8. Oxford Spring―Magdalen Celebrates Magical Me, In Fact (5 May, 2024)

by Mr Rail Previous posts in the “Oxford Spring” series: Introduction: An Oxford Spring “Mind How You Go” (April 17 – 19, 2024) From Purgatorio to Paradiso Vanishing Points A Canal Walk (April 29, 2024) May Morning at Magdalen Tower (1 May, 2024) With John Henry Newman at Littlemore (29 April, 2024) “It would need someone very remarkable to recover your name, Stephen, someone of rare perspicacity, with extraordinary talents and incomparable nobility of character. Me, in fact.” ―the Gentleman with the Thistledown Hair in Susanna Clarke’s Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell “My dear boy, do use your common sense! My books wouldn’t have sold half as well if people didn’t think *I’d* done all those things!” —Gilderoy Lockhart in J.K Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets As fate, or providence, would have it, my birthday this year was notably marked at Magdalen College, Oxford, by the 550th anniversary of the foundation-laying of the college’s majestic chapel. For the occasion (for my birthday, in fact), the well-reputed Magdalen College Choir rolled out the red carpet with lush, beautiful sacred music during a festal Choral Evensong. I was hustling to get to the chapel by 6 p.m., the start of the Anglican evening prayer and worship service. As I rushed into the chapel antechamber, I asked a robed woman if there was room in the chapel (it looked fully to overflowing), and she said, “Yes, there is one seat left.” It was the immediate seat inside the chapel on the left-hand side, facing the altar. Truly, ring-side seat. Those who prepared the splendid event lit candles at every seat in the chapel (typically, the candles are lit for the choir only), clearly in my honor. I thought, “How nice of them to give me the best seat in the house and to light all of these birthday candles!” The choir intoned a stunning Introit in the antechapel—nearly raising the roof of the gorgeous chapel with the power and fullness of sound. “Haec dies quam fecit Dominus: exultemus et laetemur in ea. Alleluia.” (“This Is the day which the Lord hath made; let us be glad and rejoice in it. Alleluia.”—Psalm 118:24.) As it turns out, this was the perfect sung Psalm portion for my birthday—my favorite passage from the Psalms, and the portion used throughout the Easter Season. Nice touch! The “First Lesson” (i.e., scriptural reading) was from the Song of Solomon, sometimes called the “Song of Songs” or “Canticle of Canticles.” “Let my beloved come to his garden, and eat its choicest fruits. . . . Set me as a seal upon your heart . . . for love is strong as death . . . . Many waters cannot quench love.” Ah. Such sublime words of God’s love for his people and for each person. For me, in fact. In the Second Lesson from the Book of Revelation 3, we heard the extraordinary image of God “standing at the door, knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to you and eat with you, and you with me.” Another image of communion between God and his beloved. Between God and me, in fact! I am sure you’ll agree with me (in fact) that Magdalen College rolled out the red carpet on the occasion of my birthday, treating me to glorious music, scriptural readings, and the beauty of the birthday-candle-lit College Chapel! Happy Birthday to magical me, in fact!

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7. Oxford Spring—With John Henry Newman at Littlemore (29 April, 2024

by Mr Rail Previous posts in the “Oxford Spring” series: Introduction: An Oxford Spring “Mind How You Go” (April 17 – 19, 2024) From Purgatorio to Paradiso Vanishing Points A Canal Walk (April 29, 2024) May Morning at Magdalen Tower (1 May, 2024) “… as I made Littlemore a place of retirement for myself, so did I offer it to others… .” –J.H. Newman, Apologia Pro Vita Sua On Monday, April 29, 2024 (memorial of St. Catherine of Siena), I set out on foot for Littlemore—about three miles from the center of Oxford, where Mrs. Rail and I are spending our Oxford sabbatical. I wanted to emulate St. John Henry Newman in his capacity for long-distance walks.  My walk to Littlemore, a spiritual pilgrimage to the place where Newman discerned his journey to becoming Roman Catholic in 1845, was a mere fraction of the distances Newman walked in his day. In an hour, I arrived in Littlemore, and found a long building (Newman’s “College”).  As I entered at its mid-point on College Lane, I was struck by the beauty of a wall opposite the entry, featuring a bust of Cardinal Newman set in a lovely garden, including fully flowering wisteria climbing on the wall. In a few minutes, a sister of “The Work” came to meet me.  I was unannounced and unsure about what to expect.  Sister Caroline greeted me warmly, and spent over two hours reviewing the life and legacy of John Henry Newman.  She showed me the extraordinary library, with its extensive gallery of photos depicting the phases of Cardinal Newman’s nearly century-long life. A photo of Cardinal Newman during his last year of life, when he was 89, in particular captivated me.  I was riveted by Newman’s long and unruly hair, intelligent aspect, and warm smile. The apex of the talk and tour by Sister Caroline was a visit to Newman’s room—number six.  Maintained in an historically authentic way, the room includes a desk with a book open to the very brief and clear letters Newman sent to some of his nearest and dearest on the occasion of his imminent reception into the Roman Catholic Church.  Newman’s letter to his younger sister, Jemima, was heart-breaking; Newman was clearly aware of the shock that his conversion to Catholicism would likely cause his sister. Sister Caroline offered me a small pouch with a black rosary, saying that I was welcome to use it in the chapel.  It was Newman’s own rosary.  The chapel has a tabernacle, altar candle holders, crucifix, and other items from Newman’s Oratory of St. Philip Neri in Birmingham (which Newman founded).  It feels as though Newman abides in this sacred space. Newman, who had an immense potential for human friendship, seemed to be sitting with me in that chapel, welcoming me into his “place of retirement” in Littlemore, which now gives testimony to Newman’s heroic adherence to conscience, to truth, to the “kindly light” that guided him “past hill and storm and night.” St. John Henry, pray for us!

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6. Oxford Spring—May Morning at Magdalen Tower (1 May, 2024)

by Dana Rail  Previous posts in the “Oxford Spring” series: Introduction: An Oxford Spring “Mind How You Go” (April 17 – 19, 2024) From Purgatorio to Paradiso Vanishing Points A Canal Walk (April 29, 2024) Another checked box on o ur Oxford Bucket List! We rose at 4 a.m. this morning and could already hear the shouts and cries of rowdy students in the nearby streets, most of them probably up all night and already on their way to Magdalen Bridge. By 5 (it was already getting light this far north) we, too, were heading down the High towards Magdalen College, determined to get a decent spot close to the Tower to hear the Magdalen College Choir singing their “May Morning” hymns and Spring tunes. The morning was mild and fine, no rain in sight. Thousands of people gathered and, yes, it was something of a crush. But hey, it’s been going on, I understand, for something like 500 years. In fact, this year celebrates the 550th anniversary of Magdalen Chapel. Inklings buffs, the film Shadowlands, about C.S. Lewis’s marriage to American writer Joy Davidman, features May Morning in one of my favorite scenes. I’m no videographer, but my Pixel phone has pretty good AV, so I thought this might be the occasion of my first little YouTube vid. The sound is remarkably good, considering the Magdalen College Choir is singing from atop the tower, 144 feet above the High. (There are clearly amplifiers at work, and it’s all managed extremely well.) The choir always sings the Hymnus Eucharisticus and the madrigal, Now is the Month of Maying. Then there’s a short prayer, offered by you the Magdalen Chaplian, and more Mayish songs. Many (or most) classes are canceled, and we’re expecting Morris dancers on every corner today. There were already several groups ready to pick up where the Choristers left off with some colorful costumes, lively dancing, and ear-pounding drumming. And to (quickly) interject a connection to the Pre-Raphaelites, one of their leading painters, William Holman Hunt, painted (1888-1890) a May Morning on Magdalen Tower, and many consider it his masterpiece. Showing the young boys of the choir as they take their positions on the Tower (after having climbed a perfectly dreadful iron ladder to get there), the painting perfectly reflects the PRB’s obsession with realistic detail. I’ll have a separate posts on both the Pre-Raphaelites in Oxford and on Magdalen College later. In the meantime, have a listen to my video of this morning’s lovely celebration of Easter and Spring:  

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5. Oxford Spring—A Canal Walk (April 29, 2024)

by Dana Rail Previous posts in the “Oxford Spring” series: Introduction: An Oxford Spring “Mind How You Go” (April 17 – 19, 2024) From Purgatorio to Paradiso Vanishing Points Locals tell us it’s been a cold, wettish Spring so far this year. Since today promised to remain dry and get into the mid-50s (F), at least when the sun bothered to come out from behind the clouds, I set out to run an errand and eventually make my way over to the Jericho neighborhood for a long walk. En route, near the railroad station on George Street (a major east-west street and a sort of continuation of Broad Street), I passed, for the first time, the entrance to the Oxford canal that runs alongside the Thames on the west side of the city. Well, I’d seen the canal and its many “narrow boats” featured in too many scenes of too many MORSE / LEWIS / ENDEAVOUR eps to be able to resist that invitation, and so (after consulting my phone map to get the lay of the land) set out for a wee canal Walkies. Speaking of MORSE and all those murder-on-the-canal scenarios, while I confess I wouldn’t feel comfortable traversing the woodsy towpath after dark, I felt quite at home during the daytime. As with Christ Church Meadows on the south side of the city centre, there were a number of people out enjoying a stroll through nature—some pushing baby carriages, some walking the pooch, some on bikes. I never felt unduly isolated, though it was quiet enough to enjoy the birdsong. Take a listen: https://recorder.google.com/af9ce0e8-2f8f-486f-947f-6e8d21257de7   A whimsical moment: near the Isis Lock, I passed what I thought was an unusually lifelike statue of a heron, like one of those flamingo garden ornaments one sees back in the States. I studied it for almost a minute before the thing actually moved, and I realized it was no statue. After a bit of a staring contest, the heron began to preen for me, and stand on one leg for a minute at a time, quite showing off. And speaking of canal locks, as anyone who has read Dickens or watched British mystery shows knows, they are exceedingly dangerous places, practically guaranteeing a good drowning. I steered clear of this one, to be frank, the image strong in my imaginatio, of those two naughty boys, Rogue Riderhood and Bradley Headstone  from Our Mutual Friend, next up in the Dickens Chronological Reading Club, locked in a deadly embrace in a Thames lock not unlike this one. Horrors! The last stretch of the canal I walked before peeling off to head back to the flat passed a stretch of lovely (and doubtless spendy) apartment buildings with little balconies overlooking the canal, called, I believe, William Lucy Way. Also what looked like university-related buildings, complete with their own bridges across the canal. But most memorable to me was the striking rear view of St. Barnabas Church in Jericho. I have definitely added this “basilica” to my growing list of things to see when I actually manage to walk around in Jericho proper. Today, alas, I had to settle for a quick pass-through on Walton Street as I left the canal and made my way home. Always more to see! Until next time.

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4. Oxford Spring – Vanishing Points

by Dana Rail Previous posts in the “Oxford Spring” series: Introduction: An Oxford Spring “Mind How You Go” (April 17 – 19, 2024) From Purgatorio to Paradiso [A quick series housekeeping note: Mr Rail and I are packing so much into this Oxford Spring that we are finding little time (or energy!) to post on a daily basis. Ergo, we are keeping notes and will continue to post (looking backward, as it were) after we get back to the States in the last half of May. In the meantime, we’ll post these sniplets as we can.] Yesterday was our first go at the Ashmolean Museum in Beaumont Street, founded 1683. It’s the first public and “purpose built” museum in the UK and houses a massive collection of world art and archeology—hence my mention of a “first go”. There is no way to consume more than a slice of this tasty gargantuan pie in one sitting. Mr Rail followed the audio “Highlights” tour offered by the Museum, but I headed straight for the A’s extensive European oil painting collection, which includes a room devoted to my beloved Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. The PRB was centered for some years in Oxford, thanks to the influence and encouragement of art historian and critic, John Ruskin, and the financial patronage of wealthy townsmen like Thomas Combe, head of the Oxford University Press. I’ll be writing more about the PRB later, and will post more photos from the Ashmolean’s collection, but I want to focus in this quick post on one early Renaissance painting, probably the prize of the Ashmolean’s oil painting collection, Paulo Uccello’s The Hunt in the Forest.  Completed in the 1470s, there is something strangely modern and disturbing about this mesmerizing painting, and it can take a few minutes of study to put your finger on it: it’s the invisible, but very real, vanishing point at the heart of the painting, presumably representing the poor invisible fox or stag being hunted—a vanishing point on which all the hunters, human and canine, are bending their sights and wills. If memory serves, the painters of this period had only recently discovered the principles of perspective, including the vanishing point, and in this masterful work Uccello, a mathematician as well as painter, obsessed with such studies, puts it to unnerving use. For Mr Rail and me both, it was the highlight of our visit. But now here’s an oddity for you, a bit of (equally unnerving, perhaps) synchronicity. CUE THE “TWILIGHT ZONE” MUSIC As we’ve been doing the last week, after finishing up our day’s adventures in the Wonderland of Oxford, we returned (exhausted but happy) to our flat for a quick meal (falafel wraps from the Covered Market) and sat down to watch an episode of INSPECTOR LEWIS on ITVX. (We’ve made our way completely through MORSE and ENDEAVOUR, and are just now catching up on LEWIS.) Well, the next ep up was S3, E3, at least as ITVX lists it: “The Point of Vanishing”. And wouldn’t you know it, the episode centrally features (as a sort of vanishing point clue in itself, albeit perhaps more thematic than copperly) Uccello’s The Hunt in the Forest.  A couple of cool scenes in the ep actually take place in the Ash, with a curator sort of “explaining” the painting. Alas, I couldn’t find a snippet of that, but here’s an episode trailer that alludes to it: https://m.imdb.com/video/embed/vi1294056473/?vPage=1 Mr Rail and I are still shaking our heads.

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3. Oxford Spring: From Purgatorio to Paradiso (April 19-21)

by Mr Rail Previous posts in the “Oxford Spring” series: Introduction: An Oxford Spring “Mind How You Go” (April 17 – 19, 2024) Dana wrote very descriptively and aptly about our purgatorial travel from Oregon to Heathrow, London.  As she noted, it is the travel part of traveling that can be amazingly uncomfortable—e.g., the sardine syndrome on the flight from Los Angeles to Heathrow. Hardly room to squirm. I will merely add a few condiments to Dana’s “main dish.” FROM PURGATORIO TO PARADISO I couldn’t help but think about Dante’s epic ascent from the Inferno, through Purgatorio, to Paradiso, guided by Beatrice. It’s hard to characterize the Boeing flight across the U.S. and over the pond as anything better than Purgatorio. In a bad mood, I would ascribe the word “Inferno” to the experience of such close quarters for eleven hours. ARIYEH Dana sat near the window; I sat in the middle, and a gracious young man,Ariyah (attending veterinarian school in London, sat in the aisle seat. Ariyah lifted the flight experience out of the Inferno into Purgatorio! In answer to my question about advice for experiencing Oxford and the U.K., Ariyah offered:  “Take your time. Don’t feel destination-prone! Go up and down small alleys and visit coffee shops and stores, as you feel moved. Talk with folks. You learn much more about where you’re visiting by hearing from locals.” Great advice. Thanks, Ariyah! IN PARADISO Once we landed in Heathrow, things looked better and better, in spite of our being in an utterly stuporous state (awake for some 36 hours and exceedingly grungy). A delightful young, highly tattooed, hip woman in a “Black Sheep” coffee shop in the Central Bus Station at the airport welcomed me warmly to the U.K., as she graciously prepared our two mochas. What good a little human kindness can do to beleaguered travelers! JAN MORRIS’ OXFORD I’m working my way through Morris’ rich, deep, and insightful depiction of “the City of Dreaming Spires,” written initially in the early sixties and updated later. Because Oxford has such an extended history, Morris’ portrayal seems completely current. ETHNIC AND LINGUISTIC DIVERSITY Though it probably doesn’t hold as true in other areas of the country, Oxford is a magnet for people from round the world, and Dana and I are both continually impressed by the diversity of people and languages here. Truly cosmopolitan. I’ve heard Italian, Eastern European tongues, German, and French—all during one walk in Oxford. WELL-SLEPT AND RENEWED After an eleven-hour sleep, I was ready to tackle all of the sights and sounds of this staggeringly beautiful city. As Dana pointed out, there are many little verbal usages and design aspects that take getting used to here; new things go over much more pleasantly after a good night’s sleep! BACH’S AVE MARIA AT MERTON COLLEGE CHAPEL A moment that suspended time and place, as though elevated to the Pauline seventh heaven, was standing outside the Merton College Chapel and hearing an exquisite organ rendering of Bach’s Ave Maria. As a young seminarian observed, when picking us up in Rome some decades ago, such moments are “nice (divine) touches!” MY QUEST FOR A COFFEE MAKER AND HOLY (READ: LARGE COFFEE) GRAIL Given that our rental’s kitchen was equipped with an electric kettle, many tea bags, a half dozen 8 ounce tea cups, but no coffee, coffee maker, or serious mugs, our first full day in Oxford I undertook the mission (I am not just an American, after all, I am an Oregonian) of finding a French Press coffee maker and hefty mug. I set off for the Covered Market—an amazing emporium of shops a stone’s throw from us, in the heart of Oxford. Five minutes before one shop’s closing, I found and purchased a French press—in time for the next morning’s coffee! Saturday the 20th, our first day of real recovery in Oxford (and after drinking three or four demitasses of French press coffee, I went on a quest to find a suitably sizeable mug. (In truth, even in the States I so rarely find rental kitchen properly equipped with big mugs, it’s become a “practice” when staying in a new place to pick up one from a local thrift store. After trying several charity shops without success, I finally found a British beer pint in a lovely little shop in Little Clarendon Street. It’s made of very thick glass—perfect for my desired quantity of French-Pressed coffee!   ANOTHER MOMENT OF HUMAN KINDNESS Dana and I were coming out of the  “Broad Walk” adjacent to the Christ Church War Memorial Garden, and I (as usual) went the wrong way to find the Oxford Town Hall and its public rest rooms (“toilets” here). A young man, apparently awaiting a bus, noticed our confusion and kindly helped us to make sense of a posted map that guided us to the Town Hall and the much needed toilet. I thanked him heartily, observing, “You deserve a good deed today!” MORSE / LEWIS / ENDEAVOUR TOUR Saturday, we also went on a tour of the Morse-Lewis-Endeavour Oxford shooting locations. It was supposed to last two hours, but the affable and knowledgable tour guide was a real talker, and we soldiered on for almost 3 1/2 hours! Besides seeing and delighting in the “Morse Bar” in a fancy hotel called “The Randolph,” among other charming experiences on the tour, we learned that Kevin Whately, who played Inspector Morse’s more blue-collar (and “Geordie”) subordinate, Sgt. Robbie Lewis, actually has an upper-crust pedigree with several Oxonian connections, including a great-grandfather who served as the Anglican Archbishop of Dublin! OXFORD ORATORY SOLEMN SUNDAY HIGH MASS When COVID hit and we became reliant on livestreamed Masses, we became avid adherents of the marvelous sacred liturgy of the Oxford Oratory at St. Aloysius Gonzaga in north central Oxford. We attended this Mass in person on Sunday. We were totally captivated by the beauty of the music (first-rate schola), the vestments, the liturgical gestures, and the incense arising

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Oxford Spring (17-19 April, 2024): “Mind How You Go”

by Dana Rail Previous “Oxford Spring” posts: Introduction TRANSATLANTIC PURGATORY The rough part about travel is, of course, well, the travel. From the time we left home to the time we (finally) landed at Heathrow, then navigated Immigration, Baggage Reclaim, and Customs, then caught the coach to Oxford and arrived at what was to be our home for the next month, we were looking at a stressful and mostly uncomfortable (sometimes miserably so) 36 hours. I know, I know…a First World problem. Better yet, an Oxonian-level First World problem, so no complaining, right? Still, at my age, enduring eleven hours cheek by jowl in seats built like medieval instruments of torture with several hundred other sufferers on board a Boeing 777, what with all the trouble they’ve been having, was not nothing. Still, there was this little consolation out the window on the first leg of our journey, in a much more comfortable Embraer puddle jumper: AH, MUCH BETTER, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. The Heathrow-to-Oxford leg, however, was an entirely different story. After getting through all the (fairly easy-peasy) Immigrations & Customs stuff, we headed down to Heathrow’s Central Bus station and caught a so-called “Airline Coach” to Oxford. If there’s one travel tip I would give to anyone making this trip (besides avoiding Boeing 777s), it would be to use this service to get from Heathrow (or Gatwick) to the Oxford city centre. Easily the most pleasant (and restful) part of the journey, as you can see.     SLEEPING WITH SHAKESPEARE & CO. Our one-bedroom (with en suite) flat is just off Cornmarket Street, in a courtyard with a direct access to Oxford’s rightfully famous Covered Market. The flat is in a 300+ year-old building—Mr. Rail has been laughing about the need to “get one’s sea legs” as we navigate the old hostelry’s sloping-and-bulging floors—and is tucked in one of two courtyards right across the street from one another in Cornmarket Street formerly housing one of the two local inns believed to have accomodated the Bard on his many journeys back and forth between Stratford and London. Can’t say as I’ve received any ghostly visitations (or even inspirations) as yet, but the month is young! And in the meantime, there is a terrific Coffeesmith coffee shop down in the courtyard, along with a pizza joint and a South Asian takeaway. TWO NATIONS SEPARATED BY A COMMON LANGUAGE Speaking of “takeaways”—what we Yanks call “carryouts”—the flat is also on what Brits call the First Floor, and we Yanks the Second. To understand these small but not insignificant differences in English usage(s) is to grok at once the many and various differences to which we Stateside folk must adjust on this side of the Pond, used as we are to driving on the correct side of the road; to flipping switches up (not down) when we want to turn on the lights; to saying “Excuse me!” instead of “Sorry!” for just about every accidental interaction between strangers on the street; for saying “Watch your step!” instead of “Mind your step” (as in, “Mind how you go”): for looking right as well as left when crossing Oxford’s clamorous streets, lest that car or bus or ten-speed bike screaming down the wrong side of the road interacts with one in a manner for which “Sorry!” will prove wholly inadequate. (If you doubt the importance of this latter advice, let me remind you that Winston Churchill, when visiting New York City, got ran over by a taxi once and was seriously injured because he failed to look left (the American way) before he stepped out onto a busy New York Street. Ouch. BUT ARE WE HAVING FUN YET? Oh my, in spite of our little adjustments and adventures, and occasionally because of them, we definitely moved into the “fun” part by Day 2 (the 19th), once we got situated and started heading out to roam the streets and alleyways and squares we had heretofore only seen on maps, or on TV. I’ve got to cut this post short, because we’re getting ready to head out for a two-hour MORSE/ENDEAVOUR walking tour (more of that tomorrow), but here are a few of our treasured moments:                    

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An Oxford Spring (April 18 – May 17, 2024)

From April 18 to May 17, 2024, I will be posting from the City of Dreaming Spires, Oxford, UK. Friends have asked my husband and me, why Oxford? Why a whole month in one smallish English city when we would have the whole of Britain and even Europe on our doorstep? For one thing, we’ve done the whole if-it’s-Tuesday-it-must-be-Belgium sort of traveling before, and it’s a young person’s game. At this point in our lives, we decided it was better to go to one fascinating place and stay as long as we could afford. Dig deep rather than skim the surface. I first got the idea for our “Oxford sabbatical”, as my husband calls it, back in 2016, when three of my kids and I (including Sydney Wren) spent two glorious but exhausting weeks in southern England. For me, it was primarily a research jaunt for my WIP, with 2-3 days each in London, Stratford, Oxford, Glastonbury, and Cornwall (Tintagel and Marazion, specifically). That it wouldn’t be nearly enough time to do any location justice I knew well enough before we set out, but I wasn’t prepared for the subsequent exhaustion, not to mention the frustration at having to leave a place just as I began to feel comfortable getting around in it. Nor did I foresee how quickly and deeply I would form an attachment to one place in particular: the medieval university city of Oxford. In a word, I fell in love with the city, and resolved on the spot that my next trip, God willing, would be a longer—much longer—stay in a place which, for me personally, was not only the most beautiful (and walkable) city I’d ever visited, but also haunted with great personal significance. LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION To be sure, this thousand-year-old city is simply gorgeous, especially if you, like me, love English Gothic and Gothic Revival architecture. Not for nothing have the few square miles of the city’s center (or should I write, “centre”) been chosen as cinematic backdrop for innumerable films and TV series, some of them personal favorites, such as the long-running Morse / Lewis / Endeavour mystery trilogy, based on the novels by Colin Dexter. Several Oxford locations famously served as stand-ins for Hogwarts in the Harry Potter movies (more of all these later). As I write this, our family just finished savoring the masterful 1981 TV adaptation of Evelyn Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited, the first part of which was set (and filmed) in Oxford. It was terrific fun, after all our reading and preparation for the trip, for my husband and I, as we watched, to exclaim to one another things like, “Oh, look, Ryder’s rooms are at Hertford College, just across the street from the Bod…and of course Sebastian is at Christ Church! A Marchmain would be, wouldn’t he?” All that’s great fun, and we have marked down many such locations to include in our itinerary. But the deeper truth is that by some weird synchronicity of fate or chance or providence (depending on your metaphysics), many if not most of the key figures in the development of my own literary, artistic, and spiritual sensibilities have profound Oxford connections. Just for starters: THE INKLINGS Oxford is the academic and intellectual home of the Inklings, that ad hoc literary gabfest of writers, readers, and academics, led by C.S. Lewis and his brother, Warnie, that met weekly in Oxford’s Eagle and Child pub (and other places), and which included my literary hero J.R.R. Tolkien, as well as Owen Barfield and Charles Williams, among others. Then there’s… T.E. LAWRENCE Lawrence of Arabia was the subject of one of my teenaged obsessions, as well as of my #1 favorite film. Lawrence not only grew up in Oxford and attended the local high school, but was also an undergraduate at Jesus College, then, after WWI, a Fellow at All Souls. (in a weird coincidence, the brother of the film’s brilliant director was the original founder of The Inklings at Oxford!) THE PRE-RAPHAELITES Two of my artistic heroes, William Morris and Edward Burne-Jones met when they were undergrads at Exeter College, where they read John Ruskin and joined the so-called Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, examples of whose work can be found all over Oxford. Morris was, of course, also a seminal social thinker and, as a writer of fantasy/mythopoeic literature, a huge influence on Tolkien. ST. JOHN HENRY NEWMAN St. John Henry Newman, another of my teenaged obsessions, was an undergrad at Trinity College, a Fellow at Oriel, a leader of the “Oxford Movement” (a.k.a. “Tractarians”) in the Anglican Church, and eventually a priest, founder of the Birmingham Oratory (which played a major role in Tolkien’s young life), cardinal, and saint in the Catholic Church. The possessor of an absolutely original “imperial intellect”, as one biographer called it, he was also one of the great stylists in the English language. I stumbled on his autobiographical Apologia pro Vita Sua when I was a young teen, and it completely upended my way of looking at things, and eventually my religion. So, as you can see, in many ways this month in Oxford will be a pilgrimage as well as a holiday and sabbatical. It is a chance for me, now that I’m closer to the end of my life than the beginning of it, to pay my respects to some “greats” (in the very beautiful place that nurtured them), who have enriched my life and taught me the meaning of Awe. If you’d like to follow us on our little pilgrimage, hit the “Subscribe” button on the right.

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Quick Take: Stephen King’s FAIRY TALE

I was a teenager when I first read Stephen King. The book was Salem’s Lot and the damn thing scared me so badly I didn’t pick up King again for two decades. Then came The Gunslinger and The Dark Tower series, pressed upon me by friends whose opinions I trusted. I fell in love. See, I’m not a straight-out horror fan. I can’t bear slasher stories and maniacal clowns, but I do enjoy fantasies that grapple with the (to me, obvious) darkness in the world. Any world. So it was inevitable, I suppose, that I should give King’s latest, Fairy Tale, a go.  To be honest, this 608-page book is a bit of a slow-go, though I can’t say it was ever boring. But then I like long Dickensian doorstoppers, dripping with atmospheric detail and quirky characters. Still, there’s an awful lot of “real world” setup and much (too much?) backstory before King takes us to that Other place, and I very much suspect that if this book had been written by any other author, the publisher would have insisted it lose about thirty percent of its tonnage.  Be that as it may, I loved the theme of the book—the importance and “role,” if you will, of fairy tales in our imaginations. And I quickly forgave the slow pace when much of the setup was paid off during a climactic scene in which the book’s young hero saves more than one world by way of…well, that would be telling. Anyway, no harm, no foul. I had a thoroughly enjoyable time all the way through. A little Synchronicity It so happens I’m writing this on November 22, 2022, the 59th anniversary of two important deaths in 1963. The first is the assassination of President Kennedy, about which King wrote so feelingly in one of his (for me) best works, 11.11.63. The other anniversary is the death, on the same day, of C.S. Lewis. Though it’s difficult to imagine two more different fantasists than Lewis and King, one of the pleasures of Fairy Tale (and one of the reasons to love Stephen King) is that, for all the eldritch horror he gives space and voice to in his work, King, like Lewis, understands that Dark Magic (the bending of the universe to one’s will with guile and force and the invocation of Cthulhu-like powers), can only lead to the destruction, out of envy, of all that is Good, True, and Beautiful. No glamorizer of evil, he, unlike some horror writers. Moreover, the darkness cannot win. Even if it’s a very slow go and an arduous struggle, the Deep Magic, as Lewis called it, at the heart of the universe, will triumph. With the help of a kid and his dog. ——- P.S. I just came across this notice that a film adaptation of the book is already in the works, to be directed by Paul Greengrass!

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ANDOR, Random Thoughts: Politics and Character Arcs

War is nothing but a continuation of politics with the admixture of other means.

ON WAR, by General Carl von Clausewitz

To be honest, Disney's Star Wars spinoff Andor was initially a bit of a slow burn for me. I was, however, deeply impressed from the first by the seriousness and sophistication of the writing, acting, directing, and production values.

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Wrestling with the Fallen Angel: Midnight Mass as Catholic Horror

Two men—a priest and a recovering alcoholic— sit in a church rec center on folding chairs discussing the nature of God and the paradox of evil. It could be a scene out of Dostoevsky, but it’s a centerpiece of the Netflix limited series, Midnight Mass, an arrestingly strange and deeply affecting exploration of faith, sin, guilt, addiction, and grief. It’s a passion project for writer/director, Mike Flanagan, a highly-regarded horror auteur known for hit Netflix series, The Haunting of Hill House. Horror, for Flanagan, is a genre suited to themes of guilt and sin, faith and free will, buried secrets and unprocessed traumas. The seven episodes of Midnight Mass, which unfurl at a deliberate, even meditative pace, feel personal and urgent, hitting familiar genre beats while surprising with nuanced performances and searching, philosophical themes. A Specter Haunts… The series opens with what Flanagan, himself a recovering alcoholic, has admitted was his greatest fear: killing someone while driving drunk. The guilt gnaws at protagonist, Riley Flynn (sad-eyed and soft-spoken Zach Gilford), who returns home after a spell in prison to Crockett Island, a remote fishing village (population: 127) only accessible by ferry. In the wake of an oil spill, the place is dead economically and spiritually. The arrival of a young, charismatic priest, Father Paul (Hamish Linklater), galvanizes the community and the faithful at St. Patrick’s Catholic church, the island’s social and spiritual epicenter. With Fr. Paul’s arrival, Crockett Island comes to life—the pews begin to fill and before long the dynamic priest even seems able to work miracles: the old are recovering their youth and a disabled woman rises from her wheelchair. But are these miracles divine or demonic? Flynn, a former altar boy who lost his faith after the accident, considers the new priest with suspicion, even as miraculous events multiply. A specter haunts the island — a winged creature with a thirst for blood… Anti-Catholic? Catholicism is incarnational: the whole premise is that the Word is made Flesh, God becomes human to suffer with and alongside his creation. Every mass finds the priest transubstantiating bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ, to be consumed by the faithful. This clearly inflamed young Flanagan’s gothic imagination, and there has been some chatter about whether the series is “anti-Catholic.” This is surprising: Midnight Mass is arguably the most Catholic piece of popular culture in recent memory. It is steeped in the rituals, the hymns, teachings, complexities, and controversies of the oldest continuous institution in human history. Key to this complexity is Hamish Linklater’s powerful, hypnotic performance as Fr. Paul: his line deliveries are halting and syncopated, conveying the sense of a character passionate and generous, wry and thoughtful, but prey to delusions of grandeur. While Linklater captures the unquestionable appeal and magnetism of a priest aflame with conviction and fervor, Fr. Paul also embodies the “cult of the priest” that has made corruption endemic in the Church. Beverly Keane (Samantha Sloyan) is the spinsterish parish lady for whom the priest can do no wrong — she is full of outward piety and inward ruthlessness, and all too willing to separate the wheat from the chaff. Rahul Kohli plays the sympathetic town sheriff, a Muslim held in suspicion by the town’s predominantly white Catholics. The series pauses for extended theological excurses. In one moving scene Riley and his childhood sweetheart, Erin Greene (Kate Siegel), exchange their visions of the afterlife. Riley’s is materialist, but moving: as the body dies it releases a final rush of dopamine that sends one into the ether on an ecstatic wave of ecstasy to rival the wildest psychedelic trip. For Erin, Heaven simply means “You are loved. And you aren’t alone.” Riley responds with desolating sincerity: “I really hope you’re right.” Although Flanagan’s imaginative sympathy extends to all his characters (even the self-righteous Beverly), Flynn is clearly Flanagan’s stand-in. A cradle Catholic and erstwhile altar boy, Flanagan digs deep with Midnight Mass to turn the tropes of horror to searching, slanting account. The slow-burn approach feels soulful and generous, strange and sincere. For all its genre tropes and conventions, it lands with the unexpected power of a real work of art, the product of a singular vision: haunting and humane.

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Malcolm Guite’s Grail Quest Ballad Cycle

I was only last year introduced to the books, blog, and “A Spell in the Library” YouTube Channel of Anglican Priest, Poet, and Inklings expert, Malcolm Guite. Late to the party, maybe, but I instantly came under the spell of Guite’s gentle erudition, pipe-smoky voice, and hobbity dwelling and demeanor. His poem-a-day journey through Advent, Waiting on the Word, became my daily morning companion in the weeks before Christmas, 2021, and will once more accompany my Advent journey in 2022, beginning in only a few short weeks. On one of his YT vlogs, Guite mentioned the Arthurian/Grail Quest ballad cycle he was working on. It was clear from the context that this was a project with which his regular viewers would be well acquainted, and that he had often read aloud from his work-in-progress. Delighted, I went on a little quest of my own to find previous vlogs about this project. I was even more delighted when I began hearing the ballads themselves. They are both deep and charming, and beautifully evoke the spiritual meaning at the core of the age-old Grail Quest. Banging around YouTube for an hour or so, I was able to come up with my own little YT playlist of Guite’s Arthurian vlogs, in chronological order. I’m sharing the links here, along with their publication date, and highly recommend your taking the time to give them a listen. (If any other fans out there see that I’ve missed any, please let me know!) Here we go: The Ballad of Galahad and the Naiad  (1/21/21) Some of My Arthurian Treasures  (2/21/21) An Old Arthurian Book and a new Arthurian Ballad  (4/08/21) The Knighting of Galahad  (4/19/21) The Seige and the Sword  (4/22/21) Galahad comes to Camelot  (4/26/21) Take up the Tale  (5/6/21) The Coming of the Grail  (5/10/21) The Quest begins  (5-14-21) The Silver Shield  (07/06/21) Sir Percivale and the Lion  (8-23-21) More of Sir Percivale’s Adventures  (9/9/21) The Adventures of Lancelot  (11/2/21) The Quest of Fair Dindrane  (2/10/22) Enjoy!

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“My cause of death today is Beauty”: Mr. Sunshine

“Yesterday seemed like a distant past, today felt unfamiliar and tomorrow was terrifying. It was a time of turbulence. All of us, each in their own way, were living through the rapidly changing Joseon.” For the “Little Gang.” 🌸 [Note: I was careful not to include any significant spoilers here, but only to discuss the characters as they are introduced early on ~ with a warning.] In the midst of a rewatch of my first K-drama, My Mister, my brother and I started the 2018 historical drama, Mr. Sunshine (미스터 션샤인) and were shortly after joined by several others, including Dana. We really have the “Little Gang” on twitter to thank for it ~ and especially our dear “Raven”, leader of #TeamDongmae ~ and my friend Elliott, all of whom occasionally posted tantalizing photos from what looked to be a stunningly beautiful series in its cinematography. (Laura ~ #TeamHuiseong ~ was watching it mostly simultaneously, though she was ahead, and Connie ~ #TeamEugene ~ had already seen it. Their restraint in discussing it was truly heroic.) Their praise of the show kept us moving forward in spite of a difficult first episode. And I am so glad we did. Here are a few images which can do better justice than any words can, as to why it is not to be missed (click on each image to see enlarged): The series takes place around the time of the Japan-Korean Treaty of 1905, in Hanseong (current day Seoul, South Korea), during the end of Korea’s approximately 500-year-long Joseon dynasty. The Joseon military had been all but wiped out by the Americans during the Battle of Ganghwa in 1871 (which is referenced in the story, particularly in relation to one of the characters who becomes a leader in the Righteous Army of Joseon, and trainer to our young heroine). The Japanese government had been insinuating itself into the ruling of Joseon; caught between the American military on one hand and the Japanese on the other, the Joseon people found themselves with uncomfortable bedfellows. Japan’s takeover would be complete by 1910, and would last until 1945. “Between an American and a Japanese I die every day.” ~Hui-seong The story centers around a young noblewoman, three leading men who all become fascinated by her and what she represents to them, and a hotel owner who has a part to play in bringing them all together. The individuals in this unlikely ensemble of five couldn’t be more different, representative as they are of the divided political, societal, and cultural forces within and without turn-of-the-century Joseon. Eugene Choi (Lee Byung-hun), Captain in the U.S. Marine Corps, has been stationed with his friend and senior officer, Kyle Moore (David Lee McInnis), in his native Joseon, from which the 9-year-old Eugene, born into slavery, had fled under the most tragic circumstances. He quickly becomes intrigued by the beautiful Go Ae-shin, daughter of one of Joseon’s great noble families. Go Ae-shin (Kim Tae-ri) is the young noblewoman who haunts three of our leading men. But she herself is haunted, and by an unlikely source: the harsh words uttered to her years ago, that she is little more than “a noble fool who lives in luxury.” Hating the idea of a life bound to needlework and ignorance, restless for knowledge of the world and the forces pushing into her country, she finds an unlikely means of being of service, and a secret identity. Kim Hui-seong, her intended fiancé, is a young nobleman just returned from a long period studying in Japan to try to make something of what he considers to be a wasted, dissolute life. Played irresistibly by Byun Yo-han who has a smile that could light up a room, we soon come to wonder whether there is more to this “handsome-Joseon man” than first meets the eye. He knows that his family has done some secret wrong, and he cannot rest until he discovers more. Another character who becomes ever more and more fascinating is Eugene’s shadowy foil ~ and my favorite character ~ the ruthless Joseon-born butcher’s son who had, like Eugene, fled his native land. Now Gu Dong-mae has the whole of Hanseong in fear of him and of his “gang,” the Musin Society of Japan. Ever an enigma, haunted by his past and by the unattainable woman he loves ~ or, perhaps, who represents to him the almost unbearable possibility of hope ~ Dong-mae is portrayed with a thrilling intensity and bitter melancholy by the brilliant Yoo Yeon-seok, who absolutely commands the screen at every moment. “I intend to become a man of use for you from now on.” ~Gu Dong-mae The most interesting female character, for me, was Lee Yang-hwa (known by her Japanese name, Kudo Hina, in Hanseong), a wealthy widow who runs the Glory Hotel. She too has an enigmatic past, having been married off by her father, Lee Wan-ik ~ one of the most despicable villains onscreen ~ to an older, rich Japanese man. (She reminds others, as needed, that her husband had died under mysterious circumstances.) She now has the wealth and influence to have an effect, one way or another, on Joseon’s fate. Kim Min-jung is fabulous in the role, a uniquely sardonic portrayal of a powerful woman who might be difficult to warm up to at first, but whose unlikely actions and arc, however enigmatic, make her irresistible. “Be careful when you take a lady’s hand. We don’t always carry rainbows and sunshine.” ~Yang-hwa All of them will have to take a side, eventually, in the long, almost inevitably dark doom of Joseon. Mr. Sunshine, directed by Lee Eung-bok and written by Kim Eun-sook, manages to blend old-fashioned adventure, romance, relentless beauty – one might say, ideals of another age, which prove to be eternal after all ~ strong and unlikely friendships, humor, and tragedy in one epic drama. And it has one of the great, unlikely bromances ~ a trio, in fact ~ and an amazing ensemble

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In Defense of Woundedness, of Failure, and of Frodo: A Personal Reflection with Tolkien’s Letters

[ALERT: If you are not familiar with the end of The Lord of the Rings, do not continue…] I originally published this post on my now-too-Dickensian site around Hobbit Day, 2021, and thought that our #TolkienReadingDay would be a good opportunity to republish it at its new home. At the time, I was reflecting on the nature of friendships near and far, including once-inseparable friends I hadn’t seen in a long time, and on friendship in general, of the beauty hidden in human (and hobbit) failure, and of Frodo. His image was haunting me then, particularly on a Sunday when we meditated on Isaiah’s Suffering Servant in church. Hence, this reflection… Paradoxical Endings and Character Fulfillment I first read The Lord of the Rings in my teens. (Of course, life has never been the same since!) Aragorn was my first love from that book; gradually, my heart was given more and more to Sam, and then Frodo. That’s one of the magical things about Tolkien: all the characters are given their due; every character has an integral role to play in the fulfillment of the story’s quest, and it couldn’t have been accomplished without the whole of the Fellowship and those whose assistance and friendship they gain. Each reader (or viewer) perhaps has a different favorite character; each reader may have a different favorite depending on the season of the reader’s life. It might be Gandalf one year, and Eowyn the next; it might be Aragorn at first, and Sam at last. And that’s all to the good. Not to name names, but another beloved magical series—which I will nonetheless always treasure in many ways—somewhat disappointed me at its concluding book, partly because it didn’t quite manage this bit of magic in the end–the magic of giving every character his/her due–brilliantly set up as I thought it had been. My favorite character was given a sendoff unworthy of him and of what I thought the author had clued us in to in previous books. Other beloved ensemble characters were taken down a peg, perhaps to lift up the heroism of the central character, as though it were a zero-sum game. It’s not that the series was ended wrong, or badly; the most central ethos of it was lovely. Only that, given all that had been set up in the previous books, it could have been even more powerful. (Though I had read all of the lead-up books in this series multiple times before the final book was published, I have read the final book only once, and have struggled to go back to the series since.) It seems to me that some of the stories that stay with us the most, haunting us like friendly spirits, are those whose climax and finale are both surprising, and yet, somehow, inevitable. A finale which you perhaps couldn’t have guessed ahead of time—not exactly—and yet, when it happens, it is so unaccountably fulfilling that you know it couldn’t possibly have ended any other way; as though it had been ordained by the great Storyteller at the very foundation of Story itself. There is a deeper magic in it, to borrow a Lewisian idea. A novel I read years ago concludes with the words, Surprise me; and in the context of the novel, nothing could be more surprising or more perfect—just like in most of the great stories. It doesn’t mean a plot twist necessarily; only the perfect and paradoxical fulfillment of all that had been set up before. I always think of story endings in that way, daring them to “surprise me.” Irony is, if they surprise me at first, they will continue to surprise me with new insights on each reread, and forever. Beautiful Friendships It’s a bit of a joke in our family how much I love friendship/buddy stories—bromances. My favorite opera is Don Carlos (or Don Carlo, in the Italian), and I’d like to say it is for the incomparable music. But honestly, it probably has the edge because it is a bromance. Recently we were having a movie night with one of my brothers who was visiting from out of town and were trying to decide what to watch. Wanting to introduce us to Once Upon a Time in Hollywood but knowing my very mixed (at best) feelings about Tarantino, he argued, “But Rach, it’s a bromance!” Well, of course, he had me at that—and it was. The Lord of the Rings is a feast of bromances, the possibilities endless—Merry and Pippin, Aragorn and Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli—but none are stronger nor more poignant than that of Frodo and Sam. Sam is the consummate faithful friend, like Rodrigo to Carlo. In Don Carlo(s), Rodrigo is by far my favorite character: he is both loyal, brave, his sights set on both relieving Carlo of his melancholy, Wertheresque personal trauma and struggles, as well as giving aid to the people of Flanders who are suffering under heavy-handed rule. Rodrigo—differing a bit from the Schiller original which paints him as a somewhat greyer character—is both the unquestionable hero of the story, and also the one I want to be, given the choice. (I used to joke about making a t-shirt that reads, I want to be Rodrigo when I grow up.) In The Lord of the Rings however, there is no either-or, and the true heroism is less easy to define. All the characters have their moment; all of our central Fellowship are heroes in their own unique ways. Sam is certainly the type of unsung hero that Tolkien modeled after the “batmen” of World War I, those brave and loyal attendants who were assigned to officers as an aide. Sam is certainly the character I want to be; though not as clearly my favorite vis-à-vis Frodo as Rodrigo to Carlo; rather, I want to be him because I so dearly love Frodo. Like Aragorn’s near-whisper in the Peter Jackson film, a cry of soldiering on when they believe all hope has

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Re-reading “Foucault’s Pendulum” in the Age of Q-Anon: Pt. 2 – Ur-Fascism and the Russia-Ukraine Connection

Apologies, but work on my little blog series on Re-reading Foucault’s Pendulum in the Age of QAnon has been delayed by a family emergency and the all-absorbing news of the barbaric Russian invasion of Ukraine. Like many of you, I have been glued to CNN and the various print media this last week, in a quest to wrap my head around what is happening, why, and what it means for a suddenly changed and (on the heels of Covid and January 6) increasingly dangerous world. But the dreadful situation has also induced me to take a moment for a relevant detour in this series, and to recommend a couple of works that I have found incredibly helpful, not only for providing much needed context for the current crisis in Ukraine, but also for illuminating the vicious nature and role of propaganda, conspiracy theories, and “Big Lies” in our current politics in this Age of QAnon. “Ur-Fascism” First, there is (speaking of Foucault’s Pendulum) Umberto Eco’s seminal and prophetic essay “Ur-Fascism,” first published in the June 22, 1995 issue of The New York Review of Books. In this essay, Eco relates his personal experience of growing up in a sea of fascist propaganda in Mussolini’s Italy, his youthful discovery of the lies behind the propaganda, and the lessons he learned about the nature of fascism. While remarking on the diversity of the variant forms of fascism, Eco concludes by delineating a list of fourteen “features,” as he calls them, “that are typical of what I would like to call Ur-Fascism, or Eternal Fascism. These features cannot be organized into a system; many of them contradict each other, and are also typical of other kinds of despotism or fanaticism. But it is enough that one of them be present to allow fascism to coagulate around it.” This is the list, in a nutshell, with a bit of commentary (in parentheses) when the “feature” Eco delineates dovetails with the current Russia-Ukraine crisis: The cult of Tradition. “Truth has been already spelled out once and for all, and we can only keep interpreting its obscure message.” In our current crisis, this features plays out in Putin’s drumbeat that Ukraine has always and must be part of a Greater Russia. The rejection of modernism and the modern world. (Putin’s complete rejection, not only of what he calls “Western decadence,” but also of the modern Western values of democracy to which the Ukrainian people aspire.) The irrational cult of action for action’s sake. The assertion that Disagreement is treason. (Putin’s arrest of thousands of Russians peacefully protesting the war in Ukraine.) The fear of difference and diversity. (As with above, Putin’s oppression of political and social elements that diverge from his vision for Russia.) The appeal to a frustrated middle class. The obsession with a plot that defines national identity. (Putin’s obsession that the West/NATO is constantly plotting to destroy Holy Russia.) The sense that followers feel humiliated by the wealth/strength of their enemies. (Putin’s apparent distress, remarked by a number of commentators, that the West and especially pro-Western Ukraine are significantly more prosperous than authoritarian Russia, which, but for its nuclear arsenal, would be considered a minor power.) The ideology that life is about struggle, that pacifism is trafficking with the enemy. (See #4 above.) The belief in aristocratic and militaristic elitism/contempt for the weak. (Russia’s kleptocratic system of billionaire oligarchs siphon off the wealth and power of the Russian masses, for whose welfare there is little regard.) The cult of heroism/death. The cult of machismo. (Putin’s incessant macho posturing—images of him shirtless on a horse, or showing off his black belt in martial arts. After all, a Strong Man needs to appear Strong.) The belief that the People are “a monolithic entity expressing the Common Will.” (This has nothing to do with representative democracy. Rather, Putin insists that he represents the true Will of the Russian people, no matter how they vote or protest. Hence, his use of fake information against his own people as well as his enemies, especially by way of social media, while repressing all media representing divergent views.) Eco writes, “There is in our future a TV or Internet populism, in which the emotion response of a selected group of citizens can be presented and accepted as the Voice of the People.” [Remember, this is 1995] The prevalence of Newspeak and “an impoverished vocabulary” that limits “complex and critical reasoning.” (Russia’s wholly false propaganda that the invasion of Ukraine is for the purpose of “de-Nazifying” a democratic Ukraine; that they’re there to liberate a persecuted Russian minority; that Ukrainian civilians are not being targeted.) It stuns me to think how many (all?) of these “features of Ur-Fascism” are present in both modern American politics and the ideological forces in Putin’s Russia that have lead to the current horror in Ukraine. Historical Context For some important backstory on this whole distressing business, I highly recommend the work of Yale historian, Timothy Snyder. Probably best known for his recent bestseller, On Tyranny, as well as for his many recent appearances on American media, Snyder has spent the last twenty-five years studying Russia and Eastern Europe, and in particular, Ukraine. His commentary is knowledgeable and penetrating, and he has the rare capacity as a historian to see “the bigger picture”—how, in an age where conflicts are often reduced to matters of economic and social pressures, ideas, especially in our age of viral social media, can play a critical and often overlooked role; how popular myths, conspiracy theories, and propagandistic national narratives—Big Lies–repeated endlessly, can change the course of history. In particular, I’d like to recommend Snyder’s 2018, The Road to Unfreedom, his study of how the whole Russia-Ukraine nightmare has been intimately connected with American politics since at least the 2016 election. In this book, Snyder discusses not only Putin’s playbook for interfering in American elections (the same playbook he tried to use in Ukraine, and failed), but more importantly, what Snyder calls “the politics of

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