Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Wallace Falls

This weekend I went on a day-hike in Wallace Falls State Park. It was only three miles to the Upper Falls, and the rise is only about 1,300 feet, but it left me a quivering sloth for the rest of the day. The hike is well worth the pain, since it is beautiful throughout. I recommend going early Sunday morning, getting there as soon as the park opens, at 8. Even that early, on a day that was supposed to storm, I met a few other people on the way up. By the time I got back down to the lower trail, I was meeting people every couple of minutes. It would still be a beautiful hike, but it was far better for being so deserted.

I should finish with mysteries, but those recommendations are turning out so well, I will have to read one or two more. I am just finishing The Franchise Affair, by Josephine Tey. It is pure pleasure.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Why not to live south of Seattle

South of Seattle (Seatac to Tacoma) is pretty scummy, but even so, a fat bastards' swingers club is remarkable. How excellent that they "hosted a naked rally for presidential candidate Barack Obama" and kept a "mobile sex dungeon" in a truck out front. Politics would be so much more entertaining if it were permitted for candidates to hold all their opponents' supporters against them.

Also, how differently the culture would develop if in popular representation libertinism wore its true, blubbery face. I Hear America Swinging tried, satirizing libertinism with unappealing people in the 70s, but even the crankiest of conservatives could hardly have expected it to be tamer than reality in 2008. This regrettable house of lardly love also reminds me of a distinction between vice and virtue that for a few years I have thought might be universally true, but that I would like to see advanced by a thinker of consequence before I accept it. By coincidence, I first thought it out when I discovered that my entirely disgusting and evil blimp of an uncle and his Cruella of a wife were swingers of long standing, or perhaps long lying.

The idea is that a virtuous behavior has the distinctive characteristic that it remains attractive even when practiced by unappealing people across all classes, while a vicious behavior depends for its attractiveness on the unusual qualities of its practitioners, so that it becomes unappealing when practiced generally. By attractive I mean that seeing others do it is pleasant to strangers; even a vice despised by all draws practitioners by its material advantages and so is attractive in a sense, without being pleasant to see. If this distinction is true, then it helps explain why social conservatism can be beneficial while still being predicated on false ideas about religion and the nature of morality (and every distinct social conservatism thinks all other social conservatisms are falsely predicated). By preventing a vicious social novelty from gaining legal and social standing in its early, meretricious days, conservatism gives it time to show its true appearance, as people of ordinary repulsiveness begin to practice the vice openly.

Since I have not seen any similar idea, it may be a terrible one. Because it breaks virtue and vice loose of any permanency other than human nature and defines them in aesthetic and social terms, it might only be unobserved because it does not fit the intuitive sense that right and wrong are distinct from other judgments. Certainly one failing is that it does not explain why truly attractive behavior should be dignified with the name of virtue, but that is because I think the human mind ineluctably makes that association. Another fault is that large populations, that is societies, might not make common judgments about attractiveness; here, though, I believe what people do and not what they say, and even (or especially) those who claim to have a different moral aesthetic arrange their lives to avoid the unattractiveness of that which they claim not to find unattractive. Just visit Queen Anne in Seattle, or any of the innumerable upper-middleclass left-liberal enclaves scattered through urban areas: you will not find wobbly swingers' clubs.

The most difficult objection, I think, is that most people are repulsive in nearly every way and nearly everyone is repulsive in some ways. We do all right, compared to chimpanzees, who must be the most repulsive animals on the planet, but primarily because we hide our most repulsive behaviors behind walls, words, and willful blindness. In such a morass of ugliness, distinguishing the aesthetic advantage of virtue may be merely chimerical. For me, though, the fact that virtuous actions are so attractive is all the more striking for the fact that people are so very unattractive, and it makes virtue all the more precious that enduring beauty is so rare.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Mysteries

Still stalling on Bacon, I read two mysteries last week. One was another recommendation, this time in the Wall Street Journal, The Lodger by Hillaire Belloc's sister, Marie Belloc Lowndes. It is not a proper mystery, in that the criminal is both deranged and known to the reader from the start, and should probably be called a work of psychological suspense. The twisting of mind and morals suffered by the strict, self-reliant woman of the house as she tends to her mad lodger catches the reader and twines his hopes with hers, so that when she convinces herself for a moment that he is innocent, her relief is the reader's. It is a remarkable performance, and another confirmation that if a good writer recommends a minor novel, you should certainly give it a try.

I also read The Lighthouse, another of the books I picked up at Half Price Books a couple of weeks ago. Dalgiesh is becoming a little too superhuman in his command of himself and everyone he meets. Not only does he always know exactly what to say and, far more important to his very British author, what not to say, in order to achieve the greatest possible effect on everyone else, but he even manages to solve the case from his sickbed as he suffers through SARS. As though to compensate, James has increased the intensity of his self-criticism and the torment of his highly intellectual romance, to such a degree that a man of his intelligence would surely realize he was being ridiculous.

As a mystery, though, The Lighthouse belongs to that pleasant, old-fashioned genre, the locked-room mystery. In this case the locked room is a remote island, a variation that escapes the artificiality of a door locked from the inside. For that matter, it might not even be possible to have a locked room in any meaningful sense now. Bedrooms and studies do not have chimneys, gas fixtures, bell-pulls, keyholes, French doors, or old, thick walls that could hold a secret passage. Forensic science finishes off whatever sneaky alternatives are left, with the possible exception of killing by radio, or of course by time machine. The island is also a secret preserve for the wealthy and powerful, so it takes the place of the now-implausible manor house. The result is a comfortable mystery that, whatever its faults, is no weaker than several of Sayers' mysteries.

Update: I just found that the WSJ had P.D. James give her recommendations, so I have several more books in the queue now. The only one I know is Murder Must Advertise, which James is entirely correct to choose; of Sayers' dozen novels, it is unquestionably the purest entertainment.

Monday, August 11, 2008

Sunday, August 10, 2008

Such a delay

Classic, to blog a bunch then stop cold. But my computer broke so hard that after three days I finally had to re-install Windows. It turns out that vmware can break USB keyboards completely, and I had given away my last PS2 keyboard. Then I went on two vacations of three days each. It is all fixed now and I am home for the week. Tomorrow I will put up pictures from my trip to the family ranch.

While I was filling up the car an hour ago (still averaging more than 30 mpg, so nice) a strangely ratty man, wearing a dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves and greasy black hair, gray-streaked and tied in a ponytail and pinned up on one side, asked me if I had watched the evening news. He was crestfallen when I said I had been on the road the whole day. After a short pause, he recovered from his disappointment and let me in on the excitement: he had just been released from the hospital where he had been treated for smoke inhalation, after a fire at a local hotel. Of course he was looking to enjoy his brief fame and especially to enjoy again having been interviewed on TV, by finding someone who had seen him. He added that I looked the sort of person to watch news, which might have been flattering except that he was talking about local news and was also clearly in the mood to think everyone he met might be a news-watcher. I could not bear to disappoint him any more, so I asked about the damage (little) and injuries (none) and congratulated him on his escape, which seemed to satisfy him. He went off into the night with renewed optimism; I hope he found a news-watcher soon enough.