No Other Hope for Their Happiness

"One of the reasons why men are so anxious to exalt themselves--to overestimate their own value and their own powers--to resent anything that would tend to lower themselves in their own esteem or in that of others--is because they see no other hope for their happiness save in themselves.  That is often why they are so 'touchy,' so resentful of criticism, so impatient of opposition, so insistent on getting their own way, so eager to be known, so anxious for praise, so determined on ruling their surroundings.  They clutch at themselves like drowning men clutch at a straw.  And as life goes on, and they are still far from being satisfied, their attitude borders on the feverish and the hysterical; whatever they may have got, they are certainly far from having found peace."~~Boylan, This Tremendous Lover, ch.17.

A Story for Catholic Gentlemen (and Ladies Too)

As the Harvey Weinstein story continues to ripple outwards, the articles about the souring of our culture, particularly the souring of male-female relations, have flooded my newsfeed.  (If you haven’t been following the story, don’t bother: All you need to know is that a man in Hollywood took advantage of a number of aspiring actresses in the most abhorrent way.)

One effect of this scandal has been the appearance of #metoo across social media.  A number of my friends and acquaintances (mostly women, but some men as well) have put up the hashtag, many admitting publicly for the first time that they have dealt with some form of harassment or worse.

As I scrolled Facebook the day the hashtag peaked, I wondered whether it applied to me.  Two cases quickly came to mind, later a third … a fourth … a fifth … But all of them were so minor: guys, or even boys saying rude things that I didn’t for a moment take seriously.  And it seemed to me that it would be presumptuous, unhelpful, and ultimately untrue to type #metoo for a merely sassy remark when so many people have suffered truly serious injuries.

Of course, some would insist that these days even snark and sass need to be called out.  And it is true that language can be abusive, a sort of gateway drug to violence in a culture desperate for healing.  But then again, “pretty and smart” hardly rises to the level of abuse, any more than (in Shakespeare’s in Much Ado About Nothing) Benedick’s sneering at “My Lady Disdain” is cause for Beatrice to demand a duel.  There is a difference between harmless dumb jokes or rapier-like wit—and harassment.

Read the rest at the Register.

Why Children's Litrugies Give Me the Willies

A recently witnessed Facebook exchange forced me to confront a deep, dark truth about myself: I hate—no, not hate; I loathe, despise, abhominate, and abhor children's liturgies.  The feeling was a little overblown, and prompted some self-examination.  What exactly was it that gave me such a visceral negative reaction to something that many parents embrace with waves of relief?

I think I know now.  None of these are arguments that your children’s liturgy that your children go to in your parish is anything but the bee’s knees.  They are simply my attempt to articulate to myself why the idea of any child of mine ever attending one makes me shudder like a lizard just ran up my leg when I was almost asleep (true story).

Read the rest at the Register.

The Beauty in the Beast

Part 2 of a series.  Part 1 is here and the latter four parts are here, here, here, and here.

My claim in the previous post might be summarized as follows.  There is an impression running about and shouting (like a chicken with its head cut off) that fairy tales are supposed to be dark.  This is only partially true: fairy tales certainly contain frightening things.  But the fairy tale genre is stylistically ill-equipped to raise and answer psychological, cultural, or moral questions; consequently, a lot of the “darkness” that we see in adaptations of fairy tales is in fact a moral dinginess imposed by our expansion of their narratives.  And in expanding, we have a choice: we can emphasize what is creepy, or what is wholesome (not to sound too Richard Weaver about it).  A “dark” fairy tale movie reflects who we are as a culture as much as (or perhaps more than) it reflects the original fairy tale.

One of my favorite fairy tales, “Beauty and the Beast,” is a case in point.  Had I seen the Disney version at a young age, I am less sure it would have been my favorite; having no source beyond a cassette recording by “Children’s Radio Theater,” I fell in love.  But college came: innocence was lost: I saw Beauty and the Beast, and enjoyed it, without having it displace the original in my heart.

But Jean Cocteau’s version, which I saw about the same time, was different.  I thought then and still think now (subject always to the revision of another viewing) that Cocteau came rather closer to capturing the spirit of the story as it then was known.  As much as Linda Wolverton and co. at Disney borrowed from Cocteau (and observers have noticed all sorts of things, from a Gaston-like rival to an enchanted candlestick), they left out something important: the characters of Belle and the Beast.  These are not very fully fleshed out in the source (again, see my previosu post); but Cocteau’s film seems to develop what is already there, while the Disney team took another direction entirely.  As a result, Cocteau’s film for grownup audiences turns out, counterintuitively, to be less “creepy” than Disney’s, though no less frightening.

For frightening and creepy are not the same thing at all,

 as Meg Murry almost said.

My previous post noted that some viewers were reacting to the buzz around Disney’s new B&B by asserting that the story “glorified Stockholm Syndrome.”   More specifically, some denizens of the Book of Face expressed (perhaps merely rhetorical) concern that B&B implanted on the minds of impressionable young girls the notion that men who held them and/or their aged relatives captive and shouted and threw stuff about were no worse than a bit rough around the edges.  It was unclear, in the critical comments that I encountered, whether this criticism was leveled at the Disney movies specifically, or at all things bearing the title “Beauty and the Beast.”  Given our general state of cultural ignorance, I rather fear the latter.  But the accusation, if it was general, was not merited: there are large differences between the “original” fairy tale, the Cocteau film (1946), and Disney’s 1991 adaptation.  I would argue that these differences make all the difference between a story which “glorifies Stockholm Syndrome” and one which is more subtle and less potentially misleading.

If you have the time for it, I would request that you do a little homework.  Here is a summary of the original fairytale; here is a summary of the film by Cocteau; and here is a summary of the Disney film.

Note that I am cherry-picking based on what I have seen …

there are many versions of the story, from many cultures—

Norse, American Indian, etc.—and the “beastly” character

is sometimes female, as in the “loathly lady” tradition.

If you completed your reading and returned, congratulations!  If you skipped or skimmed your assignment, like ninety-eight percent of my former students, I’ll pull a teacher and powerpoint the relevant differences between Disney et al.

Details	Villeneuve/Beaumont (1740/56)	Cocteau (1946)	Disney (1991)
Entrapment of father by Beast	At first treated royally, the father plucks a rose and is accused of ingratitude/theft, and threatened with death.	At first treated royally, the father plucks a rose and is accused of ingratitude/theft, and threatened with death.	The father is imprisoned by the Beast for being lost.
Deal between father and Beast	The Beast relents when the merchant promises to either come back himself or send one of his children.	The Beast suggests that one of the merchant’s daughters can take his place.	Deal?  You think this Beast makes deals?
How the Beast initially receives Beauty	“graciously”	See left; the Beast explains that she has as much power to command as he.	Um … does the word “hostility” convey anything?
What life in the castle is like	Pleasant from the get-go; the Beast proposes nightly, and Beauty’s reaction is always: “Nice guy, but nope.”	Beauty is uncomfortable with the Beast’s proposals of marriage, but grows to enjoy his company.	Initial hostility and incivility on the part of the Beast is gradually overcome, and mutual regard established.
Why the Beast’s spell, anyway?	“… an evil fairy … tried to seduce [the prince] … when he refused, she transformed him into a beast.”	“… because his parents did not believe in spirits, in revenge the spirits turned him into the Beast.”	“An enchantress … offers an enchanted rose to a young prince in exchange for shelter … but he refuses. For his arrogance, the enchantress transforms him into a beast …”

In brief: The French Bête is a gentleman, and the American “Beast” is not.

Now, admittedly, the French Beast uses threats and chicanery to entice Beauty to his castle (offering to kill dear old dad is a questionable move by anyone’s standards).  Nevertheless, his kindness to Beauty once she appears suggests that, even with her father, his bark was worse than his bite ever would have been.  He is, from the first, a far cry from the grouchy—let’s be honest, a downright terrifying recluse of the Disney movie.

I’m not entirely sure why Disney made the changes—perhaps to up the ante in terms of obstacles to love? or to make Belle’s initial rejections of the Beast seem less shallow?  Whatever the rationale, these changes simultaneously call her character and intelligence into question when we witness her acceptance of the (now ex?) monster.  We are supposed to move, in the course of a three minute song, from believing that the Beast is “mean … coarse … and unrefined” (not to mention mentally unstable and abusive), to judging him a pretty decent bloke who just needs some better hair-styling advice.  This is farcical if you don’t take it seriously, and bad role-modeling if you do.  But such is the power of music that we accept it unblinkingly, at least until the credits role and the lights come up again.

Perhaps the goal for Disney was less to strengthen Belle’s character than to provide a stronger story arc for the Beast.  And certainly, going from handsome but arrogant numbskull to violent captor to genteel and ultimately altruistic fur-ball is a trajectory.  But there are so many other possible trajectories that could have been forged from the motherload.  For example:

B&B, Continent-Man-Gains-Virtue Edition: The Beast is initially focused simply on finding a girl to break the spell; as his respect for Beauty as a person develops, he realizes this is unfair to her, and lets her go home, knowing it will doom him to permanent enchantment.

B&B, Old Style Therapy Edition: The Beast has initially given up hope that his spell can ever be broken; eventually Beauty helps him regain his self-respect and hope.

B&B, Modern Therapy Edition: The Beast is initially focused simply on finding a girl to break the spell; as his friendship with Beauty develops, he comes to accept his ugliness.  (Yeah, that’s a little too Shrek for me, but still …)

B&B, Ann-of-Green-Gables Edition: The Beast is initially looking just for companionship, because he’s totally cool with being ugly; his interactions with Beauty lead him to realize that love would be even more awesome, and that he would really like to earn her love as well as her friendship.

That’s four possibilities, just off the top of my head …

I know what you’re thinking.  Naw.

There’s no way I’ve ever worked on

my own adaptation of this story.

… possibilities which Disney ignored—in favor of … what, exactly?  A stronger Belle?  OK, let’s try developing her character too then.  In the original story, her main obstacle to accepting the Beast’s marriage proposals is seemingly the Beast’s appearance.  That’s a little shallow, maybe.  So what about …

B&B, Righteous Woman Edition: Beauty initially goes to the Beast’s castle terrified of the Beast and his evil deal with her father.  She eventually gets up enough courage to call out the Beast on his selfishness; he lets her go home, she eventually returns of her own free will, and they start from scratch.  (This obviously pairs well with B&B, Continent-Man-Gains-Virtue Edition.)

B&B, Old Style Therapy Edition: Beauty initially goes to the Beast’s castle thinking that, unlike her sisters, she was going to stay single for dear old dad’s sake; taking dad’s place with the Beast is merely an extension of the sacrifice.  Over time in the castle, she comes to realize that her apparent self-abnegation is actually a form of selfishness: she has been avoiding romantic love out of fear that [her heart will break OR it will look selfish of her OR need to be needed by dad OR …].

B&B, Modern Therapy Edition: Beauty initially goes to the Beast’s castle thinking that she’s looking for the perfect man to love; her time with the Beast leads her to realize that romantic love is overplayed anyway, and they can just be platonic friends while she pursues her REAL dream as a sustainable forestry entrepreneur.

B&B, We’re Only Human Edition: Beauty initially goes to the Beast’s castle resenting her father and the Beast for making the deal.  She comes to understand the pressures under which the Beast cut the deal, when she makes a similar deal herself (I’ll go home for three days—oops, yeah, sorry, that was three weeks, jk, right?), and realizes her hypocrisy.  (May or may not pair with various Beast stories.)

BONUS:  B&B, Canon Lawyer Edition (Catholic audiences only): Beauty initially turns down the Beast’s proposal of marriage because, while she’d love to help him out, she’s concerned that maybe marriage with him might violate a norm or two.  Fr. Jacques-Phillippe assures her that (1) the Beast is a rational animal, and thus technically human; and (2) the Beast’s backstory indicates that they have a pretty good chance of procreating ten kids, none of whom look even vaguely lionesque.  A lovely wedding ensues, with the Beast scattering gold coins everywhere like Alan Rickman, and the villagers remarking that, since he’s rich and she’s handsome, it’s nbd, but what an atrocious lack of lace! Selena would stare when she heard of it …

Are these all great movies in the making?  Perhaps not.  But they are different stories—different takes on the fairy tale; different enough to suggest, I think, that there was no need for Disney to skirt so close to the edge as it did with its unoriginal moral conundrum of a beautiful girl who falls in love with a bad, bad man.

The series will resume some time during Easter Week.

Open Letters to the Insurance Salesman

I know not what it is about moving and changes in one’s state in life, but they always seem to trigger additional calls from salesmen hoping to provide me with things that I already have—usually, with some form of insurance.  By whatever curious breach of privacy (I suspect some doctor’s office is the innocent culprit in this case) I have become the target of a particularly persistent and obnoxious specimen, who by the current count has called my twice and texted me three times (good heavens man, do you not know this costs some people money?) within the past thirty-six hours or so.

Given the particularly sleazy nature of his tactics, I have been resisting the temptation all morning to reply.  Here, for the record, are his missives to date:

First text: [My first name], You’ve caught me off hours.  My hours are M-F 9AM-7PM EST.  Is there a good time during those hours I can schedule a call for you?  [Received 6:06 a.m.]

Reader, I have no clue who this person is, and emphatically did NOT get in touch with him prior to receiving the above text.  Oh, also—6:06 a.m.?  Dude: that IS off hours.  I was asleep (or trying to be).  It’s a good thing that I turn the phone off, or you probably would have gotten an earful.

Second text: Good morning [my first name], I just tried calling you to follow up about your inquiry for your free health ins quote.  Can you call me now to get your results?  [Received 9:41 a.m.]

For the record, I was still asleep at this point.  (What?  The night before last was a rough one.)  Also, I had and have submitted no such inquiry.  Moving right along …

Third text: [My first name], you didn’t answer when I called earlier, is there a better time to call you?  [Received 11:19 a.m.]

The unmitigated gall.  It’s probably a terrible idea to respond.  But the real reason I’m not replying is that there are so many irresistible ways to do so that I can’t decide which one would be best.

The grammarian: As of last Friday, I have determined to no longer associate or do business with those who use incorrect capitalization, lazy abbreviations, and comma splices in their text messages.  Only the Queen’s best English for me!  Better luck with your next victim.

The Miss Manners: Dear sir: As we have not been introduced, do you not think it would be better to address me as Mrs. [surname]?  Sincerely yours, a Well-Wisher.

The lawyer’s daughter:  Since your first communication, I have been in contact with my attorney.  He informs me that you are in violation of statutory law, Florida code §1027(b)(4)(C), and 30 U.S.C. §401(c)(1)(D)(xiii) (2012).  I recommend consulting your own legal advice, as we are preparing to file harassment charges in state and federal court.  Try 1-(800)-773-0888, or visit legalzoom.com.

The biblical one-liner: What doth it profit a man to gain the whole world, but to lose his soul?

The frank and heartfelt scolding: This is possibly one of the most disgusting attempts to get me to buy something that I don’t need that I have encountered in my life.  Who do you think I am, some poor befuddled Floridian grandmother with early onset Alzheimer’s?  Is that the sort of person you prey on, in order to make your living?  Because they might actually think they HAD called you, and become confused, and call you back?  Bloodsucking jerkface.  http://www.nosweatshakespeare.com/resources/shakespeare-insults/

The phishing-back-at-yah response: Dear Hubert, I do apologize for missing your call!  Could we perhaps try again at a quarter past three?  My phone refuses to ring except when the atmospheric conditions and the prevailing winds permit (cf. The World of Pooh).  Also, NASA’s recent realignment of the zodiac has presented some difficulties in communication since my formerly BFF device was cursed during my visit to New Orleans, and I discovered that we were created under incompatible signs.  It is turning against me.  Have you tried the insurance market in New Orleans?  I’m sure it is booming in the wake of the recent hurricanes.  You will need to use the following code to get through to me: After the tone, refer to Thomas Starkey’s Dialogue between Pole and Lupset (1989 edition only!!!), page 42, first word of the first line, using a 5x5 grid alphabet substitution method.  Read your message slowly and distinctly one letter at a time.  Only then will Siri preserve your important message.  I look forward to hearing from you as soon as possible!!!!  Dosvidanya, and gospodarstvo do movve.

Happy Windsday, mon frères.

Update, Thursday:

Fourth text: Good morning, Sophia, I couldn't get a hold of you yesterday?  Can you call now so I can explain your health insurance quote options?  [Received 9:05 a.m.]

The Etiquette of Handshaking: A PSA

I realized this morning that the handshake of peace has become for me the grimace of peace.  The typical scenario these days is innocuous enough.  The priest announces The Moment of Dread (Minute o’ Dread, TM?); eye contract is made with two to three people (husbands don’t count); they, seeing a very pregnant lady who is NOT extending her hand, do the smile-and-wave bit; I (hopefully) smile and raise my eyebrows back (if the brain happens to be at full engagement); and we all return to behaving like prayerful people instead of a herd of unmated  twenty-nine-year-olds during the mixer session of a two-minute blind date.

But every now and then there’s someone who doesn’t get the idea.  When it’s an elderly lady or gentleman, I’m always inclined to forgive them.  Probably they’ve seen so many changes in manners and Masses since their youth that the idea of an obvious juvenile like myself being crotchety does not occur to them; and in any case, by this point they’ve earned the right to do as they please in Church, as long as it’s not horrendously disruptive.  Furthermore, as everyone knows, older people take precedence in matters of handshaking.  Besides, everyone above the age of sixty seems to become sentimental about babies, which probably lends women in my current state a status something between that of a second and third class relic (or maybe just a reliquary?).

So I can forgive the old people, usually.  But I cannot find it in me to forgive the men—the MEN, I ask you—who somehow did not learn that the lady always initiates the handshake.  Yes, even in the twenty-first century, even at Mass.  The HoP is not some sacramental, whereby we bestow our awesomeness upon those Christians around us (reliquary jokes notwithstanding).  It is a confusing, distracting faux-ritual that baffles visiting Protestants; and is more responsible for the spreading of elderflu than thirty-seven sneezes and a defective mouth-mask strung together.  All the more reason for you, sir, not to assume that any lady, especially the Very Pregnant Lady, wants to feel your fingers (especially since she read Agatha Christie’s The Mirror Cracked as a teen and has been traumatized by the thought of contracting the practically eradicated German Measles ever since).  I understand that the HoP is a benighted attempt to make the Sacrifice of the Mass a kinder, friendlier, gentler place.  Actually, it is probably responsible for more mutual irritation, preening, and artificial charity than anything since do-it-yourself Prayers of the Faithfilled. Trust me, you are not displaying your masculine sensitivity by attempting to press the fingers of unwilling demoiselles who for all you know may be viewing your extended palm with roughly the same eagerness as Rebecca viewed the hand of the dubious Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert.

But I digress.  I promised guidance, not a rant.  Here is Emily Post on the topic:

When gentlemen are introduced to each other they always shake hands.

When a gentleman is introduced to a lady, she sometimes puts out her hand—especially if he is some one she has long heard about from friends in common, but to an entire stranger she generally merely bows her head slightly and says: “How do you do!” Strictly speaking, it is always her place to offer her hand or not as she chooses, but if he puts out his hand, it is rude on her part to ignore it. Nothing could be more ill-bred than to treat curtly any overture made in spontaneous friendliness. No thoroughbred lady would ever refuse to shake any hand that is honorable, not even the hand of a coal heaver at the risk of her fresh white glove. [italics added]

I note, by the way, that the modern Emily Post website has abandoned the lady’s first rule.  Barbarians.  I am pleased to see that not everyone in the comments agrees.

Post Script: Reader, I did shake his hand.  What else was I supposed to do, when even the Emily Post of 1922 would have had me do so?  But I realized, as my eyes returned to the altar, meeting those of several smiling, friendly, distant wavers across the sea of empty early morning pews, that I was grimacing back at them, poor fish.  Hopefully they assumed it was just heartburn, and not any actual lack of goodwill towards men.  Well, except for you, Sir Brian.