Monday various

  • Roger Ebert on The Green Hornet:

    Casting about for something to praise, I recalled that I heard a strange and unique sound for the first time, a high-pitched whooshing scream, but I don’t think Gondry can claim it, because it came from the hand dryers in the nearby men’s room.

  • At first I thought it was like that urban legend about the ghost on the set of Three Men and a Baby, but apparently this one’s true: Han Solo does appear in many, if not all, episodes of Firefly.

    If you’re wondering, Mal shot first.

  • Alex Beam of the Boston Globe wonders — or maybe wondered back in November when I first saw this link — are new translations necessary? It’s an interesting question, but there’s no mention of instances when newer translations get things right, or make necessary corrections, or significantly change our understanding of a text. Proust’s famous novel is better translated as In Search of Lost Time, for instance, and newer translations of Camus’ The Stranger have called into question earlier readings of its famous opening lines.

    So, short answer? Yeah, I think they’re still necessary. [via]

  • Speaking of translations, the surprisingly intriguing story of why Uncle Scrooge McDuck is called “Dagobert” in Germany. [via]
  • And finally….

    The Justice League, re-imagined as a 1977 punk rock movie, based on an art challenge posed by Warren Ellis and by the exceptionally talented Annie Wu.

Never the Twain shall meet

I keep wanting to say something — just something — about that forthcoming new edition of Huckleberry Finn that you may have heard about recently, the one that replaces Mark Twain’s some two hundred uses of the word “nigger” — and let’s just get that right out there at the start — with the word “slave.” But beyond saying, well, I don’t think they should do that, I don’t have a whole lot to say about it. Frankly, lots of other people have already said it better than me.

For instance, Petter David writes:

To me, the bottomline [sic] is this: I have little doubt that fifty years from now the NewSouth edition will be forgotten, seen as a quaint relic of attempted censorship in the same manner that the Bowdler versions of Shakespeare plays are. In the meantime, Huck Finn’s realization that a man should be judged–if he is to be judged at all–by the quality of his soul rather than the color of his skin–will continue to shine as a clarion call for racial tolerance in a way that all the censored versions of classic works will not.

I heard an interview with the new edition’s editor, Alan Gribben, on a recent episode of Studio 360, and his intentions seem to be good, his heart in the right place. Many students, and not just African Americans, he argues, have a very difficult time engaging with the novel because of that word; it’s simply too loaded a word for them to read past it. In his introduction, he writes:

Through a succession of firsthand experiences, this editor gradually concluded that an epithet-free edition of Twain’s books is necessary today. For nearly forty years I have led college classes, bookstore forums, and library reading groups in detailed discussions of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn in California, Texas, New York, and Alabama, and I always recoiled from uttering the racial slurs spoken by numerous characters, including Tom and Huck. I invariably substituted the word “slave” for Twain’s ubiquitous n-word whenever I read any passages aloud. Students and audience members seemed to prefer this expedient, and I could detect a visible sense of relief each time, as though a nagging problem with the text had been addressed. Indeed, numerous communities currently ban Huckleberry Finn as required reading in public schools owing to its offensive racial language and have quietly moved the title to voluntary reading lists. The American Library Association lists the novel as one of the most frequently challenged books across the nation.

And yet, while his intention is not censorship, it is at the very least sugarcoating, and one of a distinctly odd variety: his substitution may not have the hateful power of Twain’s original, the same slap-in-the-face quality that the n-word has since acquired, but it is, in the end, arguably more offensive.

That’s debatable, of course, and obviously my reaction to either word isn’t going to be the same as a young African American high school or college student’s. It may indeed be incredibly difficult for such a student to work past the n-word, to see past the centuries of racism and hate that have often divided us and made teaching the book so contentious. But isn’t that, to a very large extent, what teaching is for?

Matt Cheney writes about this in great detail, and his post, along with the links he shares, are worth reading in full. In part, he says:

I think teachers have a responsibility to raise and work through difficult, discomforting topics with students, because those topics are not going to disappear if they’re not talked about. Students will encounter racism and sexism and homophobia and all sorts of other privileges, entitlements, and entanglements — they will even, in all likelihood, perpetrate some of those things themselves (I have; haven’t we all?). Education shouldn’t be about memorizing lots of facts and figures, or about reading pleasant and uncontroversial books. There’s a place, certainly, for facts, figures, and pleasant reading. But educators need to have some spark of idealism. We should want to make the world better, and to help empower our students in whatever small ways we can to go forth and help make the world a more beautiful, less painful place. Otherwise, why bother teaching?

Perhaps replacing the word “nigger” with “slave” throughout Huck Finn makes the book better; it certainly doesn’t make the world better.

So, in the end, yeah, I don’t have a lot to say myself beyond, well, I wish they wouldn’t do that. But they’re going to do it, and no doubt the altered edition will be taught in a number of schools going forward. I just think, for however easier it will make the teaching and reading experience, those students and their instructors are getting cheated.

Weekend, part 2 of 3

You know the nicest thing about a three-day weekend? Not having to go to work tomorrow, that’s what.

Today was mostly just a typical Sunday, spent working on the New York Times crossword, doing a little reading, and joining my weekly writing group. Afterward, we went to see the new version of True Grit. But, before I talk about that, here’s what I wrote today in our forty-minute free-writing exercise:

If she knew who had killed her, and the ruby wasn’t expensive, she could ask the old conjuring woman to cast one of the old book’s divination spells, to locate the bastard precisely, and then extract what Badger would have laughingly called her revenge.

But the truth was, Maria didn’t know; to her constant embarrassment she didn’t even know for certain that she was dead, not just stuck between realms, caught in this half-formed kind of limbo, and she certainly didn’t have enough in her pockets to buy the ruby the old woman said she was going to need.

And the woman wasn’t going to help her without payment. Maria could see, even now, the woman wanted her out of the conjurer’s shop. There was a glimmer of fear in her eyes, a frightened look Maria had grown all too accustomed to seeing in her recent travels, and she knew she would have to run if the old woman reached for the wireless or threatened to notify the local constable. Half-dead or not, Maria didn’t need trouble with the law.

Badger would have told her to make the most of her predicament, use the woman’s fear to her advantage.

If you’re going to look like a ghost, why not act like a ghost? That would have been John Badger’s philosophy. If they’re going to be frightened of you anyway, why not put that fear to good use? There wasn’t much benefit to being dead otherwise.

And after two hundred years at it, Badger should know.

Yet Maria couldn’t bring herself to act like that, precisely because, as she would have reminded him, Badger refused to act like that either. He talked a big game, and had even pointed at the council of wraiths they’d encountered in Toledo with a degree of admiration, respect. But she knew he clung to his humanity as fiercely as she clung to hers. The wraiths exploited fear, became fear, and, it was true, reaped huge rewards for it. They wouldn’t have needed the ruby, or the conjuring woman, and they wouldn’t have feared the local law enforcement. In Toledo, they were the law. But Maria also knew they were little else; they had sacrificed their humanity in ways that she — and even the two-century-old Badger — wasn’t ready to yet.

Even if it would have helped her find her murderer.

“I can get you the ruby by sundown,” she lied. “You just get the spell ready — cast your bones, whatever it is you do — and I’ll be back before dark.”

The woman sighed, but then nodded. She turned to walk to the back of the shop, with the understanding that this was Maria’s time to leave.

“If you return without it, half-thing,” the old woman said, not turning around, “know that I will finish you.”

I definitely think there’s a story there. I didn’t develop it any further this afternoon, but, in my head at least, Maria and Badger are interesting characters.

As to True Grit, it’s also full of interesting characters. (See how merciless I am with that segue?) And, while I really enjoyed the original, this one is more realistic and maybe overall the better acted of the two films. The exception, maybe, being Jeff Bridges; he’s terrific, as is everybody else, but John Wayne is a very hard act to follow. Hailee Steinfeld is the real standout in the movie, especially given her young age. (Kim Darby, in the original, was in her early 20s when she played the part.) I’m not so sure I love the ending, although it is similar to how the previous version ended, and I gather it’s the ending from the original novel, which the Coen Brothers were determined to adhere to. I think they deserve a Best Adapted Screenplay Oscar nomination, if nothing else, and each of the three leads, including Bridges and Steinfeld, deserve acting nods.

And yet, I think I’d still give the slight edge to the original movie, if only because the new one doesn’t include this wonderful exchange of dialogue:

“When’s the last time you saw Ned Pepper?”
“I don’t remember any Ned Pepper.”
“Short feisty fella, nervous and quick, got a messed-up lower lip.”
“That don’t bring nobody to mind. A funny lip?”
“Wasn’t always like that, I shot him in it.”
“In the lower lip? What was you aiming at?”
“His upper lip.”