I'm re-reading Philip Pullman's The Shadow in the North: my ninth grade is going to read it this semester. (Patrick complained that last semester's book, Emily of New Moon, had no plot. You want plot?! I'll give you plot!!) (Gratifyingly, most of his classmates liked Emily of New Moon, and not just the girls.)

I noticed on the copyright page that The Shadow in the North had originally been published in 1986 under the title The Shadow in the Plate. "In the plate"? What's that?! Then I realized he must mean "photographic plate": Sally's comrades run a photographer's studio. A shadowy evil in the north, photography... these are the leit motifs of Northern Lights (aka The Golden Compass). Where do they come from?

Photography (not to mention electricity) as a link to the spirit world was the object of much study in the nineteenth century — and Northern Lights is set in the nineteenth century, albeit a fantasy of the nineteenth century — no less than the Sally Lockhart quartet. The northern evil must come (via Milton) from Canaanite mythology, where the great Adversary had his seat in the north. God, anti-god, Pullman's atheism...

Funny names for food:

sticky Richard
spotted Dick
bangers and mash
neaps and tatties
toad in the hole
pigs in blanket
bubble and squeak

saltimbocca

A while ago I went to JS's presentation of his new book, at Columbia. It was very interesting, and a lively discussion followed. I participated, but I wasn't yet able to put into words what I was thinking. Hence this post.

— I was troubled by the way that the word "ahistorical" was used as if it were a bad word. The philosophical foundations of human rights are "ahistorical." So they are, and isn't it in the nature of ideals to be ahistorical? Ideals can be bad and they can be good, and historicism is a poor standard by which to judge them. And: why not say, instead of "ahistorical," "timeless"? I know that's a word that people are embarrassed to use, but why? It's an embarrassment that should be interrogated.
[J once pointed out that academic critics' fondness for the word "interrogate" betrays their adversarial stance toward literature. Yes, although it's also a word that translates poorly from romance languages — in Italy teachers interrogate their students, and I suppose there's something adversarial in the exercise, but not as much as in a police interrogation!]

The flip side: I recently read Perry Miller's essays in Errand into the Wilderness, on the first few decades of Calvinism in America. He shows very convincingly that this tremendously unstable Calvinist edifice [J's talk was all about the deep contradictions in pure Calvinism] began to buckle under pressure from reality very soon — by the 1660s Boston reverends were already engaging in casuistry, and surely they knew what they were doing. Isn't there a danger in treating Calvinism in America as something that never evolved — a danger of being ahistorical?

Books since last summer:

Boswell's London Journal, 1762-1763
Felix Holt, the Radical (George Eliot)
Vertigo (Sebald)
Nights at the Circus (Carter)
Storia degli Italiani, vol. II (Procacci)
Sexing the Cherry (Winterson)
The East Face of Helicon: West Asiastic Elements in Greek Poetry and Myth (West)
Malgudi Days (Narayan)
The Same Sea (Oz)
Ozma of Oz (Baum)
Comet in Moominland (Jansson)
The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation: vol. I: The Pox Party (Anderson)
Prince Caspian (Lewis)
Emily of New Moon (Montgomery)
The Enchanted Castle (Nesbit)
My Antonia (Cather):
I, Claudius (Graves)
Claudius the God (Graves)
Miti e leggende di antica Roma (Agizza)
My Mortal Enemy (Cather)
Living in the Land of Ashes (Gebert)
The Omnivore's Dilemma (Pollan)
Ester and Ruzya: How My Grandmothers Survived Hitler's War and Stalin's Peace (Gessen)
One of Ours (Cather)