior without appearing to command it — what she called “Big Other,” a diffuse computational order that monitors and modifies human action at scale.

***

Han’s new book, The Tonality of Thought, approaches freedom in a different mood. Consisting of three public lectures, the book returns to themes that have run through his work for more than two decades. Han is not searching for a stronger self, but for a way beyond the self — another way of inhabiting the world, combining German Romantic ideals with Eastern thought. “If I may compare my thinking with a fruit,” he writes, “then its skin and flesh are deeply romantic. The seed, in contrast, is Far Eastern.”

***

In this clearing, Han’s thinking lets Western concepts take root differently. Among them is eros — a term that, in Greek thought, signifies much more than desire in the everyday sense. It is the soul’s movement beyond itself, toward a beauty that transcends possession. Eros reorients the reflex of self-enclosure, the habit of drawing the world inward and rendering it usable. The soul, instead of grasping, is laid hold of.

Against a Zen backdrop, this can seem difficult to place: the Western longing for beauty seems to unsettle the stillness of Buddhist detachment. Han’s books, inhabiting that tension, do not systematically resolve it. Instead, they bear its fruit in a mood that attunes us to the world. What matters for Han is that both movements, in their different ways, loosen the grip of a possessive inwardness. The question is no longer how to possess the self, but how to move beyond it.

***

Han begins from a different premise. Freedom in the digital age is found not in resisting the Other, but where the Other resists us. It is a question of ends: does freedom secure the ego or free us from its grip? One posture is habitually on guard, the other habitually open. For Zuboff, who draws again from Sartre, the danger is plain: “Hell is other people.” For Han, the more radical danger is an “inferno of the same” in which the Other disappears.

A life organized entirely around the self — its projects, its performance, its wants — leaves no room for the kind of relations in which freedom can actually take shape. The word freedom, Han likes to note, shares a root with friend. One is not free alone. Freedom arises from vulnerability. It begins not in mastery but in exposure, where one is no longer fully one’s own.

Which, since John Locke is integral to my research project, makes me think of Locke's idea that true freedom reaches its height in civil society - with other people, ordered liberty.

 AI Is Changing What We Can Do. Who We Become Is Still Our Choice. | The Humanist Review of AI

Let’s step back and ask one of the central questions of ethics: “What kind of people should we want to be?” Ethics, in the classical sense, is about how to live well. And that involves more than producing the right outward acts. It involves becoming the sort of person who can recognize what is right, choose it for the right reasons and respond to the world with the appropriate thoughts and feelings.

How, then, could an automated oracle help? It cannot tell you what to feel, because feeling is not something you can summon by obedience. But neither can it settle the matter by telling you what to do. Reasons matter, and to be a morally responsible agent you must reason for yourself. That thought is central to the ethical tradition that reaches back through the European Enlightenment and to Immanuel Kant. Central to Kant’s thought was the ideal of people fully in charge of their own lives, reasoning toward the right decisions through a kind of self-government he called autonomy. People who simply do what they are told, even when what they are told to do is right, are not living autonomous lives. Nor is this a uniquely European idea. Confucius taught the virtue of yi, which involves recognizing what is right and acting in harmony with moral principle. Buddhism offers similar lessons. What matters is not just what you do but the intention with which you do it.

Accordingly, philosophers have rightly been suspicious of “moral deference”, in which someone decides what to do based on what another person or institution declares to be right. Moral guides, your priest, your rabbi, your imam, your guru, even a humble philosopher, can help you think things through. They can draw your attention to features of a situation you may have overlooked. But if they are doing their job, they will not simply listen to your quandary and pronounce a course of action without giving reasons. They will want you to do what is right because you understand why it is right, because only acts that arise from your own deliberation are fully yours. If they espouse values you do not recognize, your compliance does not turn their judgment into your own.

I should add that I am not assuming values are matters of mere belief rather than knowledge, or endorsing relativism, the notion that different normative traditions are entitled to their different answers. You can reject moral deference and affirm autonomy while still believing that there is such a thing as moral truth, and even moral expertise. Perhaps many moral questions, perhaps even all of them, have a universally correct answer. It remains the case that, even if LLMs give excellent answers to moral questions, you still should not defer to their conclusions. You should try to understand the reasons they offer, because it remains important that people act on the basis of their own, admittedly imperfect, understanding. That, in my view, is itself one of the universal moral truths.

***

Once we recognize that people, media outlets or spiritual guides may try to shape us in these ways, we can take that into account. We can ask what interests they have in influencing us. We can consult a range of sources with different interests. I know the pastor has an interest in getting me to make a larger offering. I know that Fox News tilts right and The Guardian inclines left. So, I can weigh what they say accordingly.

But the most effective forms of manipulation are invisible. And one problem with applying this strategy to AI is that we often lack any clear picture of the interests, if any, that guide it. That is one place where public education would help. One strength of LLMs, however, is that, unlike the pastor, they are often willing to tell you what they “know” about the forces that shaped them. And researchers have explored the political bent of the major models. There is a lot of evidence that existing LLMs tend to lean somewhat left of political center. It would be unfounded conspiracy-mongering to suggest that some secret center-left cabal is controlling things behind the scenes. Once you consider the shape of politics in the North Atlantic world, where the main LLMs are based, more ordinary explanations present themselves.

***

Political outlooks also differ in ways that reflect evaluative disposition rather than straightforward factual belief. Moral psychologists Graham and Haidt, for example, argue that concern about fairness tends to diminish, and concern about group loyalty to increase, as one moves rightward.[8] If so, users should know that fine-tuning may favor equality over national loyalty, reflecting the outlook of the cosmopolitan, highly educated people who help shape these systems. Autonomy is strengthened when people can judge advice in light of the perspective that informs it.

***

But notice that an AI guide that did agree to simply choose options would not be much use if you could neither identify the relevant features of your situation nor see what your options were. An LLM cannot tell you anything useful unless you can inform it about your situation. And grasping what matters in your situation is a capacity you can acquire only through practice. There is always something else you might consider. You have to learn what is relevant and how to respond to it.

I would add it is not enough to learn, but to remember and to have faith in what you know in the face of a world that does not care. I knew much. Depression became nihilism as my faith in ethics, in people, in what I was doing with my life dissipated.

Oops, I stopped reading too soon.

Aristotle thought that we develop this capacity through habituation, by practice. For him, the virtues were not rules or isolated good acts but settled dispositions of character, ways of seeing, feeling and responding that are formed over time until they become, in a good sense, second nature. Confucius, in a different key, stressed the role of ritual and custom in shaping good habits of response. Our sensibilities, our capacities for detecting what matters in the human world, do not come ready-made. That thought, largely sidelined for a time in modern moral philosophy, was revived in the twentieth century by thinkers such as Elizabeth Anscombe and Philippa Foot, who urged that ethics return its attention to character, judgment and human flourishing.

One role of fiction, in fables and parables—in novels and short stories, in film, video and even painting—is to let us imagine complex moral situations and so develop habits of judgment and feeling. Conversational exchanges with an LLM, in which scenarios are built out collaboratively, could certainly engage the imagination in ways that help shape character and sensibility. Still, it is likely to remain true that we develop these capacities mostly by using them in the situations we face, alone and with others. Time online draws us away from those encounters.

I once told a friend of mine that the hardest ethical questions were between two equally bad choices. It seems now that may not have been taken as much comfort. I think that was the last time I saw Paula.

I am not a Saul Bellow fan. He put me off my writing for decades. I felt it was a milieu that had no reality - factual or emotional - for me. Yet, I keep coming back to him. Wondering was I wrong about him. Did I close my mind? I wish I had read Philip Roth first rather. Bellow was older - closer to Mailer, whose fictions leave me cold. But I admire Nelson Algren - also of Chicago and close to Bellow's age. And Vonnegut, Heller, Gore Vidal were of the same generation. There is someone else from the Fifties dancing in the shadows of my mind who leaves me as disinterested in his topics as does Bellow. I cannot get a name to form. Cheever's people have all the sexual tics and social anxieties. Yet, I understand their problems better. Augie March I found a novel worth reading, but Humboldt's Gift preceded it by decades. 

And today I received a link to ‘Ravelstein’ Revisited - by Jonathan Marks (The Bulwark). This fit into the previous entries in this post. It might have also sparked a bit of reflection on my Bellow bias. A recession of sorts. It is a consideration of a Bellow novel for which I have only read disdain, to be polite.

 I DON’T THINK THAT CHICK’S EXPOSURE, sometimes intentional, sometimes unintentional, of his own defects justify his shameless exposure of a friend. To be sure, Ravelstein and Chick both merit praise from Bellow’s perspective. Bellow, throughout his career, took a special interest in ineffectual intellectuals, most notably Moses Herzog in Bellow’s novel Herzog, whose book-learning and talent for observation does little to make him wise. Herzog is, however, raised above his fellow moderns, who are less foolish than he is in some ways, by his high ambition, rare in a world ruled by economics, natural science, and the quest for the comforts those pursuits provide. Herzog wants to “live out marvelous qualities vaguely comprehended.” That desire, pursued even to the brink of madness, matters more than the failure of Herzog to gain more than the mystical conclusion that “only the incomprehensible gives any light.”

Chick and Ravelstein, who attempt but fail to understand a world Chick deems “mysterious,” are honorable in the same way Herzog is, a way that is compatible with great foolishness. Perhaps Ravelstein, who understood the quest for human completeness to be nearly always futile, wouldn’t mind being understood as a noble failure. But I doubt that even Chick’s Ravelstein would consider the abandonment of his lifelong convictions and preferences in the face of death to be the kind of failure that is noble.

Yeah, pretty sure I will only read Ravelstein if I am stuck with nothing else to do.

Effing brilliant:  Star Shrapnel by Ata Zargarof 

Book Review: Talking Classics by Mary Beard  

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Tuesday, May 19, 2026

Orhan Pamuk Speaks - What I Found on YouTube

 I read Pamuk after I turned 50. What has attracted me to his novels is his writing about places and times. 

He sees the Turk as European and Middle Eastern. He sees Turkey as both modern and historical; a place trying to find its place as a former empire, a former Great Power, and a modern state of importance. 

 So what? It has to do with me being in the Midwest. The East Coast has its economic, cultural, and political power. The South lies across the Ohio River with its scars of slavery and the Civil War. The West's romance is hours to the west.

Let me put that another way. 

Edith Wharton, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Melville, Henry James, Colson Whitehead, Michael Chabon, Gore Vidal, Joseph Heller, Dennis Lehane, Washington Irving, James Fenimore Cooper, Edgar Allan Poe, Norman Mailer, John Updike, and Stephen King are to the east of me.

William Faulkner, Eudora Welty, Flannery O'Conner, Jessamyn West, Walker Percy, John Kennedy O'Toole, Jonathan Franzen (being from Missouri) and William Styron are to the south. 

Turning west I find John Steinbeck, Larry McMurty, Craig Johnson, Cormac McCarthy, A.B. Guthrie, Mark Twain (who also suddenly seems the most cosmopolitan of American writers - he could be southern, he spent time fitting into the east, and, if I could fit a slave state into the Midwest, and Midwestern), Raymond Chandler, Annie Proulx, Dashiel Hammett, and Ross MacDonald.

Those belonging to my Midwest: Kurth Vonnegut, Booth Tarkington, Theodore Dreiser, Nelson Algren, Sinclair Lewis, Toni Morrison, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Sherwood Anderson, Richard Wright, and Michael Martone.

Put another way: the Midwest supplied the men who destroyed the Slave Power, then built the factories that supplied the country and the world, and then lost the peace to the South and saw their factories shuttered. It is an empire that lost its power and holds onto former eminence while wandering in the desert searching for its future.

Yes, I think Pamuk might have something to teach us. 

He is also an engaging human being with a lively intelligence.

Orhan Pamuk in Conversation with Merve Emre 


A Dialogue on Facts Fiction History: Umberto Eco - Orhan Pamuk (Full Version)


Orhan Pamuk - VO (4) - William Marx (2022-2023)


Big Think Interview With Orhan Pamuk | Big Think

Why he made a nveol into a museum



 

My other Orhan Pamuk posts are here
 
sch 5/18 

Tuesday, July 1, 2025

Writing: The Novel

Melissa Donovan's How to Develop Your Best Novel Writing Ideas (Writing Forward) has me thinking of what I have done with "Love Stinks" (which as of today, everyone hates) and "Chasing Ashes" (which is still coalescing).

By identifying your passions, you can figure out what makes you tick, and that’s a great start to your quest for novel writing ideas that you can really sink your teeth into.

All your past and present obsessions hold the clues to your future commitment to your own novel. Pay close attention to your preferences for genre, theme, setting, style, character archetypes and above all — emotional sensibility. Make lists of what you love about your favorite stories, and soon you’ll see the shape of your own novel start to emerge.

"Love Stinks" hides my interests in history and memory and epistemology behind a love story of my version of the Bickering Bickersons.

"Chasing Ashes" has become more autobiographical over the past 15 years, and even something more political, more philosophical. A man comes home from prison trying to understand his place in America.

 Actually, story ideas are everywhere. The trick is to collect a variety of ideas, and let them stew while you decide which one is worth your effort. Here are some quick tips for generating ideas:

  • Hit the bookstore or library and jot down some of your favorite plot synopses. Then rework the details to transform these old plots into fresh ideas for new stories. Try combining different elements from your favorite stories. And use movie synopses too!
  • Load up on fiction writing prompts and develop each prompt into a short (one page) summary for a story.
  • Harvest some creative writing ideas from the news.
  • Grab a subplot from your favorite movie or TV show — a story line that wasn’t fully explored — and make it the central story problem.
The impetus for "Love Stinks" came from reading reviews about writers writing unpleasant characters, from the idea that two people might love one another and never be wholly comfortable with each other, that a marriage maybe a redoubt from which to face the world.

 "Chasing Ashes" comes out of trying to understand my life and how I could put it together after having done my best at destroying myself. There is the question of what history has wrought and my place in it. There is plenty of the news influencing it direction.

The best ideas rise to the top. These are not necessarily the bestselling ideas or the most original ideas. They’re the ideas that are best for you. Those are the ones that will haunt you, keep you up at night, and provoke perpetual daydreams.

These are the ones worth experimenting with.

Both novels are experiments, the success of either is doubtful. 

In truth, the experimental phase is when you start writing the novel — just like the test drive is when you start driving the car. But you haven’t committed yet. You’re still open to the idea that this is not for you. This might seem like I’m nitpicking over semantics, but you’ll find that discarding partially written novels wears on you after a while. If you play around with your story with the understanding that you’re experimenting, and if things don’t work out, you can always walk away without feeling guilty or like you gave up. Go back to your idea stash, and start tooling around with the next one.

How do you experiment with novel writing? I’m so glad you asked. There’s a lot you can do. Start by brainstorming. Sketch a few characters. Poke around and see what kind of research this novel might require. Draft a few scenes. Write an outline. If you keep going through these motions and can’t shake your excitement, then you are finally . . .

 I like the optimism here, it feels like permission to make a fool out of myself (well, even more than I have done so far in this life).

Many (or most) of your novel writing ideas might end up in the trash or in a bottom drawer. But every one of them will be worth it when all of that idea generating, planning, and experimenting finally pays off. Every idea that doesn’t work will pave the path to the idea that will set you on fire.

Speaking of ideas, here is an example of finding an idea, Finding Briseis: On Resurrecting a Forgotten Woman from Homer’s Iliad (Literary Hub).

As for ideas and what purpose to put the novel, let me suggest Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o Did Not Write to Be Agreed With. He Wrote to Awaken by (Electric Literature):

Where once I had accused Ngũgĩ of ideological overreach, I now began to perceive instead a kind of consistency, the rigor of a writer who refused the division, beloved by privileged literati, between aesthetic subtlety and moral clarity. Ngũgĩ’s fiction did not flatter the reader’s intelligence with ambiguity for its own sake. It confronted one with the burden of truth-telling in contexts where equivocation had long passed for sophistication. Ngũgĩ was not attempting to redeem history through art, as so many of our idols had attempted, but to insist upon literature as the record of history’s cost. Not the decorous gesture of memory, but its reckoning. Not sentiment, but responsibility.

From this essay, it sounds as if the truth-telling is brutal; certainly not genteel. What American would think of writing like this?

Ngũgĩ’s satire is not escapist; it records the surreal logic of dictatorship, where buttocks become protest and court flatterers chant nonsense with liturgical zeal. In such a world, absurdity becomes the most faithful mode of realism. That the novel remains free of bitterness is its most withering critique. It laughs not to soothe, but to expose. In its grotesque clarity, Wizard of the Crow speaks more truthfully of African postcolonial life than realism bound to interior psychology ever could.

I am struck and stuck by "interior psychology". Is the inability to write like Ngũgĩ is our American individualism. That we filter the culture through ourselves without being able to see the culture for itself? Or is inferiority our literature's defense against cinema's lack of interiority?

To read him seriously is to be reminded that literature, particularly in postcolonial societies, is not an indulgence but a duty. Ngũgĩ gives us no refuge in cleverness. He demands, rather, that we remember. That we mourn. That we articulate our condition not to explain it away but to expose it to light.
He is, I now see, not a writer one outgrows, but a writer to whom one returns—chastened, wiser, more exposed. The kind of figure who, like an elder too easily dismissed in youth, proves with time to have been speaking the truest language all along.

Gore Vidal wrote often enough of American's historical amnesia, he may be right. We now be paying the cost of that amnesia, and its counterparts, hagiography and mythology. Then I think of Toni Morrison's Mercy. Maybe Huckleberry Finn, even if I can think of nothing mourned by Mark Twain (Tom Sawyer putting an appearance muddled this novel for me). The possibility exists for us. We may need to take it up.

These traits predict 90% of failed novels


4 Critical Things Every Novel Must Have


9 Signs the Beginning of Your Novel Looks Promising




After listening to all of these videos, I tried running through "Love Stinks" in my mind. KH refuses to read the new opening; he really dislikes the characters. I have heard nothing from Joel (who I should be calling). Being neurotic, I cannot help think of further changes to the opening. (It also came to me today why I did not think of flash forwards.) I think I will implement them tomorrow - anyway, that's the plan, Stan.

The circular idea interests me. More so for "Theresa Pressley" - over which I fret the ending.

"The Sagging Middle" video brought me back to "Love Stinks". Since no editor liked the short story that occupies the middle section now, I think that will need to be rewritten. I will keep it as a short story - probably even more of a digression - rather than an essay.

10 Novels Agents Have Seen a Billion Times, and How to Make Yours Stand Out by Kate McKean (Electric Literature) will be of use to you who want to write a popular novel, following a trend, but I found it worth my time.

Ocean Vuong is a name making the rounds right now. I have read an essay by him, if memory serves, and, if I did, I liked what he had to say. Tom Crewe's My Hands in My Face: Ocean Vuong’s Failure (London Review of Books) savages Vuong's novels. I put it into this post for what it has to say about the writing of novels.

... In order to support them, Hai, who has started using opioids again, but not in a way that causes much trouble, takes a job at a fast-food joint called HomeMarket. (Vuong once lived with an elderly woman with dementia called Grazina and worked at a fast-food joint called Boston Market.) That’s pretty much it, in terms of movement – and this is Vuong’s intention, since he claims (again, overestimating his novelty) to be doing something radical in breaking from the Aristotelian emphasis on catharsis, representing instead the great fact of ‘stasis’ in American working-class life.

Once again, the success of the novel hinges on its mode of presentation, and Vuong proceeds to exhibit all the same tendencies. Once again, there are hundreds of incoherent sentences and images.

*** 

Vuong has repeated the same observation in other interviews. Something he insists on in this context, while declaring that it is out of fashion (another dubious proposition), is the literary value of his own ‘sincerity’ and ‘earnestness’. But the presumption that someone’s first impulse would be to leave their co-worker’s car stuck in a blizzard is that of a cynic (‘Writing became a medium for me to try to understand what goodness is,’ he has said. ‘I’ve been in dicey situations in my life where I realised early on, I just don’t have it’). This explains his strained attempt to communicate to the waiting world his discovery that people can be nice. V.S. Pritchett called sincerity ‘that quality which cannot be obtained by taking thought’. But Vuong’s sincerity is self-conscious and willed – he is constantly stoking it by shovelling on more and more words. It is why, despite his close identification with his characters and their class situation, he turns them into parodies (and their enemies into grotesques). He doesn’t imaginatively enter these lives, but stands outside them, waving for our attention so he can tell us what they mean. 

Defending himself against the (generally indulgent) criticisms that have so far been made of his prose, Vuong has attributed his style – he claims, blasphemously, that it is a ‘19th-century’ style – to his sincerity, expressed as an opposition to ‘dogmatic values about clean lines, minimalism, restraint, control, rigour’. On the podcast Talk Easy, he suggested that these qualities ‘are the privileges of the wealthy’, whose sanitised, smoothed way of life ‘denies the corporeal reality of the body’....

*** 

An extravagant sentence can certainly be a thing of beauty; style is often by its very nature excess. But no writer can expect to be taken at their own self-estimation, and this emperor is wearing no clothes.

Decide for yourself if these words are helpful or not. Not having read Vuong's novels, I cannot say if they are an accurate criticism of his work. That did not really concern me when I was reading the review. I have read much touting sincerity and authenticity in current writing; those qualities can be false. The falseness seems to be in either presentation or substance. There was a controversy some years back about some Anglo writer writing as a Mexican. This was considered inauthentic. But what if a Mexican writer tells a story that misses capturing the truth of our existence that the Angl writer captured? Which one is the more authentic? Sincerity should come out in style. The Good Lord knows Theodore Dreiser was sincere; so was Upton Sinclair; neither is known as an exciting stylist. However, I cannot imagine a style like Marcel Proust would make them equally sincere. As for Proust, how he captures emotions would not be served writing like Dreiser. Personally, I like what Vuong describes as the qualities of his prose. It reminds me of what Nelson Algren wrote in Nonconformity. However, what I read in the review of Vuong's prose does inspire in any desire for emulation.

Not pitched directly to novel-writing, but that is its actual trajectory:


This post shambling along to this point is far past long enough - or far from long enough - and whatever good sense remains to me says finish this now, for now.

Okay, I have said this elsewhere: the presenter in the Book Focus videos is a bit intense; that does mean you will not learn from him. It may be that I have read several of the novels mentioned, and that I will stand with anyone who promotes Tom Robbins' Still Life With Woodpecker. The title for the following is Top Ten Transformative Novels That Break All The Rules


Something a bit more practical - I like the circling around. A chapter as a short story.

Something from the cultural/business side of the novel: The Forever Dying and the Always Dead; or, Literary Fiction and the Novel (Counter Craft).

sch 6/22

Monday, May 5, 2025

Books to Spark Your Creativity; 11-25-2019

 [I am back working through my prison journal. It is out of order. The date in the title is the date it was written.Well, the order is as I have opened boxes. I hope this is not confusing. What you are reading is what you get for your tax dollars. This may have been for a presentation in one of the community college classes I sgned up for. sch 4/22/2025]

  1. Diary of Ann Frank (diary)
  2. Kitchen Confidential, Anthony Bourdain (Memoir)
  3. Chronicles, Volume 1, Bob Dylan (Memoir)
  4. X-Ray, Ray Davies (Memoir)
  5. The Lost Landscape: A Writer's Coming of Age, Joyce Carol Oates (Memoir)
  6. Twelve Years a Slave, Solomon Northup *  (Memoir)
  7. The Story of My Life, Booker T. Washington * (Memoir)
  8. Heart of a Woman, Maya Angelou (Memoir)
  9. Tibetan Peach Pie, Tom Robbins (Memoir)
  10. Couldn't Keep It To Myself, Wally Lamb and the Women of York Prison (Memoir)
  11. The Road to Wigan Pier, George Orwell (Memoir)
  12. Life on the Mississippi, Mark Twain (Memoir)
  13. Travels with Charlie, John Steinbeck (Memoir)
  14. The Outsider, Richard Wright (autobiographical fiction)
  15. Typee, Herman Melville (autobiographical fiction)
  16. Bird on Bird, Anne Lamott (memoir plus how-to-write)
  17. On Writing, Stephen King (autobiographical fiction)
  18. If He Hollers, Let Him Go, Chester Himes (fiction by felons)
  19. The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoevsky (fiction by felons)
I did not get a chance to present my list last Wednesday. We - my group - decided to go on rather than await an extension cord for the projector. That list contained only books in the prison library, or I knew were on the compound. I picked them with an emphasis for familiar types in prison. The idea is creativity vented stress and was for the Success and Wellness class, so I think you can see the connection between stress relief and the requirements of the class.

I will add these for you:

sch

[* These books were ones I had not read and still have not. And in the process of adding hyperlinks to my list, I came across the following:
sch 4/22/25]

Tuesday, April 22, 2025

Do We Need Tearing Down To Build Again?

 I suppose this is a political post. You might think so. It is meant to be about writing and culture.... Okay, so it is about politics, if we think of politics is how people live together.

This post comes from France by way of The Guardian: Name by Constance Debré review – a demolition of bourgeois life.

Heaven forfend I should claim to love her books! Debré’s trilogy has shaken up the French literary scene but it’s gloriously unclear what it amounts to. The French love their rebels, which makes it harder to really be one. For all her claims to be entirely apart from the literary world, Debré has much in common with Edouard Louis, another writer renouncing name and class and denouncing hypocrisy in violently stripped-down prose. Because the working-class Louis is concerned with inequality – with the appalling bodily injustice meted out by the class system – there’s some sense that his books offer a vision of social regeneration. Though their verve and delight comes from his own ascent, with its particular mix of luck, desperate exploitation and loving redemption, they do suggest how change might work on a less makeshift and individual scale.

I do not know Debré or Edouard Louis, but neither do I know of any other American writers working this territory. It seems to me that this was the territory worked by Theodore Dreiser and Nelson Algren. Is the MFA writer to blame for this? They seem ready and available scapegoats.  However, my impression from the review is that Debré is not a mainstream writer, although one that gets herself noticed. The difference may not be then the education of our writers as much as the traditions and education of French readers. Perhaps Americans are too scared of rocking the boat to read someone intent on shooting holes in the boat's bottom?

Debré, on the other hand, offers only destruction, and makes the experience of reading her books wilfully claustrophobic. But perhaps this destruction may be necessary. Angela Carter talked about the Marquis de Sade as a moral pornographer, justified because the destruction pursued by characters such as his Juliette assaults the structures of our social world so much that renewal starts to seem thinkable, even if neither Sade nor Juliette were particularly interested in it. Something similar may be true of Debré’s lurid moral starkness. And certainly for a while after finishing Name, much else I read felt artificially sugary in the book’s aftertaste. Debré makes it harder to be hypocritical; harder to contrive stories about sophisticated made-up people. Name isn’t a manifesto for a new world, but it’s all the more effective as a work of demolition that makes new manifestos possible.

Hard for fiction to be as destructive as our reality under Donald J. Trump. It is like a constant Walpurgisnacht for sociopaths. 

Our social world has become more and more, our erotic attachment to our phones and social media.

Lines open for attack. Here in Indiana, we are about to cut back on an already lousy Medicaid system. The rich are intent on sucking even more life from those living from pay check to pay check. Christian nationalism wants to impose its theology and whiteness on a diversity of religions and skin color, We live under a political system that delivers less than its citizens want, so much so that alienation grows like mushrooms in the dark.

Who will take on the writing that captures what is wrong while also giving a view of what might come?

sch 4/20


Saturday, April 19, 2025

Is Freedom of Choice Really Freedom?

 I write this post equally fascinated and on edge about Andrew Lanham's The Surprising History of the Ideology of Choice (The New Republic), a review of Sophia Rosenfeld's The Age of Choice: A History of Freedom in Modern Life. 

First, the book comes across as a fascinating history of its topic.

It seems to also open the view to alternative theories of freedom, which I think may have more to offer than mere choice:

But as Rosenfeld notes in the epilogue of The Age of Choice, some thinkers and activists, especially Black feminists, have long argued that choice is a limited way to imagine liberation. The Black feminist legal scholar Dorothy Roberts, for example, describes how “black feminists at a 1994 pro-choice conference” developed the idea of “reproductive justice,” which demands not just individual choice about whether to have children, but also the socioeconomic resources to raise children “in safe, healthy, and supportive environments.” All choices occur “within a social context,” Roberts writes, “including inequalities of wealth and power.” Those inequalities determine who can afford to raise a child, or who can actually access abortion care. Roberts thus calls for a shift from a politics that emphasizes “choice” to one that emphasizes “social justice” by combating the “intersecting race, gender, and class oppressions” that limit people’s freedom.

Two ideas have me on edge, the review touches on one:

Simply having the right to choose, in other words—especially consumer choice in the economic arena—doesn’t offer real self-determination without the financial resources and social and political power to make meaningful decisions about one’s life. All the consumer options on Amazon don’t make people free. Social structures and hierarchies set the boundaries for choice. For that reason, civil rights and anti-colonial activists across the twentieth century developed rich critiques of oppression and alternative visions of freedom that focused on socioeconomic equality, not just choice. Freedom, such activists insisted, depends on things like the power to form a labor union, the right to health care and housing, and the end of environmental racism. Those “freedom dreams,” in Robin D.G. Kelley’s resonant phrase, are worth remembering today.

Choice depends on someone offering the choices. The review touches on Amazon when I would go further. I listened to an Erich Von Stroheim documentary tonight, which reminded me how American films were hobbled by the Hays Code.  If one listens to "classic" rock radio enough, you will hear how limited is that format (as well, as if you are older, just who is missing from that format). Who decides what is being offered and why are they making these offers. We had choice but only within limits. 

Take Black artists out of rock music, and it is a different music, for a different people, than if you include Chuck Berry. Bo Diddley, and Sly Stone. 













 




Or just listen to Garland Jeffreys:


If we take Hays Code pablum as a realistic history of America, then you have a different culture than what one could get from reading Richard Wright, or John Steinbeck, or Nelson Algren, or Ralph Ellison.

What we also get is a cultural history that is inaccurate for all of its adherents. If we get a manufactured cultural history, do we not get a changed political culture? 

Then there is this feeling that flooding the zone with choices may appear to be an abundance when what we get is actually poverty. This comes somewhat from reading Orthodox Christian writers holding forth that being enslaved to Christ is more freedom than what we get with all the choice of the world. We need an education that teaches us about the beneficial choices for us. That would mean, I think, teaching about what is the good end for one's life. 

Finally, there are these guys:




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Friday, February 7, 2025

Writing Post: Scams, Biographies, Behind the Scenes of a Debut Novel, Lolita

I think On Scams and Predatory Behavior in the Writing World with Victoria Strauss needs to be read in full by all of us trying to get published.

From Writer's Digest came The Journey of My Debut Novel by Tara Dorabji:

My book finally found its home with Simon & Schuster after winning their Books Like Us First Novel contest, landing a book deal and an agent. After over a decade of research and revisions, Call Her Freedom is being released the same week as MLK Day and Inauguration Day, amidst the rising authoritarianism here and around the world. 

Despite imprisonment of journalists and storytellers in Kashmir and other occupied zones, storytelling remains an act of resistance, as does love and human kindness. Art not only reflects the brutality of our world, but it allows us to envision worlds where our interdependence and care for one and other are centered—breathing them into reality.

Sounds like good work was done for a good cause.

Also from Writer's Digest, the interview Jillian Meadows: All Writers Have Bad Days. A good reminder for me, maybe it will be for you, too.

Were there any surprises in the writing process for this book?

I think the biggest surprise was the fact that I was able to complete a book at all! There were many days where finishing felt like an overwhelming task, and I didn’t know if I’d make it. But struggling through those bad moments and coming back to my computer the next day and then the next slowly built up my confidence in myself. And that was the most rewarding feeling.

I do wish the sound quality were better on the video Translated Fiction 16 Book Recommendations, but I heard many that I would recommend - and many I had not heard of (which may be more of a recommendation):


If you are a Dorthy Parker fan, then this video interview about Parker in Hollywood should be of interest :


Want to know about American Romanticism and Transcendentalism? This video might be a good start, it is certainly interesting in its presentation!


For me, it points out how much work I need to do for "Chasing Ashes".

Ray Bradbury interviewed about Fahrenheit 451:


Vladimir Nabokov discusses "Lolita" part 1 of 2:


The video harkens back to a world that was going out as I came into the world.

I read Lolita while in prison. It annoyed me - a world and a character that makes no sense to me. Yet, it was brilliantly written. After finishing Reading Lolita in Tehran, I had a less jaundiced view of the novel. If you have not read Lolita, I suggest watching the video above and then going to Reading Lolita in Tehran before starting on Nabokov's novel.

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I have read only two of Yukio Mishima's novels, and that was while in prison. I knew of Mishima when I was a teenager due to how he died - it even made the news in Indiana. Although I started reading Japanese writers with Kenzaburō Ōe, and probably prefer Ōe, there is a power to Mishima that is impossible to ignore. Haruki Murakami's surrealism may play better with our Western minds, but Mishima's strangeness may be harder to swallow for its spirituality. This year is Mishima's centenary, which I did not know until today, when I read Christopher Harding's The triumph and tragedy of Yukio Mishima (Englesberg Ideas).

Though Mishima was partially eclipsed in later years by authors like Haruki Murakami, particularly outside Japan, in his centenary year he speaks to a basic unease that many Japanese would still recognise. Japanese leaders are struggling to stabilise the economy and to give an account of what their country stands for beyond the peace and prosperity that was once taken for granted but which is now threatened by China’s rise and Japan’s rapidly ageing and shrinking population. Mishima’s dream of a nation imbued with purpose and passion, seeded by childhood trips to watch kabuki plays with his grandmother, feels as compelling – and perhaps as disturbing – as ever.

Notes From the Editor’s Desk: January 2025 

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The truth about fiction by Hannah H Kim (Aeon) takes a dive into philosophy, Chinese as well as the usual Western, which came at the right time for me, and I advise you take the same dive.

Why did the county care to recategorise a children’s book, especially since the committee didn’t include a single librarian? To call the book ‘fiction’, in this case, was to call it ‘untrue’, a decision undergirded by the desire to resist unflattering portrayals of American history. The power to label books as ‘fiction’ or ‘nonfiction’ is to demarcate what is real and what isn’t, what is true and what is false, what is imagined and what is actual.

***

Why did the county care to recategorise a children’s book, especially since the committee didn’t include a single librarian? To call the book ‘fiction’, in this case, was to call it ‘untrue’, a decision undergirded by the desire to resist unflattering portrayals of American history. The power to label books as ‘fiction’ or ‘nonfiction’ is to demarcate what is real and what isn’t, what is true and what is false, what is imagined and what is actual.

But fiction is different from lies – and hence, labelling Coombs’s book as ‘fiction’, and not ‘bad nonfiction that ought to be pulled from the shelves’, betrays the committee’s intention. They didn’t care about the status of the contents of the book so much as they cared about the contents of what we take to be real and true. All that mattered to them was that it not be considered nonfiction – and if it’s not nonfiction, it must be fiction, right?

This raises a fascinating and surprisingly thorny philosophical question: what distinguishes fiction from nonfiction? What is fiction in the first place? Despite common usage, philosophers agree that we can’t equate ‘fiction’ with ‘false content’. On the one hand, the inclusion of falsity isn’t enough to render a work fiction. Books with false statements – old science textbooks with disproven theories, history books with mistakes, memoirs with contradictory events – don’t change their status from nonfiction to fiction when false content is identified. Instead, we judge them to be bad nonfiction. On the other hand, not all fictions include false content since there are fictions that include only actual events, such as Helen Garner’s The Spare Room (2008), a factual account of the author’s experience of nursing a dying friend. And the fact that historical fiction exists – that a fictional work can be consistent with all known facts, yet still be considered fiction – shows that fiction doesn’t need to include (known) falsity.

What matters for nonfiction is that its content is believed to be true. A creative writing friend of mine told me that writing what one sincerely believes to be true after due diligence in research and introspection is enough to render some content ‘nonfiction’. This means that, strictly speaking, nonfiction can be false but remain ‘nonfiction’ as long as we think it’s true. 

***

 What grounds the nonfiction/fiction distinction is not that the former is based on truth or facticity per se, but that the former contributes to how we see the world insofar as it organises the kinds of truths that we care enough about to read and write about. The Montgomery County Commission didn’t initiate a systematic audit of all nonfiction books that might include false or misleading information. Rather, they targeted a book whose claim to truth practically interfered with their understandings of themselves and the country.

Our thoughts about reality and our thoughts about fiction go hand in hand. Of course, sometimes we care about fiction because it lets us entertain a world that is different from ours. But even when it is fiction’s departure from the real world that makes it worthwhile, the departure is measured against the background of the real world. In fact, not only the content of fiction – what we’re able or willing to call ‘fiction’ – but also the nature of fiction – what fiction is – depends on how we think about the real world. A comparative study of the way ‘fiction’ as a concept develops across cultures shows that, whenever a group of people think of reality differently, the nature and function of fiction is understood differently as well. We can observe this by contrasting analytic philosophy of fiction with classical Chinese conceptions of fiction.

***

In cultures that don’t take on board a strong reality/appearance distinction, however, ‘fiction’ isn’t understood alongside ‘pretence’ and ‘imagination’ in contrast to ‘the real’. Just like their ancient Greek counterparts, Chinese metaphysicians sought to understand what the world is like and what explains the way the world is. But while the ancient Greeks posited an unchanging ultimate reality that transcends mere phenomena, the ancient Chinese believed that what is ultimate is immanent in the world, and that the Dao (道), the source of all things in the world, is itself constantly changing. This change-forward metaphysics led to a theory of fiction that didn’t contrast fiction against a stable, ‘real’ counterpart.

***

The Chinese word for ‘fiction’ (xiaoshuo, 小說) literally means ‘small talk’ or ‘small sayings’. Chinese literary culture had a rigid hierarchy of discourses, with Confucian classics and official histories at the top of the pyramid, while imaginative narrative texts like xiaoshuo were placed at the bottom. However, it would be misleading to say that xiaoshuo was denigrated because it was imaginative, whereas philosophical texts and histories were elevated because they were ‘real’. Since Chinese metaphysics didn’t posit a fixed, transcendent reality, reality was understood to be an ever-changing process, and so the categories themselves couldn’t be based on inherent, necessary or fixed essences but on functions and behavioural tendencies. The difference between discourses labelled ‘xiaoshuo’ and ‘great learning’ (Confucian classics and histories) wasn’t that one is unreal or imagined while the other is real. All discourse was understood as an account of the world, and the difference between ‘small talk’ and ‘great learning’ was the extent to which it was adopted to organise how people lived. Xiaoshuo wasn’t understood in contrast to reality, and it wasn’t metaphysically second class. It was at the bottom of the discourse hierarchy because its function wasn’t as grand as the classics’.

***

So, instead of asking how fiction might be defined (ahistorically, logically), we should ask what work we want fiction to do. Our questions about fiction come from identifiable metaphysical starting points. If we find ourselves continuing to crave a definition of fiction, we should also ask what need it will meet: what theory of fiction do we require to solve current problems?

***

One of the most interesting – and promising – features of fiction is that it creates a space between the ‘true’ and the ‘false’, between ‘real’ and ‘imaginary’. Good fiction tends to destabilise such dichotomous ways of approaching the world through thoughtful content, innovative form, or self-referentiality. Is there some special work we can expect of fiction, such that we can rethink its nature and function towards that end? The fiction/nonfiction distinction is one worth keeping, and philosophers of fiction continue to have their work cut out for themselves.

I omitted much to get to the point of what has gotten me thinking about writing that does not care to mimic reality. "Chasing Ashes" is very much on my mind, even while I try to muster enough energy for mundane legal research. When I first conceived of "Chasing Ashes", I had in mind several ideas about life and America. I wanted to drag in all that was in mind - both of history and of fiction - that made me and made America. Reading this makes me think I may be onto something - even if I cannot properly execute the thing. I think we should give the Chinese ideas on fiction serious thought. Read the full essay and see what you think.

sch 1/26 

 I read Constance Roisin's A Self-Made Myth: How Edith Wharton Rewrote Her Own Childhood (LitHub) as another story of the difference between a writer's life and their fiction.

I read Salman Rushdie with a great deal of amusement, but also with an eye to what he does with the novel. This seems to be rooted in his dividing his time (or is it his mind?) between India and England. I wonder if the same thing can be duplicated here.

Literary Yard published Ramlal Agarwal's Indo-English Novels before and after Rushdie.

In its early stages, Indian writing in English met disapproval and disbelief. It was argued that no alien language could express the Indian ethos. As such, Madhusudan Datta and Bankimchandra Chatterjee, the earliest practitioners of Indian writing in English, gave up their pursuit and turned to their mother tongue. Some Indian writers doggedly used English in their creative endeavours, but they were few and far between.

For me, can we in the Midwest use the same forms and tropes as they do in New York, or the West Coast, or the South?

We are not the close-quarter ethnic meshing of New York; we are not the future promised by California; nor are we the residue of a Lost Cause to keep human beings enslaved clashing with American idealism that is the South.

We are the people who stayed rather than go further west; we are the people who filled and led the Union armies; we have been here so long we have lost the Old World ties that lie behind our names. 

We have a tradition of sentimenal fiction. We are also the home of Ernest Hemingway, Nelson Algren, Kurt Vonnegut, Jr, and Toni Morrsion.

I will finish with this from Agarwal's essay:

R. K. Narayan’s Guide was published in 1955. Graham Greene considered Narayan not only an inimitable and charming interpreter of the Indian way of life but also a great contributor to English literature. In the Guide, Narayan charts the life of an ordinary person from childhood to death. His life takes unexpected turns and twists, from being a tea vendor at Malgudi Railway Station to Railway Raju, to a famous guide, to a lover, to a criminal, and to a saint. He ascribes it to fate. Narayan gives an authentic picture of life in villages. He describes how his characters form relationships, excitement, ambitions, and failures.

Through these tales, he tells his readers about innocent people and how they believe in fate and are driven by faith. He presents the most characteristic traits of the Indian ethos. But V.S. Naipaul thinks otherwise. He says, “For all their delight in human oddity, Narayan’s novels are less the purely social comedies I had once taken them to be than religious fables and intensely Hindu.” Yes, they are not social comedies for Indian life. It is not restricted to comedies and tragedies. They are specific and transcend the forms and concepts of art forms of the West. Yes, they are intensely Hindu. But that is what India is.

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