Monday, March 22, 2004
Mauricio Obregon’s Beyond the Edge of the Sea
I recently finished Mauricio Obregon’s Beyond the Edge of the Sea.
This slim volume captures the mystery and beauty of ancient sea travel. He retells the stories of the Odyssey, the Argonautica, the Polynesians, and the Muslims with a focus on the sailing journey, and he relates his own personal experience sailing the same paths as these heroes. The photographs of different islands and harbors, printed in black and white, are uninteresting and tend to look the same, but the photographs of maps, wind and water currents, and navigation tools are fascinating.
However, I am wary of his history. There are no footnotes, and the bibliography contains about half a dozen sources. I know little about sailing, but I know a fair amount about history and mythology, and I know some of his broad, background statements are simply false. He claims, “The giant Heracles (Hercules), after being left behind by the Argonauts and completing his labors, settled into the firmament as Orion, which resembles a giant with a sword and shield” (12). The constellation Orion actually represents the human hunter Orion, friend and perhaps lover of the goddess of the hunt, Artemis (Diana). The god Apollo, jealous of the new man spending time with his sister, tricks her into killing the human then helps her set him in the stars. Orion is not Heracles. He also discusses “Cairo, today the capital of Islam” (98), a description I would have thought more aptly applied to Mecca in Saudi Arabia.
Inaccuracies like these make me wonder about his knowledge of sailing. His descriptions of navigation, sailing, and global weather patterns seem truthful and do inform the ancient epic stories he seeks to expand on. However, he claims to be an expert on sailing (whereas he never claims to be an expert in mythology), his credentials are all sailing-related, and the history and mythology bits seem to be filler to give the book a broader appeal and a deeper significance.
He offers interesting historical tidbits as he traces the ancient journeys and thoroughly examines the texts. He locates Calypso’s island in the Odyssey based on her statement that “Big Dipper is ‘the only constellation which never bathes in Ocean’s stream.’” He concludes, “In order for the Dipper to be the only constellation that never set, Homer must have been familiar with only latitudes south of thirty-seven degrees north” (24).
He proposes a reason for the Polynesians’ migrations against, instead of with, the prevailing winds: “if, like Columbus, one is going to sail across as ocean toward a great continent, one goes with the prevailing wind, as Columbus did; but if, like the Polynesians, one is going to sail out into an apparently limitless ocean in search of an island that may or may not be there, it is wiser to wait for one of those days when the wind blows contrary to its prevailing direction. Then, if the island does not turn up, instead of being blown indefinitely, one can simply wait for the prevailing wind to return, and can sail home to try again another day” (40).
All in all, this book was a fun, light read, though I am very glad I bought it used and didn’t pay full price.
This slim volume captures the mystery and beauty of ancient sea travel. He retells the stories of the Odyssey, the Argonautica, the Polynesians, and the Muslims with a focus on the sailing journey, and he relates his own personal experience sailing the same paths as these heroes. The photographs of different islands and harbors, printed in black and white, are uninteresting and tend to look the same, but the photographs of maps, wind and water currents, and navigation tools are fascinating.
However, I am wary of his history. There are no footnotes, and the bibliography contains about half a dozen sources. I know little about sailing, but I know a fair amount about history and mythology, and I know some of his broad, background statements are simply false. He claims, “The giant Heracles (Hercules), after being left behind by the Argonauts and completing his labors, settled into the firmament as Orion, which resembles a giant with a sword and shield” (12). The constellation Orion actually represents the human hunter Orion, friend and perhaps lover of the goddess of the hunt, Artemis (Diana). The god Apollo, jealous of the new man spending time with his sister, tricks her into killing the human then helps her set him in the stars. Orion is not Heracles. He also discusses “Cairo, today the capital of Islam” (98), a description I would have thought more aptly applied to Mecca in Saudi Arabia.
Inaccuracies like these make me wonder about his knowledge of sailing. His descriptions of navigation, sailing, and global weather patterns seem truthful and do inform the ancient epic stories he seeks to expand on. However, he claims to be an expert on sailing (whereas he never claims to be an expert in mythology), his credentials are all sailing-related, and the history and mythology bits seem to be filler to give the book a broader appeal and a deeper significance.
He offers interesting historical tidbits as he traces the ancient journeys and thoroughly examines the texts. He locates Calypso’s island in the Odyssey based on her statement that “Big Dipper is ‘the only constellation which never bathes in Ocean’s stream.’” He concludes, “In order for the Dipper to be the only constellation that never set, Homer must have been familiar with only latitudes south of thirty-seven degrees north” (24).
He proposes a reason for the Polynesians’ migrations against, instead of with, the prevailing winds: “if, like Columbus, one is going to sail across as ocean toward a great continent, one goes with the prevailing wind, as Columbus did; but if, like the Polynesians, one is going to sail out into an apparently limitless ocean in search of an island that may or may not be there, it is wiser to wait for one of those days when the wind blows contrary to its prevailing direction. Then, if the island does not turn up, instead of being blown indefinitely, one can simply wait for the prevailing wind to return, and can sail home to try again another day” (40).
All in all, this book was a fun, light read, though I am very glad I bought it used and didn’t pay full price.
Thursday, February 05, 2004
I have a new project
I miss school. I miss learning. I miss structured learning. I just started a non-credit class reading Thucydides’ The History of the Peloponnesian War. I’m really excited. This is a book I’ve wanted to read for a while, and now I have a structure that will force me to actually do it.
I’ll let you know what I think.
I’ll let you know what I think.
To the White Sea
I read To the White Sea by James Dickey, the same man who wrote Deliverance. Amazing. Brief summary: an American WWII gunner named Muldrow is shot down and lands in Tokyo. Amidst the chaos of the US firebombing of Tokyo in 1944, he makes his way up North, hoping to find his way back to his home Alaska.
I am amazed how much I could get into a book with a single character. Other people drift in and out, but they rarely last more than a page.
I am constantly amazed by Dickey's use of terrain as a character. Sometimes the terrain fights Muldrow, somethings hides him, sometimes shelters him in beautiful places where Muldrow can feel more happiness than he claims he ever has before.
At the same time, the book is very brutal. Muldrow is completely amoral in his drive to get home. He kills for necessity, and he kills easily. He is too driven to get home to his cold Alaska, he rarely thinks twice of the men he shoots for their clothes, the woman he drowns, and the others.
Read it. If you can stand the blood and the brutality, there is so much beauty in this book, so much understanding of humanity.
"...when he said something like, God is everywhere there is, God is in this snow, I should've come back at him and said, No, the snow is in the snow." -- Muldrow narrates, speaking of a monk he had met. Dickey is insightful and understands the wild and the men who are drawn to it. Even I can feel that draw, and I'm female.
I am amazed how much I could get into a book with a single character. Other people drift in and out, but they rarely last more than a page.
I am constantly amazed by Dickey's use of terrain as a character. Sometimes the terrain fights Muldrow, somethings hides him, sometimes shelters him in beautiful places where Muldrow can feel more happiness than he claims he ever has before.
At the same time, the book is very brutal. Muldrow is completely amoral in his drive to get home. He kills for necessity, and he kills easily. He is too driven to get home to his cold Alaska, he rarely thinks twice of the men he shoots for their clothes, the woman he drowns, and the others.
Read it. If you can stand the blood and the brutality, there is so much beauty in this book, so much understanding of humanity.
"...when he said something like, God is everywhere there is, God is in this snow, I should've come back at him and said, No, the snow is in the snow." -- Muldrow narrates, speaking of a monk he had met. Dickey is insightful and understands the wild and the men who are drawn to it. Even I can feel that draw, and I'm female.
Monday, December 29, 2003
I am a meta-reader.
That's what my geek boyfriend called me, and I agreed in a heart-beat, without tripping mentally over the "meta" part, which proves me a geek, too.
But seriously, most of the books I've been reading recently are about books or about reading or, in one case, a history of book shelves (The Book of the Bookshelf - wonderful title). I think that given my love of books, given that books have defined me as a person, I want to understand their evolution better.
The classic meta-book for me is Anne Fadiman's Ex Libris. I bought this book on a whim, 5 years ago. Careful as I am with books, the cover on this one is wearing visibly, and I think there’s a diet Coke smudge on the back. I have read it more times than I can count. This was the first book I read that made me feel part of the quiet community of readers. Reading may be mostly solitary by nature, but there are people I can relate to on sheer love of reading and books.
In a nutshell, the book is a collection of essays about books. She talks about growing up surrounded by books, using books as literal building blocks when she was playing as a child. She talks about the glory of the doomed English explorers in Antarctica, who used dog sleds to carry their precious supplies of books and food, as well as pounds and pounds of fossils in hard rock. Had they abandonded the extra weight, they might have made it to safety in time. They chose not to.
The other day, I went into a newsstand that was like any other newsstand – it was coated with layers of magazines on all the walls, dripping with folded pages and subscription cards that occasionally floated to the ground in paper puddles. I was looking for something to read.
I work as an IT management consultant. The book I brought to read on the Metro ride to work was Paradise Lost, and I was reading it five pages per Metro ride, then at lunch. But that day I wanted something lighter.
The covers of all the magazines vied for my attention, and I picked up The American Scholar to look at the names on the cover and in the contents and to feel the paper in my hands. I recognized some of the names, Mark Salzman, Nicholson Baker, and Henry Petroski (he wrote The Book of the Bookshelf). The essay titles all looked interesting. The paper and ink smelled as like the magic of books. I wavered.
I looked at the title page and saw Anne Fadiman's name. I closed the magazine, tucked it under my arm, and dug out my wallet.
I am in the middle of Penelope Fitzgerald's The Bookshop, about a woman who lives in a town with no bookshop. It's 1959, the setting is a seaside town near London. She wants to open a bookshop, and she has already bought the building. I will let you know how it goes.
That's what my geek boyfriend called me, and I agreed in a heart-beat, without tripping mentally over the "meta" part, which proves me a geek, too.
But seriously, most of the books I've been reading recently are about books or about reading or, in one case, a history of book shelves (The Book of the Bookshelf - wonderful title). I think that given my love of books, given that books have defined me as a person, I want to understand their evolution better.
The classic meta-book for me is Anne Fadiman's Ex Libris. I bought this book on a whim, 5 years ago. Careful as I am with books, the cover on this one is wearing visibly, and I think there’s a diet Coke smudge on the back. I have read it more times than I can count. This was the first book I read that made me feel part of the quiet community of readers. Reading may be mostly solitary by nature, but there are people I can relate to on sheer love of reading and books.
In a nutshell, the book is a collection of essays about books. She talks about growing up surrounded by books, using books as literal building blocks when she was playing as a child. She talks about the glory of the doomed English explorers in Antarctica, who used dog sleds to carry their precious supplies of books and food, as well as pounds and pounds of fossils in hard rock. Had they abandonded the extra weight, they might have made it to safety in time. They chose not to.
The other day, I went into a newsstand that was like any other newsstand – it was coated with layers of magazines on all the walls, dripping with folded pages and subscription cards that occasionally floated to the ground in paper puddles. I was looking for something to read.
I work as an IT management consultant. The book I brought to read on the Metro ride to work was Paradise Lost, and I was reading it five pages per Metro ride, then at lunch. But that day I wanted something lighter.
The covers of all the magazines vied for my attention, and I picked up The American Scholar to look at the names on the cover and in the contents and to feel the paper in my hands. I recognized some of the names, Mark Salzman, Nicholson Baker, and Henry Petroski (he wrote The Book of the Bookshelf). The essay titles all looked interesting. The paper and ink smelled as like the magic of books. I wavered.
I looked at the title page and saw Anne Fadiman's name. I closed the magazine, tucked it under my arm, and dug out my wallet.
I am in the middle of Penelope Fitzgerald's The Bookshop, about a woman who lives in a town with no bookshop. It's 1959, the setting is a seaside town near London. She wants to open a bookshop, and she has already bought the building. I will let you know how it goes.
Sunday, July 27, 2003
Wow. I seem to have a blog.
I want to post reviews of books that I read and enjoy. Some will be detailed, some will be more streams of consciousness, but I want to get the word out about certain to the one or two people who find my little hole in the 'net. Enjoy.
I want to post reviews of books that I read and enjoy. Some will be detailed, some will be more streams of consciousness, but I want to get the word out about certain to the one or two people who find my little hole in the 'net. Enjoy.
