The Physician by Noah Gordon

Lots of adventures. Exotic locations. Peril and salvation. That about sums up Noah Gordon's 1986 epic The Physican. The book is about 600 pages long and is not a quick read...but the process of discovery kept me going back into the book time and again. Finally, I had a Sunday afternoon with nothing going on, raining outside, still and quiet, and I finished it off. I was sorry that the story resolved and all was well, because that meant I had to go home, home to homely McArthur, Ohio, home to my own dirty dishes and unfed pets, home to a Cincinnati Reds defeat, home to a basement nicknamed "a river runs through it." I had to return to 2013 A.D. from 1043 A.D.

I would like to thank my wonderful friend Jeannie Graetz for recommending this book to me, even though she grabbed it to reread, leaving me stranded in Chapter 3.

The Physician is about a man named Rob whose life becomes a journey of discovery from the time he is orphaned in Middle Ages London. I know "Middle Ages" is considered a more appropriate label, but in the context of this book, Dark Ages would be more fitting. There is little hint of Renaissance in England at this time. Rob is taken up by a barber/surgeon who travels around in a painted cart putting on shows, selling alcohol as medicine, and treating illnesses and injuries (like Professor Marvel in Wizard of Oz). Barber (the barber is called Barber) was trained by a master who took him in at an early age and also has learned much through his own observations and practice. He teaches Rob to juggle, sing, and do magic tricks as well as to have his own "office hours" beside the wagon. They travel together for many years.

Rob has a special gift--the ability to sense impending death in a person by holding his or her hands. He becomes skilled as a medical practitioner, combining his gift with observation, trial and error, and instinct. His frustration grows, however, as he sees the limitations of his education. He wants to know more. He wants to be able to heal a wider range of illnesses, to ease suffering in more people. It becomes a driving force in him.

Eventually, Barber dies and Rob travels on his own. He meets up by accident with a physician--one who has actually been trained as a doctor at a madrassa in Persia. Rob determines that he will travel to Persia and seek out this training for himself. To do so, he must travel across ocean, mountain, and desert and travel first as a Christian merchant, but as soon as possible to disguise himself as Jew. The madrassa will not accept Christians. Fortunately, conveniently, and in the least plausible and most important detail of the book, Rob was circumcised at birth because of a "wen" (basically, a big dick zit!). This gives him a leg up in Judaism.

Every part of Rob's journey is fascinating...from his father's involvement with a construction guild to his journeys with Barber, to his travels across Europe, to the camel caravan across western Asia, and to his life and perils in Persia. Many aspects of ninth century life are explored and illuminated. Most interesting is the contrast between the status of healing in England (Church persecutes physicians) and in Persia (a scientific approach). I enjoyed following Rob's process as he discovered things we know today...he was particularly interested in appendicitis, which had no known cause but almost always proved fatal. Dissection was forbidden, so on inferences had to suffice.

The roles of women were traditional and culturally constrained, especially in Persia, where women had to be veiled and were seldom seen. Jewish women had to keep their hair covered but were more free to circulate and make things happen. Rob had the obligatory romance with a beautiful woman, which is treated sweetly, but it was too predictable to be engaging. It would have been more interesting if Rob had been attracted seriously to an unsuitable woman--a real (not disguised) Jew or a Muslim woman who was more than a sex toy. I think the author copped out on this one! (It would have been hard to imagine anything but a double beheading as an outcome of such a romance.)

I am so tempted to give away plot points. So much juicy stuff happened. Rob explores Judaism, Islam, alternative governments, habits and practices of many cultures, and meets up with elephants, camel racing, and tantric sex. You'll have to take my word for it that a treasure trove of experiences await you if you read The Physician. It is the first book of a trilogy, so there will be more to come.

This is a good book, but I don't think it is a great book. It lacks tension because I always knew that the hero would survive. It's like character and plot were excuses for this amazing book of history and travel. It worked, but I never related to the main character. It all came too easy for him and the implausibilities became burdensome. My emotions were not engaged, but I feel a lot smarter and I feel like I've been on a cool journey. A friend of mine asked on Facebook today if anybody had discounts or freebies for Disney World to share. I, of course, had none, but I offered her my imagination, for free. The Physician was free and took me on a journey much richer than Disney World.

It strikes me that medicine is still pretty voodoo-oriented. I take so many medicines for rheumatoid arthritis and most of them are prescribed correlationally--it was found that when RA patients were taking a drug for something else that it seemed to help their RA symptoms. But there is virtually no real understanding of how or why these drugs work. Each patient ends up with her own cocktail of whatever worked that day, that month. "Well, if this doesn't work, let's try that. It sometimes helps." Doctors have said this to me. Science seems like a smoke screen sometimes, like the curtains between Rob and the Barber when they treated patients. I guess there's nothing really wrong with correlational treatment, but let's not delude ourselves about it. It's America. If it works, we'll do it.

Eeyore People

I am about to write a tirade on what a bummer it is to have negative people around and then I realize what a negative-person-statement this is. How do I whine about negative people without being negative myself? Regardless, several people have contributed to a general buzz-kill today. I had a fun morning--met an aunt and uncle for breakfast, did some errands, made chit-chat. But when my work day started, POW! Phasers of negativity came shooting at me and my force field was weak--too much fun can lower the force field, you know. One guy, a real Eeyore, replied to my "hello" with the words--and I kid you not--"well this is going to be a shitty day." Thanks!

We changed the schedule today and it seemed to make more people grumpy than happy. People rely on routine, on sameness, on regular meals and bowel movements and such. But, except for bowel movements, I am mostly irregular. As an adult, I have seldom kept a regular bedtime or wake time. I eat meals at different times. I don't have chores assigned to different days of the week or weeks of the month. Really, to a tidy person my life must look like a train wreck.

Anyway, I was really enjoying my irregular morning and I'm still a bit pissy that people pissed on it. I wanted to snark back at them but instead tried to remain polite and pleasant. That was a waste of time. They were spoiling for an argument, I think, and it made them madder to receive courtesy than disdain. The changed schedule involved a trip that I was not going on, so at a certain point, I retreated to an unused room and just waited it out. They finally left. Free! I was free! Free to enjoy life again unencumbered. It's hard to salvage a damaged mood, but I have done it. The rain outside the window is beautiful, saturating the late spring green. The friend sitting next to me is funny and smart. It's all good.

So, what is the point of this blog entry? Well, it doesn't really have one. It is written for no purpose. Eeyore, Eeyore, go away. Come again no other day. Rain, rain, come to stay, moisten humor every way.

Why did the chicken cross the road? To get away from grumpy people.

What did General DeGaulle say when he saw the grumpy people coming over the hill? Voila les grumpy people over the hill.

What did Eeyore say at the Berlin Wall? Ich bin ein grumpy person.

Pop-Tarts for the Older Person, by Joy Dickerson

The people who make Pop-Tarts are missing the key market for Pop-Tarts: the aging...the middle-aged...people like me. We eat Pop-Tarts. We love them. We stray to generic brands but always return shame-faced to the mother ship of toaster pastries. In my mind, Pop-Tarts are just about the perfect food. Sweet, safe, digestible, and easy to prepare--that's a lot of value for your money. (And, for you thrill seekers, remember that Pop-Tarts are potentially flammable if toasted on a setting higher than "uncooked.") (No, young people, don't try this at home--I'm warning you.)

Speaking of young people (even parenthetically), that's the target market, apparently, for Pop-Tarts. The flavors used to be pretty standard: strawberry, grape, and the ultimate favorite brown-sugar cinnamon. I remember when icing was added. It was revolutionary. We had to try it. Sweeter, safer, more digestible (and probably more flammable). But now the flavors are getting pretty wild--tutti-frutti, s'mores, watermelon, exotic swirls in garish colors. The give-aways (don't you save your proof-of-purchases?) are totally tween oriented.

This juvie marketing has a desperate tinge to it...youth are insatiable for the new. Remember when suckers were just suckers? And then they put tootsie rolls in the middle--an amazing innovation--and then bubble gum in the middle--it got out of hand pretty quick. (Although, whoever invented ring-pops was a true genius.) Candy on a string, however, never quite made it into the advertising age--and remember those candy pills on a strip of paper...

Wait a minute, what was I talking about--oh yeah, middle age. I mean, Pop-Tarts for the middle aged. We have special needs and we spend lots of money to meet them. Most of them seem to involve excretory organs--sinuses, sphincters, tubules, and various peristaltic processors. We also worry about staying young-looking. Here, then are a few varieties of Pop-Tarts for marketing to the pre-senior crowd.

Pop-Tarts Silver: These treats would be iced with shiny silver frosting and feature a filling infused with Centrum Silver elderly-person vitamins. Why swallow a pill when you can have a Pop-Tart? Pop-Tarts Silver for women might feature a girlish pink stripe, while men's Silver would be slightly scented with Old Spice.

Pop-Up Pop-Tarts: What better way to retain youthful vigor than Pop-Tarts with Viagra chips in the filling? This is a bit foul to say, but you could have your Pop-Tart and "eat it," too. Warning: Any Pop-Tart remaining rigid for longer than four hours (a life-threatening condition) should be taken to the emergency room for medically supervised deflation.

Pop-Tarts Olay: Laced with hormone replacement supplements, these delicious, slightly Olay-flavored Pop-Tarts are packaged with a dollop of Oil of Olay to keep your skin looking as young as these Pop-Tarts leave you feeling. Icing will be striped with ylang-ylang, whatever that is, because it is rumored to be rejuvenating.Co-packaged with the Pop-Up Pop-Tarts. 

Pop-Tarts DF: Yes, that DF stands for the topic most middle-aged conversations get around to: dietary fiber. The orange-flavored MetamuciTarts will keep you regular as clockwork without that dreaded gritty texture.

Pop-Tarts Natural DF: Same as above, but with wheat germ in the filling and a top studded with granola, rolled oats and perhaps pine cones. Many parts are edible. 

Dried Plum Pop-Tarts: These will be almost as popular as the DF version. Note that "dried plums" is the new way to say "prunes."

Gotta Go Pop-Tarts: This somewhat chewy toaster pastry can function as an emergency substitute for adult incontinence products. (Microwaving not recommended.)

Pop-Tart Pharming: Instead of sending your prescriptions to the mail-in drug place, you send them to the Pop-Tart Pharm bakery, which will prepare Pop-Tarts with just the right dosages of your medicines in them, blended with banana pudding filling to disguise the taste. Only problem: peeling off all those warning labels before eating.

Oxy-Pop-Tartiates: Pop-Tarts laced with popular prescription pain killers. You can start with just one very six hours and then work your way up to several a day. When you start pawning the silverware for your next "pop," you know you've got a problem. Use only as directed.

Is this enough? Have I beat this topic into a flat pasty dough yet? My conclusion: Pop-Tarts are only limited by your imagination...but unfortunately your imagination may be limited. That is all.

Addendum

Here are a couple more.

No-Ox Pop-Tarts: This flavor is chock full of anti-oxidants--fighters of those "free radicals" (such as President Obama and myself) that cause so much fuss. The filling will be pomegranate-broccoli and the icing will be a coating of that classic anti-oxidant primer-colored Rust-o-leum spray paint.

Joint Tarts: Retain heat long enough to be used on creaky joints and muscle strains. Do not apply directly onto festering wounds.

Diet Pop-Tarts: Just kidding.

The Betsy (and Eddie) Books, by Carolyn Haywood

The Betsy books, by Carolyn Haywood, were written between 1939 and 1986 for elementary school-aged girls. Haywood also wrote a series of books about a boy named Eddie and numerous "one-off" titles. The first book, "B" Is for Betsy, finds the title character about to start kindergarten. The books very much follow the school year/holiday calendar and each book is either one school year or one summer vacation.

The Betsy books communicate the ultimate American happy childhood of the mid-20th century. Nuclear family, dad working & mom at home, white people only (except for a few servants), traditional holiday celebrations, mild dramas with happy resolutions. The parents are benevolent and infinitely understanding; teachers perky and young; friends loyal. The household pets are the most entertaining and several chapters revolve around animal escapades. Betsy's friend Billy's dog is always getting something sticky dumped on him or rolling in something and the kids' efforts to clean him up always add to the mayhem. Read the chapter where the bottle of molasses gets knocked over and drips all over the dog. Another time it is pancake batter.


These books, are episodic and fast-paced and thoroughly enjoyable. Betsy has age-appropriate milestones (losing a tooth, acquiring a baby sister) and learnings (she is no longer top in her class), but they are episodes, not considered to be life crises. The books are happy and sunny and very funny. There is no real story arc.

I delight in the fact that these books (except for their utter blissfulness) are written for children, not for adults reading for children. When you are a kid, you don’t think of your life in a story arc. Breakthroughs rush toward you like waves on a beach. I think kids would really like this book. And, I reflect, adults only pretend to see their lives as having a story arc, or see the arc in hindsight and over-interpret it. The analyzed life is not the norm—it’s only the norm among book readers and writers, I think. The book readers and writers create and perpetuate a weird norm and then think everyone lives like we do!

In other books, Betsy has a watermelon party, takes a sleigh ride with Santa, enjoys various mild crises that her mild parents always turn into gentle learning experiences. Things work out for Betsy. Wrongs are righted, disappointments redeemed. The saving grace of these otherwise insipid books is the humor. The episodes are comic and the responses are variously stupid and clever (with mom and dad always ready—with the garden hose in some cases).

In addition to the element of humor, Haywood's characters are fun and likable. Although the books as a whole are pretty goody-two-shoes, the children themselves are not. They develop jealousies, make mistakes, misunderstand each other, and have the occasional hissy fit. In one book, an angry boy plays a prank on Betsy. She thinks Billy did it and starts to shun him. The crisis is resolved gently and all is forgiven. The lesson given was that you should judge by what you know about a person, not by a single incident...pretty mild. Still, the children came through as authentic--children you'd like to know.

I am concerned, though, that Betsy's world is so well drawn that kids might think it is how life is or should be. As amusement it is great, but as reality it is a bit ridiculous. Not all boo-boos (of the heart as well as body) are so easily healed or healed at all. Still, I am eager to be amused by more of the books in this series as soon as I can find them. And, the children's books that try to incorporate realism don't always work...I can easily view the Betsy books as as kind of fairy tale, fables, inculcators of community pro-social values. In that sense, they truly do their work.


A Betsy Bibliography
I used a patchwork quilt of sources to put together a sequence of the Betsy books--many of the books have been re-issued, so they have multiple publication dates. To the best of my effort, the Betsy books include the following:


"B" Is for Betsy--book 1, 1939
Betsy and Billy--book 2, 1941
Back to School with Betsy--book 3, 1943
Betsy and the Boys--book 4, 1945
Betsy's Little Star--book 5, 1950 (found 1959 also)
Betsy and the Circus--book 6, 1954
Betsy's Busy Summer--book 7, 1956
Betsy's Winterhouse--book 8, 1958
Snowbound with Betsy--book 9, 1962
Betsy and Mr. Kilpatrick--book 10, 1967
Merry Christmas from Betsy--book 11, 1970
Betsy's Play School--book 12, 1977


The Eddie Books
Carolyn Haywood's other famous series is the Eddie books. The pattern is the same, but Eddie is funnier--he's a bit eccentric, like if you combined Beaver Cleaver and Alex Keaton. My review of these Eddie books from a couple of years ago shows that my evaluations of the Betsy books hold true--likable characters, humor, and lots of animals carry the stories.

Eddie and Gardenia

Seven-year-old Eddie’s rascally goat Gardenia gets sent off to a ranch in Texas—she has chewed up one too many valuable items in the Wilson household. Eddie goes with Gardenia and is introduced to ranch life. This is a fun book, if a bit slow. Knowledge about Texas and ranches is placed didactically in the mouths of characters who otherwise say only, “sure,” “you bet,” and “howdy.” But the second half of the book is fine, when Eddie sets out on his own adventure, through which he finally earns his spurs as a real cowboy.

Eddie and his cousin Georgie are enthusiastic and enjoy roaming the range as much as the cattle, goats, and sheep. The adults are caring but allow the boys lots of freedom. They hit two major crises—the truck gets stranded in a rainstorm, and Gardenia must be rescued from a thorn bush.

It’s the relationship between Eddie and Gardenia that animates and fulfills this book. They are both likable and lively and devoted to each other. This is the first Haywood book I’ve read. There are many more Eddie books. I hope to be able to locate them and add them to this list.

Eddie’s Happenings

I think the title of this book is a nod to the counterculture movement of the 1960s and 1970s, when “happenings” began happening. A school year is the background of this book, and it centers around a calendar of obscure events that Eddie’s friend finds. They celebrate all sorts of strange stuff. The book ends in February, with a triumphant winning of the Washington’s Birthday pageant.

This book is light and fun.  A troubled character, Tookey, is introduced. He has a hard time with when to pretend and when not to. The issue is handled very matter-of-factly, which is refreshing in these days of sensitivity training and self-esteem exercises. Accepting friendship is the main solution. I enjoyed this. The book ends abruptly, as did the Gardenia book. I wonder if I read them in order if the time line would be continuous.

Style

I enjoyed discovering the various covers for the Betsy books. They are a real history of American design. I picked the best image available and didn't try to be consistent. You can see the chubby child images of the forties and fifties giving way to the well-adjusted sixties and seventies child giving way to photography. Interesting.

Among the Ruins of the Kingdom, by Douglas Hatten

A new entry in the fantasy tradition, Among the Ruins of the Kingdom, by Douglas Hatten, is fast-paced and engaging. Although it started a bit slow, I was hooked by about page 50 and after about page 150 I could not put the book down. Hatten is the cousin of my friend Maryjane Ferguson, a disclaimer that means little in terms of this review. If I had disliked the book I simply would not have reviewed it...so I'm happy to recommend this book to you. It's a touchy thing to review a book by someone you have a connection to. I admit that my tendency is to sheath my claws a bit. Enjoy!

The author, Douglas Hatten

Among the Ruins follows a standard quest format--a teenage boy is selected and identified as the champion of good versus evil. He undergoes numerous trials and contests and gathers allies and magical objects. He gains power and skill as he goes along. This is an entirely predictable formula, repeated again and again in all genres of literature and in uncounted movies and video games. Yet, it works. It still works, even when I know exactly what's going on and even when I am certain of the outcome (the hero prevails). The quest format is a comfortable template upon which to build a story and allows the reader to focus on themes and characters.

I pictured Chayim as a young
Leonard DiCaprio

In Among the Ruins, just-turned-17-year-old Chayim is forcibly diverted from his life as a peasant-scholar. His parents were told to send him for schooling because of a prophecy. Among his family and teachers, only Chayim did not know that he had a special destiny. Seventeen is the age of adulthood in Chayim's culture and his adventure starts right on his birthday--a nice touch. On his way home from school, Chayim is stalked by a shadow being and is rescued by a wizened old man who carries a walking stick--the Gandalf character. I don't think Hatten stole the idea of Gandalf from Tolkien--I just think that the wise old teacher is a fixture in quest literature. Tolkien got his Gandalf from a much older tradition.

Here's my favorite cinematic Jesus--Ted Neely
from Jesus Christ: Superstar. What might Jesus
have accomplished with a good mentor like
Gandalf?

ASIDE: It is peculiar that the ultimate quest/savior, Jesus, did not have a mentor...or his mentor was lost in the retelling. So much of quest literature is based in Christianity...somehow the mentor character survived his/her exclusion from the Christian story. The disciples were clearly subordinate to Jesus, not advisers or teachers. I'm not a Christian scholar...are there versions of the Jesus story that indicate a mentor? In a sense, I guess his dad was his mentor, except maybe without a walking stick. Please comment if you have feedback on this.

Aragorn had a romance--and a hot French
kiss you can see if you watch the scene in
super slow-mo. Lucky couple!

Anyway, when the mentor, Zidek, rescues Chayim, the adventure begins. Chayim, with the help of various friends and powers, must somehow collect the armor of a great king, which will allow him to prevail in a great battle between good and evil...and bring back the great king (a reference to the second coming of Jesus?) and a time of peace. I will not go into the plot here--don't want to risk any spoilers--but danger, courage, discouragement, betrayal, violence, victory, and love are a part of it. We watch as Chayim grows into his hero role. And, a romance is provided for him, which makes him a tad luckier than Jesus and Frodo!

A thick forest is one of the memorable locations
of Among the Ruins

Hatten presents a coherent worldview for his fantasy--a set of sacred texts, spiritual practices, initiates and intiators. The history of the kingdom is fully present in the present, which is a nice thing. As a reader, I had a strong sense of Chayim's heritage and traditions. This increased the plausibility of the book. The sensory detail was sparse--a polar opposite from Tolkien--and yet I had a physical sense of place. And certainly after Chapter 1, I was fully engaged in this world and retain it as a place I have visited.

The main philosophical question in Among the Ruins seemed to be the conflict between predestination and free will. The author worked hard to reconcile these two ideas...repeatedly and often. Several times, Chayim questions his role in the drama...does his free will mean anything at all in the face of living out a prophecy that was written millenia ago? The issue is not resolved to my satisfaction, but then I am a free will sort of person. I don't believe that "it is written" until I've written it.

My favorite scenes were those in which Chayim felt the pull of the power of creation. In a Joseph Campbell sense, he was open to allurement and followed its energy. Anyway, when the pull started, I knew something amazing was going to happen--an amazing dragon, a display of superhuman powers, some sort of magic. I loved that. And I loved the idea of ancient portals--short cuts--that would open if Chayim would synchronize with the power.

My main problem with this book is that it could use a good copy edit. I'm pretty fussy about grammar and spelling and usage and such, and maybe I'm just old-fashioned. But one of the reasons I would like a major publisher to pick up and publish this terrific book is that they would give it a serious structural edit and a copy edit. I came across "parameter" used for "perimeter" (twice!), and "its/it's" used improperly, and "suites" used for "suits,"  and many other bits of carelessness. I think a good editor would also pep up the opening chapters of the book and jump the reader right into the action.

I will be buying book two of this series probably today. Why don't you go and buy book 1? You'll find it for sale at:
http://www.lulu.com/shop/douglas-hatten/among-the-ruins-of-the-kingdom/paperback/product-18837230.html

I Am in Every Spring

Snowbells in the yard

Today I have faith that spring is here. The landscape looks a bit greener, the breeze a bit fresher, the sun a bit milder. Three big patches of snowbells brighten up parts of the lawn. The buds on the lilac bushes have swollen to the point of showing a hint of green leaves.

The most stunning change is in the number and noise of birds. Six fat robins were trilling at each other in my front yard, each of the three pairs sound-marking some territory. My big sugar maple will function, I hope, as a robin apartment building. Surely there is enough room for all. Right now it is a building under construction--just the frame/branches without the leaves/drywall.

Sugar maple in early spring

Out here at work, a robin pecks the mulch outside my window every morning. He or she is plump and sleek, fluffed out for r-value against the chill. Peck. Peck. Flick. Grab. Swallow. Down the hatch goes a grub. There's a pond out here and evergreens around it--more a subdivision for birds than my maple apartment building.

One time when I was camping with a random group of people one of them guided us through listening for birds...he had us attend to the gradual increase in the number and diversity of songs as we ourselves quieted down. And, speaking softly, he encouraged us to stretch out our hearing, to listen for the sounds behind the sounds...and a multilayered orchestration of birds emerged. I've never forgotten this lesson in listening--listening with depth perception.

American robin

Out here at work, we've got a wind tunnel going--the exhaust fans in the shop suck air under the front door all day long, creating a moaning, mournful sound that makes me think of the song "Shenandoah." The brisk wind then sweeps the despair along...get along, sorrow...get along, woe.

I ordered plants--dozens of periwinkle seedlings to start a ground cover under the new shrubs I planted last fall. My fingers itch to dig in the soil. Maybe a new trowel is in order. And I am about to order a huge load of river rock to landscape on the dry, shady side of the house. Then I can put in some daffodil bulbs to come up among the bare rocks in the spring. And then I think I'll get a load of white gravel to make a peace sign in the middle.

Daffodil growing among rocks

Oh that we could all live on the cusp of change like the seasons do. There is never a time when nature is not becoming something else; transitioning; more ebbing and more flowing than the tides. It's us, us humans, that think somehow that a condition can be frozen, that for a certain period of time it will "be" spring or "be" summer when truly summer is always becoming from spring and becoming into fall. I always thought there would be a time when I would "be" grown up and that I would recognize that condition and...and...stop becoming.

The seeds of my old age were in my youth and now in middle age the seeds of youth are still sprouting alongside the seeds of aging and death. I'm every season, every age, every day.

Morels--an Appalachian treat

I was going to say that only in death does the becoming cease, but in nature there is not even death. My body will continue to change until it is unrecognizable except for its presence in every other living thing. I am released to new possibilities. Becoming and becoming...I can't get around it. Spring comes every year, but it is not the same spring. It's a new spring. And it's an old spring. And every spring has me in it. And always did. And always will.