Disney Buys Star Wars (j)

In case you haven't heard, the Twitter-sphere and the internet in general is abuzz with the jaw-dropping news that George Lucas has decided to retire, and has handed over the reins of his multi-million dollar baby Star Wars to - yes, you heard correctly - Disney.  The opinions vary, and I myself am nothing but skeptical about this change... and the supposed plans to create "episodes" 7, 8 and 9 in the next decade or so.  I'll reserve actual judgment when the details come out.  Otherwise, I hope Mr. Lucas enjoys his retirement. 

Leia Organa contemplates change in The Empire Strikes Back.

Adventures in Logophilia Day 50: el chupacabra (j)

Happy Halloween!  Today's spooky word is...

El chupacabra (noun) is an animal said to exist in parts of Latin America - particularly Puero Rico - where it supposedly attacks animals, especially goats and drains them of blood.  The word literally means "goat sucker" in Spanish. This was the "monster of the week" in the 4th season of The X-Files entitled "El Mundo Gira," and became a dry joke between Mulder and Scully in later episodes.   According to Ye Olde Wiky-paedia, this legend/mystery emerged in 1995 in PR, killing goats and sheep, and has been "seen" in random locations in the US ever since: about the size of a bear with spines along its back.  Some "witnesses" describe it similiarly to an alien in the movie Species.  It's existence (like Bigfoot and his contemporaries) has never been confirmed.

Adventures in Logophilia Day 49: fell (j)

Today's Halloweenish word is...

Fell (an adjective) is a semi-archaic word that means fierce, cruel, terrible, sinister and malevolent.  It can also mean sharp or pungent (I'm assuming on terms of odors.)  I first heard this word when I saw The Fellowship of the Ring, only I didn't know it at the time.  The Fellowship attempts to climb the mountains over Moria, and Saruman is thwarting their progress by means of sorcery and chants.  Legolas percieves that something is amiss and says "There is a fell voice on the air."  Only at the time, I thought he said "There is a foul voice on the air," which seems just as appropriate.  I don't think I realized the different until I actually read the book. 

A fell is also a noun meaning a high barren field or moor, such as this one.  This picture was taken in North Yorkshire on Skipton Moor.

Wisdom from Yesteryear (j & m)

I am perusing the Daedalus posts of yesteryear, and have come across an old post Michelle wrote almost four years ago on the dangers of not writing and striving to appease the inner artist child.  Otherwise, you might turn into the Hulk. Para-paraphrase, of course.  She put it far more articulately. I find my rediscovery of this to be quite apt as I've not had proper write time in a while - thanks the Sturm un Drang of this month and various synopsis things.  (Excuses excuses.)   Please read. 

Adventures in Logophilia Day 48: bete noire (j)

Today's word is...

A bete noire (noun, meaning "black beast" in French) is a person or thing strongly disliked or feared.  It could be the candidate you don't want for President.  It could be the cat lurking around the corner, ready to pounce (in our house, we call this special kind of bete noire the "furtive beast").  It could be a thing of deeper nightmares. It is anything and everything that could possibly be out to get you, hold you down, giggling as you struggle.  Perhaps in that cornfield with the eyeshine.


 

Adventures in Logophilia Day 47: necropolis (j)

The word for day 47 is...

A necropolis (noun) is a fancy (possibily euphemistic) word for a cemetery, particularly a large cemetery in an ancient city.  I rather tend to compare the structure of this word to "metropolis" and "cosmopolis"... and "city of the dead" comes to mind.  Creepy because, if you think about it, that is exactly what a cemetery is: a community of dead people.  It makes me want to read The Graveyard Book again. Never has there been a more charming necropolis than in Neil Gaiman's book.

Adventures in Logophilia Day 46: moonset (j)

The word for day 46 is...

Moonset (noun) is the setting of the moon below the horizon.  Indicating that the ghosts, goblins and vampires have gone to bed. 

This word has particular poetry to it - a realization that it's not just the sun that rises and sets.  In the Doctor Who episode "Smith and Jones", the Doctor and Martha team up when the hospital they're in is transported inexplicably to the moon.  At one point the Doctor marvels; they are standing in the "earth light."  How beautiful a simple change of perspective can be.

Adventures in Logophilia Day 45: eyeshine (j)

Today's word is...

Eyeshine (noun) is the reflection of light from the inner surface of the eye through the pupil, giving the eye a luminous appearance, especially in cats.  This is an affect of something called the tapetum lucidum (meaning "bright tapestry" in the Latin), which is a layer of tissue found directly behind or sometimes within the retina.  Humans do not have eyeshine.  But wouldn't it be super creepy if they did?  So here's your warning - if when out in this most haunted of seasons trick-or-treating or wandering a cornfield and you happen to spot a human with glowing eyes... it's probably not human.  Run! 

Adventures in Logophilia Day 44: golem (j)

Today's sort of creepy word is...

A golem is an element of Jewish folklore in which a clay figure is brought to life by magic.  According to Ye Olde Wiky-paedia, the first reference for a golem comes from Psalm 139:16 "my unshaped form."  Golems have been formed supposedly for defense or menial tasks, a creature made of mud with holy words etched into its forehead or around its neck, which once taken away will reduce the creature to dust.  I came across this term in two places: Sherlock and The X-Files.  In "Kaddish" an episode in the fourth season of The X-Files, Mulder and Scully investigate mysterious happenings in a Hasidic community, murders that can only be attributed to the golem-esque reincarnation of a dead man.    In the first series of Sherlock, "The Great Game" a serial killer - a giant of a man with laptodactylic features and superhuman strength - referred to as a "golem" is a component of Moriarty's web of crime.  Great name for a villain, huh?

Adventures in Logophilia Day 43: skullduggery (j)

Today's word is...

skullduggery

At first glance, I would have said that skullduggery probably had something to do with "digging up skulls" but not according to the Lexicon.  Skullduggery (noun) is a word for crafty deception or trickery.  Body-switching, perhaps? 

Adventures in Logophilia Day 42: gloaming (j)

Today's word is...

gloaming

Gloaming (a noun) is another word for twilight or dusk.  I first happened upon it in Jane Eyre and many more contemporary places since.

Retellings: Sherlock vs Elementary (jillian)

'Tis the season of retellings... particularly on terms of television.  I've been trying to wrap my head around the new CBS series Elementary, which sees Jonny Lee Miller as Sherlock Holmes in contemporary New York with Lucy Liu as his sidekick Joan Watson.  The Telegraph has a nice article on it, today. I've not seen it because television in general tends to eat time, but I have to admit I am curious now to see if it works or if it flops. 

As a devotee of BBC's Sherlock, I came to this as a bit of a biased snob.  "What?  Making Watson a woman?  Taking Sherlock out of London?"  Etcetera, etcetera.  But, of course, people probably said the same when Sherlock came out in 2010: "How can Benedict Cumberbatch possibly be better than Jeremy Brett?  The idea!"  But... while these misgivings are valid in their own way, I've come to realize or remember with humility that these are all retellings, not the original story. 

Like my argument about viewing a book and its subequent film or films as different animals (i.e. Pride and Prejudice), I think we need to look at the different versions of the stories as equally legitimate renderings.  There cannot be one "true" film or television verson of a story.  Each will be different.  Elementary chooses to emphasize Sherlock as a brilliant drug addict with tattoos, and Watson as a woman and the doctor assigned to keep him sober.  In Sherlock, he labels himself a "high functioning sociopath" and texts compulsively, as Watson is the roommate who keeps him in line and keeps him human.  One show is American, the other is British.  One is slated as a regular series, the other is a miniseries.  The comparisons continue, but neither is wrong.  Both are a celebration of the original seed of the Sherlock Holmes stories that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote in the late 19th century.  To nitpick about Watson's gender or Sherlock's hair color is to totally miss the point.  The details are just colors, shadows and angles.  The writers, actors and directors of both shows have distinctly different ideas about what makes those stories and characters so compelling.  That's why I sit humbly on my hands when i think about my ire for Ridley Scott's Robin Hood.  No one owns Robin Hood.  No one owns Sherlock Holmes.  They belong to everyone.

Retellings are in our blood, those left-over Anglo-Saxon narrative impulses.  Our version of Beowulf isn't the original, but it celebrates the original seed of the story.  Same with King Arthur and Robin Hood, and Homer's tales.  In this era, the stories have evolved from oral anonymities to published works.  I ask again, how many times has Pride and Prejudice or Great Expectations made it to a miniseries or theatrical form?  Many times celebrated.  If anything, film versions always bring the most intrigued back to the source, back to reading how the "real" Sherlock Holmes solved mysteries, made meticulous observations and shot cocaine when he was bored.  (No, I don't condone him.  We're not supposed to.)  So how can multiple versions be a bad thing?  And can't they co-exist? 

Definitely.

So... pick your poison!

Elementary starring Jonny Lee Miller and Lucy Liu.  CBS.

 Or...

Sherlock starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman.  BBC.



Synopsis Metaphor (jillian)

A metaphor for you...

This is how I've come to think of writing synopses and queries: writing a synopsis is like orbiting the earth whereas writing a novel is being on the ground, engaging in the world. (Pretend that my pattern of orbit on the left actually makes sense.) When you orbit a planet, you take in a very general view, but no less breathtaking angle, of the Earth.  When you're actually writing a novel, you are inside and very intimately involved with the details.  So actually, writing a synopsis or the actual the novel comes down to a matter of angles and viewpoints, a telescope or a microscope.  Suddenly everything about this process becomes less daunting if I look at this way.  I'm orbiting.  It may not be fun, but it's a good skill to have, a good exercise to use in the aftermath of a year and a half of work.  What does my novel look like from a distance?

Adventures in Logophilia Day 41: will-o'-the-wisp (j)

Today's word with a sort-of-All-Hallows tilt is...

will-o'-the-wisp

Will-o'-the-wisp (noun) is a phosphorescent light that appears in the night over marshes and is thought to be due to the combustion of gas from decomposed organic matter.  In other words, a ghostly light in a swamp.  Another name for it is ignis fatuus.  More metaphorically speaking, will-o'-the-wisp can refer to a goal or a person difficult to reach or catch.  According to Oxford Dictionaries, this is a 17th century word originally known as "will with the wisp", the wisp being a lighted torch.  This always puts to mind Tolkein's Dead Marshes from The Two Towers, as Frodo and Sam follow Gollum through the ghostly lights passed dead things in the water.  Freakiest passage ever.  Freakiest movie scene as well.

Adventures in Logophilia Day 40: harpy (jillian)

Today's word is...

harpy

A harpy (noun) is a predatory monster from Greek mythology, which has a woman's head and a vulture's body.  A contemporary harpy would be a predatory person or a leech, and also a shrewish woman.  Not your average insult, eh?  More effective, too.

Adventures in Logophilia Day 39: fey (jillian)

Continuing with our Halloween theme, today's creepy word is...

Fey (an adjective) simply means "fated to die", and something that is fey is foreboding of death or major calamity.  It can also mean crazy - something marked by a strange, otherworldly air.   Other uses of the word are "excessively refined", "dainty or precious" or "quaintly unconventional."  Fey, as a harbinger of death, was probably the earliest use - pointing to fairies who were the scapegoats for sudden, unexplainable death and everyday inconveniences (oh, no!  The milk went sour!) in early centuries.  In my first lesson on the Middle Ages - Catherine Called Birdy - a character dies in her sleep and she is considered "elf shot" because there isn't a mark of trauma on the body.  Elf shot.  Stroke.  Same thing, right?  I don't think we will ever stop being shaken to the core by death, no matter what the explanation.

Adventures in Logophilia Day 38: chimera (jillian)

Today's word is...

chimera

From steampunkwines.com.

A chimera (noun and sometimes capitalized) is a fire-breathing she-monster from Greek mythology with a lion's head, a goat's body and a serpent's tail.  Chimera has come to describe any imaginary hybrid monster.  Chimera is also one of my favorite metaphors describing a illusion, vision or an unfathomable, soul-shaking nightmare.  In biology and genetics, the term refers to an individual made of unmatching genetic material; in theory what might happen if an embryo sometime in the early stages of division absorbs another "sibling" embryo. One also thinks of chimeras in regards to conjoined human twins or a cat born with two heads - phenomena stranger than fiction.  If that's not an image for Halloween, I don't know what is.

Adventures in Logophilia Day 37: Lycanthropia (jillian)

Today's word is...

lycanthropia

Lycanthropia (an archaic noun) refers to "a variety of melancholy in which the person believes himself to be changed into a wolf." (From Jeffrey Kacirk's Forgotten English) Therefore a lycanthrope is a werewolf - not someone who likes lichens.  That would be "lichenthrope."  According to Oxford Dictionaries lycanthrope is a 17th century term.  So... not medieval but a decidedly early modern paranoia.  It makes me wonder how the werewolf myth began in the first place.

As it is so close to Halloween, I should have put this word into spooky calligraphy, but alas, I ran out of time this morning. 

Whimsy on Wednesday (Jillian)

A little literary news reel for you:

• On the Telegraph, British author Hilary Mantel has won the Man Booker Prize for her novel Bring Up the Bodies, a sequel to Wolf Hall, which follows Thomas Cromwell at the court of Henry VIII.  Bring Up the Bodies details the Anne Boleyn scandal and her unhappy end.  Ms. Mantel is one of two authors to have won the Man Booker Prize twice and the only woman to do so.  This is a great testament to the power of fiction written well... and historical fiction at that.  Hers is the only Tudor-esque novel out of the hundreds that exist that I want very badly to read. 
• Ian McEwan, also a Booker Prize winner, has said recently that the novella is the perfect literary form.  He might be right but that's quite a difficult thing to accomplish.
• NPR has a lovely article on the 60th anniversary of E.B. White's Charlotte's Web.
• National Novel Writing Month is coming up in November.  Writer Unboxed has several posts on preparing for the project.  I am considering participating in it this year, if only to maintain my sanity during this time of the Sisyphean synopsis.  I think it would be a good way to churn out a first draft of a novel, intense though it may be. 
• Publishers Marketplace had an article on Ann Patchett interviewing JK Rowling.  One tidbit I found interesting: "I find that discussing an idea out loud is often the way to kill it stone dead.  They all sound rubbish," she said. I find this to be particularly true.  My ideas for stories or little nuances in my novel must be kept inside - let out too soon, even in private dialogue with oneself, and the idea evaporates or turns to dust. 

Adventures in Logophilia Day 36: St. Luke's Summer (Jillian)

Today's word/phrase is...

Saint Luke's summer

According to Oxford Dictionaries, Saint Luke's summer (a British term) is a period of fine weather around the 18th of October, which is Saint Luke's feast day.  I honestly don't remember how I came across this phrase, but it fascinates me... an older version of what we'd call "Indian summer."  Especially in England and Europe where the days of the year were marked by saints' days and sundry feasts, this makes particular sense.  It puts a new spin on the word lukewarm, as well. 

It makes for an interesting metaphor - a little pocket of summer come to rest inside another season.  For the last several days we've had a glorious St. Luke's summer: the leaves are golden, red, orange and purple, beautiful autumn, and yet temperatures climbed into the 80s.  It was summer.  I tend to enjoy these bizarre weather-fronts: the odd January days that reach the 60s or 70s and melt a month's worth of snow; the chilly, blustery fronts in July when we suddenly wonder where the oven of summer has gone.  They're rogue summers and winters - visiting out of season but welcome guests nonetheless.  I don't think it's as significant as climate change, but weather-change and weather-mood. 

There is another version of Saint Luke's summer which is Saint Martin's summer, basically nice, warm weather around the 11th of November, the feast day of St. Martin of Tours.