Nota bene: I planned this post and uploaded these photos before the big snowstorm hit the southern & eastern United States. Here in the West, we have had an unseasonably mild and un-snowy winter. So these are not disaster pictures, just the wonders of Nature. Enjoy!
Behold! A so-called “Indian blanket” that it took me about a year to complete.
Real “Indian blankets,” of course, –at least, the Navajo kind– are woven, not knitted. But this type of pattern is very popular in the United States, and has been for more than a century. You find it on clothing, bedspreads, purses … and knitting patterns like this one. You see, when the Europeans conquered the American Indians, all groups immediately started both intermarrying and borrowing each other’s ideas.
As an aside, this type of pattern also sort of resembles some traditional weaving patterns in Indonesia. Because all folk art, when you get right down to it, looks sort of alike. Having been made by humans and that.
So about a year ago, I bought this pattern, called “Mohawk Valley,” from the Vintage Pattern Store on etsy. Then it was time to acquire the yarn. This blanket is a mix of different colors from my stash; high-quality wool and wool-blend yarns bought both online and at a specialty knitting store; and cheap cotton yarns in the appropriate colors, bought wherever I saw them on sale. So the color variations are my own. This pattern would look really good in just two colors. Perhaps, one day, I’ll do one with a bit more color discipline … if I live that long haha!
You knit it in three strips, then sew the strips together. I started Strip #1 with scraps, and then I tried to roughly echo the color changes that resulted, in subsequent strips. I even made a mistake on Strip #1, forgetting to add a garter-stitch border between iterations of the pattern, and I faithfully repeated this mistake on the other two strips so that the length would come out the same.
Here is the blanket being “blocked.” I pinned it wrong-side-up on my bedspread, misted it with water, and let it dry. After this, I added a border consisting of five rows of moss stitch, because the edge tended to roll.
Despite its flaws, this blanket is basically priceless. I knew it would take me about a year to complete it in time for the recipient’s birthday, and it did. Here’s another close-up.
Among these original national gods Jupiter or Jove was the favorite … In the early centuries of Rome he was still a half-impersonal force–the bright expanse of the sky, the light of the sun and moon, a bolt of thunder, or (as Jupiter Pluvius) a shower of fertilizing rain; even Virgil and Horace occasionally use “Jove” as a synonym for rain or sky. In time of drought the richest ladies of Rome walked in barefoot procession up the Capitoline hill to the Temple of Jupiter Tonans–Jove the Thunderer–to pray for rain. Probably his name was a corruption of Diuspater, or Diespiter, Father of the Sky.
–Caesar and Christ, by Will Durant, p. 61
… and when the Romans encountered Zeus, they said, “Hmm, seems to be Jupiter.”
You can read the incident that this is a reference to, in I Samuel chapters 4 – 6.
The Philistines were a culturally Aegean/Mycenaean people who had settled along the coast of Canaan. Though culturally Greek, they spoke a Semitic language. Their god, Dagon, was a man/fish god who had antecedents going all the way back to Sumeria.
The genre of these particular chapters of Scripture might be described as dark comedy. It’s a unique story, because it presents the reaction of an Aegean people when confronted with the God of Israel. The story is told in a Hebrew historical record, but the amount of detail means that the Hebrew chronicler must have had spies or eyewitness accounts.
The Philistines, though, or perhaps because, they are pagans, are pretty canny. They start out thinking they have won a victory over the Israelites by capturing their god, but it doesn’t take them too long to figure out that this God is trouble, and to ascertain, by process of elimination, what He wants.
Or you could say that God is very adept at communicating with the Philistines.
By the way, it’s “hunting TIME,” not “HUNTing time.” The sense is not “time to hunt,” but “we don’t just save time, we hunt it down.”
This is a very professional modern thriller and the author has tons of blurbs on the back from other modern thriller writers. The plot was intricate, the pacing tense, and the characters were distinctive enough to keep them straight and give some emotional momentum to the story. There was also at least one major twist that I did not see coming, and that I really thought was clever.
Possibly the best-drawn “character” is the Midwestern city of Ferrington, the picture of urban blight but without the glamour of a big coastal city. Ferrington used to be an industrial capital, but then many industries left the city, leaving people out of work. Now the place seems to be nothing but drugs, crime, and despair. There are lot of chain-link-fence-surrounded empty lots filled with trash, long streets full of abandoned warehouses, and there is a badly polluted river. The ugliness of the scenes described rises to the level of beauty. The cops are corrupt in some cases and spread too thin in others. I think the name Ferrington is supposed to remind us of Ferguson, Missouri, and this is where we start to get into the book’s flaws.
Though Deaver mostly sticks to the story, when laying his scenes he makes sure to get in occasional digs at the reader. Bigots are everywhere. Trans is good, gay is good. We capitalize Black but not white. Stuff like that. Oh, and of course, capitalists are the one who ruined Ferrington in the first place.
My other issue with this book is the female characters. They’re not terrible, but … but … well. They are just missing a certain je-ne-sais-quois. For example, one of the point of view characters is a woman, Allison Parker. Deaver uses third person limited with her and with Colter Shaw, the sleuth. When we are inside Allison’s point of view, he frequently calls her Parker. That is just a bit confusing. It makes it sound like there is another person in the room. I am pretty sure that most women don’t think of themselves by their last name. Although maybe men do. Which is really the problem: All Deaver’s “female” characters (he has three main ones in this book) think more like men. Allison Parker is an engineering genius, very organized, very no-nonsense. Her daughter Hannah is a math genius, also no-nonsense. Sonja Nilsson is a former military operative (you guessed it, no-nonsense!) who is willing to sleep with Shaw after having known him for a day or two.
This is not a problem with Deaver alone. Many, many female authors write “male” characters who think and talk like women. It’s just awfully difficult to get into the head of the opposite sex.
Finally, there are occasional little things that made me scratch my head. “Seahorses can be sensuous.” (They can?) “Five-high.” (It’s high-five.) Nilsson lost forty pounds, and kept it off, in order to go into witness protection. (Oh, I didn’t realize it was that easy. Especially since she left the military at the same time! But, as we all know, the only thing keeping fat people from losing weight is the want-to. Eye roll)
Due to all these little flaws, and because the reveal of the villain was less satisfying than I had hoped, I give this book three out of five stars.
This was pure fun.
The Emersons are a family of British Egyptologists. Emerson, “Father of Curses,” the paterfamilias, is married to Amelia Peabody, whom he calls “Peabody.” This hot couple began their Egyptian adventures back in the Victorian era, but now it is 1922. Their grown son, nicknamed Ramses, is married and has children, and the Emersons have a large, motley household of employees, longtime family friends, relatives, and adoptees, both Egyptian and British. They have returned to Luxor, Egypt, for yet another season of digging. Of course, there are going to be capers, skullduggery, and so forth, and all the Emersons will be involved up to their elbows. Will they be deceived by Emerson’s half-brother Sethos? Will they foil an international plot? Most importantly, will they ever get a peek into the intact tomb that was discovered–technically, by Emerson–and is now being opened by the odious Carter?
This series is exquisitely researched. About 60% of the story is told in the first person by Amelia Peabody, in near-perfect late Victorian/Edwardian language. Scattered everywhere are gems like this one:
… I identified several other [party] guests as journalists. I can always spot them by the bulges in their coat pockets which indicate the presence of notebooks, and by their predatory looks. Messieurs Bradstreet of the New York Times and Bancroft of the Daily Mail were known to me personally (through no fault of mine).
p. 241
The other 40% of the story is told in third person from the point of view of Ramses, who is a quieter character than his colorful parents, but it also includes gems:
He had thought of several innocent explanations for David’s behavior, including the one he had given. It was understandable that [David] might feel the need to be alone; the family en masse or individually could be wearing.
p. 254
I originally came to this series hoping for ancient Egyptian mystical mysteries. It’s not that. It’s more of a romp. Much of this book felt like following the Keystone Cops, but eventually there did turn out to be some twists that gave the whole plot shape and direction. Four out of five stars.
Matchingmaking for Psychopaths, by Tasha Coryell
I picked this up off the New Books shelf at the library. Perhaps I should have left it there, based on the title, but I had read the first few pages and found them engaging. Alas, I returned the book without finishing it. I would have liked there to be at least one main character who I was sure wasn’t a psychopath. A little psychopathology goes a long way.
When I returned the book, the librarian giggled and said, “Oh, that one was silly.” It was indeed silly. But silly and serial murder don’t mix well. At least not for me.
Before [the Twelve Tables of the Decemvirs], Roman law had been a mixture of tribal customs, royal edicts, and priestly commands. “Mos maiorum“–the way of the ancients–remained the exemplar of morals and a source of law … early Roman law was a priestly rule, a branch of religion, surrounded with sacred sanctions and solemn rites. The priests declared what was right and wrong (“fas et nefas“), on what days the courts might open and assemblies meet. All questions regarding marriage or divorce, celibacy or incest, wills or transfers, or the rights of children, required the priest as now so many of them require the lawyer. Only the priests knew the formulas without which hardly anything could be legally done. The laws were recorded in their books, and these volumes were so securely guarded from the plebs that suspicion charged the priests with altering the texts, on occasion, to suit ecclesiastical or aristocratic ends.
The Twelve Tables effected a double juristic revolution: the publication and secularization of Roman law.
–Caesar and Christ, by Will Durant, p. 31
Look, he even took a bite out of that tree already!
Did this religion help Roman morals? In some ways it was immoral; its stress on ritual suggested that the gods rewarded not goodness but gifts and formulas; and its prayers were nearly always for material goods or martial victory. The gods were, with some exceptions, awesome spirits without moral aspect or nobility.
Nevertheless, the old religion made for morality, for order and strength in the individual, the family, and the state. Before the child could learn to doubt, faith molded its character into discipline, duty and decency. Religion gave divine sanctions and support to the family; it instilled in parents and children a mutual respect and piety never surpassed, it gave sacramental significance and dignity to birth and death, encouraged fidelity to the marriage vow, and promoted fertility by making parentage indispensable to the peace of the dead soul. By ceremonies sedulously performed before each campaign and battle it raised the soldier’s morale, and led him to believe that supernatural powers were fighting on his side. It invested every phase of public life with religious solemnity, prefaced every act of government with ritual and prayer, and fused the state into such intimate union with the gods that piety and patriotism became one, and love of country rose to a passion stronger than in any other society known to history. Religion shared with the family the honor and responsibility of forming that iron character which was the secret of Rome’s mastery of the world.
–Caesar and Christ, by Will Durant, p. 67
… In other words, it wasn’t enough to hold back the tide of human wickedness, but it was a good preparation for the Gospel.
The Senate of the Republic [508 – 49 B.C.] often abused its authority, defended corrupt officials, waged war ruthlessly, exploited conquered provinces greedily, and suppressed the aspirations of the people for a larger share in the prosperity of Rome. But never elsewhere … have so much energy, wisdom, and skill been applied to statesmanship; and never elsewhere has the idea of service to the state so dominated a government or a people. These senators were not supermen; they made serious mistakes … But most of them had been magistrates, administrators, and commanders; some of them, as proconsuls, had ruled provinces as large as kingdoms … it was impossible that a body made up of such men should escape some measure of excellence. The Senate was at its worst in victory, at its best in defeat. It could carry forward policies that spanned generations and centuries; it could begin a war in 264 and end it in 146 B.C.
–Caesar and Christ, by Will Durant, p. 28
It began as a beautiful field,
then became a dusty lot, then
a rapidly rising skeleton to
which insects trundled, their
headlights glowing in the dusk. Now it’s a shiny dull something, a
warehouse or machine shed.
You’d think it would block the horizon, but no.
The horizon is tougher than that, and springs back into place.
You could build a hundred of these warehouse things and not fill up the big sky.
So don’t worry.
Out of Babel Books 