II : LX - LXVI Things Don't Change That Much (Unless We Do)

Ramazani = Ramadan

I often find fasting as an observation of a certain religion excruciatingly obscure. During Ramadan, the 9th month of Islamic calendar (it varies every year but happens somewhere around November), devotees refrain from eating, drinking, or any other means of pleasure from dawn to sundown. And then, described by our poet, is followed by a pomp of celebration at night, at least in the house of Ali Pasha.

People practice fasting across cultures and religions, and for the most part, consists of an endurable length and is followed by excessive consumption of food and alcohol when the "fasting" is over. It's hands down ironic and hypocritical if you ask me. Isn't moderation the key to finding enlightenment of the soul and getting closer to the spiritual awakening? Fasting is truly for the purpose of remembering the suffering and cherishing what we are bestowed by the world. It should be rewarding, spiritually and mentally, the result of which shouldn't be cancelled by wanton zest.

Sometimes things don't change for the better. There are women whose eyes are covered under black veils although their spirits are of rainbow colours. I remember watching Persepolis, in which through the perspective of an Iranian girl, we see a whole world crumble because of war and rotten traditions. A world dominated by male and a tyrannic government. There are images from the not-so-distant-history that can make your heart ache. 

People make sacrifices in life. In some religions sacrifices are considered the accumulated points for one's afterlife, as though the fasting, for example,  they accomplished during their lifetime will become feasts when they enter Elysium.

Women are defaced, considered possessions, objects of the men in power. They were deprived of their voices, their freedom of making choices in life, their individuality, their power of saying no. It's such sorrow, and simultaneously quite moving to see Islamic women who have taken up so much weight on their shoulders because of a life destined for them since birth. For a long time they have been creatures of pleasure when men needed them, they have been servants and slaves of the houses, yet have never been asked for when opinions are needed to be heard. There isn't any equality, for nothing has been questioned. Everything seemed so common, everything in place and life goes on. Those enslaved women don't even know they deserved much, much more.   

Ali Pasha's feast comes night after night as he sent to Byron many a rarities to be enjoyed. There had been exotic beauties and local tunes strange to foreign ears.  The old man is feared by all because of his status, not because of his personal strength. Tyrants enjoy their oppressions when the oppressed are ignorant of their fate. The most tragic society is not one that is in chaos, but one that seems calm, and discrepancies between classes becomes a norm.

In God's words they rule! Those tyrants never change. In the past it had been different religions: east and west, here and there. They tell their people that they were sent by the gods, and are divinely employed to be the dictators. Today those tyrants got other jobs. They runs corporations with net worth of multiple billions. There's less blood and violence, and they've also got  

There are pictures from the battlefields: the young and the absent minded, answering their calls of duty, picking up riffles and kill for the glory of their armors. They then go back to their mothers no longer children, but monsters with unimaginable pasts, or worse, if the war was taken by pride rather than shame.

There are pictures from the war zones: the young and the innocent, their faces stained by blood and dirt; they lie in the trenches, trembling with fear, with love for their homeland and hatred towards the enemies. On the other side, the a similar group of youth, darlings to their own mothers and siblings. Their only differences are the shapes of their helmets and the patterns on their coats.

Those pictures are still their today on CNN and BBC...

My macbook pro, like the chieftain's tower, is a shield between reality and elements of tragedies that seem so far away. These are the trophies of peace and crowns of silicon accomplishments.

Yet we hear gunshots and bombings from merely miles away, and people are calling out in pain and living in fear. The danger and destruction are closer than ever: a world partially maniac, partially depressed.

Childe Harolds are everywhere, watching the barbarians destroying the beautiful, all at loss what to do. There's a always another cycle of awakening and redemption – the ray of hopefulness is saying: it's time to pick ourselves up. Things will never change, until we write our own history.

Site (Existencially) Specific Theatre, and Something About a Scotsman

Not sure if I had said it expressively here, but the whole point of tracking Childe Harold's journey was my attempt in making Lord Byron a character in my play coming up next spring, this tortured, nonetheless brilliant soul who had had such great influence on English literature. Having little dramatic writing experience myself, I see it as an advantage of not having restriction in creating new forms and styles.

Wouldn't it be interesting to make it into a site specific piece, of course, with the help of augmented reality achieved through internet? Of course, there's also the part where I had to look for models and seek mentors form people deep into the industry.

There aren't many theatrical works related to Byron or Childe Harold, but many a pieces about modernizing classical characters, individuals battling with individual growth, internal struggles, etc. I'm picking Macbeth as a model, a scope through which I'd like to try finding ways to bring my own characters into life. Through a chat with British artist Laura Hooper, I was able to find some insights into the new trends in theatre: it's going to be about the communication between performers and audience; it's going to be inventive, and stimulating to the senses. And a conversation with associate producer Hunter Chancellor, I found out the importance of social media as well as publicity in reviving classics in the public's eyes...

The scent of fog and old, faded ink; the chipped paint on furniture and half peeled wallpaper; the bittersweet, smoky voice of a lounge singer in warm, dim house light; a record player slowly turns and occasionally skip a beat…all swooped up together and even just the tiniest hint of it would sparkle my memories from that place: after a night of panting out of breathe, chasing ill-fated young Mrs. De Winter, vengeful Lady Macbeth who eventually went into frenzy, or Hecate whose haunting smile makes you forget that you’re barely a few feet away from 21st century civilization. I’ve been there twice, each time storm clouds hovered west Manhattan like a canopy, wind passing architectures that look like those out of a vintage photograph; wicked nights like that might bring nightmares, but we are such creatures that yearn to touch the fire. Mysteries and danger attracts us; those question marks had been tattooed in our destinies since Pandora opened that godforsaken box!

Sleep No More triggers multi-faceted sensations for the audience with all its mystery elements. For me, ultimately its best costume is the hotel itself: the structure of the space makes you believe that rooms pop up with their free will; the age of the building gets every brick in the wall infused with memories; the richness of the piece lies in not only its complexity, but also a dimension across time and space.

The recent rise of site-specific theatre (especially interactive ones) aims to break the last of the invisible wall between performers and audience: actors adjust acts as they interact with different crowds with different responses; audiences contribute to the play as they observe. Not a single night would be like any other: the uncertainty and improbability is addictive to many.

Site-specific theatre is attributed to anything performed at an adapted location that is not a standard theatre. Traditionally there are two major types:

1. Environmental theatre, the location is merely adding to the atmosphere of a pre-existing production (e.g. Murder On the Nile in a cruise ship, or Hamlet in a Danish Castle).
2. Promenade theatre, Punchdrunk’s Sleep No More falls in this category: audience members are integrated in the performance.

Londoner Laura Hooper had her personal take on the subject. A fan of site-specific theatre, she remembers her experience performing The Persians with the ocean as a backdrop:

 You can hear the surging waves as we tell the tragic stories of war…it was beautiful.

Laura and playwright Mark O’Neil’s MORA Productions brought Crumble, a one-woman play to NYC last year after its creation 6 years ago back in England. After many stages of evolution, Crumble now sets in main character Sylvie’s apartment and she performs from the kitchen. Sylvie, a traditional English housewife with a secluded life of self-pity and an abusive husband, lives off her fantasy as she invites all the imaginary celebrities to her dinner party. The audience members, as they enter the space, are greeted as Lady Gaga, John Travolta, etc.

 

Crumble can be adapted into different spaces. Its dynamics, setups and props change depending on the locations and how the audience react.” She laughed recalling “One time in Ireland, the guy who was John Travolta acted as if he was in love with Sylvie, and his wife, Marilyn Monroe, pretended to get jealous and smacked him.

When asked how the cultural differences come into play, she responded with a bit surprise in her tone:

I feared that the character wouldn’t translate well. She’s so very British. But the only challenge turned out to be recognizing the celebrities. One Japanese girl was bewildered when I greeted her Pamela Anderson (Baywatch).

Laura shared with me her thoughts comparing Crumble and Sleep No More:

Punchdrunk is amazing and experimental but for me Sleep No More is live art, not a play that you can control the storytelling. It’s hard to follow a character’s journey because you lose track and everyone gets a different story.

Site specific theatre is, of course, one extreme of the spectrum while on the other end, theatre reaches out to the audience in a more vicarious and omniscient way. Hunter Chancellor, although still a senior in college, has had an impressive bio of working on shows with high profiles. Being the associate producer of Alan Cumming's modern take of Macbeth, he's currently working with the prestigious Broadway producer Ken Davenport (whose Producer's Perspective have always been a great example of how theatre businesspeople can use social media to reach out to a larger audience). He shared with me a few thoughts being a start-up blogger:

I started my own blog Associate Producer's Perspective, writing about my own experiences and hoping to get responses.

It's interesting and weird to get comments from people, sometimes they can be nasty, but most of the time helpful and instructive even. There are some people emailing me back with ideas and information on the topic I was writing about. It's funny how most people don't expect me to give them responses. People look forward to the conversation made possible through a public blog, yet when they actually get the attention, they're usually taken by surprise.

 

I then go on and asked about whether he's using social media as a character or a voice representing himself and the show.

It's a rather new experience for me as I usually prefer to talk to people face to face. Having a voice online definitely help to promote ideas. Having giveaways also help. I had a giveaway of Macbeth's final dress rehearsal, which got me almost 500 followers. People love freebies.

It's always great when you can strike up a dialogues with your readers and make connections with people you don't really know through the internet.

That is certainly something we can only expect in the age of internet. How far can we really push with social media? Theatre, this extremely physical form of art, how can its marriage with internet, this elusive technology with unattainable shape, achieve accomplishments we've never imagined before? Hunter shared with me an example that quite surprised me:

Situation Interactive did a campaign for Next to Normal when it was on Broadway and first starting up. Tom Kitt, and the original creators of the musical transformed the play into twitter format. SO the media representative started tweeting pieces of the show every day and eventually, the entire play is on the internet, composed of pieces of 140 characters. That campaign got them a gazillion of followers. And that was when social media, and twitter was first becoming hot.

 

You can see the adaptation of the play here, and a NYT report from then here.

It gives one a lot of hope realizing what you can do with social media and the positive impact it has on theatre, There isn't any boundary of time and space, or the limitation of formality in virtual reality: you can set up, or specify any situation or backdrop of your story and then start to travel, and put together characters. That's the direction I'm trying to push my project towards, as I have told Mr. Chancellor, and a new found land for the industry as well. I'm assured of it.

II : LIV - LIX Musing on Cosmopolis: A Romantic Tale

It's truly a bliss to experience a cosmopolis: the grandness of its architecture, the at-ease attitude of its people. the saturated richness of its culture – not just a singular one, but a multitude of cultures mixing and merging, clashing and harmonizing. I was grateful to have grown up in one (Shanghai), and was happy to live in another (New York City). There's an indescribable fortune of freedom in a cosmopolis although you might get slapped in the face everyday with the pressure of mundane human life, and the limited personal space that makes you claustrophobic, or the never-ending competition in pursuit of "making it" ahead of your peers and adversaries... there's a thrill in all this, and can only be appreciated by those who truly understand the joy in challenges.

And nevertheless, there are the ever so colourful faces of people, with beautiful, dazzling patterns covering themselves, making combinations of strange sounds as they communicate amongst themselves. You'll never be able to understand those conversations, but there's a sense of peace in this co-existence.

Albania circa 1809, was a cosmopolis.

 

Mountains and rivers, the usual protection and transportation contribute to the safety and prosperity of a city – those are the endorsement from mother nature. When Harold first noticed this magical place, it had been the minarets. Before science conquered most of the world, a religious building is usually the tallest in any city state, with the bell tower overlooking the entire city, and all the while showing respect to whatever gods said city is honoring. He first saw the reflection of the setting sun on the ornamented towers, heard the somewhat illegible war songs brought to him by the wind in the valley. It's all very calm and welcoming, the kind that would make you imagine the kingdom of the elves in Lord of the Rings.  

Think about Troy, before the godforsaken horse; think about Mumbai, a wonderful mess with miraculous order as people suffer and flourish; think about New York City, again, her beggars with decaying limbs on the streets, and billionaires whose snap of fingers might mean an entire industry crumbling down. All are born equal, yet live in incomparable states as if they're in parallel universes with transparent walls in between: both looking at each others' lives without interfering. "Slaves, eunuchs, soldiers, guests, and santons", to this date, and they're now dressed up as taxi drivers, maintenance workers, illegal immigrants, exchange students, business travellers, monks, street merchants and artists, all starving in one way or another.   

Of course, how much they can spend on lunch is not the only factor to differ them, for the kaleidoscopic spectrum of a cosmopolis comes from its diversity in ethnicity, culture, art, craftsmanship, language, fashion... sometimes the only thing that people in a cosmopolis have in common is the desire for fortune and power, and they only thing that link them all is war.

When diversity becomes a common expectation, you stop noticing it and enter a state of numbness. However, the tragic side of the story is that, although sharing space, ethnic groups don't necessarily become friends. Romeo and Juliet still would have died if they had lived in a cosmopolis. One thing to keep in mind is religion. Islamic culture is indubitably a positive factor in the Albanian cosmopolis with the belief of a universal brotherhood. It's condescending to women, but avoids many conflicts between ethnic groups. In New York the dominant party consists of Atheists and Agnostics, with modernized devotees of various sorts – all are tolerant of practices of different religions; blue and white mosques, gothic cathedrals and gold capped temples decorating the streets, offering a bizarre kind of beauty.  

It's quite a transcendental experience listening to the night prayers in a Muslim city, even from the vicarious ones I've gotten from movies. Religious are easy answers to unreachable mysteries of the universe, yet also products of human vulnerability. Believe it or not, religions make you feel connected with people who share the same thoughts, wherever they might be. And God, is simply a symbolic we name we gave to all those answers, omnipotent by creation, and non-existent by nature. 

Dita e Veres, Sweet Day of Summer

In the fall of 1809, Lord Byron spent some time in Albania with the notorious tyrant Ali Pasha, and enjoyed many delicatessens thanks to the host’s overwhelming hospitality to a British Lord. The next spring, he spent March and April in Turkey, when Constantinople flourished with pride. The warm weather of Southern Europe makes the countries there enter summer time much earlier than we do here, when April winds are still roaring, bleak cold night and occasional beautiful sunny sky. On March 14th each year, Many Muslim countries celebrate the first day of the year on March 1st according to Julian calendar, but in some area, best known in Albania, people celebrate Dita e Veres (Summer’s Day) on March 14th. There are myths saying that it never rains on that day, which marks the following 6 months of sunlight.

Personally I would probably visit Albania one day just for the festivities that day, and knock on wood lest I jinx the never-raining-on-Summers-Day myth For the Dita e Vere celebration, imagine a feast of exotic sounds and vibrant colours that you could lose yourself, drown yourself into. Think about the most extravagant fair you’ve ever been to and expand that to the entire country.

Nobody works, or go to school on Dita e Veres. Dionysus would love it there that day. Thousands of people pour into the streets of Tirana, which would be teamed with an explosion of colourful garlands from daybreak to, probably eternity. You know those street fairs you go to where you buy rubbish and nuisances yet never regretting? Indeed you’re taking in all the joy and memories. If you happened to be in Albania on Dita e Veres one of those days, I expect pictures with you carrying yellow mimosa flowers, wearing them in your hair.

And the food, of course there’s the food! My Middle Eastern friends had always took pride in their heavenly offerings of pastries, those golden coloured, exquisitely crafted little miracles that you feel too astounded to take a first bite when presented.

Pagan holiday celebrations are like that, because for them it’s paying homage to life and the gods of nature. One of the best discoveries of life and nature is, of course, non other than coffee. You’ll be able to get the aromatic Turkish coffee from booths on Dita e Veres, dark and thick and nothing like the commercialized invention you get from Starbucks, poured in your cups from copper pots. There will be akullore, a type of traditional Albanian ice cream. However, if you can only try one thing, that’d have to be ballokume.

Ballokume is probably Albania’s favourite elbasanase (dessert), with plain and simple ingredients consisting, you know, the basic elements involved with making cookies, flour, sugar, butter, milk and egg, all the good stuff that generates happy dopamine. One special perk is that ballokume is made of corn meal instead of wheat flour, good news for those who are gluten intolerant. It’s traditionally prepared on Dita e Veres, an Albanian equivalent to the Chinese moon cake on mid-autumn festival, or the American roast turkey on Thanksgiving.

Ingredients:

• 1lb. corn flour: the leading player that distinguishes ballokume from common cookies
• Wheat flour: maybe add a little but not a critical role 
• 1lb. sugar: sugar is life; it’s the source of energy and happiness and the nemesis of weight-loss maniacs 
• 6.5 oz. butter: another nemesis for the same reason, but I prefer to call butter a symbol of transformation and exaltation, the final step that started with the flow, (milk), to the essence (cream) of life, to a golden monument of excellence.
• 32 fl. oz. milk: under most circumstances, the first thing a human being tastes after being born is mother’s milk. That says something about our intimate relationship with that opaque coloured liquid and why we still see it an essential part of our omnivorous diet after weaning.
• 12 eggs: the victim of modern health researchers. While understandable that excessive consumption might lead to discomfort, I doubt eggs are the only contributor to our higher cholesterol average.
• Lots of love and spirit of festivities. It all counts on your attitude whether your final products are a delicious batch of treasures, or a try of poisonous blobs.

Preparations:

• Prepare the dough in a large bowl, preferable copper. Warming up is recommended for better results.
• Preheat the over to 170 Celcius, or 334 Fahrenheit 
• Mix butter and sugar in the copper bowl. Cream the mixture until it’s frothy and smooth. 
• Keep stirring and add eggs one at a time to the mixture. 
• Add cornmeal slowly; try to find the rhythm in the work.
• After you’re done with the dough, let it sit for about 20 minutes before actually making cookies. 
• One trick to consider lest aversive result is to test the dough before mass production: take one ball of the dough and set it in the oven. Add more flour if the dough starts to perform excessive stretching. 
• Now that you’re confident with the cookie dough, start placing small balls onto a baking sheet. Brush butter, splash some flour on top, etc., the usual procedures. 
• Finally, let the oven do its job and you’ll see the ballokume turn gold, and that’s when you take it out. 
• Make sure you taste it first before serving the rest of the hungry bunch. 

 

This year's Dita e Veres has already past, but the good news is, it seems that New York City has finally reached its loveliest time of the year. It's high time we celebrated Summer's Day right here right now in the spirit of Pagan Festivities. There's always time for cookies and sweets, keep reminding yourselves that, my fellow Sandy survivors. 

II : LIII In Ruins

...
THOMASINA: (To Septimus) How is a ruined child different from a ruined castle?
SEPTIMUS: On such question I defer to Mr. Noakes
NOAKES: (Out of his depth) A ruined castle is picturesque, certainly.
...

Arcadia, Act I, Scene i. Tom Stoppard.

Since as early as 18th century and evolved well into 1920s, picturesque style has been the star of European gardening. Landscape designers recreates nature from the early emulation of landscape painters such as Salvatore Rosa, Poussin and Claude Lorraine, decorating manors with gazebos and other allegorical artifacts, presenting gardens as though a highly manipulated stage scenery, to the later Romantic manifestation of Jean-Jacques Rousseau's influences, reflected by a wilder and more realistic approach. Early in the first act of Stoppard's Arcadia, Lady Croom, young Thomasina's mother, couldn't understand the appeal of having her garden look "ruined", while Mr. Noakes convinced her of the picturesque nature of what he's doing. In the mean time, the hostess was worried about her daughter being exposed to the notions of sex too early and questioned the tutor-student duo in scrutiny. The quite witty Thomasina took the literal meaning of "ruin" and redirected the question to Spetimus, who then aimed the arrow towards the architect.

The Omnipotent Magician Jane Brown

Chatto, pp.384, 20

• THIS article comments on the style of Capability Brown from Guardian, a design with details down to "the right amount of sheep tastefully arranged" that Lady Croom much liked. 
• In Arcadia Stoppard discussed the augmented layers of designs from the perspective of Hannah Jarvis, revealing that the evolution of styles is never from the scratches, but is always influenced by our predecessors.

The wordplay never fails to put smiles on our face, and also makes us think about the deliberate "ruined" state that was popular with English gardening in early 19th century, which was supposed to reflect a sense of transiency in life.       

 
The real problem is: nothing lasts forever. Ancient cities, states, the glories of human inventions and accomplishments, hundreds of years of cultures, all burned down to ashes when disasters fell. Zeus' thunder is a metaphor here but the Greeks' view of life and religion is metaphorical to begin with. Nothing survives the wheel of life, not the plays by Sophocles, not the fountains of Troy, not the philosophers in the school of Athens.

Septimus: We shed as we pick up, like travellers who must carry everything in their arms, and what we let fall will be picked up by those behind. The procession is very long and life is very short. We die on the march. But there is nothing outside the march so nothing can be lost to it. The missing plays of Sophocles will turn up piece by piece, or be written again in another language. Ancient cures for diseases will reveal themselves once more. Mathematical discoveries glimpsed and lost to view will have their time again. You do not suppose, my lady, that if all of Archimedes had been hiding in the great library of Alexandria, we would be at a loss for a corkscrew?

Arcadia, Act I, Scene iii

 

Like Sisyphus' labour uphill, the process of human society might seem like pointless efforts that bound to end with doom. However, I believe each time Sisyphus pushed the rock uphill, his strategy evolves. There might not be happily ever after on the horizon, but our efforts are never for nothing, for ruins are the evidences of experience. Our life is merely a small segment of history, yet without each link, the chain would never be formed. Prometheus gave his children a sparkle of creation, with which we invent flashlights, so that we'll never be afraid of the oncoming storm.

Konrad Dippel, Who?

Before Percy and Mary and John and George eloped that fateful trip to Lake Geneva, (which you can read about in my post earlier this month) it is believed that Frankenstein, the science fiction bestseller of centuries to come, had already been brewing in Mary Shelly, nee Wollstonecraft's head. 

Johann Konrad Dippel

In Gary Dexter's post about Mary Shelly's original ideas of Frankenstein, a name Konrad Dippel was mentioned. Johann Konrad Dippel, German Pietist theologian, physician, alchemist, and, altogether an odd fella who got charged of tomb robbery. He was known for doing eccentric experiments with animal parts in his estate, which was named, wait for it, CASTLE FRANKENSTEIN! Percy and Mary Shelly took a trip across Europe before they officially became a couple, during which they took in a glimpse of a half ruined Castle Frankenstein, destroyed due to Dippel's failed attempts in creating elixir of life, an occupation and a lifelong pursuit picked up by most alchemists at the time.

Konrad Dippel (1673-1734), also known as Dippel Franckensteina (Dippel of Frankenstein), who in the early eighteenth century had conducted experiments on animal bones and had been expelled from Strasbourg University after an accusation of grave-robbing. Dippel was an alchemist, and had produced an Arcanum chymicum (a secret substance, possibly an 'elixir of life') which he offered to the Landgrave of Hesse in return for being restored to his family estates. As it happened, the Shelley party met three students from the University of Strasbourg around the date of the mooring near Gernsheim, and it is possible that the castle, and its legend, came up as a topic of conversation.

----from Gary Dexer's How Frankenstein Got Its Name

Now, we can almost make the statement that Victor Frankenstein is based on Johann Konrad Dippel, the alchemist who got on an air of mysteriousness and wickedness because a lack of understanding of science back in early 18th century. In 19th century when Mary Shelly wrote the story, the whole thing was still shocking to the public and was automatically conceived as a creation of fantasy. Indeed the idea of the creation of life dazzles us, and an early understanding of electricity and evolution made it possible for the story to come into being. Mary, for one, was surely fascinated by the life of Dippel. With her youthful curiosity and boundless imagination, we now have the wealth of an iconoclastic piece of literature.

Frankenstein Castle

Dexter's blog, which I found extremely interesting, is devoted to providing background information on how books got their names.

II : L - LII The Importance of Being On the Road – Harold, Kino, and Pi

Underneath the canopy of the witnesses of history, you can't help but think about the world in an entirely different longitude. A young lord's idle journey across the ocean and continents, similar versions of which has been performed by aspiring youth everywhere trying to find themselves in the unfamiliar wilderness of foreign countries, found him a new understanding of the world as an entity, a living, breathing organization rather than an instrument that we exploit and excavate.

It's a dangerous occupation going on the road, truly going on the road, that is. A little tour in gap years on the cruise line, a merry-on-round with the comfort of luxurious inns and fancy entourages, those don't count. The act of putting oneself out and exposed to the world calls for courage and a lot of endurance. Many of those individuals are timelessly and universally admired, for they fulfilled a buried dream of most of us: to become more in tune with the world around us, to see more, to expand our lives and jump out of the mundane case we live in every day.

It's also a privileged occupation going on the road. How fortunate it would be to explore, whether you're put on the journey by choice or by chance. 

"There world is not beautiful," said Kino on her scooter, "therefor it is." I can't prove it, you just have to see it for yourself.

 

Harold, and Kino, and Pi. The three of them are of all different nationalities and beliefs, coming from idiosyncratic backgrounds and are put on the road by fate. Such is a new kind of monomyth: a hero's singular journey in pursuit of self-discovery. Harold saw mostly the ruins and skeletons of the past; his gear was a wealth of history, with which he discovered the similarities and conflicts between worlds, and understood the truth about what human destruction can do to civilizations.

Kino, on the other hand, was exiled from her hometown as a defiant. Determined to see the world instead of being confined in the reclusive village she grew up in, refusing to comply with traditions, she had to go on a path less trotted, hiding her identity. In the story, Kino only stays three days, two nights in each city she passes so that she wouldn't get attached. It's a giant sacrifice not having attachment in life. Harold, disillusioned with his previous situation and aspirations, made similar convictions. In comparison to Harold's relatively easy journey, with entourage and what not, Kino's journey involves with more solitude and calls for independent decisions, and of course, a lot of will power to keep going. 

"The world isn't beautiful, therefor it is. " This sums up what Kino found from her journey. What she found is the imperfection of the world: the evil side of human nature, the conflict-prone societies, the never-ending crimes and vices; yet there's also the angelic side of humanity. This turned out to be a philosophical enlightenment. The peculiar customs and strange encounters Kino had on the road, metaphorically indicates the different cultures in the world. There's no way we can understand them all, but we should still try to accept them. Like the different instruments in a symphony making different sounds individually. They would only create harmony when everyone involved realizes, and honour the diversity amongst themselves.

 

The third solitary hero we have here is Pi, the young Indian child who spent mouths alone in the ocean, battling with his fear and struggling to find ways to co-exist with Richard Parker the tiger.  The tiger is the primal force of destruction. Pi had to be constantly alert so that he doesn't get pull into despair. Harold's journey is more about the past, the natural history of human's interaction with nature; Kino is making an anthropological discovery along the road, going from one fantastical town to another, revealing the raw portraits of an ensemble of the ugly and the cruel. Pi is met with a different kind of challenge. He's making connection with the entire universe through his journey, the only purpose of which was actually to survive! 

 

Yann Martel's novel was more about the strength of spirituality than a real journey in which the hero experience different areas of the world. Although the physical dangers Pi encountered had been incredibly realistic, his journey is the most inward one amongst all three.

Harold, as the literary avatar of Lord Byron, believed in the Greek Muses, sought after the truth of history through poetry. Kino, deprived of her innocence by reality, believed her own will and chased after the freedom of carrying out her own destiny. Pi, prays in all languages believed in the diversity of religions – for him, God is more of a state of mind, an attitude rather than a physical being. The solitary journeys they lead bend time and dimension, connecting those three characters. It's a temping business going on the path of self-discovery. Dangerous, mentally draining and might still eventually leave you completely unfulfilled, yet, its siren song still attracts pilgrims everywhere.

It takes a lot of courage to go on, but the importance of being on the road makes the vices seem ridiculously trivial.

Percy and Mary and John and George Sitting in a Boat

Percy and Mary and John and George sat in their sail boat on Lake Geneva, their imagination floating, their fantasy racing; fast forward 200 years, we are still reading Vampyre and Frankenstein. Those people's collective creativity impregnated their Muses with a new species in the literary menagerie.
 
Villa Diodati had been a place filled with ghosts of literature even before Lord Byron's party spent the summer of 1816 there. Cologny, a small town near Lake Geneva, is surely a place haunted with imagination just by the sound of it.

Irish critic and poet Professor Edward Dowden wrote Life of Shelley, the book accounted for the poet's personal history, and incidentally included the story of the Cologny party. You could see a portion of his work at Gutenberg Project.

Polidori

Of course, a more credible source to look at to figure out what happened at Villa Diodati would be Doctor Polidori's Diary (see the complete text of the diary that archive.org so graciously provided). The good doctor didn't have the best time like the rest of the party because, being the "old man" of the group, he was somewhat isolated and became "that unlikable fella". Byron and Shelly, best buddies at the time, jokingly referred to the doctor as "Polly Dolly". Many a times, according to Byron's own memoir pieces, have the pair went on sailing, leaving Polidori behind.

The significant members of the party were: Lord Byron, the arrogant team leader, genius poet and adventurous traveler; Percy Shelly, the conscientious friend, aspiring writer, who's madly in love with Mary Wollstonecraft (who later became Mary Shelly) while unhappily married to Harriet Westbrook; Doctor John Polidori, physician (need I say more?); and Claire Clairmont, Mary 's cousin without whom the Shellys would probably never meet, and at the same time, Byron's adoring "fangirl" and later became the mother of his short-lived daughter Allegra Byron. 

"Let's write ghost stories, shall we?" Suggested Byron, confined in the villa thanks to the terrible weather of Scandinavian summer, the Lord and his companions had to figure out ways to pass the time.  On June 16th, the party started drafting. When you put a bunch of poets and a physician together, there's no doubt that you'll get some fantastical stories with striking imagination and realism simultaneously. Shelly's poetic Fragment of Ghost Story (see below):

A shovel of his ashes took
From the hearth's obscurest nook,
Muttering mysteries as she went.
Helen and Henry knew that Granny
Was as much afraid of Ghosts as any, 5
And so they followed hard--
But Helen clung to her brother's arm,
And her own spasm made her shake.

Percy B. Shelley

There must have been more to it than a small portion of Percy B. Shelley's spill of wondering (find out more about the poet at the poet.org profile page of Shelley). When you're sitting in an old villa, near the lake, wind blowing outside of the window, it's not difficult to conjure spirits based on earlier experience.

 

The short-lived unfortunate poet was eventually out-shined by her second wife's fame. Mary's Frankenstein, which was a product of the ghost-story-writing-spree, marked the beginning of scientific enlightenment in 19th century. A young girl 19 years of age, created a story about humanity and society: a metaphor and cautionary tale of what we are capable of doing and the danger of playing God. Infinitely relevant it is, Frankenstein is still read by young and aged alike, from which everybody can extract something valuable. In 2011, Nick Dear and Danny Boyle's (Dir. ) production of Frankenstein at National Theatre in London featured Benedict Cumbercatch and Jonny Lee Miller, both of whom alternated as Victor Frankenstein and the creature. Interestingly, Miller had also, early on in 2003, played Byron in the BBC mini series written by Nick Dear. Read Ben Brently's NYTimes review of the production here.

June 18. — My leg much worse. Shelley and party here. Mrs. S called me her brother (younger). Began my ghost-story after tea. Twelve o'clock, really began to talk ghostly. L B re- peated some verses of Coleridge's Christabel, of the witch's breast ; when silence ensued, and Shelley, suddenly shrieking and putting his hands to his head, ran out of the room with a candle. Threw water in his face, and after gave him ether. He was looking at Mrs. S, and suddenly thought of a woman he had heard of who had eyes instead of nipples, which, taking hold of his mind, horrified him...etc. (from Polidori's Diary)

It was believed that John Polidori was the sole author of The Vampyre, yet according to his own diary, Byron's early fragments provided the initial outline.The story went on to inspire later tales including Nosferatu, the template of the ever-so-popular blood-sucking, lustful creatures of the night.

There was a big fall out between Byron, Shelley and Polidori and the physician even threatened to shoot Shelley. Scholars and publishers later on pulled their hairs out trying to determine the true authorship of the Vampyre tale. Of course, all we can say is that there must have been exanges of ideas and mutual inspirations amongst the party of writers and, well, dreamers. That summer in Switzerland, Lake Geneva witnessed the infancy of vampire stories and ghost tales that will go on to haunt  literary world for the centuries to come. The party in Cologney, Villa Diodati might had just been a footnote in the biographies of the late poets and novelists. The room that once housed the brilliant ideas of Milton, Byron and Mrs Shelley, etc, became forever a turning point in the history of literature, and a birthplace of an entirely unique genre.

Here's some important Gothic horror stories that shaped the development of said genre:

• Bram Stoker's Dracula, published in 1897. Indubitably the most influential vampire tale of all time.
• Nosferatu the Vampyre: A German film adaptation of Dracula. Nosferatu means phantom of the night.
• Mary Shelley's Frankenstein from Literature.org. One of my personal favourite piece of literature of immense importance beyond its genre. 
• E-book version of Polidori's Vampyre, believed to be inspired by Lord Byron. I thought it's quite believable.  

(It would be lovely if you could tell me what else to include in the list, for I'm not entirely familiar with the Gothic horror genre save for the few in its infancy.)

Project Adopt a Wiki – A Cyberspace Odyssey

As you might recall, I had a fairly tedious yet brief encounter with Wikipedia trying to stick my nose into the Childe Harold's Pilgrimage Wiki page (read my post from then).

On 25th of January, 2005, the initial page was created with a mere paragraph providing a ridiculously subjective summary of Lord Byron's narrative poem.

It is a poem about masculinity. It deals with the underdog and Military might. Byron uses gothic imagery to get subline nature, representing adventure. Climbing mountains for sport. Previous to this climbing mountains had been thought of as being associated with badness. Engaging and conquering the dark side of nature.

You can see the initial page or its comparison with the latest version. I have to say, it's quite an astonishing experience seeing those two versions side by side, for you can really tell: wow, there are people around the world who care about the same topic, yet holding completely different attitudes towards the subject. A result: these Wiki contributors, myself included, emphasize rather differently what to include in Childe Harold's profile page here.

Joseph Mallord William Turner's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage 1823

A somewhat slap-in-the-face reminder of why you shouldn't use Wikipedia as a credible source: it changes and gets updated so often that you couldn't catch up with it. I revisited the page that I lovingly cultivated, nurtured and trimmed barely a month ago, just to find that wiki vandal Madam A had ripped off Richard Westall's portrait of Ianthe, and wiki vandal Gentleman B had decided that cultural references had been a trivial part and deserves complete demolition.

Thanks to the ever so transparent cyberspace, all Wikipedia editing process is traceable and you can see the complete history of previous editions. In solidarity I clicked undo in those recent editions that offered no apparent reasons, thinking that Asterix in Belgium deserved some spotlights in Wiki-verse. 

At this point I've had an "almost-revelation". A Wikipedia page you created is like your baby. You have to develop it with care and love. Once you decided to abandon it, then forces from outside would start to step in and you would lose complete control over it. Of course you can also adopt the abandoned prodigal son of whatever subject of your interest, like I did with Childe Harold. I've made up my mind that I will now take up to be Harold in Wiki's foster parent, shielding it from all influences without my parental guidance.

And just like what anyone would tell their foster kid: don't let anyone tell you that you're unworthy of redemption. Look how far you've come since the initial shabby state you had been in!

II : XLV - XLIX Cleopatra and Ali Pasha in the Vales of Albania

Here on this site Mark Antony and Cleopatra's league succumbed to the force of Augustus, who enlarged the ancient temple of Apollo Actius to memorialize his victory, or better yet, the guy who turned Roman Republic into Roman Empire. He became the heir of what Julius Caesar conquered over Antony, whose relationship was actually closer, being the son of Caesar's cousin.

Cleopatra by Michelangelo

Now let's talk about Cleopatra, her full title being Cleopatra VII Thea Philopator, the last pharaoh of Ancient Egypt. She shows herself off as the reincarnation of Isis, although actually her family came from Greece, and started their reign over Egypt after the death of Alexander the Great. Unlike her stubborn "Greek to the bone" family, Cleopatra learned to speak Egyptian. In order to solidify her throne, the empress allied with Julius Caesar. They had a son, Caesarion. As far as I'm concerned, this had been quite a political marriage and was done to increase the power on each side.

After the assassination of Caesar, Cleopatra aligned with Mark Antony quite naturally for he was supposed to rise to the shrine as the legal heir. Unfortunately Octavianus aka Augustus proved to be better in battle than anyone else. Antony and Cleopatra ended up both committing suicide.

Augustus, after founding Roman Empire, led the country to a period of relative peace until his death at the age of 75. Impressive life span considering the time! There are two sets of his last words. "Behold, I found Rome of clay, and leave her to you of Marble."were the quotes on public documents, while the better known line was "Have I played the part well? Then applaud as I exit."

 

Groves of Illyria; Dales of Attica; Vales of Tempe; Those were once the favourite hangout places for gods and goddesses like Apollo and Athena. The best advantage of pagan religion is that you can find traces of gods and see the mystified places with your own eyes. It's highly credible when you see the paths Apollo had once take along the river that goes into the Aegean sea, or see the forest where Artemis used to hunt with her sisters.

In the mountains of Parnassus, the oracle of Delphi was pronounced. It was all too easy to believe those fantastical tales and magnificent stories as the glory of nature towering above as your journey carries on.

The Albanian Chief Harold were to meet, was indeed Ali Pasha, the man of Lion that Byron spent some time with in Albania. The infamously cruel and tyrannic ruler of Ottoman Albania was widely known as an alert leader which led Albania against Sultan reign. I'm sure Byron respected what Ali Pasha did and cheerfully accepted his warm welcome and overwhelming gifts and what now, but also disdained his cruelty.

"His Highness is a remorseless tyrant, guilty of the most horrible cruelties, very brave, so good a general that they call him the Mahometan Buonaparte ... but as barbarous as he is successful, roasting rebels, etc, etc.."

In a letter dated Nov. 18th, 1809, Byron included such words to his mother after greeting the notorious ruler. There is, still, some indication of admiration between the lines, as we remember the poet's personal hero Napoleon Bonaparte, became a legendary name Ali Pasha got crowned with.

In Travels In Albania and Other Provinces of Turkey in 1809 & 1810, John Cam Hobhouse also talked about the monks they met in the mountains. Here's a clip from the book:

The 20 something young hermit told the travelers about the life in the monastery, as the conscientious Hobhouse listened in astonishment. Byron would have had a different perspective, having mentioned several convents in the mountains, etc. in the previous canto. See my post about Convento Dos Capuchos in A Laughable Disgrace (Canto I: XXI-XXVI). 

The rude caloyer here, of course, was the same one who threw rocks to anyone who interferes with him and wouldn't talk to anyone all day long. He tends his herds and minds his own business, completely becomes one with nature. An eccentric being to most people, he is indeed living as freely as he wishes... the kind of delight he holds in his heart wouldn't be understood save for few.