Underbug by Lisa Margonelli

Source of book: Borrowed from the library

This book is kind of a broad and rambly look at termites, the various research projects involving them, and the ways in which they intersect with humanity. Margonelli spent parts of a decade more or less obsessed (her own words) with termites, leading her around the world, and putting her in contact with biologists, roboticists, geneticists, and other scientists, and many more. The book starts off pretty normally, with her account of an expedition to collect termites, but gets pretty far in the weeds as the book goes along. 

Termites are pretty fascinating, I must admit. They are one of the most ancient creatures on the planet, and are part of the hidden biology which supports all other life. They are social insects, but evolved on a totally different branch than the more familiar hymenoptera - bees, wasps, and ants. They are most closely related to cockroaches, particularly genetically. And, even more fascinatingly, they exist symbiotically with thousands of kinds of bacteria and protists which enable them to digest cellulose. 

For me, I found the parts of the book that were actually about termites to be quite interesting. The recent discoveries of the complex multi-organism colonies in the termite guts, for example, were awesome. The idea of huge clumps of organisms of various kinds which have formed a symbiotic colony is rather at the foundation of how scientists believe life made the jump from single-cell to multi-cell organisms. Which is why animals, from termites to humans, actually have more bacteria and protist cells in our bodies than “our” cells. 

Likewise, the sections on termite mounds and behavior were enlightening. Margonelli clearly knows and loves her subject. Throughout, her enthusiasm makes even the more boring sections seem interesting. 

That said, there are some things that irritated me about the book. First, Margonelli treats it rather like a memoir of her own exploration, rather than a book imparting information. While one of my favorite writers, Mary Roach, tends to do this as well, in Roach’s case, her outrageous journeys are part of the fun - and Roach pokes fun at herself and keeps her tongue firmly in her cheek. Margonelli, on the other hand, is earnest. Very earnest. She takes herself and her research very seriously. Which is fine. But just not that interesting when she inserts too much of herself in the story. 

Similarly, while it is nice to learn about the people who conduct the research, these sections tended to get a bit long and involved; yet afterward, despite the detail, it was difficult to keep track of the many characters and what they were researching. 

This isn’t to say that the research itself wasn’t fascinating - it was. But too much of the book was about the grind of research, and too little about what it has revealed. Which, I guess would be a good way to write a book about how much of research is repetitive and mind-numbing. But this wasn’t that book. 

I have mixed feelings about Margonelli’s tendency to philosophize. She strikes me as kind of the new-age hippie sort (except with legit journalistic credentials and a solid science background.) Sometimes, this is grating. But plenty of times, she hits on genuinely memorable thoughts. One that particularly struck me is her observation that being a termite kind of looks like fun. 

There is an old canard about termites building civilization without reason, but watching them, I wonder if there can be any civilization, or organization, without joy. 

There is, after all, a joy in coming together to accomplish a goal. (Hey, I’m a musician - there is truly a high from making music with others.) We too are social creatures. 

Another line was so good, I have to quote it. It wasn’t original to Margonelli, but to one of the researchers she spent time with. (And he borrowed it from somewhere - it was apparently a joke going around.) This particular research was focused on understanding “complex systems,” such as the behavior of hive insects. As the joke goes, “We’re all just waiting for Carnot.” Understanding the joke, of course, requires a knowledge of Nicolas Carnot, the father of thermodynamics, as well as Samuel Beckett’s play, Waiting for Godot. Pretty much all of our modern technology rests on Carnot’s theories about how heat works - his ideas revolutionized science. In the case of complex systems, however, Carnot - the person who can draw unifying explanations from the data - hasn’t yet arrived. 

One particular factual bit also stood out. Apparently, termites don’t fit the stereotype of industrious insects. (I mean, this dates at least as far back as Aesop and the Bible.) Termites do not work all the time, and a number of them seem to do very little at all. The researchers speculated about a reserve fighting force, or guards, or perhaps just senior citizens. But the fact of the matter is that the termite mound does not appear to be a matter of pure peak efficiency. There may indeed be “insect slackers” just as there are in human society. (Or, as Margonelli muses, perhaps they are philosophers...or the termite versions of Bill Murray.)

Overall, I quite enjoyed most of the book, with the caveat that a few spots dragged a bit. I am kind of tempted to seek out her other book on the petroleum industry. I get the impression that her work on that book got her interested in termite research, because of the possibility of replacing gasoline with “grassoline” - sustainable cellulose based fuel, in which the gut microorganisms of termites could play a key role. Ah, the ways that our brains follow trails.

The Merry Spinster by [Daniel] Mallory Ortberg

Source of book: Borrowed from the library

Just a note: this book is by Daniel Mallory Ortberg, but is under the name of Mallory Ortberg. (See below for more about the author.) 

The Merry Spinster is a collection of modern takes on classic fairy tales and other stories. That is probably the easiest way to describe it. The stories aren’t straight up retellings, though, as they are often mashups of different tales. For example, “The Thankless Child” combines elements of Cinderella, King Lear, three Medieval prayers, and Psalm 139. Also, there are riffs on modern stories like The Velveteen Rabbit - and that one is particularly dark. In general, these are not “nice” stories, although the same could be said about the originals in their pre-Disney forms. 

Ortberg does some interesting things with the stories. While some are pretty dark, all of them have an underlying wit and sense of humor. They are also more feminist than the originals - the women and girls are hardly passive sorts, waiting for a prince. Ortberg also bends genders in many of the stories. Kings will be female, queens male. A youngest daughter will be referred to as “he.” In the context of the stories, this will flip stereotypes, so that a male daughter will be renowned for beauty, a female son for her bravery, and so on. It makes for a disconcerting experience in some ways, because our language itself is based on a gender binary and assumes particular gendered traits. 

In some of the stories, there is pointed social commentary. In others, the point seems to be to imagine different points of view, as in “Fear Not: An Incident Log,” which retells portions of the book of Genesis from the viewpoint of the Angel of the Lord, filling out an incident report for every interaction with humans. Divine miracles as bureaucratic incidents, so to speak. 

Ortberg writes well. The twists and turns are carefully plotted, and spring on the reader unexpectedly. The language is matched to the stories, so they are to a degree “in the style of” the originals. For obvious reasons (see below), Ortberg is thoroughly fluent in the Bible, as well as “christianese” of the Evangelical variety. He brings out sly references to verses that are fairly obscure, and nods in the direction of tropes within the Evangelical subculture. Some of these might be unnoticed by those who didn’t grow up in that subculture, but they hit home for those of us who did. 

Here are a few lines which stood out. 

In “The Daughter Cells,” an underwater mermaid kingdom is described. The daughters get to do whatever they want with their little patch of, well, not land exactly, but area, I guess. 

At any rate, these girls didn’t own their patches of land, but they had the use of them, which made for good practice. They might ornament their allotted land with flowers, they might grow crops, or they might stuff it with old sea glass and bits of shipwrecked kettles, as they saw fit. The only way to teach the value of something is to give someone the chance to waste it - or at least that was how the thinking went under that particular administration.

That last line in particular struck me as interesting. I think it is more broadly true about humanity. 

How about this one, from the Genesis story?

They live all alone in their own heads, and shudder reflexively at the prospect of God’s imminence. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen a man spend all his life praying for union with the divine, only to shrink back and scrabble to return to his own skin once he realizes that the presence of the divine is coming for him...

Finally, there is an exchange in “The Frog’s Princess” that is true and disconcerting for that reason. 

“Beauty does not belong exclusively to you,” the man told his daughters. “Beauty is a public good, and you are responsible for it.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” the youngest daughter asked. The sun burned hot on his forehead. 

“It means - in a sense - that according to a certain understanding you belong to everyone,” the man said.

“By that reasoning,” his daughter said, “I belong at least partly to myself. Certainly at least as much as I belong to anybody else.”

“Don’t be clever,” his father said. “Go and play outside, where people can see you.”

This leads into some pointed, though oblique, comments on sexual harassment of young women. The whole story, actually, is a satire on male sexual entitlement and the expectation that women, by virtue of existing, exist to please men. 

The book is a pretty quick read, but it packs a lot of interesting ideas into its small size. If you like remixes of classic stories, you will definitely enjoy it. If you find gender bending and swapping intriguing, you will also like it. It’s worth a read. 

***

Note on Daniel Mallory Ortberg:

I first discovered Ortberg when he took over the Dear Prudence column at Slate Magazine from Emily Yoffe. Back then, he was Mallory Ortberg, fresh off co-founding the much-lamented late website, The Toast. (At least the old stuff is still online. So there’s that.) For a while thereafter, I didn’t think much about it. 

Later, though, I made the connection: he is the child of Evangelical pastor and author, John Ortberg. In fact, back when I was part of organized religion and identified as Evangelical, our former pastor used to quote John Ortberg a lot. And actually, as far as Evangelical author sorts go, his stuff was...pretty good. I don’t agree with all of the theology, but it was kindhearted and humble stuff, not the macho posturing and dogmatic assertion of so many others. 

However, Ortberg’s church is officially non-affirming of LGBTQ people. 

When Mallory announced that she was transitioning to Daniel, I was rather curious as to what his family made of it. Apparently, they are accepting of Daniel. I really wonder now how John Ortberg squares all of this. Does he just accept the cognitive dissonance? Or is he, like I suspect many Evangelicals, trapped between affirming personal beliefs, and the reality that he would lose his ministry if he came out as affirming? It’s an interesting question. 

It is easy to see some autobiographical stuff in The Merry Spinster; not details, but emotions. It is particularly fascinating since Daniel didn’t come out as transgender until the book was finished. This background explains why Daniel is so fluent in the language and subculture of Evangelicalism, and why he knows his Bible rather well. I am curious to read his next book, which is a collection of essays on, among other things, religion and gender identity.  

***

Just for fun, I have read and reviewed one other book written by a transgender person:

All the Birds in the Sky by Charlie Jane Anders

The Crucible by Arthur Miller

Source of book: My eldest child’s English textbook

For this post to make sense, here is the background. My wife and I were homeschooled through high school. I did video courses for the last three years - and I greatly benefited. We have homeschooled our own kids, but knew that it was unlikely that we would do it unassisted during the high school years. Because we both work, it was going to be impossible to do the kids justice. Thus, we have enrolled our older kids in a hybrid charter school program. They attend traditional classes for 2-3 days out of the week, and do the rest at home. This means that a certain amount of their work needs to be reviewed by us. My eldest and I have long enjoyed discussing stuff, so I get the job of going through history, science, and English with her most of the time. This semester, she had to read The Crucible, which I had never read. I decided that I would be of more help if I knew what I was talking about. 

During my high school years, the public school kids all had to read The Death of a Salesman, if I am remembering things correctly. I haven’t read that one either - we never did Arthur Miller in my American Literature course. I’m not sure we even did a play at all...probably they were all too modern for the Fundie curriculum we used. So, this was my first experience of Arthur Miller. 

The Crucible is a fictionalized drama of the Salem Witch Trials. Miller takes a few artistic liberties with the timeline, and obviously adds details of conversations which are not in the record. Most of these are minor, but there is one significant change - see below.

Miller intended The Crucible to be, among other things, an allegory for the Red Scare and the McCarthy hearings. First performed in 1953, it turned out to be rather more prescient than Miller preferred. The House Un-American Activities Committee was unamused, and denied Miller’s passport, so he couldn’t see the London premier of the play. In 1956, Miller was subpoenaed to testify before the Committee. Miller steadfastly refused to name any names - a fascinating parallel with John Proctor’s stance in the play - and was charged and convicted of contempt of Congress. Fortunately for Miller, an appeals court later overturned the conviction. 

I believe The Crucible succeeds well at shedding some much-needed light on the dangerous dynamic which led to the witch hunting. It is a bit too easy here in the 21st Century to just say, “oh, look at the silly religious fanatics” and assume that we do not share the same evil tendencies. This would be a dangerously false assumption. As Miller notes, witch hunts may have religion involved in some cases, but they are far more universal than that. For example, Miller cites the Soviet Union under Stalin as an example of a “secular” witch hunt. The connecting factors seem to be universal human issues. Greed and envy, to name two, drove much of the witch trials. Miller actually plays down the role of Thomas Putnam a bit - later historical research reveals that Putnam used the trials to eliminate people he had previously feuded with - and then grabbed their land once they were safely dead. 

But one more thing really stood out as well. Miller uses extended “stage directions” in the first act to philosophize, and in one of them, he muses that it is during times of cultural change - often a loosening of strict social control - that witch hunts occur. As the powerful faction finds itself losing influence and power, it seeks victims. These scapegoats can be made examples of in an attempt to restore control, restore the past. Miller did cite global examples, but he felt that the United States was particularly vulnerable because the Puritans never really went away. 

“[I]n America, any man who is not reactionary in his views is open to the charge of alliance with the Red hell.” 

You can see this playing out in our own times, when anyone who isn’t on the reactionary and white nationalist Trump Train is accused of being a Flaming Communist™. And, of course, we have our scapegoats today - primarily immigrants and Muslims - who are under increasing pressure. 

Miller also adds a plot element to explain how the paranoia got started. This is the most significant departure from the historical facts. The slave Tituba is initially fingered as the problem. She, however, is not stupid, and sees that she is in serious danger of being murdered. So, she starts naming names. So far, so good. That fits. However, it is in the character of Abigail Williams that the play takes a non-historical turn. In real life, Abigail was age 11, not 17. Likewise, John Proctor was 60, not in his 30s. It is easy to see why Miller made the change: the existence of an affair between the two was important to his vision of the events. But it didn’t happen. More likely, Abigail and the other very young girls were suggestible, and said things to get attention. 

This actually has played out in our time as well, during the day-care sex abuse paranoia. This got started in my hometown of Bakersfield (although I didn’t move there until much later), then spread across the nation. It later turned out that children were...rather suggestible, and could be nudged to say things that weren’t, technically speaking, true. Years later, the convictions were overturned, changes were made to how children were interviewed, and most of those involved slunk away in embarrassment. Well, except for Kern County District Attorney Ed Jagels, who has insisted to this day that everyone wrongly convicted was guilty as sin. Jagels is almost a direct parallel to William Stoughton, the Salem judge who was most instrumental in keeping the prosecutions going, and was furious when the Governor ended the trials and released the remaining prisoners. 

The affair, unhistorical as it is, does work artistically, so it is easy to see why Miller went that direction. 

To me, the most fascinating part of the play was the ending. Proctor is on the brink of signing a faked “confession” in order to save his own life. (Essentially, confess, and you aren’t killed, claim innocence, and you are hanged.) However, Proctor has two objections. The first is that he absolutely refuses to name other people. He is willing to humiliate himself, but he knows that if he names names, he will be exposing other innocent people to the witch hunt. The second is that he does not want his “confession” published. This too is related to the desire to protect others. He knows that if he “confesses,” the judges will use that as leverage against holdouts. He decides it is okay if he privately “confesses,” and the judge uses that in court. But he doesn’t want a written record. Proctor, as history records, eventually refused a confession, and was hanged. 

The question of ethics is fascinating. On just the surface, the question of when one is justified in lying to save one’s life is interesting. But the question of how to avoid harming others is the bigger one. Miller clearly thought this through, because he did not hesitate to follow his own character’s decision when it was his own freedom at risk. 

I also wanted to mention a few things about Arthur Miller’s own life, as I think they are interesting and relevant. His most sensational moment outside of the Red Scare was his brief marriage to Marilyn Monroe. Sadly, her drug addiction - which continue during the marriage - would lead to her death of an overdose soon after the divorce. 

It is interesting that Miller was considered a Communist. Even as early as The Crucible, Miller was critical of Communism (as noted above). In the 1960s, the USSR banned his works after he spoke up in favor of freedom of speech for Soviet dissidents. So, the “communist” accusation seems unfair. Not that that stopped right-wing figures from making it. 

Another incident later in life is telling. Miller gave a lecture entitled "On Politics and the Art of Acting,” which made the assertion that politics was largely about the art of performance. Somehow, this rather obvious and indisputable truth was considered controversial in right-wing circles. If any further proof were needed, one need look no further than the election of Donald Trump, whose entire existence seems to be substanceless performance art. 

It was interesting discussing this play with my kid. Teens are underrated, and one of the best things about having one is talking about literature. (She also read Little Fires Everywhere, so that made for an interesting discussion…) If anything, The Crucible has aged exceptionally well, and tells truths that are every bit as relevant to our own times as they were in the era of McCarthyism - or in the days of the Puritans. 

***

Related reviews:

The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Selected Poems by Anne Bradstreet

Collected Poems by Phillis Wheatley 

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood

Whatever Happened to the Metric System? by John Bemelmans Marciano

Source of book: I own this.

After waiting for our library system to get this book - they never did - I went ahead and bought it. I probably shouldn’t complain, because our library system (which includes several counties) is pretty extensive. (Although, our own county is one of the worst funded in the state, which sucks.) Still, this would seem to be a worthy book, and better than yet another copy of the latest bestseller. 

But back to the book. 

The United States is a global outlier in that we have steadfastly refused to adopt the Systeme International units of measurements (commonly known here as the Metric System.) Well, that isn’t completely true. We have adopted some metric units, and use metric measurements exclusively in some cases. But we have also retained our own peculiar “traditional” units - kind of sort of related to the old British units, except where they aren’t - alongside the metric units. 

Just to give an interesting example: if you go to the store, you will find soft drinks sold in a variety of sizes. Two-liter bottles. And twelve-ounce cans. Or, for a more adult experience, you can find beer in twelve-ounce cans, or pints. But wine and hard liquor are sold in 750 milliliter and other metric sizes. 

Whatever Happened to the Metric System takes a look at why the United States is an outlier - but it does a lot more than that. 

The book starts with an overview of measurements in the not-that-distant past. Not only did every country have its own system, but individual towns and cities had their own regional variations. Thus, a pound might weigh a bit more or less the next town over. In France, the result was a complete mess. Since taxation was based on all of these measurements, a merchant would need to carry a giant book of the measurements and taxes - this literally happened. And this problem was a contributing factor to the French Revolution. 

With that revolution came new ideas for universal, logical systems. Systems that would unify currency, measurement, and the calendar worldwide. It was in this period of instability that the Metric System got its start. 

One of the key elements of the movement was a belief that decimals were the way of the future. Which did indeed prove to be correct. But even this part isn’t as intuitive or as inevitable as it seems now. Our whole human idea of numbers are weird anyway. We have settled on a base-10 system because of the number of fingers we have. But not all counting systems use this. The base-12 we use for feet and inches, or dozens, is pretty useful if you think about it. It is easily divided into halves, thirds, and quarters, which is why it has been used extensively in measurements around the world. Ten is less useful for this kind of mental math, but, because it has been taught for a couple centuries, we now naturally think in tens. (Even more recent is the way we think in decimals, not fractions. That’s a generational shift that occurred somewhere between my grandparents’ generation and my own.) But we could easily have had a base-12 system that worked like our own - just add two more numbers. I guess if Count Rugen had been the norm, we would have. 

This is the sort of fun history that fills the book. After all, looking at just how and why the US failed in its attempt to adopt the metric system (both Carter and Reagan played a role - how’s that for bipartisanship?) wouldn’t give a complete and nuanced picture of the SI and its opponents throughout history and around the world. Rather, the book takes a tour of the world and an overview of history and the geopolitical events that shaped our increasingly global world. 

There are too many cool facts and incidents for this post, but I did want to mention a few. 

One of the central characters in the book is one Charles Piazzi Smyth, who combined some legitimate astronomical work with quintessentially 19th Century nuttiness. Generally, those who opposed the meter fell into two categories. In the first were those pragmatists who considered the old ways more intuitive and natural. (The foot comes from a human foot, etc.) These folks believed that the meter was artificial, and harder for the average person to use in everyday life. It’s not a terrible argument, actually. 

Smyth was in the second group, those who considered measurements not as a natural and intuitive human invention, but as standards literally dictated by God himself. And to this end, they were determined to prove that the cubit (as found in the Bible and other ancient near eastern literature) was exactly one-half of the British yard. (Or some other correlation to British units - there were about as many theories as theorists…) And so they made measurements of the Giza pyramids, and attempted to show that these were exactly based on the yard as well. (With better measurements, it became clear that this wasn’t the case, but at the time…) Smyth wrote a monumental work on the subject, which was well received by many scientists of the time.

But where it really struck a chord was with a group called the British Israelites, who claimed that the British were a lost tribe of Israel. Hey, wait? Wasn’t there a guy named Joseph Smith who came up with something similar? The 19th Century was an interesting time…

There is a whole chapter in the book devoted to the issue of the standardization of time. In our own day, it is hard to imagine that every town might have its own clock set to local solar time, and that traveling 20 miles meant changing one’s watch. Or that Boston was 12 minutes ahead of New York. With faster transportation and frequent travel, this system became untenable. And the brouhaha over how to establish a standard time was insane. In the end, it was the railroads that forced the issue, because they agreed to their own standard so that trains could run on a predictable schedule (and you wouldn’t need yet another giant book to calculate each town’s time on a route.) 

The issue of time was also a microcosm of the general issue with standardized measurement. Plenty of people then (as now) were freaked out about globalism. And about people not exactly like them. 

Then there were those philosophically opposed to the new, more artificial time. Claiming it went against divine instructions, one individual deemed the meridian congress as yet another example of “the dread international conference which transcends all mere radical politicians in seeking ever by blood and fire to destroy most completely the ancient and necessary barriers between the nations, and to form all mankind into one vast, headless society.” 

That could have been written in our own time by the conspiracy theorists of today. 

Speaking of old issues that have come back again, how about tariffs? In the chapter on the challenges of the 1930s, the book notes the role that tariffs played in the two catastrophic events of that decade. The Hawley-Smoot tariffs were a giant factor in creating and prolonging the Great Depression. But more than that, they undermined international relationships, and led Japan to cut most ties with the US...and then invade Manchuria. So yes, tariffs were one of the factors that led to World War Two. 

In the aftermath of the war, though, metrication accelerated dramatically. But the fears of metrification also continued. The book cites George Orwell’s 1984 as an example:

“‘E could ‘a drawed me off a pint,” grumbled the old man as he settled down behind a glass. “A ‘alf litre ain’t enough. It don’t satisfy. And a ‘ole litre’s too much. It starts my bladder running.” 

The irony, of course, is that a half liter is just a bit more than a pint. But, both in Britain and the US, the pint remains a standard for beer. Well, over here, at least since craft beer became a thing. Before that (and still in many cases), a beer is 12 ounces. Orwell’s old man would be horrified. 

There is another example in this book of how history gets skewed in our minds, just like tariffs have been largely forgotten in the general population as a factor in the Depression and in causing a world war. While the US was off the gold standard for the most part - ordinary people couldn’t trade their cash for gold since FDR let currency float in the 1930s - but foreign governments could - it was Nixon who dealt the final blow in 1971. Jimmy Carter gets blamed for the rampant inflation during his presidency. But he didn’t create the issue - Nixon did. Once the dollar was no longer pegged to gold, its artificially high value readjusted over the course of a decade. Combined with the oil embargo (again, first happened under Nixon) led to a series of economic shocks. One can argue about whether Carter had options that he failed to use, but he took the fall for policies that he had no part in. 

The 1970s were also the time of an interesting partial conversion to metric. While it was never completed (as the book details), much of our lives are indeed metric here in the US. The Ford Pinto was the first domestic vehicle to use metric engine sizes. Many of us who are into cars, classic and otherwise, can remember the use of standard measures, of course. The first car I remember well in our family was a mid-70s Dodge Dart with the 318. As in, 318 cubic inches. My kids don’t think that way. The last of the 318s was the Magnum 5.2 liter. My first car was a 1984 Camaro, with the 305 - a legacy engine which would become the Vortec 5000 (5 liters) in a few years. But even that Camaro had metric bolts - I know, because I wrenched on that thing. Times change, and we don’t even notice all the metric measurements we use. 

It could have been even more, though. President Gerald Ford signed the metrification act, which was supposed to make the US all metric. It never happened, and quietly went away. Ford, with his characteristic ability to put his foot in his mouth, may have accidentally said why, in his statement on the law, where he pointed out that manufacturers were already using metrics:

“U.S. industry in this regard is miles ahead of official policy.”

Just as in the 1800s, in the early 1980s, there was opposition to metrification, and for the usual reasons. (Although there were fewer claiming divine sanction for traditional measures this time around.) And, as before, it was a colorful character who ended up front and center: in this case hippy conspiracy theorist Stewart Brand. I mention him primarily because of his slogan for how to fight the metric system: “Bitch, boycott, and foment.” 

In the end, the United States ended up essentially isolated, with the rest of the world adopting the metric system. The book ends with an interesting thought. The US is often castigated by other countries for pushing a crap global culture (see: McDonalds and Coca-Cola) that destroys differences. Yet at the same time, we are laughed at for refusing a global measuring system. As the author points out:

How can Americans be stupid, ignorant, and lazy for knowing only one language, and also be those same things for having two systems of measurement? It is because not being metric plays into the idea that America thinks of itself as not having to play by the same rules as the rest of the world.

Certainly, this is a fair point. But not exactly the whole story on the metric system. As the book shows as it examines history, the US was in a unique position in that it never experienced its revolution or industrialization at the right time, when the metric system was developed or standardized. So, we just never did, and at this point, probably never will. After all, conversions are so easy with our computers, and most of the behind-the-scenes stuff is either metric already, or based (like container shipping) on other standards altogether. 

This was a fascinating book, and I highly recommend it. The history alone is worth reading, and the personalities and arguments for and against make for a delightfully messy and human drama. 

  

Matilda the Musical (Ovation 2019)

I read quite a few Roald Dahl books when I was a kid. However, for some reason, I never did read Matilda. My memory of 35 years ago isn’t terribly detailed, but I am guessing that this was probably the result of a few factors. First, my mom wasn’t fond of truly naughty children in books - and even less fond of stupid parents in books. So, I might have not heard about it because she wasn’t interested in having us read the book. Also, it was marketed (by, say, the book cover) as being a girls’ book - this was the 80s, after all. So it might not have caught my eye, or been placed with other books of interest to girls in the library display. Or maybe I read the back and didn’t find it interesting. Whatever the case was, I didn’t read it. 

However, on a road trip (prior to my starting this blog), we listened to it on audiobook, and I found it quite enjoyable. 

There were a few reasons I was determined to see the local stage version. First, a legal colleague was in it. Second, a few of my musical colleagues were playing in the band. And third, the cast list included some of my favorite local actors. So, we went. 

For those few unfamiliar with the book, Matilda is a seriously precocious child, born into an unappreciative family. Dad is a shady used car salesman, while mom is a former dancer who hates that Matilda essentially ended her career. They can’t understand why she reads books rather than watching “the telly.” When she goes off to school, she makes friends with her teacher, Miss Honey, who appreciates her. And also makes an enemy of the brutal headmaster, Miss Trunchbull. Matilda must find a way to keep her beloved books, while defending her classmates from the wrath of Trunchbull. I won’t spoil the plot. Fortunately, the play hews pretty closely to the book. 

The production we saw was at the Ovation Theater, one of several local theaters in our vibrant arts scene. 

Because Matilda has a large number of children in the cast, I will mention them first. The part of Matilda is a huge one, requiring solid vocal chops and a lot of charisma. This production had two actors alternating in the role. We saw Kya Leyendecker in the role. She was outstanding, and I think worth keeping an eye on as she grows up. 

Kya Levendecker as Matilda 

(All photos: Ovation publicity photo)

I can’t individually mention all the rest, but I was thoroughly impressed with their preparation, acting, and especially their excellent pitch. The kids obviously put in long hours practicing, and their teachers are to be commended. This bodes well for the future of the arts in our town. 

As far as the adult parts, I want to mention a few. First, Braeden Addison, who played multiple parts, including the Russian mobster. He is an Ovation regular, and always makes me smile. Riordan Banks was hilarious as Rudulfo, the dance partner and possible paramour of Matilda’s mother. David Allen (another regular in local theater) as Mr. Wormwood, Matilda’s father, was perfectly cast. And even more perfectly dressed. That loud plaid suit was amazing. Erica Briscoe, as Mrs. Phelps the librarian, turned in a solid performance in one of the few truly straight roles. 

David Allen as Mr. Wormwood (plaid suit), Braeden Addison (kneeling) as Sergei

Tara Haner (blonde in rear) as Mrs. Wormwood, Riordan Banks (right rear) as Rudolfo

 That suit demands a closer look. And that tie...

I may be biased, but I thought that Tara Haner, my legal colleague, was hilarious as Mrs. Wormwood. She portrayed the ditzy dancer as kind of an Oildale meets Keeping Up Appearances low class, high volume sort. Her squeaky voice was perfect - and I am impressed she kept both that and the Cockney accent while both acting and singing. That’s tough stuff, and she nailed it. 

Nancee Steiger (Miss Honey), Riordan Banks (Rudolfo), and Tara Haner (Mrs. Wormwood)

Nancee Steiger (Miss Honey) has long been one of my favorite local actors. It really is a shame she isn’t in more productions. (Past favorites of mine were If/Then, Assassins, and The Glass Menagerie.) As Miss Honey, she nailed the earnestness and deer-in-the-headlights look necessary for the part. 

 

 Dominic Demay (Trunchbull) and Nancee Steiger (Miss Honey)

Finally, I have to commend Dominic Demay for his turn as Trunchbull. He too is an Ovation regular, last seen getting impaled by a slot machine handle (while singing You Make Me Live) in Disaster! I cannot think of a better person to play Trunchbull, as he brought the menace, and the overwhelming stage presence that a Trunchbull requires. Not a bad little flip move either. 

The band deserves some love too - despite difficult logistics (it’s a really small theater), they brought it. Kudos to Ovation for hiring real musicians. 

Matilda runs two more weekends, so if you are local and have a chance, definitely go see it. 

***

Not directly related to the play, but interesting: The Irregulars by Jennet Conant, which is the story of Roald Dahl’s career as a spy in World War Two…against the United States.  

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

Source of book: Borrowed from the library

Turning and turning in the widening gyre   

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere   

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst   

Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.   

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out   

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert   

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,   

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,   

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it   

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.   

The darkness drops again; but now I know   

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,   

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,   

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

The Second Coming - William Butler Yeats

Things Fall Apart is one of those classics that you know you should read, but somehow never did. It is considered the archetypal modern African novel - it was the first truly popular work to break through the monopoly of white voices talking about Africa - and give Africans themselves a voice. Since the arrival of European colonialism, novels about Africa tended to be rather in the vein of H. Rider Haggard: native Africans were “uncivilized savages,” needing to be governed by the (occasionally) benevolent white saviors. In this book, Achebe pushes back against that paternalism and condescension to portray traditional African culture as a fully realized, civilized social system. True, it had its flaws - and Achebe doesn’t sugar coat them - but so do ALL cultures, our own as much as any. (And seriously, we still have a hell of a lot of “white savior complex” in our beliefs.) 

The book follows the life of Okonkwo, a leader in his tribe. Okonkwo’s life and style are a reaction against his own father, who was a lazy no-goodnik sort, who got into debt, neglected his family, and showed cowardice. In contrast, Okonkwo is determined to be hard working and wealthy. And he does achieve wealth and status as a result of his hard work. In that sense, he is admirable. However, he has a dark side as well. He feels his father was “feminine” rather than “masculine.” Weak rather than strong. And Okonkwo views strength and masculinity as connected with violence and anger. He hates his father’s idleness - but also his father’s gentleness. A passage from early in the book is illustrative:

Okonkwo ruled his household with a heavy hand. His wives, especially the youngest, lived in perpetual fear of his fiery temper, and so did his little children. Perhaps down in his heart Okonkwo was not a cruel man. But his whole life was dominated by fear, the fear of failure and of weakness. It was deeper and more intimate than the fear of evil and capricious gods and of magic, the fear of the forest, and of the forces of nature, malevolent, red in tooth and claw. Okonkwo’s fear was greater than these. It was not external but lay deep within himself. It was the fear of himself, lest he should be found to resemble his father. 

In this, of course, is the seed of Okonkwo’s eventual destruction. (That shouldn’t be a spoiler - I mean, the book is called Things Fall Apart because things...fall apart.) His fear of appearing weak starts a sequence of bad luck or karma or whatever you want to call it. A young boy, who has been taken as payment for a murder committed by another tribe is given to Okonkwo to care for. Later, when the oracle decides that the boy should die, Okonkwo is warned by the eldest man in the tribe to avoid having anything to do with the killing. Unfortunately, Okonkwo fears being seen as weak (that is, womanly), and ends up striking the death blow. 

From there, things start to go to pieces. Okonkwo loses the respect of his eldest son, who was attached to the victim. His favorite daughter becomes gravely ill. And finally, at the funeral for the eldest man, his gun explodes during the salute, and kills the deceased’s son. By the law of the tribe, he is exiled for seven years to appease the gods. 

While Okonkwo is away, the white missionaries arrive, and proceed to set up British rule, a church, and attempt to dismantle elements of the tribal culture. The clash eventually becomes bloody, and things really go to hell from there. 

The novel is fairly short, and moves at a fast pace. Achebe does a great job of portraying the culture of a particular part of Nigeria in a way that explains things enough for an outsider to follow, while never getting bogged down in explanation. As I noted above, Achebe doesn’t use a soft focus, but strives for neutrality and accuracy. Thus, the culture is, like Okonkwo himself, complicated and nuanced. Like any culture, its best parts are admirable and serve to regulate human behavior in a way that benefits everyone. At its worst, though, it is misogynistic and obsessed with avenging insults. The missionaries are right in rescuing abandoned twins. (A practice that makes sense from a Darwinian point of view - in a situation of scarcity.) But they are all too often interested in imposing their culture rather than finding common ground. Even there, there is a contrast between the first missionary, who did a lot of listening, and the second, who was determined to win even if it took violence to “subdue the natives.” 

Similarly, though, in a clash of cultures, flexibility is needed on both sides. Okonkwo is as rigid as the British, and makes things worse rather than better. Since he cannot bend, he is broken. When he asserts his (toxic) masculinity, he alienates his family and his neighbors. As over 100 years of time has proven, the Europeans haven’t fared that much better in the long run. Colonialism has left immense damage, contributing to two world wars, enormous expenditures, and a legacy of failed states left behind and abandoned. 

I want to mention one more thing in the book that I thought was a really fantastic conversation. It takes place between Mr. Brown (the original, decent missionary) and Akunna, a leader in the tribe. Mr. Brown is trying to convert Akunna to monotheism, yet it turns out that they aren’t as far apart as Mr. Brown thinks. Akunna explains that he does indeed believe in a one god who is greater than all. However, just as Mr. Brown is a messenger from his religion, or the bureaucrats represent the queen, the lesser gods are the messengers and representatives of the high god Chukwa. In each case, the work is done through delegation. I was struck by how much this resembled the story of the centurion in the Gospel of Matthew:

When Jesus had entered Capernaum, a centurion came to him, asking for help. ⁶ “Lord,” he said, “my servant lies at home paralyzed, suffering terribly.”

Jesus said to him, “Shall I come and heal him?”

The centurion replied, “Lord, I do not deserve to have you come under my roof. But just say the word, and my servant will be healed. For I myself am a man under authority, with soldiers under me. I tell this one, ‘Go,’ and he goes; and that one, ‘Come,’ and he comes. I say to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it.”

When Jesus heard this, he was amazed and said to those following him, “Truly I tell you, I have not found anyone in Israel with such great faith. I say to you that many will come from the east and the west, and will take their places at the feast with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven. But the subjects of the kingdom will be thrown outside, into the darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

Then Jesus said to the centurion, “Go! Let it be done just as you believed it would.” And his servant was healed at that moment.

Mr. Brown tries to argue with Akunna. But Jesus marveled at the centurion’s faith. It is a totally different response to a similar situation. I suspect Jesus would have been a heck of a lot different than the European missionaries. I also suspect that said missionaries never noticed the warning in this story: many are going to come from cultures all over the world and take their place at the great feast. But those who are so sure they alone have the truth are going to be tossed outside. 

In this way, Things Fall Apart is an excellent example of the beauty of stories that show a different point of view. As Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (one of my favorites) points out, our white, Euro-American view of Africa has been and continues to be dominated by one single story: a white European story. Achebe and his literary heirs have contributed a chorus of other voices, new stories, from new (and old) perspectives. It is a beautiful thing. 

The Mikado by Gilbert and Sullivan (Pacific Opera Project 2019)

My wife has been a Gilbert and Sullivan fan probably since birth, and, as with Broadway shows, she has vast swaths of the lyrics memorized. Alas, even in the cultural Mecca of California, live G&S shows have been hard to come by. We did go see a local version of HMS Pinafore years ago - probably before kids - that had a live piano accompaniment. (By the delightful Warren Dobson, now with the Gaslight Melodrama.) However, that has been it. So we watched movie versions, listened to soundtracks, and kept an eye open for more. 

A musician colleague of mine forwarded the schedule for the Pacific Opera Project (she played for one of their larger orchestras), and we snapped up tickets to see The Mikado. 

This particular production was at a fairly intimate venue in Highland Park (off of Los Angeles’ oldest freeway), and was done in a brightly colored Harajuku Style. Which was a lot of fun. Also appreciated was the use of a live orchestra - a very small orchestra (12 instruments), due to space constraints - but an orchestra nonetheless. The musicians were under part of the set, but on the back of the stage, which meant we could see a bit when they were not blocked by actors. 

 My wife got this picture - POP allows pictures as long as you don't annoy your fellow patrons.

For those unfamiliar with The Mikado, it combines a love story with satire of bureaucracy and British institutions. The lovely Yum-Yum is engaged to marry her guardian, Ko-Ko, who has escaped a death sentence for “flirting” by agreeing to become the Lord High Executioner of Titipu. Since Ko-Ko himself is under a death sentence, the theory is that he cannot execute anyone until he first executes himself, thus making the other flirts safe. Yum-Yum does not love him - he’s at least twice her age - but prefers the dashing Nanki-Poo, a handsome young musician. Okay, he is just disguised as a musician, but is really the son of the Mikado, on the lam his father and an arranged marriage to the ancient and overbearing Katisha. The town of Titipu is ruled (if that is what you can call it) by Pooh-Bah, who holds literally every position except that of executioner. The Mikado finds out that no executions have been done, and threatens to eliminate Ko-Ko’s job and demote Titipu to the status of village. (As Pooh-Bah quips in one of the many “updates” to the script, “We will be known as the Village People.”) Nanki-Poo is in despair over Yum-Yum’s engagement, and prepares to kill himself. Ko-Ko sees an opportunity to find someone else to execute other than himself. But then the Mikado shows up looking for his son, and, well things get awkward for everyone. This being a comedy (and Gilbert and Sullivan), it has to end well. And humorously. 

We brought the kids along to this one, in part because the tickets (if you sit in the cheap seats rather than at a dinner table) are shockingly affordable. And because the kids love live theater and know many of the songs already. We all very much enjoyed ourselves. I will add that even though ours were the only kids there, the staff was courteous and welcoming. 

The production was outstanding - I can’t really think of anything to complain about. The balance of voices and orchestra was good, the enunciation solid (which is not easy in G&S), and both acting and singing were enjoyable. 

E. Scott Levin played the part of Ko-Ko, and, now that I am back home, I realize that he has performed with us at the Bakersfield Symphony Orchestra. (A quick search and it appears he was Don Bartolo in our concert version of The Barber of Seville. And I think Don Giovanni before that.) Anyway, he was great when he was with us, and was delightful in The Mikado as well. As in, really hilarious. Great comic timing and acting. Mr. Levin, if you somehow run across this post, here’s a hello from Bakersfield. All the best. 

 Selfie time for Nanki-Poo, Ko-Ko, and Yum-Yum. POP publicity photo.

Phil Meyer as Pooh-Bah deserves a mention, if for no other reason than the opening line in his bio: “Phil Meyer’s opera repertory consists of Bad Guys, Old Guys, and Funny Guys.” Which is exactly what a tall baritone tends to get cast as. It’s the nature of opera. 

  

 Pish, Tush, Nanki-Poo, and Pooh-Bah. POP publicity photo.

Good work from Charlie Kim (Nanki-Poo) Janet Todd (Yum-Yum) as the romantic leads. I should also mention Matthew Ian Welch as The Mikado, who was clearly the best dancer on stage. (Not to denigrate the others.) His performance was electric, and overcame my eight-year-old’s drowsiness at the end of the late night. 

 All hail the Mikado ("Ah so!")

The Pacific Opera Project tries to put interesting spins on the operas they do, including a few lyrical changes with modern references. In this case, that meant that characters took selfies, and complained about people who take selfies. There were two songs just perfect for these modern touches. The first was “I’ve Got A Little List.” 

As some day it may happen that a victim must be found

I've got a little list — I've got a little list

Of society offenders who might well be underground

And who never would be missed — who never would be missed!

Instead of the annoyances in the original, these were filled up with modern blighters, recognizable to anyone who has lived in Los Angeles. They included such persons as those who pick political fights on social media, instagramers, and - a marvelous touch - those who add apostrophes where they do not belong. And people who think we’d be safer with a wall. (Well played.) 

This theme is continued in “Let the Punishment Fit The Crime.” The familiar driver (presumably in a BMW) weaving in and out of traffic (anyone who grew up in LA knows what I am talking about) gets condemned to walk...or suffer through LA’s abysmally incomplete public transportation system. 

There were more that were funny, but I can’t recall them all now, alas. In any case, well done guys and gals. 

I mentioned the set and costumes briefly, but wanted to say a bit about that. The colors were so bright and saturated that the world on stage seemed unworldly. Not Japan or England or Los Angeles, but perhaps Wonderland. Pretty much every character had a fan as a prop, and these were used to great effect. Snapping open and closed on the beat and as punctuation, they reinforced the acting and emotions. As a metaphor, they added an extra layer. Pooh-Bah, who has his titles, but is hapless in doing any of his jobs, can’t master his fan. Eventually, he shows up with a comically tiny fan, perhaps to represent his diminished ego in the presence of the Mikado. 

 Snap those fans, ladies!

In contrast, Katisha (played with impressive dourness by Adelaide Sinclair), unfolds a ludicrously giant fan upon her appearance. It goes well with her booming deep voice and overwhelming personality. She towers over Nanki-Poo, and even causes Pooh-Bah to shrink. (And, of course, keeps talking over the Mikado to his great annoyance and to the amusement of everyone else.) 

 Never mess with a woman with a giant fan. Ko-ko is giving it his best effort, though...

Another interesting touch was making the character of Pish-Tush into two. Well, almost two. In point of fact, he becomes a pair of Siamese twins (Pish and Tush), who finish each other’s sentences. 

There are so many other things I could say, but this has already gotten long. It was a good time, the operetta was well done, and we want to go back again.