The ways in which Rome ran its state schools is indeed fascinating.
Though, more than anything, what had me widening my eyes as I read was how state funds were what legitimated the teaching profession.
As I've noted before, in Greece teaching was a last ditch career move (as it was throughout most of Rome's pre-fall existence). It was a poorly paid job and grouped with prostitution because teachers were being paid for a service. Land and goods were fine things to earn a living from, but services? Never!
Yet, it sounds as though Rome's designating things like academic chairs and having spots on the government payroll for a very small number of teachers made teaching enviable. Of course, these spots were truly far and few between - even Rome had a very limited number of such positions.
The whole situation reminds me of the current state of teaching in (at least) Ontario. There are just a few well-paying spots and thousands of people vying for them. Meanwhile, there are those teaching and tutoring on their own, just as there were in Rome, thus buttressing the comparison. Hopefully a barbarian invasion isn't what it takes to fix our current bout with employment issues in the teaching profession, though.
Off-the-cuff writings about, and sometimes reviews of, books and video games from a nerd's boxes of backlog. Warning: this is not a spoiler-free blog!
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Throwaway characters
As I get further into River of Stars, I'm reminded of Infinite Jest. The plots of the two books are wildly different, their settings strike up a stark contrast, and the authors' writing styles are definitely at odds with one another (though also similar, at least in their using a distinct "oral storyteller" voice).
What really reminds me of Infinite Jest, though, is how Kay keeps introducing new characters (some of whom are only around for a chapter or less).
However, using these varied perspectives isn't working for me. As I read onward I'm interested in learning more about the world that Kay has created through the varied viewpoints in which he presents it, but aside from Ren and Lin I feel very little attachment to his characters. Conversely, I found myself getting invested in nearly all of Infinite Jest's characters.
The reason for this investment being that Wallace really shows you his characters' inner workings through the ticks and habits that each had. Unsurprisingly, Kay does that quite well with Lin and Ren, but the other characters that are introduced just aren't clicking with me. They are, however, building the book's world quite nicely. Though I can't say that it's a grand new world with interesting people in it.
What really reminds me of Infinite Jest, though, is how Kay keeps introducing new characters (some of whom are only around for a chapter or less).
However, using these varied perspectives isn't working for me. As I read onward I'm interested in learning more about the world that Kay has created through the varied viewpoints in which he presents it, but aside from Ren and Lin I feel very little attachment to his characters. Conversely, I found myself getting invested in nearly all of Infinite Jest's characters.
The reason for this investment being that Wallace really shows you his characters' inner workings through the ticks and habits that each had. Unsurprisingly, Kay does that quite well with Lin and Ren, but the other characters that are introduced just aren't clicking with me. They are, however, building the book's world quite nicely. Though I can't say that it's a grand new world with interesting people in it.
A missing rite?
No doubt Marrou's guess that the divide between youth and adulthood goes back to Indo-European societies is close to the truth. It's not really all that curious as to why human life is divided into these two parts. Humans love stories, and stories always have turning points. Plus, the oldest stories that survive are predominantly heroic stories. Stories that fit Joseph Campbell's model of the Hero's Journey (a plot outline that fits very snugly over modern classics like Star Wars, The Lord of the Rings, the Harry Potter series, and so on).
Campbell's model is also a map of the coming of age story, as the hero moves from his/her hometown towards the unknown, eventually returning to that hometown a changed person. Having left a child and returned an adult. The division of life into youth and adulthood is definitely deeply entrenched.
This brings to mind all of the rituals that cultures and civilizations practice to mark the entrance of a child into adulthood, and that the West really doesn't have any such thing. You might consider moving out of your parents' house the North American rite. It takes a person out of their comfort zone and faces them with a whole set of unknowns.
In fact, moving out could well be the ritual. Why else would there be such a reaction to the struggles of the millenials and their returning to live with their parents again? I mean, setting aside the concrete reasons people might give, moving back in with your parents could all too easily be seen as a refusal of the adulthood initiation ritual.
Campbell's model is also a map of the coming of age story, as the hero moves from his/her hometown towards the unknown, eventually returning to that hometown a changed person. Having left a child and returned an adult. The division of life into youth and adulthood is definitely deeply entrenched.
This brings to mind all of the rituals that cultures and civilizations practice to mark the entrance of a child into adulthood, and that the West really doesn't have any such thing. You might consider moving out of your parents' house the North American rite. It takes a person out of their comfort zone and faces them with a whole set of unknowns.
In fact, moving out could well be the ritual. Why else would there be such a reaction to the struggles of the millenials and their returning to live with their parents again? I mean, setting aside the concrete reasons people might give, moving back in with your parents could all too easily be seen as a refusal of the adulthood initiation ritual.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
The calming of the river
Two chapters into River of Stars' second part, I'm feeling quite calmed. It could be that I simply didn't follow enough of the political goings on of the first part, or that the time jump that happened in the middle of it threw me for a loop, but the second part's big picture is clearer to me. That is, the second part's larger plot arc (which Kay is building up with several shorter ones, as he did in part one), is clearer to me than the first part's. In short, I'm pretty sure that Ren is planning to strike a blow for the peasants of the area.
Being able to see what's going on here has helped me to get over the shock of having the book's two main characters separated in this way. From what I'd read about the book before picking it up, I'd thought that Ren's and Lin's stories are tightly intertwined. This might be the case in the book's last section, or maybe this interconnection feeds into some larger reveal closer to the book's conclusion, but right now it still bothers me. Mostly because it forces one story to stop while the other catches up.
Actually, if Kay was trying to make the two characters' arcs seem like they were running temporally parallel, it seems like the goal is just too lofty. Both characters are from wildly different socio-economic classes, and, shy of some reference to the assassin that was sent to kill Lin, I can't come up with a tidy way for Kay to let the reader know that these two parts events are happening simultaneously. Currently the two feel worlds apart - and not in the same way Aomame and Tengo were in 1Q84.
I will say that leaving the time between Ren's joining the bandits and his becoming a respected member of their ranks unexplained is a good move. Whatever he experienced on the road to his present, seeing it come out in the way that Ren acts, reacts, and thinks is much more rewarding than being regaled with the tale of a swashbuckling young man fighting to gain the respect of his fellow bandits and the area's citizens.
Being able to see what's going on here has helped me to get over the shock of having the book's two main characters separated in this way. From what I'd read about the book before picking it up, I'd thought that Ren's and Lin's stories are tightly intertwined. This might be the case in the book's last section, or maybe this interconnection feeds into some larger reveal closer to the book's conclusion, but right now it still bothers me. Mostly because it forces one story to stop while the other catches up.
Actually, if Kay was trying to make the two characters' arcs seem like they were running temporally parallel, it seems like the goal is just too lofty. Both characters are from wildly different socio-economic classes, and, shy of some reference to the assassin that was sent to kill Lin, I can't come up with a tidy way for Kay to let the reader know that these two parts events are happening simultaneously. Currently the two feel worlds apart - and not in the same way Aomame and Tengo were in 1Q84.
I will say that leaving the time between Ren's joining the bandits and his becoming a respected member of their ranks unexplained is a good move. Whatever he experienced on the road to his present, seeing it come out in the way that Ren acts, reacts, and thinks is much more rewarding than being regaled with the tale of a swashbuckling young man fighting to gain the respect of his fellow bandits and the area's citizens.
A romantic notion
Influence is a curious thing. On the personal level, it's plain unpredictable where a person will gather it from. When it comes to larger trends and fields of study or art, it's still wild, but at least hemmed in by sheer size.
For example, just how much influence did Roman legal education have on medieval romance? From what he writes in the History of Education in Antiquity, you'd think the answer is "quite a lot." At first brush, this is a tempting idea, too. Practice cases in Roman legal training were paradoxical hypothetical situations that sound like arcs from modern soap operas (which probably grew out of medieval romances in some way).
The connection between the roots of genre fiction and Roman legal training also make me wonder if that is why so many law students/lawyers get into genre fiction (Guy Gavriel Kay and Terry Brooks among them). Fantasy and science fiction are the modern day equivalents of medieval romance (knights, court intrigue, quests, magic, et c.) after all.
However. Given that many of Menander's plays have plots that are as closely knit as Rome's practice legal cases, Marrou is probably overstating the influence of Rome's legal training on medieval romance. Plus, ancient Greek and Roman novels are known to have existed, the plots of which could probably be revived in Greek soap operas without anyone noticing.
For example, just how much influence did Roman legal education have on medieval romance? From what he writes in the History of Education in Antiquity, you'd think the answer is "quite a lot." At first brush, this is a tempting idea, too. Practice cases in Roman legal training were paradoxical hypothetical situations that sound like arcs from modern soap operas (which probably grew out of medieval romances in some way).
The connection between the roots of genre fiction and Roman legal training also make me wonder if that is why so many law students/lawyers get into genre fiction (Guy Gavriel Kay and Terry Brooks among them). Fantasy and science fiction are the modern day equivalents of medieval romance (knights, court intrigue, quests, magic, et c.) after all.
However. Given that many of Menander's plays have plots that are as closely knit as Rome's practice legal cases, Marrou is probably overstating the influence of Rome's legal training on medieval romance. Plus, ancient Greek and Roman novels are known to have existed, the plots of which could probably be revived in Greek soap operas without anyone noticing.
Sunday, November 24, 2013
The reappearance of Ren
So Ren Daiyan finally reappears in the second chapter of River of Stars' second part. And Kay drops us right into the middle of his story.
Ren's a full-fledged bandit at this point, but retains his education and is still in touch with his father. Ren's also looking to right the world's wrongs, but in the more immediate present he and fellow bandit Ziji have gone to Chunyu to gather information. Kay doesn't explain Ren's trip beyond that. But such simple motivation is fine, since Kay continues to sketch wonderful characters as he guides his readers through this part of Kitai. Not to mention the chase scene that seems imminent.
From what I've read of him, one thing has become clear to me about Kay (and maybe fantasy writers more generally). Plenty of dialogue means plenty of motion. The reason why I feel that a chase is imminent as Ren and Ziji get help from two children is because this part of the chapter is almost entirely dialogue, whereas the rest of it is description. Alternating between these two does a lot for a book's pacing, it seems.
It might seem like I'm just stating the obvious here, but what the patterns of dialogue and description mean and how they affect pacing are small, but important things to learn. As a writer, pacing is essential for keeping your readers interested, and as a reader, more can be taken from a book if you learn how to read its signals. If you're reading a first rate author, most of the time those signals will prove true and your anticipations will be rewarded, and a few rare times, they'll not be and your sense of wonder will be fully engaged. I have yet to see if Kay can be considered first rate on this count, but it seems likely.
Nonetheless, Kay's holding Ren's story back until part two makes it seem that River of Stars' parts should instead be separate books. However welcome it is, the shift between characters is still jarring.
Ren's a full-fledged bandit at this point, but retains his education and is still in touch with his father. Ren's also looking to right the world's wrongs, but in the more immediate present he and fellow bandit Ziji have gone to Chunyu to gather information. Kay doesn't explain Ren's trip beyond that. But such simple motivation is fine, since Kay continues to sketch wonderful characters as he guides his readers through this part of Kitai. Not to mention the chase scene that seems imminent.
From what I've read of him, one thing has become clear to me about Kay (and maybe fantasy writers more generally). Plenty of dialogue means plenty of motion. The reason why I feel that a chase is imminent as Ren and Ziji get help from two children is because this part of the chapter is almost entirely dialogue, whereas the rest of it is description. Alternating between these two does a lot for a book's pacing, it seems.
It might seem like I'm just stating the obvious here, but what the patterns of dialogue and description mean and how they affect pacing are small, but important things to learn. As a writer, pacing is essential for keeping your readers interested, and as a reader, more can be taken from a book if you learn how to read its signals. If you're reading a first rate author, most of the time those signals will prove true and your anticipations will be rewarded, and a few rare times, they'll not be and your sense of wonder will be fully engaged. I have yet to see if Kay can be considered first rate on this count, but it seems likely.
Nonetheless, Kay's holding Ren's story back until part two makes it seem that River of Stars' parts should instead be separate books. However welcome it is, the shift between characters is still jarring.
Words well used
As Marrou makes clear in his writing about Roman education, rhetoric continued to be based on hard and fast rules and formulae. A good speech had specific parts and those parts could be filled out with particular elements appropriate to the occasion, audience, desired tone, and so forth.
Such attention to detail casts a pall of the magical over rhetoric, at least in my mind. Curiously enough, the same sort of attention was paid to Roman ritualistic magic. Just as an effective speech was described as having various sections, so too did the prescribed ritual for convening with some spirit or deity so as to request some favour or other. What this leaves me wondering is which came first?
Was Roman ritual magic (and the Greek version before it), basically a way to hold a conversation with some supernatural force, borne out of the political use of words? Or did those who were born with gilded tongues take what they had originally used for religious or occult purposes and turn it to the political at some point in ancient history?
Given the sacred power of rulers, I also wonder if somehow the magical and the political weren't more closely related at some distant point in human history. Perhaps at one time having a way with spoken words was viewed as a gift that entitled its wielders to hold power over others, on both a natural (if someone's persuasive, they're simply persuasive), and religious (their quick wits being viewed as a sign of a close and open connection to the divine) level.
Maybe, at some point in history, ritualistic magic and rhetoric were the same thing, understood as simply the use of words to affect the world around you. This could be closer to the truth than you might expect. After all, studies have shown that swearing when you hurt yourself eases the pain, so maybe whatever magic there was around words themselves in that distant past has persisted in some small way into our own world.
Such attention to detail casts a pall of the magical over rhetoric, at least in my mind. Curiously enough, the same sort of attention was paid to Roman ritualistic magic. Just as an effective speech was described as having various sections, so too did the prescribed ritual for convening with some spirit or deity so as to request some favour or other. What this leaves me wondering is which came first?
Was Roman ritual magic (and the Greek version before it), basically a way to hold a conversation with some supernatural force, borne out of the political use of words? Or did those who were born with gilded tongues take what they had originally used for religious or occult purposes and turn it to the political at some point in ancient history?
Given the sacred power of rulers, I also wonder if somehow the magical and the political weren't more closely related at some distant point in human history. Perhaps at one time having a way with spoken words was viewed as a gift that entitled its wielders to hold power over others, on both a natural (if someone's persuasive, they're simply persuasive), and religious (their quick wits being viewed as a sign of a close and open connection to the divine) level.
Maybe, at some point in history, ritualistic magic and rhetoric were the same thing, understood as simply the use of words to affect the world around you. This could be closer to the truth than you might expect. After all, studies have shown that swearing when you hurt yourself eases the pain, so maybe whatever magic there was around words themselves in that distant past has persisted in some small way into our own world.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)