Book Review: Solving Stonehenge

I’ve just finished reading Anthony Johnson’s “Solving Stonehenge: The New Key to an Ancient Enigma,” first published in 2008. The basic gist of the book is that the primary astronomical alignment of Stonehenge is a reflective axis along the winter solstice sunset / summer solstice sunrise; the placement of the fifty six Aubrey holes, the thirty stones for the sarsen circle, and the upright stones for the five trilithons can be described—not by alignment with whatever star is handy—but by using a regular octogram of two squares to fix the position of key points and deriving additional stone points from arcs built from the octogram’s vertices. No need to conjecture Megalithic Yards for the accuracy of alignments; it’s all done with circles, squares, and simple peg-and-rope geometry.

Although he does throw some shade on “Stonehenge Decoded,” Johnson’s crankiness about astroarchaeology (and computers) comes through as an exasperation that never quite reaches entertaining levels of snark.

The first several chapters are a historical review of various scholars, antiquarians, myths, speculations, and archeological theories around Stonehenge, with a focus on survey work. There’s a brief pause to question the racial distinctiveness of the “so-called Beaker People,” and a later a detour to discuss the geometric design elements of the Bush Barrow lozenge (~1750 BCE). Arguments, more like geometry demonstrations, for the underpinnings of the monument aren’t given until chapter 8, on page 207, about two-thirds of the way through the book.

Johnson is more interested in how the builders of Stonehenge built the monument, but not on why they did it—which is fair, since Johnson is a surveyor and the ancient builders left no written records telling us why. The conclusions of the book are 1) that the geometric steps that can be used to construct the pattern on the Bush Barrow lozenge are similar to the steps which can be used to construct the placement points for many stones and holes at Stonehenge; 2) searching for astronomical alignments within the monuments is unnecessary and distracting; 3) the stones can move or be moved around a lot in four thousand years; 4) that despite incorporating pagan mumbo-jumbo and Druids into it, John Wood’s 1740 survey of the monument is Very Good; 5) “there is absolutely no way that the master design of the central sarsen structures or even the earlier arrangements can simply have been worked out ‘on the ground’ without first having been drawn on a prepared surface…”.

“Solving Stonehenge,” is dry, but interesting; I’d say Johnson is writing for amateur surveyors and archeologists and Stonehenge historical enthusiasts. It’s a more scholarly book than some of the much briefer (but much more woo-woo) Wooden Books publications on geometry or astronomy that I own. I came (and stayed) for the Stonehenge parts, and the book’s focus is more on the geometry of surveying. I appreciated that Johnson showed his work in the earlier chapters, but I could have been satisfied with a summary of chapters six, seven, and eight. Mark, of course, accuses me of giving resources to the “Stonehenge-Military-Industrial-Complex,” and opined that I should be reading a peer-reviewed journal covering archaeoastronomy instead.

While I was reading “Solving Stonehenge,” someone asked me what it was that I found so compelling about Stonehenge. I had to pause and think about it for a while before I came up with an answer that was satisfying. There is no one answer. Part of it is the mystique surrounding the site (and being able to sing along with Spın̈al Tap about the Druids); who wouldn’t be drawn to the wonder-stories woven into the tapestry of the Matter of Britain—it’s magical. Part of it is that the stones of Stonehenge and the site itself, which I’ve been fortunate enough to visit, are beautiful and impressive; four thousand year old neolithic architecture does have its physical charm. Another part is that the arches imply portals and the romanticism of being transported to an other place or when. Part of it is how the placement of the stones interlocks with the sky’s geometry, which appeals to the part of me that builds sculptures out of forks interlocked by their tines, tracks the motion of the sun and moon on a home-built portable Aubrey hole pegboard, and owns pierced gnomon spherical sundials. But I think the main reason I find it compelling is that Stonehenge is massive statement about human participation with and appreciation of the site’s locality; it’s a place that draws one’s attention to the sun’s (at least) motion and the land’s response, and in doing so becomes an axis mundi.

Review of “Psychic Witch”

“Psychic Witch,” by Mat Auryn is an introductory book of “meditation, magick, & manifestation” with a folk magic emphasis. It contains magical theory and accompanying exercises to help a magical practitioner learn foundational techniques and build up from them.  While not especially original, it is accessible to the solitary practitioner new to concentration, meditation, and visualization.

“Psychic Witch” is not a book about starting or working within a group or coven.  There are references to Wicca, other Neopaganisms, and ceremonial magick, but the author’s witchcraft is more centered on solitary trance work and folk magic.  While the author identifies as a gay man, the subject matter is aimed at a general audience (sorry, no Sex Rituals of Gay Pagan Men here; this isn't a work by Storm Faerywolf). 

Books like “Psychic Witch” are often compared to Dion Fortune’s “Mystical Qabbalah,” which is grounded in early 20th century British magical theory and colonialism, or Starhawk’s early works, which are grounded in Goddess-centered alternatives to the patriarchy (and Ronald Reagan).   My impression of “Psychic Witch” is that it is an introductory text drawing mostly from later Neopagan (and New Age) authors, such as Raven Silverwolf and Christopher Penczak.

The book’s chapters have a web article feel.  Some chants and spells have awkward scansion; but not as egregious as other recent Llewellyn books I’ve read, and at least there’s an attempt at more complex meter.  I’m sorry to say that the binding of the softbound Llewellyn edition I purchased was of poor quality and the book began shedding pages after five days of a first reading. 

The opening chapters introduce the reader to Auryn’s cosmology. He makes a distinction between psychics who perceive spiritual energy (e.g. through clairvoyance) from the higher self, witches who affect subtle energy (e.g. through casting a spell) via the lower self, and psychic witches who do both (this implies mundanes do neither).  There’s a few passages which hand-wave about “discernment” and “energy,” with statements about reality being energy and subtle energy being information. There is also some light review of brainwaves and the pineal gland which make the science fiction writer within me wince.  The end thesis is the pineal gland is a psychic Witch Eye which is a key organ for working with and powering magical operations—this is a more focused version of the theory that the chakras are magical energy centers centered over or connected with various endocrine system glands.

Auryn writes, “Magick is the manipulation of subtle energies in a specific manner to influence a desired result.” Although it’s a modern rewording of “actions performed within the astral plane have their effects upon the material plane,” it seems more physics-justified than Aleister Crowley’s definition, “Magick is the Science and Art of causing Change to occur in conformity with Will;” Dion Fortune’s, “Magic is the art of causing changes to occur in consciousness, in conformity with will;” or Starhawk’s combination of “Magic is the art of changing consciousness at will,” and “A spell is a symbolic act done in an altered state of consciousness, in order to cause a desired change.”  

While there are some other science and technology references to “downloading (spiritual/psychic) information” elsewhere, for the most part this feels less an attempt to give his system a science pedigree and more an attempt to offer physical, physiological, or cognitive behavioral explanations for why meditation and concentration are foundation skills to build upon.  My only critique of using Science Says arguments is that Auryn writes that the subtle energies used in magick cannot be physically measured—which means Science can say nothing about them.  Dion Fortune gets around studying the unmeasurable by making a distinction between natural science and occult science.  To his merit, Auryn doesn’t use the words quantum or entanglement; although he does use the word fractal in some explainations.

Early chapters focus on various mediation, concentration, affirmation, and visualization techniques. These are used to perform standard grounding and centering exercises from the Western European twentieth century magical tradition.  Extrasensory perception is explored with suggestions for seeing auras or hearing spirit allies.   Standard purification and shielding techniques are built on top of the development of subtle perception.  

Auryn introduces the concept of the triple souls in chapter 6.  Drawing from the Irish poem, “The Cauldron of Poesy,” he builds an integrated world and body view.  A person has a Higher, Middle, and Lower Self; these in turn are connected to a corresponding Higher, Middle, and Lower (or Under-) Realm.  The selves and realms form the underpinning of an introductory text on standard 20th century reincarnation belief.  This belief is that the higher self in the higher realm (possibly the astral plane), connects with a lower self (your shadow self or “Sticky self”) from the underworld (with references to Jung, the collective unconscious, “earth energy”, and ancestral memory), to create a temporary physical body, the middle self.  

Subsequent chapters explore the lower and higher selves with an aim to connecting with and making conscious the shadow or id elements of the lower self, and with connecting with the true or divine will of the higher self.  The ultimate goal is to bring the views of the lower, middle, and higher self into aligned focus and achieve a powerful altered state of conscious. In this exalted state a psychic witch can perform (healing) spells. Auryn pauses a moment to extol readers to act from a place of service and  (Starhawkian) power-with instead of power-over. 

Chapter ten explores the creation of sacred space, or the magic circle.  Chapter eleven introduces the five Platonic elements earth, water, fire, air, and spirt/ether (which Auryn calls “quintessence”).  Chapters twelve and thirteen revisit the realms in terms of subtle (unrecordable) energy, and launch into simple astrological meanings of classical planets—the Sun through Saturn.   After an introduction to one’s body’s aura, chapter fourteen assembles the concepts of the previous chapters into a technique for mediation/spell casting which starts with a foundation of the physical and works to bring successive selves, bodies, and realms into focus on the same goal.  

Chapter fifteen is a series of spells or “magic tricks.”  This chapter comes close to “Prosperity Check” territory.  While there isn’t a Spell To Get a Parking Spot, there is a “Money Magnet Multiplier” spell which involves drawing the glyph for Jupiter onto a dollar bill during a waxing moon (repeatedly, if necessary).  I suppose that this isn’t all that different from complicated sixteenth century spells to summon beings of extraordinary knowledge and ask them, not what the true nature of solar fire (nuclear fusion) is, but rather where the nearest buried treasure lies—or even standard prayers for protection, health, love, and prosperity.  While elsewhere Auryn mentions the practical aspect of spells needing the witch to work toward desired results (e.g. hitting the pavement and handing out resumes in addition to staring at a green candle for money), the wheedling charms in this concluding chapter leans toward the more superstitious and self-serving end of folk magic.

As an introductory text, Psychic Witch is a wide-ranging guide for secular-leaning, solitary practitioners new to spell-casting and folk magic (as opposed to, say, someone on the path of a priest or priestess of a Gardnerian Wiccan coven). Its strength is that it starts with basic foundational techniques and instructs the reader to practice, practice, practice.

A Review of "The Satyr's Kiss"

Storm Faerywolf's "The Satyr's Kiss: Queer men, Sex Magic, and Modern Witchcraft" is a queering of of Feri Wiccan theory and practice, and a queer presentation of sexually explicit ritual and spell craft. 

I purchased this book because I'd been impressed with Storm Faerywolf's other writings about how using a calendar and clock effectively would help with one's spiritual practices; because he identifies as a cis-male, gay, Neopagan; and because if I'm going to read a book about sex magic, it may as well be cis-male, gay Neopagan sex magic. 

Like Starhawk, Storm Faerywolf's spiritual practice is grounded in the American Feri Wicca tradition of Victor and Cora Anderson.   But this is a book that doesn't take itself too seriously; it's a casual book that wants to take you to a fabulously earthy brunch.  This book is not "The Spiral Dance," and Storm Faerywolf is not Starhawk.  Neither is this book "The Triumph of the Moon," and Faerywolf is not Ronald Hutton.  

"The Satyr's Kiss" is divided into a philosophy section and a praxis section. The philosophy section is part introduction to Feri Wicca, part queering of Wicca, part gay history, and part the basics of sex magic.  The praxis section is a collection of rituals and spells.  

I found the review of Feri Wicca's concept of the three-part soul—fetch, talking self, and divine soul—interesting, as well as the mapping of Oak King, Holly King, and holy daemon.  I did wish for more of an exploration into the history of the two kings and why Faerywolf chose to adapt them as apposed to, say, Cernunnos and The Green Man or a trio of gods instead of a duo.  The Feri iron pentacle meditation is introduced, along with a queer variant called the amethyst pentacle. 

Gay history, like much of the material in this book, is painted in broad strokes, which gives it a strong 101 feel.  It does allow Fairywolf to construct a ritual calendar which supplements the Pagan wheel of the year and which honors the lives and deaths of various queer luminaries, such as Harvey Milk and Matthew Shepherd, and events such as the Stonewall Riots.  

While acknowledging the author wanting to avoid Hay's NAMBLA advocacy, I think there is a missed opportunity to explore Harry Hay's concept of subject-subject consciousness, and his ideas behind founding the radical faeries.  Given the number of times the author (possibly at the guidance of the publisher) reminds his readers that any sex magic described in "The Satyr's Kiss" needs to happen between legally consenting adults and that neither he nor his publisher are responsible for the readers doing something stupid or unlawful, I can see why glossing over Hay could be the easier path to take. 

In the same vein, I felt that Oscar Wilde's representation as a late 1800's aesthete and the historical backlash to the aesthete could have been expanded and connected to the sections on other types of gay cis-men.  Both Hay and Wilde are listed as honored ancestors, which would have justified a deeper dive, but "The Satyr's Kiss" really only lists people in summary.  At least this is a good starting point for folks wishing to do deeper research into the lives and main events of the queer community.

Other parts of the philosophy section broadly tell the stories of gods, heroes, mythical creatures (e.g. unicorns), historical, and contemporary figures through a queer lens.  There's not much consultation or interpretation of archeological or historical records, which contributes to a "I read this on Wikipedia" feel.  I suppose the point isn't so much to provide provenance for the stories as it is to provide queer inspiration.

The philosophy behind the sections on sex magic could be summarized "...Sex is something that we should do / Sex is something for me and you / Sex is natural sex is good / Not everybody does it / But everybody should / Sex is natural, sex is fun..."  Fairywolf points out that queer folks, even the ones who aren't cis gay male ones, are sexual beings, and as magic practitioners we should be able to practice magic with every aspect of ourselves.  The three main premises of sex magic are 1) the physical mechanics of sexual and erotic acts produces an ecstatic trance state conducive to casting spells and other numinous actions; 2) orgasm is a liminal and numinous state, and 3) because bodies are sacred, semen—like blood, saliva, or menstrual fluids—is chock full of life force and therefore an efficacious component of rituals and spells.  (While there wasn't a gay male version of Starhawk's "Spell To Be Friends With Your Womb," which would have been "Spell To Be Friends With Your Prostate," there were some that came close.)

In addition to some practical and health advice about sex, I also appreciated the advice about practicing sex magic:  "Sex magic is fun and powerful, but it should't be an excuse for being careless with each other's emotions or for simply expanding one's circle of sexual partners.  As always, if you want to have an orgy, have an orgy.  If you need Witchcraft to give you permission for indulging in carnal pleasures, then you have some deeper personal work to do first."  

The praxis section is less a book of shadows and more a collection of rhymed stanzas and suggestions for performing magical acts, with varying degrees of auto- or group sex.  Fairywolf is broad and general with his descriptions in an attempt at universality and to avoid "arbitrary details."  l should confess that I am not the biggest fan of the author's poetry.  Some of it is fine as ritual litany; some of it could use another pass to address issues with the meter.  As the author often prefaces his ritual descriptions with instructions to alter or rewrite ritual to better fit one's personal tastes and ritual needs, this makes me want to treat the poetry more like suggested guidelines rather than sacred texts.

The conclusion of "The Satyr's Kiss" is a general overview of what a queer coven might look like, with examples from Fairywolf's coven, the Brotherhood of the Satyr, and how the ideas, spells, and rituals presented in the book might be used to realize it.  Fairywolf stresses the importance of boundaries and the differences between a coven and group therapy.  A brief list of resources concludes the book.  

Review: Babel, by R.F. Kuang.

 

I've just finished reading "Babel" by R.F. Kuang.  The writing was good, although I had to overlook 1883 era characters using the words "morph" and "ridiculous"—two of my pet peeve words—anachronistically.  

I went in thinking the novel would be a high fantasy about a magical library, and in a sense Babel is, but the novel is more an alternative magical history meditation on (the British) Empire and colonialism, capitalism, and on the relationships of academia and the military-industrial complex.  As someone who has worked for a university for twenty-some years, some of the book's observations about exploitive worker-producer-product relations in the institution of higher education hit close to home.  

The novel ends on a grim but open-ended note, sort of like the end of "The Empire Strikes Back," only without a Rebel Alliance.  I will shelve "Babel" with books like "1984," "The Handmaid's Tale," "Animal Farm," and other cultural critique books that are, to paraphrase Anna Russell, "art that one must expose oneself to without thought of reward or enjoyment."

Flowers, COVID, and Angel Lovers

It's the last day of May.  It occurs to me that we're just past the mid-point of this eighth of the year, and we're closer to the Summer Solstice than the May-Day past.  The poppies, yellow irises, and foxgloves are blooming.  I can hear the hummingbirds zipping around somewhere.

It's slowly dawning on me that, as of three days ago,  I'm now fully vaccinated against COVID-19.  It feels so weird.  On one hand, the CDC says I can do a whole lot without a mask, like go to the dog park.  On the other hand, it feels like going through an airlock without a space suit without one.  Stores and work are still requiring them, so it's not like I wont be completely maskless anytime soon.

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I've just finished reading, "Into This River I Drown," by TJ Klune.  Although I knew it was queer-friendly didn't realize it was a Lambda Literary Winner for Best Gay Romance.  It reminded me of Susan Trott's "Sightings," only with a kind of Iron John emphasis on fathers, and hunky gay angel sex scenes sprinkled throughout.  

It started out like a memoir, turned into a mystery/crime story, and by the end turned into a meditation on fathers, faith, love, and sacrifice.   The whole idea that love = sacrifice challenged me because it felt Old-Testament-Abraham-and-Issac, but it was consistent within the framework of the book's "my boyfriend/lover is the town's guardian angel" premiss.  (I would have preferred love = a gift, and sacrifice = a choice to not do something in order to do something else, but that's my preference.) 

The writing was excellent, although I did notice some of the romance tropes driving the main character, Benji's, decision making process -- he'd get mad at the drop of a hat and then fight with Cal, his angel lover, for what seemed like plot-driven reasons.   Also, there were romance genre moments of "I'm just a small-town, 21 year old mechanic; why would a 200 year old red-haired, hirsute, muscular, well-endowed, angel (with perpetual stubble) ever want me?"  On one hand, not having them would have given the book a wish-fulfillment-porn feel; but on the other hand, it felt like Benji picked up the romance-genre equivalent of the idiot-ball at various times.

The memoir feel gave Benji, the narrator, a way to go back and forth between the past and the present, effectively giving him a limited-omniscient POV.  It also enabled Klune to weave themes and phrases into the narrative that had quick pay-offs for the reader without having to start the story with Benji's parents' childhoods.  

I should read sections of it again and look more closely at the mechanics of the story. 

Reynard the Fox

I've just finished Anne Louis Avery's "Reynard the Fox," a retelling of some medieval Flemish fox fables, told within the frame of court intrigue and trials.  It's well written, but it wasn't the book I expected.  The eponymous Reynard is an anti-hero, a scoundrel in an animal kingdom of flawed nobles, who is far more dangerous and deadly than the kindly Old Fox of Avery's charming and poignant Twitter microfiction.  So I was unpleasantly surprised when Reynard tricked Bruin the Bear into a kind of medieval industrial woodworking injury, followed by a gang beating.

I paused after that scene, but pressed on.  Unfortunately, this was the first of a handful of bloody, disfiguring, and disabling -- if not fatal -- acts of mischief Reynard manipulates his animal opponents into.  While "Reynard the Fox" isn't exactly GrimDark, it is Red in Tooth and Claw, and I was glad that I had not gifted this book sight unseen to my preteen relatives.

After some consideration -- starting with musings on Punch and Judy, which I've always found creepy and disturbing -- I've concluded that the Reynard stories are in the same vaudeville, slap-stick vein as Bugs Bunny and Yosemite Sam.  Or Foghorn Leghorn and his nemesis, Barnyard Dawg.  Or Itchy and Scratchy.  Actually, a lot like Itchy and Scratchy.

I feel like I'm missing something, especially after reading so many rave reviews.  Maybe I'm just supposed to sit back and enjoy Avery's rich language.  Maybe I'm supposed to respond to the medieval fables like the "Bring Out Yer Dead" or the "Vorpal Rabbit" skits from Monty Python and the Holy Grail: yes, it's shocking, but laugh, because the disconnect between the mortality and the nonchalance is also funny.  Or maybe I'm suppose to feel Grimm schadenfreude that various animals are getting their just desserts in the same way various step-relatives and witches do when the nail-lined barrels, red-hot dancing shoes, or gingerbread ovens appear.   Aside from Sir Isengrim, the Wolf, maybe I'm missing the cultural context of animals' symbolisms, which would ground me in their stories.

Still, it's hard to find equivalency between Bruin the Bear having his back flayed to make a travel bag and Daffy Duck getting his bill shot off.  The medieval retelling is more explicit and gruesome, whereas the modern cartoon violence is either screened behind a dust cloud or fence, or the Loony Tunes characters pick up their bloodless body parts and pop them back into place with little consequence.  Other comparisons, say, between Sir Tybert the cat getting partially blinded and maimed by angry peasants and Sylvester the Cat getting mauled by a pack of angry dogs protecting Tweety Bird are a closer fit. 

I had the same difficulties with the animal characters' motivations as I do with Sampson's in the biblical story of Sampson and Delilah:  someone tries to trick you into danger multiple times, and yet you still believe them, or even love them, and they lead you to ruin.  This is more a function of fable (and dream) -- where-in the characters' motivations are bound more closely to the plot needs than to their emotional and metal desires and abilities -- than it is a shortfall in Avery's writing.  

Between scenes of wickedness and trickery, there are luxurious, sumptuous descriptions of the countryside, clothing, jewels, and feasts.  I actually laughed during the description of King Nobel the Lion's multi-day festival.  Avery clearly renders medieval concepts such as Boethius's Wheel of Fortune and the calculus of forgiveness, sin, and animal nature.  Her language is an accessible mix of medieval, Flemish, and modern English; it's a bit like reading Shakespeare, but not having to stop and puzzle out some of the more antique or tertiary meanings of phrases.  Should you want it, there is a delightful glossary to consult at the end of the book.  

The hardback copy I purchased is sturdy, with magazines of quality paper and a plum colored ribbon to use as a place marker.  And there are oodles of footnotes. Who doesn't like footnotes?

August Reading

I've been reading.  I finished Ronald Hutton's "The Witch," which was more about using the historical or ethnological lens to have a global look at the cultural phenomenon of the witch, and less about actual witches or witchcraft.  He spent a lot of time criticizing Ginsberg's "Ecstasies: Deciphering the Witches' Sabbath," mostly for folk-story back-projection.  The interesting histories, which I wished there had been more of a focus on, dealt with ancient Mesopotamian and Roman beliefs and records.  The tiresome histories dealt with when churchmen equated witchcraft with heresy (Satanism) and forced confessions into their paradigm of what an anti-Christian practice should look like.   Slightly less tiresome were the politically-motivated accusations of witchcraft between competing dynasties.  More interesting was the proposal that where random bad luck (e.g., lost crops) was less likely to have an economic impact or was more likely to be blamed on fairies, the result was less witch trials.

Okay; the most entertaining thing I read was that the Anglo-Saxon pronunciation of cc was "ch."  So it's spelled wicca, but it's pronounced (toss a coin to your) "which-ah."

Still, I think the comments about "service magicians" (folks who find lost items or turn the evil eye) and Hutton's five-part definition of a witch--which he used to nail down a specific cultural role--makes for some interesting ways to think about how to world build magic users in fantasy settings (i.e. are they evil, or can they use destructive spells for good? are they working with forces to bring down humanity, or are they simply annoyed at certain, bothersome neighbors? can they shape-shift?  do they fly for real, or only in spirit? how can they be resisted or counter-acted?  What is their relationship to the recognized, orthodox religion or state?) .  

[11-24-2020 Edited to add some additional notes]

The other interesting idea is that William Grimm compiled the idea of "The Wild Hunt," which might have had origins in the benedanti  and other European folk beliefs about "good ladies" leading a magical following to bless houses; or Norse rituals informed by Sami shaman  traditions.  I'm a little stymied about how stories about the riders from Annwn (Cwn Annwn) fit in.  

[end edit]

Moving on, I'm in the middle of Jane Yolen's "Choose Joy," which is less a manual for writers and more an inspirational tract.  So far the open secret about writing that she's shared is, "get your Butt In Chair and write every day."  While she does organize chapters by various writing tasks and novel structures, this is not a workbook like LeGuin's "Steering The Craft"--although I think the two make good companions.  Yolen makes me laugh out loud in places, which is a good thing, and is a perfect antidote to sadomasochistic writing advice out there.  

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Mark had made a comment about me not leaving the house on my writing nights, so last week I attempted to write out of the house at Hendrick's Park, but that didn't go over so well; there aren't many spaces to write comfortably.   I've concluded that one of the reasons I stick around the house is that it's covid-free, there are snacks, and, generally, spaces to write. 

On the submission front:  I had submitted a story to a contest and hadn't heard back from them; it turns out they choose contest winners and don't tell the losers anything -- so one story rejection by lack of response. The other story I have in the mail has been short-listed; I won't know anything more about it until probably October.   Sigh.  I need to work on my submissions.

Gym Cats

Mark and I went to see Cats Sunday night.  Neither of us was quite sure what all of the negative reviews were about.  It's "Cats," the 1980's dance review, only with CGI.  The players are supposed to be in fuzzy unitards and dance like felines.  It's a dance review, like "The Nutcracker," so it's more about show-casing dance (and song) numbers than it is about any coherent plot.  And the movie did a better job providing a coherent plot than any of the stage performances I've seen.

Mark thought maybe it was too surreal for a lot of folks.  I guess I just took the visual craziness in stride and appreciated the visual richness.   

The movie did fall back on some slap-stick, which seemed unnecessary, but may have been a bid to make it more accessible.  Dame Judy Dench as Deuteronomy and Sir Ian McKellen as Gus the Theatre Cat actually acted in their roles, and we enjoyed their performances.  I think the only choice I would have made differently would have been to make Grizabella more sorrowful than weepy -- although I did like the choice to make her angry and frustrated instead of the usual needy listlessness.  

The most annoying thing about the movie was the other audience members (about eight) who had come to the movie as some kind of joke and whispered and tittered to themselves the entire time.

Went to the gym last Friday (1/3) and did the original routine.  This meant that I managed to visit four times last week.  I'm feeling like maybe I could go to the gym four times a week, up from three... this might be easier during the holidays when I don't have to play Dad Taxi.   It also might be over-doing it.  

Went to the gym Monday (1/6) and did the Aerobic routine.  I still need to tweak the opening songs in my gym mix so they aren't too fast or too slow.  Also, my right earbud keeps falling out of my ear... I'm not sure what's up with that, but it means that I have to stop periodically to reseat it.  

I'm not sure if it's the music, or if my stamina is improving, but I felt less wiped out ad the end of Monday.  I really need to work on my dead-lifts, because I have very little flexibility in my hamstrings, which means I'm likely flexing my back instead of hinging at the hips when I'm doing them.  

Now, of course, I'm imagining gym cats.  I think one would be a Maine Coon Cat named Titania who naps among the fish-oil supplements, greets gym goers at the front desk, and oversees the treadmills and elliptical machines.  Not to be confused with Rumbasleeks, the leaping aerobics instructor cat, who is much leaner and has shorter fur.   Maybe they have an on-again-off-again romance, the telling of which uses anagrams of "gymnasium"....  

Solid Marks for Black Panther

The Child and I saw "Black Panther" the other day.  I'd say it was a solid, origin story, Marvel Comics Movie.  I think the contrasts and comparisons between Black Panther's and Killmonger's character development were a little lost on The Child, who seemed to like Klaue's character a lot (mostly because of his weaponry).  I thought many of the conflicts centered around building barriers or building bridges, which feels germane to today's polarized United States.

However, I feel like I must be missing something--and reading various reviews it appears to be references to African and African-diaspora cultures--because I have so many friends who are raving about how stunning the movie is.  I'm recognizing that the fictional country of Wakanda as a bright imagining of how we could be is very important and that this is a culturally significant turning point in movie making.  While I liked "Black Panther" more than I did  "Guardians of the Galaxy I," "Captain America: Civil War" or even "Thor: Ragnarock", for me "Dr. Strange" was more enjoyable (but then again, I've always had a soft spot for the Sorcerer Supreme--and Mark says this makes me an outlyer.)  

And of course I want some of the hats in "Black Panther"... especially the toroidal cross-section ones.

On the writing front:  I managed to get about 2000 words in Tuesday.  I think 1500 are fairly solid... and we'll see how much of them are still in place after a few editing rounds.   The trick will be doing 2000 words a few days in a row.  Did I say trick, I meant requirement.

Review: An Arrow's Flight

The following is a book review written Tuesday, 17 Nov 1998

       Hitting the Mark in An Arrow's Flight

            a book review by John Burridge

If you were an urban gay man in the '70's, chances are you will like An Arrow's Flight, a novel by Mark Merlis set somewhere between Tales of the City and The Illiad.  If you were not an urban gay man in the '70's, you might find the book, funny, tiresome, depressing and compelling.  Merlis seems to be aware of this when he writes:

"The city, before the war -- to listen to the scattered survivors of those days, you might suppose they think about nothing else.  Kids who come along now are sick of hearing about it.  Why should I add to the overburdened shelves of hymns to that time and that place?  Yet I must:  it will truly be gone the day we leave off singing about it."

The main character, Pyrrhus, is the son of Achilles.  Achilles has died in the Trojan War.  Before the Greeks can conquer the city of Troy, Pyrrhus must be present on the battlefield, along with the bow of Philoctetes.  Pyrrhus knows nothing of this destiny or his father's death, and leaves his boring island home for The Big City.  There, the young prince stumbles into a career as a go-go dancer and prostitute.  After various childhood flashbacks and scenes of burlesque exposition, Pyrrhus is shipped off by Odysseus -- played as a conniving, heterosexual lawyer -- to the island of Lemnos to pick up the bow of Philoctetes and then off to Troy.

Although Merlis has cleverly juxtaposed contemporary times and a bevy of Greek heros, he has taken his cue from the likes of Flaubert and Hardy and provided us with a main character who is a two-dimensional idiot you want to slap for being so bored and directionless.  It is possible that Merlis is trying to deflate the mystique surrounding the ideal male physique by having a walking centerfold as the main character; but I suspect his main reason was that it made it easier to start the book with a grope show on top of a bar in a strip-joint.  Merlis's secondary characters have much more depth and motivation.

What is tiresome about the book is that it occasionally lapses into whining about the now-gone Golden Age of Gay Eros, when men were Fabulous Men, and queens were Bitchy Queens, and the universe as a whole was AIDS-free.  This is forgivable.

Unfortunately, Merlis seems to have spent some time reading Robert Bly, and so we read about Pyrrhus trying on the fabulous armor of Achilles and secretly wishing he was a butch warrior instead of a sissy-faggot.  I spent page after page wondering when Merlis was going to unite the opposite poles of male expression in a culture of shame and introduce us to Patroklos, Achilles' "comrade in arms."  But the butch/femme dichotomy remained to the book's end; we never read about the relationship between Achilles and Patroklos, and Merlis never explores male expression which can be both loving and martial.

What is fun about the book is that Merlis occasionally breaks the narrative and speaks directly to the reader in the same manner as a director of a play stopping the action on the stage to address the audience with wry remarks about the staging, or how much the costuming costs.  I have a weakness for this kind of "I'm telling you that I'm telling you a story" meta-fable, and I recognize that not everyone likes the narrator breaking in every so often with an aside.

What was compelling about the book was that Merlis knows how to write well, and he knows how to write about people in love.  He knows how to write about people with AIDS.  He knows how to write about exiles from the country of the self.  He knows how to use metaphor, although near the end of the book his metaphors acquire an overbearing sheen of Dickins-esque symbolism.

Despite periodic lapses into nostalgia over the sexual freedom of the '70's, Merlis does a good job of mixing elements of destiny, love, shame, coming of age, sex, and gay identity into his retelling of Sophocles' Philoctetes.  In an era where authors are frequently re-writing "historical novels" in the image of the political movement de juer, Mark Marlis's An Arrow's Flight offers a cockeyed reflection of contemporary gay consciousness in the late 1990's.

2002 Review of "Goddess Unmasked"

Editor's Note:  This is a review I wrote in the early aughts.  I've edited out some of the snark.

Unmasking the Unmasker:

A Review of Phillip Davis' Goddess Unmasked

The cover illustration of a green scowling visage of oldish woman looking out from behind a Botticelli Venus mask should have been an indication to me that Phillip G. Davis, author of Goddess Unmasked had a unsympathetic bias towards NeoPaganism. But I believed the reviews which indicated that Goddess Unmasked would be a neutral, scholarly review of Wicca, witchcraft, and NeoPaganism in general. I had hoped Davis would offer scholarly insight to such questions as "Why do NeoPagans celebrate on solstices and equinoxes?" and "What are the historical antecedents of The Goddess?" Alas, Davis's desire to save NeoPagans from the destructive cult he believes it to be interferes with his scholarship.

Goddess Unmasked attempts to show that feminist Goddess Worship specifically and Wicca generally are dangerous institutions with a subversive political agenda, and that Wicca is based on a foundation of historical and ideological feminist lies.

It succeeds in casting uncertainty on some of the archaeological theories behind popular myths of matriarchy, whom Davis traces back to Johann Jakob Bachofen's 1861 book Das Mutterrecht. Davis asserts that an incomplete 1967 translation influenced early feminist writers Elizabeth Gould Davis (The First Sex), and Merlin Stone (When God was a Woman). Other NeoPagan feminist writers Davis trashes are easy targets such as Margaret Murray, Riane Eisler, and Mary Daley.

Goddess Unmasked fails, however, to convince that Wicca is a dangerous lifestyle. It does convey the sense that Davis has a strong preference for monogamous, heterosexual relationships; transcendent spirituality; and orthodox scholarship. 

In the heat of critiquing female chauvinists with political agendas, Davis fails to make a distinction between the agendas of feminists (women and men are equal), NeoPagans(to practice an earth-based mystery religion), ceremonial magicians (to use magical tools to manipulate the environment), ceremonial mystics (to use magical tools to seek the divine spark, especially the inner divine spark) and environmentalists (save the earth). Although there does tend to be overlap between these groups, it is as appropriate to lump them together as it would be to lump Catholic, Lutheran, Baptist, Unitarian, and Russian Orthodox Christians together.

Part of the difficulty critically reviewing NeoPagan literature is that there's so much material to work with that is not scholarly, or uses questionable source material, or comes to patently silly conclusions, or was written to make a quick buck (I am waiting for Chicken Soup for the Pagan Soul to be released any day, now). Critical review needs to happen to weed out old information, fraudulent interpretation, and archaic values because the amount of entrenched misinformation makes it difficult to tease out clear thinking. [Editor's note, this review was written before the publication of Ronald Hutton's Triumph of the Moon, and his later work, Pagan Britian.]  Davis's scathing observations on the robustness of NeoPagan research are neither impressive nor original, as NeoPagan writings of the last thirty years tend to be intuitive applications of their authors' experiences and the authors he tends to focus on are particularly woo-woo.

One problem I had with Davis's review of the literature is that it was not clear when he was attacking NeoPagan ideas or their authors. Davis spends much of his critique following the personal lives of the contributors of NeoPaganism with persistence worthy of Kenneth Star. The sexual exploits, straight and queer, are commented on. If Nazis or swastikas are associated with a text or an author, we hear about it -- that Nazis took an ancient symbol and used it for their own purposes is not commented on.  Near the end of Goddess Unmasked, Davis unsuccessfully attempts to disarm objections to his approach of presenting NeoPagan source authors as "unsavory characters."

Davis's bias undermines trust in his reporting. He misinterprets NeoPagan writers and he appears to be selecting sources based on sensationalism and low levels of scholarship. As an example in one of his early chapters, after scathingly quoting Elizabeth Gould, Merlin Stone, Rianna Eisler, and Mary Daly for pages, he follows with several quick paragraphs mentioning the work of the (usually) more scholarly Starhawk, Marija Gimbutas, and Margot Adler.  This tactic is like presenting the spiritual teachings of Jerry Falwell, Jim Baker, Pat Robertson and then mentioning Bishop Desmond Tutu as an afterthought.

It would be enough for me as a student of NeoPaganism to know if a key text from a NeoPagan source was based on archaeological evidence, limited information, or outright imagination.

To be generous, perhaps Davis has waded through so much Renaissance, Enlightenment and Romantic writing on magical theory, revolution, religion and gender roles that he has stopped looking for where 20th century writers have departed from old or silly ideas. As I only have exposure to materials written after 1900, I am not qualified to comment on the accuracy of Davis' reporting on documents older than a century.

His quotation of Starhawk is misinterpreted as a license to throw orthodox morality to the winds in a narcissistic spirit of situation ethics. A closer reading of Starhawk reveals that she is advocating integrity and pointing out that to choose a particular action is to also choose a particular constellation of circumstances. She goes on to argue that as a NeoPagan, one should know one's own value system (in Starhawk's example a clean environment) and to act in accordance with one's values.

Davis looks at the archaeological evidence and criticizes the goddess writers of coming to false (and in some cases fraudulent) conclusions. He is able to compare the writings of Daley and Eisler with the archaeological source text they are working from to demonstrate some of their questionable (and embarrassing) interpretations about a widespread matriarchal culture that worshiped a supreme Mother Goddess. He paints a picture of Gumbutas as a once-qualified archaeologist, but in the end lead astray by the writings of Eisler.  But based on his own arguments, Davis should conclude that the archaeological record is inconclusive and that any theory of ancient spiritual practices cannot be supported. Instead he pronounces the theories of preliterate Goddess worship as lies designed to promote a feminist agenda.

Davis objects to the elevation of sex as a sacred ritual, an idea whose popularity he traces back to Merlin Stone (1976) and Dion Fortune (1938). He seems to have forgotten that NeoPaganism is an earth-based mystery religion. Davis also takes pains to point out when NeoPagan authors express sexual preferences outside the normal mainstream. He does not mention NeoPagans with normative preferences.

Although Davis ascribes some importance to Fortune's writings as source materials for late 20-th century NeoPagans, a review of the endnotes in Goddess Unmasked shows no indication that Davis has read any Dion Fortune; it seems he is quoting quotations. This is too bad, as the prolific writings of Fortune range from the meticulously methodical to quaintly racist, and a solid review of her writing would be of service to students and historians of pagan thought.

For example, he quotes a quotation about Dion Fortune's fictional work, The Sea Priestess wherein the main female character espouses a sacred marriage. Davis makes no mention of her non-fiction works, Sane Occultism and Psychic Self-Defense.   Sane Occultism was written specifically to instruct neophytes about shysters and sexual predators in the occult biz. In Psycic Self Defense, Fortune takes great pains to instruct the reader to seek physical, earthly, or medical reasons behind occurrences before ascribing them to psychic malice. Davis' omission is akin to critiquing C. S. Lewis' theology based solely on quotes from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.  Davis instead focuses on Fortune's psychic battles with Moira Matthers.

As evidence of a female bias in NeoPaganism, Davis paints a picture of Janet and Stewart Farrar as exclusive Goddess writers. Although he focuses on their book, The Witch's Goddess, he makes no mention at all of one of their other books, The Witch's God.

As an example of an overlooked NeoPagan writer with normative sexual values is Vivian Crowley, who espouses magic works and NeoPagan rituals performed between a married man and woman. She describes the Great Rite not as a Davis-esque orgy of debauchery, but as a sex-positive celebration of the divine that is done as a pantomime if the couple is working with a group, or else done privately behind closed doors.

Davis even questions the validity of Jung in an attempt to discredit Joeseph Campbell and any writers who attempt to validate their work by citing Jungian psychology.

Goddess Unmasked takes a twist in the concluding chapter. The author describes the conflict of academic freedom with the political agenda of Women's Studies Departments in the Canadian university system. He also examines the university process of resolving complaints of sexual harassment.  The phrase "as a family man,"makes an appearance.   All of this gives the culmination of Goddess Unmasked a vendetta feeling. 

Goddess Unmasked is a general, far-flung attempt to provide historical context to goddess worship. Unfortunately its greatest contribution is the endnotes section that lists the source materials. Students of NeoPaganism will best be served by using Goddess Unmasked as a syllabus for their own studies.

Trials of Steampunk

I got to the end of a Published Steampunk Novel.  Although I liked the characterizations and the dialog and some of the visuals, some of the wiggling with history and the fudging with how dirigibles work bothered me.  OK, and there were a couple of times near the end when the characters grabbed the idiot ball in service to the plot.

The development of dirigibles was about 50 years ahead of its time (the story was about 1860) and they felt more like Flash Gordon airships (e.g. using steam thrusters and "airbrakes" to slow the fall of a crashing dirigible) than a (1905) helium hydrogen filled craft.  Oh, and (sigh) zombies.  

Zombies almost always make me wonder what about shambling cannibals is attractive to the zeitgeist.  Then they make me think about Sherry Turkle's "The Second Self" wherein a child classifies spiders as being not alive "because you can kill them."  I guess they fulfill the need for a "kill-able other" in battle narratives.

At the end of the novel, the author said, "Hey, so I tweaked the historical bits; don't send me e-mail telling me how I goofed up my history--it's Steampunk, I can make up whatever I want."  I didn't buy it, mostly because although I could accept the historical tweaks, the dirigible changes felt more like sloppy research.  

And then I felt like some nerdy physics curmudgeon.  I mean, yeah, Steampunk isn't rocket science; but if you want to write Steampunk, shouldn't one pay lip service to Jules Verne and at least try to get the science right?

Afterward, I thought about how I cut way more slack for "Girl Genius."  I think the comic-book format of "Girl Genius" defuses any objections that reality is being violated.  The Foglios also call "Girl Genius" a Gaslamp Fantasy rather than Steampunk--which goes to show you the power of genre.  In other words, the Steampunk Novel fell into a history and physics uncanny valley.  

Oh well, at least the latest Steampunk Novel didn't have its strong female dirigible pilot turn into a ditzy romance heroine half-way into the book.  

Review: The Hidden Spirituality of Men

Every now and then I would stumble across the name Matthew Fox, so I finally went to the library and checked out a copy of The Hidden Spirituality of Men: Ten Metaphors to Awaken the Sacred Masculine. I was excited, at first, because Matthew Fox is a former Dominican who became an Episcopal priest after his expulsion from the Catholic Church. Episcopal: That's Catholic-Lite; twice the ritual with only half the guilt! And Starhawk had dropped his name once or twice, so I thought as I cracked the book, "At last, something about male spirituality with some theological teeth in it."

I became uneasy as I read; the paragraphs seemed to be fuzzy and disjointed. Sort of like, "Purple is a color between red and blue. 'The Color Purple' is the name of a book by Alice Walker. Donnie Osmond liked purple socks, and Prince had an album called 'Purple Rain.' As you can see, purple has an attraction to artists of all genders and orientations." Except Fox would have used chakras, Robert Bly, Meister Eckhart, and Native Americans.

I flipped ahead to the chapter on The Green Man, where I read "The Green Man is an ancient pagan symbol of our relationship to the plant kingdom." My earlier vague misgivings crystallized. I checked in the index, and failed to find Lady Raglan, the British folklorist who wrote in 1936 about the foliate heads she'd notice in English church architecture, and who started the Frazerian theory that they were were symbols of pagan fertility and tree worship. There followed some more loosely related paragraphs, ending with Greenpeace.

The Green Man is an icon, and the cultural meaning of this icon has changed throughout the centuries: from ancient Bacchus, through the medieval images of the Tanglewood and renaissance agents of festival crowd control, to Lady Raglan's theories about restored church architecture in the twentieth century. To make assertions about ancient pagan interpretations of the Green Man is about as valid as asserting that motorists in the modern age worship Pegasus because they gather underneath an icon of a red winged horse. Certainly, Neo-Pagans today use the Green Man as a symbol of the interconnectedness of Nature and Humanity, as a male avatar of Nature's spirit incarnate, and as a paragon to emulate.  However, this contemporary use begins with the assumptions of Lady Raglan. I don't mind so much that Matthew Fox wants to imagine new scripts for the Green Man, but I do wish he hadn't grounded them in outmoded folklore theories.

Moving along, I flipped forward to the chapter on Masculine Sexuality. By the fifth paragraph, I read about Toaist practices of controlling seminal fluids (code for "orgasm without ejaculation") and how there's chi stored in the testes. At least Fox did spend some time addressing issues of infertility and male sexuality -- but then out came the berdaches and winktes. This section made me angry because it was titled "Honoring, and Learning From, The Gifts of Homosexuality." It was so old-school-Harry-Hay-elitism: "because we're a persecuted minority we've got special powers." Okay, Fox gets points for saying a Spiritual Warrior must exorcise homophobia, but then he loses points for implying that doing so will give access to, among other things, the homosexual gift of spirituality. Here's a special note for all of you Spiritual Warriors: when I'm having hot, throbbing, man-to-man sex, my primary motivation isn't to bring straight allies a spiritual gift. (And by-the-way: I'm a white guy, not a First Nations person). Muttering "Magic Negro" under my breath, I flipped forward.

By this time my attitude toward "The Hidden Spirituality of Men" had deteriorated into a mix of "Ha, where is your Goddess now?" "Someone is wrong on the internet!" and the feeling of looking/not-looking at a traffic accident. My eyes fell randomly on the end of Chapter Eleven: The Sacred Marriage of Masculine and Feminine. Yep, there it was, a reference to hieros gamos, and the Jewish tradition of Yahweh consummating a marriage with Shekinah, feminine bride. Which is fine, except Shekinah wasn't formulated as feminine, much less a cosmic bride, until probably sometime in the ninth century, and was first written in the "Book Bahir", written around 1185. Earlier writing presented Shekhina as an ungendered concept to enable limited humans to perceive Deity.

As with the Green Man, I don't have a problem with a modern reworking of Shekinah as a Cosmic Bride; but Fox seems to have confused medieval Shekinah with Sophia or ancient Ashera. Shekinah's sexing a thousand years ago by rabbis was done to develop a spiritual toolkit to fix the imbalance in the emanations of the Tree of Life. Fox is looking for a metaphor of the union of two cosmic opposites; but originally, Shekinah was the facade Deity wears so that the Nation of Israel might comprehend the divine.

Yes, I'm knit-picking on this last example, but by now it was too late. I felt betrayed. What I'd hoped for was a Priestly Ronald Hutton or a poetic Margot Adler. What I found was an odd grab-bag of "ancient" and "native" "wisdom," a Frazerian regurgitation of art history presented as archeology, and a kinder, gentler Men's Mythopoetic movement. The symbols and icons of the Divine Male are active and available; use them, re-work them - and if the re-working is a good one, it doesn't need a populist pedigree to justify it. I'm sure Matthew Fox has given us some symbolic gems, and the divine male does need to explored -- but for me, the Spirituality of Men was too well Hidden for this book to be useful.

Mini Trek Review

I saw Star Trek today.  For the most part I liked it.  The acting was fun, the sets looked nice.  

I find myself somewhat conflicted about the franchise's use of space-time anomolies and their resulting paradoxes.  On one hand, it gives the writers extra freedom -- but on the other hand the anomolies have come to be the StarTrek equivalent of Pamela's dream from Dallas.

The action scenes did get to be a bit much after a while and had to take a nap after the movie. 
And... I can take a little action for action's sake, but I wish some of the action made a little more sense practically and on an astrophysical level.  But hey -- it's a science fiction action flick.  And it's funny.  Go and laugh at all the in-jokes.