A dental tale.

Valeria Luiselli, The Story of My Teeth (2013)

Good Reads meta-data is 188 pages rated 3.49 by 9040 litizens.

Genre: Fiction.

DNA: Mexico.

Verdict: Humorous, creative, then tedious, and finally tiresome. 

Tagline: A dental autobiography.  

A discontinuous and disjoined narrative of Hero who was born with extra teeth and then by a convoluted story becomes fascinated by teeth, and not just his own.  He becomes an auctioneer and that brings him into contact with teeth; teeth put up for auction.  A tooth from Plato or Virginia Wolfe.  And so on.  Disbelief is suspended at the factory door.

Author was commissioned to write the text for corporate murals in a juice factory and in so doing, she asked workers about themselves, their work, and so on, and incorporated a lot of that in the pieces that constitute this book.  (Or is that ‘comprise’?  I have forgotten the rule that distinguishes them. Pedants, please enlighten me.)

The result is a series of short pieces threaded around Hero, barely.  Each is well written but there is no momentum and I wasn’t sure why I should keep reading it.  So I didn’t. Maturity, that is.

Well, I liked the reference to the horse’s teeth.  You know the one.  Yes, you do. In debating an obscure theological point of dogma, savants become vexed about the number of teeth a horse has.  They argue from first principles, though of course, different first principles, on and on.  Pages are filled with decretal (look it up) references, Biblical verses, Ex cathedra assumptions, and scholasticism logicism.  Careers were made and broken on the wheel of peer review in this debate.  At no time, do these magi consider examining a horse.  

The story is often attributed to Francis Bacon, as it is in these pages, but a brief investigation of the internet suggests that there is no text to support that paternity claim.  The most likely conclusion I found in the five-minutes of my own research is that it was concocted (by a journalist) in the early Twentieth Century who gave it authenticity with a fabricated pedigree by referring to an exact date, 1432, and the lustre of Sir Francis Bacon’s name.  Accordingly, file it under the heading of ‘He never said it,’ along with many other commonly cited remarks. 

Aristotle often gets indicted for a similar dental lapse but of course….  It is more complicated when one bothers to consult his text of De Anima where he wrote ‘males have more teeth than females in the cases of men, sheep, goats, and swine….’  ‘Ah huh!’ I hear.  

This observation is taken by some to denigrate women, though quite how is lost of me. Do women want to be in the company of sheep and swine along with men as a kind of identity?  It is also cited as evidence that Aristotle was a fool for not counting teeth. He, the first and probably the greatest empiricist, did not count THE teeth! Indeed I have heard this trumpet sounded in more than one conference presentation on the circle of purgatory I occupied during my career. Well, let’s turn the pages of De Anima and we find there further comments that suggest he did count teeth, including women’s, in a story of a woman of eighty spawning wisdom teeth at that advanced age. What we might conclude from all this is that the woman or women he examined did have fewer teeth than the man or men he examined, and it being of incidental interest he left it at that.  But of course, among you readers are various numbers of teeth due to congenital deformations, accidents, decay, violence, surgery, and age.  Moreover, at different times of life we each have a different number of teeth.  See complicated.  Need it be said, yes of course, nothing is obvious to the purblind: the text of De Anima  does not assert, state, imply or support the inference of masculine superiority because of dentures.  

Moreover, none who mount the soapbox on this point themselves ever do any dental counting in sheep, swine, or women nor cite anyone else who has. That is a thesis topic in search of an author.

See also https://theory-practice.sydney.edu.au/2020/04/edith-hall-aristotles-way-how-ancient-wisdom-can-change-your-life-2018/

By the way, Bertrand Russell played a role in spreading and legitimating this furphy as he did others. Bertie was never one to check the original text when the muse inspired him, and he has become a secular saint whose word is law to be repeated but to be tested.  

The Sun is God (2014) by Adrian McKinty

Good Reads meta-data is 240 pages, rated 3.33 by 823 litizens.

Genre: krimi.

DNA: Kabakon.

Verdict: Oh hum.

Tagline: The coconuts did it.

Setting – German New Guinea in 1906, where a retired Brit has gone to hide from his troubles, but mercifully we are spared his backstory. 

Sweltering in the heat and humidity, swatting a long list of insects, Brit ponders the fate that brought him to this malarial shore, when a local German colonial official pays him a call.  Oh, oh, has Official come about the creative writing he did on his residency application. No, but on that self-same application Brit said he had served as a military police officer in the Red Coats. That fact was not one of his lies.  Official would like Brit to investigate, unofficially, a recent death on the island of Kabakon.  

After the de rigueur hesitations, Brit complies to set off in the company of a liberated woman travel writer, and a minor colonial administrator along as his minder.  Delicacy is required because the island is owned by a wealthy woman, a planter, who bought it outright from the German authorities long ago, and so is private property.  Ergo the Brit is a surrogate for the Germans. The European residents who live on it pay her a rent and mind their own business. It is one of them who has died in circumstances that are cloudy.

Once enisled things get even more delicate because the islanders are vegetarians and nudists. Most are German but not all. Brit sees much sunburn some of it where the sun does not usually shine and forests of mosquito bite pustules on their bare flesh. The manly features of several of the men are fully described though these details are unlikely to figure in the plot. The women are not scrutinised to the same detail by our shy narrator. Yet he had to be told of the drastic steps two of the men have taken to leave behind the temptations of the flesh. Maybe he needs new glasses.  

The dozen or so Kabakons are sun worshippers who live on hot air and coconuts with the occasional banana. They be heliotarians, fruitarians, and breatharians.  What a trifecta.  They also endure the sledge hammer sun, the monsoon rains, and the devouring disease-carrying insects. Sado-masocists in short. 

There is a lot of manners and mores between the clothed and the unclothed, Germans and Brits but little detecting.  The few natives mentioned are ciphers. Indeed, there is so little detecting I was left unsure what there might have been to detect.  

There is an abrupt change of narrator in last chapter or two that confused me. 

***

German holdings in the Pacific

I chose it for the exotic context of German colonialism.  In the Pacific this empire included:  German New Guinea, the Bismarck Archipelago, Solomon Islands, Nauru, the Mariana and Caroline Islands, and Samoa as well as concessions extorted from China, and some other rocks in the sea.  (There were also more extensive holdings in Africa.) Kabakon is so singular it does not shed any ambient light on the other colonies.   

I listened to it from Audible, which was sometimes inaudible on the street.  

Castlemaine Murders

Kerry Greenwood, Castlemaine Murders (2003)

Good Reads meta-data is 263 pages, rated 4.06 by 5,039 litizens.

Genre: krimi.

DNA: Strine.

Verdict: She’ll always be Essie to me.  

Tagline:  The Honourable is at it again.  

Miss Phryne Fisher puts the 1929 world to rights after an unpleasant discovery at a St Kilda funfair.  Eventually, the piste leads her to the titular town. There is a great deal of preliminary padding of time and place and couture with many side- and backstories and little momentum through the three-quarter point but it does accelerate when finally she gets to Castlemaine.  

She makes an inauspicious arrival bound and gagged in a flour sack.  While thus restrained she concludes it took three men to kidnap her, the two who accosted her on the dark streets of Melbourne and another waiting in the the car to make the getaway.  So the odds are three men to one against her. ‘About even then,’ she concludes and in due course she proves to be right. These men, stupid as they are, failed to remove the pistol from her silk-stocking holster, the knife concealed in her handmade shoe, or the sap in her hidden pocket. Such carelessness will have its reward.  

By the time constabulary belatedly arrives she has overcome the villains, having coshed one, stabbed another, and drawn a bead on the third, or something like that.  

We spent a day in Castlemaine a few years ago and found much to like in it, including das KaffeeHaus, the Buda Historic Home, and the regional Art Museum.  I also bought some fine Murray Cod for dinner from ‘She Sells Sea Shells.’  

Kerry Greenwood

These comments derive from listening to the Audible reading while on my Newtown patrols, morn and eve.  At times the traffic, air, foot, and wheel, drowned out the sound, adding to the mystery.  

Stranded (2001).

IMDb meta-data is runtime 1h and 39m, of rated 5.3 by 3,000 cineastes.  

Genre: Sy Fy.

DNA: Iberian.  

Verdict: Lugubrious

Tagline:  Iberians in space! 

In distant 2020 the first crewed multinational mission lands on Mars. Wallop! Caught in a sandstorm it makes a very bad landing. It takes the first 30 minutes or more to establish that point and something of the personalities, several of whom should never have been selected for the mission either because of temperament or what seems to be a lack of technical ability, as well as personal hygiene. 

What follows is Lifeboat (1944) without Alfred Hitchcock’s direction or John Steinbeck’s screenplay. These five must wait two years for the low-bid manufacturer’s guaranteed road service vehicle to bring a new battery, which will arrive long after the life support in the lander has failed. And no, they cannot plant potatoes. See, I thought of that, too.  

After that slow (read: boring) start it does gradually develop into a character study without the arrested development ‘shoot ‘em up’ of Hollywood, though also without the depth, complexity, and variety of Lifeboat.  

There is a surprise in the last reel that undermines everything that has gone before. See it to believe it. The Mars on one of the Canary Islands has a surprise in store. But it is left unresolved.

Several of the players are Portuguese, though the production was Spanish, altogether a rarity, this is an Iberian science fiction movie.  Oh, and the dialogue is dubbed, poorly, by high school students, or so much of it sounds.