Book Review: A World Without End

Powell's Books
Barnes & Noble

Ken Follett - © 2007

I loved Follett’s Pillars of the Earth and was thrilled when my husband found it has a sequel --of sorts. AWWE is also set in the fictional English town of Kingsbridge, about 150 years later in AD 1327. Several of the main characters are descendants of our heroes from Pillars.

Fourteenth Century Europe was a lively place historically speaking, but a deathly place for those that lived during that time. It was a time of the Black Death that ravaged Europe killing about half the population. It was also the beginning of the Hundred Years War between England and France. Like Pillars, this fictional story is threaded through historical events and beaded with factual details creating an utterly compelling tapestry that is at once lovely and horribly ugly. I was left with a feeling for what life was like for the people who lived (survived?) during those times. For the first time, I’m truly thankful to be alive in our modern world (medicine, judicial system, equality, welfare, economy) even with its many flaws.

Synopsis:
Four pre-adolescent children, Gwenda, Merthin, Ralph and Caris witness a knight being ambushed by two men-at-arms in the forest near Kingsbridge village. With Ralph’s help the knight, Sir Thomas Langley, defeats the two men.  Merthin helps the knight bury what turns out to be the historical Fieschi Letter. The children’s fate remain intertwined from that day forward.

The beauty of this book lies in the depth of the historical research. Through each of the main characters we learn different aspects of daily life, social structures and economy. The many dozens of minor characters fill out all 1181 pages beautifully.

Through Merthin’s eyes we see the wonders of medieval architecture and Europe. He and Caris develop a maddening and sometimes just annoying romance that lasts the duration of the story.

Through Caris, who is the daughter of a prosperous wool merchant we learn about the economy and hierarchy of craftsmen of medieval England. Such as how the craft guilds operated (and from Merthin as well) and how apprentices were used. We also see how weavers and dyers worked and how their lives and their work are one. It is no wonder they were named for their livelihood, Caris Wooler, Merthin Builder, Dick Brewer, they are very much what they do.

Also through Caris we learn about the operation and hierarchy of the church and the medicine they practiced. The prevalent use of animal dung in poultices for “bringing forth the pus” and how patients were diagnosed with evil humours which were treated by bleeding pint after pint of their life’s blood. It was common for someone to be treated for a broken arm, then later die of some unknowable infection. Innovation in medicine was heavily discouraged and anyone who tried risked being charged with witchcraft or blasphemy. A priory hospital was a truly terrifying place.

Through Gwenda’s eyes we see what life is like for the daughter of a landless laborer. Summers of backbreaking labor in someone else’s fields and winters of picking pockets and enduring starvation. It is baby brothers and sisters dying because your mother didn’t have enough to eat to maintain her milk supply. After Gwenda marries we see life for a serf of a nobleman. How they could only grow what the lords declared, how they paid their taxes and were required to labor on their lord’s fields as well as their own. They essentially belonged to him and were treated as such. For the first time I understand why people flocked to the wilderness of the Americas simply for the promise of owning their own land.

Through Ralph’s eyes, we see the inner working of the nobility class and how one rises through the ranks. We also see the horror of King Edward III’s Battle of Crécy and Battle of Blanchetaque to reclaim Gascony. Ralph rises from squire to Earl of Shiring through equal parts dumb luck and ruthlessness.

By the story’s end in the year 1361, the bad guys are dead, the good guys are happy-ish and the buried letter is revealed, in a somewhat anticlimactic fashion.


Grrrrripes

A first I felt the characters were obvious derivatives of the Pillars characters. Merthin is clearly Jack, for whom I suspect the author has a particular affection. Caris is Aliena, Ralph is a cross between Richard and William... So much so, that I referred to Merthin as Jack in my mind to keep the names straight as I got to know the characters. However, by the end of the story, they succeeded in forming their own identity in my imagination.

He and I share a tendency to be overly verbose. However at least I am aware of it. He wastes page after page recapping past events. I DESPISE THAT! It feels condescending. He also takes an extraordinarily long time to get around to making a point; then he takes it and lays it on the sidewalk for you to step in over and over again. Dammit! I already stepped in that pile twice already! One particularly wet pile was hearing how Caris wouldn't marry Merthin for fear of spending her life as a slave to him and their future children. I think stating that once is plenty, and perhaps it could go unsaid and just revealed in dialogue or her actions. This is a technique called “show don’t tell” from which he could benefit using. As a wife and mother myself, I would have been able to sympathize with those feelings, if I wasn't so tired of wiping my shoes in the grass.

He occasionally uses modern idioms in dialogue and in his narration. In one case, he wrote of Ralph’s reluctance to invite his parents to live in with him at Tench Hall because they would “cramp his style”. (Another opportunity for use of the show-don’t-tell axiom.) A petty thing for sure, but my illusion of living alongside the people of medieval England shattered and suddenly here I was, in the 21st century reading a book. Guess I better go start a load of laundry.

Missed Opportunities for Redemption
I was disappointed when the two primary villains Godwyn and Ralph died. Their deaths were punitively gruesome, however I was hoping for some kind of growth or redemption. We spend a lot of time in each of their point of view’s and both while both did vile acts, I was still hoping for something meaningful to come out of their lives.

Godwyn, the Prior of Kingsbridge was not an evil man, but he was arrogant and prideful. I was hoping he would be stripped of those attributes through some sort of suffering or some first hand exposure to what people sacrifice for those they love. Then he'd live out his life in a very humble subservient way or perhaps he could have saved the day somehow to someone else's glory.

Ralph, I’m afraid had to go. However, I was hoping there would be some meaning to it. Throughout the story he is self-centered, self-serving and utterly without conscience. Once he discovers Gwenda’s son Sam is his own, there are flickers of something almost like love. I was hoping Follett would fan that into a flame inspiring Ralph to perhaps fall in love with Gwenda (true love, not ruthless-take-what-I-want love) and die in some altercation in which he sacrifices himself for Gwenda or Sam or both. He still dies, but we would see that man he could have been if something more than his killing instinct had been nurtured and praised.

At one point while ranting about some aspect of this book, Charley said, “I’m sorry you’re not liking this book.”

“What? No, I’m loving it!”

At times I was passionately angry with characters, his writing, the way the plot was going, because I was all in! I couldn't (willingly) put this book down. I would almost subconsciously make excuses to get a moment to read. “Took Gabs a little while longer to fall asleep tonight.” “Girls I’m a bit tired, I’m going to rest for a few moments and read a bit.” Those thousand pages were gone in a flash. The historic detail, the lifelike characters, the engaging story made the words come off the page and swirl into full color life, complete with fresh breezes lilting through trees full of the scent of grass and blossoms, stifling rooms reeking of shit and death, and the wonder of living in a time long past that is part of our composition today.

Book Review: Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynman!

Powell's Books
Barnes & Noble

Richard Feynman - © 1985

A fascinating foray into the fun yet formidable physics of Mr. Feynman. Actually, this book is less about physics and more about the life of Nobel Prize Laureate, Richard Feynman. (Richard just rolled over in his grave; if you want to know why -- read this book!) Once I adjusted my expectations from education to entertainment, I absorbed every word. He was always interesting, at times very entertaining and despite his obvious genius he had an utter lack of pretentiousness and conceit that I previously assumed afflicted all venerated scientists. I closed this book wishing for more and feeling inspired to pursue my own adventures in curiosity. What could I achieve if, like Richard, I abandoned my Western culture imperative of accomplishment through suffering and played with my talents in ways I felt was fun?

Richard Feynman’s world was driven by curiosity, which in turn developed his enviable intellectual toolbox that unlocked the mysteries of the natural world to which it was applied. It might be unlocking the energy of plutonium for the Manhattan Project or perhaps the secrets of ant trails, or maybe, just for fun, he’d decipher a Mayan codex while his wife trudged up and down pyramids in the hot Mexican sun. Whatever it was, through his careful application of the scientific method and patience, locks opened for him and revealed their wares. His interests also extended beyond science.  Not surprisingly, he became something of a safe cracker.. again, just for fun. He learned to draw so that he could render the beauty of physics in pieces of art. (And apparently the naked female form, for fun.) He wanted to learn a language so he did so he learned Spanish, then converted it to Portuguese so he could spend time in teaching in Brazil. He like drumming, so he did; sometimes half naked --in the forest --alone --at night. In all things that captured his interest, including the romancing the ladies, Richard dove in with his energy and intellect and consistently “worked very hard” to get what he wanted. And he usually did.

Richard was rare among scientists in that his ego came secondary to the science and fun he was having doing it. He refused to become part of the social elite and followed his curiosity wherever it would take him. Except to LSD, although very curious about hallucinations he declined for fear he would “hurt the machine.” Luckily he came to know people who were developing a sensory deprivation tank and was able to experience hallucinations. But then again, who doesn’t? Pssht.

What I Took From This Book

Just For Fun!
In our Western culture there is an almost subliminal idea that we aren’t making valuable contributions or working hard enough unless we are suffering to some degree. It simply doesn’t work that way, we do our best work, our most valuable work, while having fun. I think it’s the only way to do great things. If you’re suffering, you will probably only do just enough to finish the job. If you’re very disciplined, you can probably even do a good job, but your unique potential will forever remain undiscovered because you’re not having enough fun to keep yourself interested. After the Manhattan project Richard feared he was burnt out on physics and his ideas were spent. Then he resolved to “play with physics, whenever I want to, without worrying about any importance whatsoever.” The works that earned him a Nobel Prize “... came from piddling around with the wobbling plate.”

When I follow an idea that I find amusing, I find it easy to get into a state of flow, where I lose track of time and consciousness of my surroundings and produce my best work. When I am suffering in my work is driven by force of will and the result is stunted, unimaginative and lacking in curiosity, imagination and love. The clock ticks forward and ticks backward. Learning and life are supposed to be fun, that way we’ll keep doing it. Exceptional work is what we do while we’re having fun.

Learning By Rote
During Richard’s time teaching in Brazil he was horrified to discover that although his students were bright they understood nothing of what they were taught. Prior to his arrival, the students had the textbook memorized but could relate nothing of the physics they were learning to the natural world. For example, after discussing a section on polarized light that the students knew cold, he gave them some polaroid paper and talked about figuring out which way the light was polarized by using light reflected from the bay outside. The students were lost.

He discovered the textbooks did not encourage any real world experimentation. Sixty some years later, we’re not in much better shape. I learned most of my higher math in a similar fashion, I knew that the calculus I was learning could be applied to tell me how much material needed to fill a three dimensional space with a curve. I should be able to calculate the area under a curve or the max/mins of different story problem like setups. But, I couldn’t. I couldn’t do the math unless it was laid out like all the other equations I had previously solved in my math book. If it was slightly different, or I had to set up the equation from scratch, I was (am) lost. It didn’t matter, I still got my A and passed the course. I knew it was happening at the time and oh-welled it. Now a decade later after getting my degree, it’s all lost. Had I understood the concepts and could apply them, I probably could work back into it pretty easily. Now if I want to go back for my bachelor’s degree, I’ll have to re-do all my math credits and memorize it all over again. *shiver*

Don’t Trust the Experts
Experts are only experts because no-one has proved them wrong... yet. Although it sometimes doesn’t seem that way, science is still in its infancy. The more I learn, the more I realize how little we actually know about, well, everything.

After unknowingly using faulty data from prior experts in his experiments, Richard resolved to always redo the math himself ensuring the integrity of the experiments and verifying all the data he was going to use in the experiment he actually wanted to perform. I remember doing poorly on an physics exam in high school because the answer from the first question was used in the next and so on. My answer for number 1 was wrong and therefore snowballed and ruined my entire exam. Always go back to beginning, verify the work was done (sometimes even if it is your own) to your standards before getting rolling on your new work. Otherwise you may find yourself building a dream home on a rotten foundation.

Integrity
In our world the results of scientific studies so often coincide with the interest group funding the study. Richard believed in giving all the information related to an experiment, those results that had positive, negative and benign ramifications. The activity is irrelevant, whether it be writing, manufacturing, engineering whatever, integrity is crucial to advancing our culture towards better, healthier futures, but unfortunately it is deemed a luxury rather than a basic right. The last paragraph says it the best: “So I have just one wish for you --the good luck to be somewhere where you are free to maintain the kind of integrity I have described, and where you do not feel forced by a need to maintain your position in the organization, or financial support, or so on, to lose your integrity. May you always have that freedom.” Indeed.

This book was based on a compilation of taped interviews with Richard, which after a while gave me the feeling I was sitting opposite him on a sofa sipping a drink; just reminiscing with a friend. Richard Feynman was not only a gifted scientist but incredibly interesting and down to earth, the only physicist that I could ever imagine hanging out with --for fun.  Although, I think I'd insist on paying for my own drink.


Ofey Art
See some of Richard's art at the Museum Syndicate website.

Reflections of Opa Day

Opa - Taken by Danielle

Opa Day occurs once a week, usually on a Thursday, and is so named because that is the day Danielle and Gabrielle’s Opa comes to visit. Opa Day is an invariably pleasant day for our family. He arrives around 11am and is often greeted with running hugs from my girls and shouts of Opa! Opa! A handshake yields a treat and so begins Opa Day.

The beginnings of Opa Day can be traced back five years to the dawn of a new age in our lives. I peeked out from my Web Development cave blinking in the bright sun, straightened up my bent spine and headed out into the new world of being a parent. After my maternity leave was spent, I tried to head back to my cave leaving my light to be cared for by my father-in-law for three days a week and on those remaining two days of the work week I would magically divide myself in two and perform both tasks simultaneously by engaging in the phenomenon known as, “working from home”. After five months of trying in vain to will mitosis to work on a grander scale, I left my pleasant professional life behind to embark on the adventure of full-time parenthood.

During the time of my failed mitosis experiment, Danielle and her Opa formed a wonderful bond. He sang her German songs, played wonderfully imaginative games and achieved a success with naps that I was never able to duplicate. Unwilling to let time erode that special connection, we decided to set aside one day a week where he would visit.

We have a wonderful routine for Opa Day that starts with a visit and Opa Day lunch of fried eggs, toast and fresh fruit. Sometimes Opa’s toast transforms into “Mr. Toast Man” who speaks in a gruff voice and elicits laughs from Danielle. Then Danielle, Gabi and Opa play one of the many original games such as, Find the Horses, (or puppies) Barbie Horse Hunting Game, Say Hi to Mr. Ceiling or maybe they’ll just build a tower of toys to the ceiling, or he might play guitar and sing while Danielle requests a sad, sad song. Then as the day continues they might head out for a walk to Costco, where over the years Danielle and Opa have achieved celebrity status. After sampling the samples, and watching the tire guys work, they might share a root beer and a pizza slice or a hot dog, and an ice cream treat. Then if the weather is cooperating they’ll walk to the nearby park where Danielle picks flowers as they head over to the ponds to pay a visit to Harold and Maud, a resident pair of white ducks. Then they might make their way down to the echo tunnel where vocal cords are exercised and eardrums tested. After the park has been thoroughly explored, they head home to a rested set of parents who have fetched some dinner from New Season’s Market. After a family visit, Opa is sent home with hugs and he gives treat bearing handshakes to calls of “Gute reise!” and “Bis später!”

When Danielle was about two, during our dinner time visit Opa would often remark how Danielle would insist he buy a hot dog at Costco, but then she didn’t want any when the hot dog arrived. She’d only nibble the bun a bit and drink some of the root beer, leaving Opa to eat the entire oversized hot dog himself. Later, Danielle and I were at Costco and she pointed at the deli and said, “Hot dog! Hot dog!” I explained that we weren't there for lunch today, then she points at a drink cup and exclaims, “Hot dog!” Oohhhhh! She thought root beer was called hot dog! Since they always arrived as a pair, she never knew which was which. As we walked she was greeted by several people I’ve never met with, “Hi, Danielle!”

But alas the era of Opa Day is coming to a close. With the construction of the addition to their beach cabin and the imminent retirement of Oma in late Spring, they will soon be permanent residents of the village of Oysterville. A wonderful place to retire, no doubt. But we will all miss our pleasant Thursdays and the breakup of our week. It gave us all a much needed breather from each other; a chance for me to take a walk and exhale my anxieties and frustrations and inhale peace of mind.  It gave my girls a chance to play in ways I would never have thought of, enriching their development and taught them that they were safe with people other than mom and dad. I rarely get a chance to miss my kids and experience the joy of seeing them again, which is a feeling that always reminds me know how much I love them. I’ll miss our interesting conversations. I’ll miss getting my husband all to myself at a time when we’re not too tired to talk.

However much I will miss this time, I also know that there are many wonderful times to come. We will be able to visit Oysterville, a place my family loves above all others, and arrive to warm walls, warm hugs and warm company. During their visits to Portland, not only will my girls get to play with Opa but now they will also be privileged to bask in the warmth of Oma’s attention as well.

Things will not be the same, but the love will be.

So many times as we said our good-byes, we'd thank Opa for coming and spending the day with us and he'd reply, "I just want to help out, not sure how much help I am."

In the moment I could never find the right words, the feelings are too abstract for my inadequate vocabulary, but simply put, "Yes, indeed you do."