Harper's Magazine

The indefatigable gnomes at Gutenburg Schloss continue their inestimable task of reviving old tales for curious or nostalgic tragics such as I am. The number of books they revive and preserve is amazing. Many of the resulting recreations would only have relevance for people with a specific interest. But I am always pleased to browse the lists and to discover a gem or two which takes me back to the days of my youth, renewing acquaintance with Wells, Burroughs, Haggard, Chesterton, Dumas and so many more. A recent visit to the stock piles resulted in my discovery of the early printings of Harper's New Magazine, an American endeavour inaugurated in the 1850s to provide access to world-wide writers of quality. These monthly collections include articles from other magazines or serialized novels covering fiction and items of social and scientific interest at that period. The variety is rich. Naturally there is some dross, but also a variety of riches with pleasant surprises. They frequently feature extracts from my old friend Charlie Dickens who was currently publishing his weekly periodical,"Household Words". So I have decided to apprentice myself to Harper's Magazine for a while to see if it can refresh congealing grey matter a little.

Remembering Charlie

This year is the 200th anniversary of the birth of one of the greatest English wordsmiths, Charles Dickens. Recently, people all over the world celebrated his arrival and the subsequent creation of his literary outpourings. Dickens used his intimate knowledge of London's occupants and environs to freeze Victorian social mores for millions of devoted readers. His creative process was a difficult one, as so many of his books and sketches were written under pressure as weekly episodes for magazines. He managed his task so well that fans anxiously awaited the next instalment as if it was a Victorian "Home & Away" production. He had (and has) his detractors, but his true devotees, of whom I am one, can read his stories again and again and still get pleasure from them.

Dickens himself was a complex character, and his story is as interesting as any fiction he created. It seems that so many great writers and poets were egocentric to such an extent that they were unaware of, or ignored, the sensitivities of others. Dickens could be generous and charming; he could write stories that showed a deep knowledge of human emotions but he frequently treated his family, and in particular his wife, abominably. It is humbling to think that even the greatest have flaws.

The Blogg Identity

Recently, as I was making one of my sporadic attempts to tidy my work environment, both physical and technological, I came upon a dusty container crowded with dormant Bloggs who had been hiding away since 2010. [I'm fairly sure there was no Anna Frank Blogg amongst them]. For the uninitiated, a Blog is a series of ad hoc communications per medium of the Internet, and Bloggs are the fragile creatures that inhabit this world. They have varied personalities. Some are of serious mien, posing as deep thinkers; others have a humorous vein, prone to exaggeration and oddballitis; while a few,unfortunately,are light-weight creatures whose main claim to fame is their ability to fill blank space with inanities and trivialities.

It was quite pleasant renewing acquaintance with these Bloggs, and they happily reminded me of events and attitudes that were prevalent a couple of years ago. Whether they have any relevance today is very debatable, but they aroused enough enthusiasm to encourage me to add a few more members to the clan. Regularity and longevity cannot be guaranteed, but I am looking forward to exercising my brain and imagination while the tools are at hand. Incidentally, I have been advised that some of these Bloggs come from the Turgid family. This doesn't really matter. Anything goes and there is room for everyone in our mansion.

Literary Decisions

For the average, non-expert aficionado of novel reading, there is often a need for assistance in decision-making so that time and effort are not expended unnecessarly upon inferior material. There are always "experts" and amateurs who will perform this task in a modest but assured manner. One of the earliest of these kindly guides was an American, George Ade, who produced a book called "Fables in Slang" in 1899 from column extracts in the "Chicago Record" newspaper. Here is one of his Fables.

THE FABLE OF THE MAN WHO DIDN'T CARE FOR STORYBOOKS
Once there was a blue Dyspeptic, who attempted to Kill Time by reading Novels, until he discovered that all Books of Fiction were a Mockery.

After a prolonged Experience he came to know that every Specimen of Light Reading belonged to one of the following Divisions:

1. The Book that Promises well until you reach the Plot, and then you Remember that you read it Summer before last.

2. The book with the Author's Picture as a Frontispiece. The Author is very Cocky. He has his Overcoat thrown back, so as to reveal the Silk Lining. That Settles it!

3. The Book that runs into a Snarl of Dialect on the third Page and never gets out.

4. The delectable Yarn about a Door-Mat Thief, who truly loves the Opium Fiend. Jolly Story of the Slums.

5. The Book that begins with a twenty-page Description of Sloppy Weather: "Long swirls of riven Rain beat somberly upon the misty Panes," etc., etc.

You turn to the last Chapter to see if it Rains all the way through the Book. This last Chapter is a Give-Away. It condenses the whole Plot and dishes up the Conclusion. After that, who would have the Nerve to wade through the Two Hundred and Forty intermediate Pages?

6. The Book in which the Pictures tell the Story. After you have seen the Pictures there is no need to wrestle with the Text.

7. The Book that begins with a Murder Mystery—charming Picture of Gray-Haired Man discovered Dead in his Library—Blood splashed all over the Furniture—Knife of Curious Design lying on Floor.

You know at once that the most Respected and least suspected Personage in the Book committed the awful Crime, but you haven't the Heart to Track him down and compel him to commit Suicide.

8. The Book that gets away with one Man asking another: "By Jove, who is that Dazzling Beauty in the Box?"

The Man who asks this Question has a Name which sounds like the Title of a Sleeping Car.

You feel instinctively that he is going to be all Mixed Up with that Girl in the Box before Chapter XII. is reached; but who can take any real Interest in the Love Affairs of a Man with such a Name?

9. The Book that tells all about Society and how Tough it is. Even the Women drink Brandy and Soda, smoke Cigarettes, and Gamble. The clever Man of the World, who says all the Killing Things, is almost as Funny as Ally Sloper. An irritable Person, after reading nine Chapters of this kind of High Life, would be ready to go Home and throw his Grandmother into the Fire.

10. The dull, gray Book, or the Simple Annals of John Gardensass. A Careful Study of American Life.

In Chapter I. he walks along the Lane, stepping first on one Foot and then on the Other, enters a House by the Door, and sits in a four-legged wooden Chair, looking out through a Window with Glass in it. Book denotes careful Observation. Nothing happens until Page 150. Then John decides to sell the Cow. In the Final Chapter he sits on a Fence and Whittles. True Story, but What's the Use?

Why continue? The Dyspeptic said that when he wanted something really Fresh and Original in the Line of Fiction he read the Prospectus of a Mining Corporation.

Moral: Only the more Rugged Mortals should attempt to Keep Up on Current Literature.

Fabulous Renewal

The observant reader will have noticed a lengthy sabbatical by Wordsmith as he once again dabbled in the time-consuming practice of Family Genealogy. Although the research in this area is never done, it is time to put away the charts for a while. So here he is again at the bench hammering away at another artifact.

Reverting to the First Person, I must report that I have recently rediscovered Aesop and his marvellous fables. It must be acknowledged that many of the 650+ fables credited to Aesop through the good work of his publicists were in existence long before the birth of this philosophical character, and many more were added over the Centuries. It is convenient to subsume all under his name, an Aesopean Genre. Several of these fables used to be found in School Readers for various grades, back in a time when there was a much greater emphasis upon good behaviour and character building in official textbooks.

I have just become reacquainted with one of these, the meeting between Androcles and the Lion. The moral of this fable was "Gratitude is the sign of noble souls". I was never sure whether this referred to Androcles or the Lion. I think we were advised that it would always be best to be kind to all animals. In our walks through the Australian bush, I have constantly been on the alert for lions in trouble, but have so far not discovered any. The Australian animals I have come across have generally scuttled quickly away before I could render any assistance to them. Having a noble soul and being unable to find a recipient for your kindness can be very frustrating. Maybe one of the other Fables will give me more scope for character-building.

Questions from A Telling Sign

Everyone knows that Wordsmith Mansion is situated on the side of a long-extinct volcanic cinder cone that is now called Halloran's Hill, (sometimes written with an apostrophe; more frequently without). Apart from a small patch of forest, this hill area was cleared by and named after a farmer named Halloran.

In order to encourage visitors and locals to visit our mansion and to enjoy the great scene from the summit of the hill, there have been 10 directional or tourism signs erected in aproximately 1.5 kilometres from the edge of the CBD (Central Business District for commercial cognoscenti). The Word Police have reported that a crime has been committed with the erection of an eleventh sign to guide befuddled voyagers. Obviously, someone in Council decided that the message was not getting through, or they hadn't spent this year's signage allocation, so a very large sign was commissioned to be set up about 50 metres from two existing signs, thus providing a bit more reading material for motorists about to negotiate the Robert Street roundabout.

It would be interesting to discover just how many people were involved in the planning and implementation of this project. Did Councillors debate and decide before adding to Atherton's sign collection ? Did they pass their decision onto a CEO and other Council office employees ? Was there one decision-maker who signed off on the wording, layout, etc. before involving a sign-writing firm or council sub-section where specialists in the construction of such creations went into action ? Was there a council representative who okayed the finished product before passing it on to the labouring force to erect in the Main Street ? A crew of at least 4 men would have toiled assiduously for at least one day to erect the sign and stand back, tired but proud of their masterpiece.

There was only one small problem overlooked ! The name "Hallorans" had been misspelt with the transposition of two vowels to create "Hallarons Hill". What will happen now ? How long will this visual affront remain to provide bewilderment and amusement for visitors and locals? Will the sign remain untouched, or will the whole process have to be repeated at further cost? Will the offending section be merely covered over with a remedial patch ? Mr Halloran must be turning in his grave with anger or amusement !

Words of War

Another Anzac Day has passed by and thousands of families have remembered departed relatives, victims of Man's inhumanity to his own kind. They deserve to be mourned, but they did not deserve to be brutally killed. Behind the military smokescreen of "glory" words such as valour, heroism, sacrifice, honour, pride and discipline, little is ever said of political opportunism, moral blackmail, soul-destroying physical and emotional bombardment, business venality and the sorrows of families deprived of loved ones because of incompetence, ignorance and self-inflated egos of supposed leaders.

This year, because I am once more working on Okey genealogy, I try to think of how Mrs W's ancestors felt with their tragic series of losses. Grandfather John Okey was a grocer before WW1, surely a most unmilitary occupation. He was sent off to fight in North Africa and later to the mud and madness of France, leaving behind a wife and young family to struggle financially, socially and emotionally. The "Great War" ended on 11th November 1918. John was killed in action on 10th September 1918 at the Somme, only two months before the official armistice. He was part of an unnecessary ongoing conflict, when leaders on both sides were aware that Germany's defeat had been obtained.

Only one day earlier, 9th September 1918, John's cousin, Whitfield Okey, had died of wounds incurred in the same area of conflict in France. To complete the tragedy of "threes", John's young brother, Norris Okey, though unfit for service overseas, joined the Territorial Army which allowed service in the UK only. During his 1 year 3 months service, Norris was hospitalised for heart and other illnesses. He was discharged and began another personal battle with beaucracy to obtain a pension. As he seemed about to have some success, he died on 17th January 1919, 2 months after the war's end (4 months after the death of his brother). The Okeys had lost 3 close family in 4 months at the end of the lengthy, brutal, often mismanaged fight between "civilized" nations. The Okey family must have been distraught and confused and despairing, and this situation would have been mirrored in the homes of thousands of grieving families.

It is very difficult to create a balance sheet that shows how all the misery, fear, pain and frustration for combatants and their families was necessary for national pride, financial opportunism, territorial ambitions accompanied by irrational decision-making.

The slogan appropriately says "Lest We Forget", but sometimes I think that perhaps we just never knew !