books – Much That Is Fair

Mother of Cities

There are pluses and minuses to using a conference as an excuse to travel. In general, I find the pluses outweigh the minuses in the long run: sometimes you can get a grant to help cover the experience, you have a built-in reason for being somewhere and are often among people who are eager to make friends or at least grab coffee, you get to see places that the regular tourists might not go, and so on. The minus, however, is a big one: you are not going to see very much of the city beyond the conference venues unless you leave the conference. Case in point: for the first three days I was in Prague, I walked by the opera house where Don Giovanni premiered and the city’s famous astrological clock without even registering them, because I was running late. Whoops.

City of Literature

Perhaps not unlike many children my age, I first came to know Edinburgh through Harry Potter: the legendary place where J.K. Rowling had first dreamed up the boy wizard. Once, a visit to The Elephant House, where the story’s first chapters were written, would have been one of the highest pilgrimages I could make in the United Kingdom. And rightfully so, I think. I owe a great deal to Rowling. Her stories taught me, as they did many in my generation, about the power of our choices, even when our actions seem to have little effect on the wider picture. They offered me role models, particularly in the form of a bookish girl who could get along just fine with her classmates without sacrificing her grades. And it was thanks to Rowling, more so than anyone except perhaps my third-grade teacher, that I learned how to write. She told her readers that if they wanted to learn to write, they had to read: to read everything that came in front of them, from the nutrition facts on the cereal box to any book that passed into their hands.

Monsters & Myths

“‘I’ve been over a good part of the world since I left it, Doctor Watson,’ said he; ‘but I have never seen a place to compare with it.’
‘I never saw a Devonshire man who did not swear by his country,’ I remarked.”
– Henry Baskerville & Dr. Watson, The Hound of the Baskervilles

Of all the places I planned to visit on this trip, only one was really completely inaccessible by train. The National Rail service is very good, of course, but they don’t go everywhere, and remote abandoned castles by the seashore are apparently on the list of places they assume most folks won’t want to bother with. For a moment, I considered taking that as a sign. But then I figured it wasn’t like I was going to have another opportunity coming along in the near future, and so off I went.

On (Anti) Heroes & Heroines

By far the most exciting thing I did in London this week, over and including seeing a very old friend for dinner, doing the actual research that will hopefully shore up my future career as a scholar, and visiting a number of excellent bookstores (recs below), was seeing David Tennant on the West End, where he is currently starring as Macbeth.

I have a perverse love for Macbeth. Probably it should not surprise anyone at this point that I prefer Shakespeare’s tragedies over the comedies (and the histories that end in tragedy, like Richard III, over the nominally happy ones, like Henry V). Maybe it’s the pessimist in me, which likes the reassurance on stage that in fact, sometimes things don’t work out. More likely, I think I’m drawn to the pronouncements on human nature and mortal life that Shakespeare’s tragedies produce, and the gift he had for making you pity even the most awful of people (Richard III is a good example) in the hands of the right actor. I like to think that this puts me in a long line of amateur Shakespeare fans, those of us too poorly-read to know any better but fond of Shakespeare all the same. The most famous of these (of course) is Abraham Lincoln, who once declared in a letter to a Shakespearean actor, “I think nothing equals Macbeth—It is wonderful.” Lincoln was famously obsessed with the idea of ambition, being himself an extraordinarily ambitious man, and he was drawn to Macbeth’s story as a kind of cautionary tale. But when his letter about his own ideas of Shakespeare went public, he was broadly ridiculed in the press. Amateurs are amateurs, even if they are the President.