The “Indeed, puppy” edition.

Friday Random Ten

  1. Sigh – [Imaginary Sonicscape #02] Scarlet Dream
  2. Antony and the Johnsons – [I Am a Bird Now #10] Bird Gehrl
  3. Anton Bruckner – [9 Symphonien CD9 #02] Symphonie No. 9 in D minor: II. Scherzo. Bewegt, lebahft
  4. Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds – [Nocturama #07] There Is A Town
  5. Michael Jackson – [Dangerous #06] Can’t Let Her Get Away
  6. Anekdoten – [Vemod #04] Thoughts In Absence
  7. Embodyment – [Hold Your Breath #08] Binge And Purge
  8. Sergio – [Swords #08] Half Past
  9. Comity – [The Deus Ex-Machina As A Forgotten Genius (Andy Warhol Sucks) #05] A Farewell to a Crimson King in a Crimson Way… (Hats Off Mister Salinger)
  10. Do Make Say Think – [Winter Hymn Country Hymn Secret Hymn #09] Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!
§1993 · February 29, 2008 · (No comments) · Tags: , ,

Nasty flu.

This is no laughing matter

Indeed, puppy. Indeed.

§1992 · February 27, 2008 · 1 comment · Tags: ,

cacophony
n. a mix of discordant sounds; dissonance.

There’s nothing inherently new or exciting in the word cacophonous; in fact, many of you have probably heard it before. It has a flair of the exotic, but it’s showed up often enough in the mainstream to be fairly well known.

The reason I chose it was because I was trying to dissect it etymologically the other day and realized that while I knew the latter root, -phon (φωνή), which means voice (or often more generally is used to mean “sound”), I didn’t know the etymology of “caco-” which I could only assume to mean “bad.” The only other word I could think of with that same root was “cacodemon,” and I wasn’t even entirely sure that was really a word outside of Doom.

It turns out that the construction really is as simple as all that: the Greek kakos (κακός) means “bad, evil, or harmful.” The Greek kakos refers to inherent or characteristic evil; by contrast, the Greek word for that which causes ill effects is poneros (πονηρός). The word likely comes from the Indo-European root kakka-, which denoted ill, specifically defecation

From this root, we get quite a few other, lesser-known words.

Cacoëthes refers to an urge or mania, the combination of the Greek kakos and ethos, which means “character;” literally, cacoëthes is “bad character.”

Cacodyl is a foul-smelling liquid compound: caco + od (smell) + yl (chemical suffix for radicals).

Cacogenics is a self-explanatory synonym for dysgenics (itself an antonym of eugenics.

One of my favorites is cacography, which is poor penmanship and/or spelling: kakos + graphein (writing or visual representation).

The balls-out coolest word, though, is a psychological one: cacodemonomania is a condition whereby a person believes he is possessed by an evil spirit. It comes from the English cacodemon (it is a word after all), from the Greek kakodaimon (κακοδαίμων). Whereas we have come to think of “demon” as being inherently bad, the word’s etymological origins, daimon, usually handed down to us through Latin as daemon, simply means “spirit,” without connotations of good or evil. The split happened mostly because of Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible, and the evil spirits or beings described therein gave a permanent evil connotation to the word. As early as the 16th century, “demon” was evil, and “daemon” was reserved for the generally supernatural or incorporeal.

So, caco- reaches all the way back to the Indo-European kakka. It’s also related etymologically to the Greek kopros (κοπρος), which is, to be blunt, shit. While we may have words in English that use the root as “bad,” you’re far more likely to see it in words having to do with feces. The Dutch kakken, the German kacken, Russian kakat’ (какать ), Icelandic kúka, and Czech kakat all mean “to defecate.”

I’ll stop here before I go off onto other tangents. Tune in next week when I’ll probably look at another common curse word that we all know and love.

§1991 · February 27, 2008 · (No comments) · Tags: , , ,

The Road The Road by Cormac McCarthy
Publisher: Vintage Books
Year: 2007
Pages: 287

Even if you’ve never read Cormac McCarthy, there’s a chance that you’re familiar with his work: No Country for Old Men, a 2007 Coen Bros. film, was a film adaptation of a McCarthy novel; All the Pretty Horses was a 2000 adaptation of his 1992 novel. Both Blood Meridian and The Road are either in production as film or scheduled for production. In short, Hollywood seems to love Cormac McCarthy, but I have yet to understand why, since his books are all essentially dark, existentialist works that depict the world as entirely bereft of goodness and hope.

The Road is the story of a nameless father and son, walking south along a long road in a postapocalyptic world. McCarthy has robbed the context of any specificity: no names, no places, no causes, no history. I get the feeling that this anonymity is supposed to make it more gripping and applicable to anyone who might read it. Environment disaster? Nuclear holocaust? Plague? All we’re told is that everything is covered in ash.

This dangerous world is populated by various and sundry unsavory characters: cannibals, pederasts, cannibal-pederasts, and roving, Mad Max-style gangs of pipe-wielding hoodlums.

These kinds of things are few and far between: the more pressing concerns of our protagonists are cold, hunger, and the lack of decent footwear. In the meantime, the audience is treated to the tense but loving relationship between the father and son. Early on, we learn that the wife/mother committed suicide when this apocalypse occurred, epitomized as Selfishness; by contrast, the anonymous father refused to kill himself or the boy, believing that life is good enough to fight and even suffer for.

The existential quandary that McCarthy describes is this: the father explains to his son that they are the “good guys,” and it is for this reason they must press on, avoiding the hordes of “bad guys;” however, the father routinely expresses a callous disregard for other travelers, his (1) suspicion or (2) self-preservation getting the better of him. McCarthy juxtaposes the caring but wholly circumscribed father with the voice of the innocent son, who wants to help people. This kind of irony isn’t—or shouldn’t be—ultimately lost to the reader.

Reading The Road is an almost unbearably bleak experience; imagine a Baudelaire poem that’s almost 300 pages long, and you’ll get some idea of the crushing despair inherent to the text. I have no idea what McCarthy is like in real life, but the worlds he narrates are evil through and through, containing perhaps one or two innocent souls fighting against a tide of death, destruction, and despair. I will say that the book has some measure of a happy ending, though you can bet your britches, given the author, that it’s not “And they all lived happily ever after.”

McCarthy won a Pulitzer for The Road; clearly, it’s not a book without philosophical or literary merit. There are things of beauty to be found within the ash and dust of his writing. In fact, it brings to mind Miller’s A Canticle for Leibowitz in some of its subtexts. Read it, but have something light and fluffy handy afterward, or you’ll end up feeling like crap.

§1990 · February 23, 2008 · 2 comments · Tags: , , , ,

Mostly Harmless Mostly Harmless by Douglas Adams
Publisher: Del Ray
Year: 2000
Pages: 240

It may to behoove you to read my review of the previous book in this series, So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish

The fact that five books does not a trilogy make is not lost on either the publishers or author of Mostly Harmless. Some printings of the book label it as the fifth installment of the “increasingly inaccurately named Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy trilogy.” For my own part, I happen to think that series more or less tanked after the third book, and from what I read, the author’s opinion doesn’t stray too far from my own.

Mostly Harmless is a bleak book; it ends poorly, and not at all in the way that such things should. It is also extraordinarily random, harking back past the unintelligible Bridget-Jones-on-acid nonsense that was So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish. In true Adams style, it finds several quantum versions of Trillian (Fenchurch having extraordinarily disappeared for good), Ford Prefect, and Arthur Dent crisscrossing both the galaxy (spatial), time (temporal), and extra-sensory dimension (?) in an odd quest with little explanation, less purpose, and no sort of half-decent ending whatsoever.

Really, it’s rubbish. Even Adams, apparently, despaired at the bleak note with which he ended it. I’m less concerned with the bleak note and more with the relative paucity of humour in the damn thing. A sixth was in nebulous form in Adams notes when he died in 1991, but we’ll never know what it would have been, beyond a few sketchy chapters.

Mostly Harmless, like its immediate predecessor, felt like nothing more than a tribute to running gags: a lot of references to the popular first three books, with a tenuous connecting thread from which Adams attempted to prise a coherent plot. He failed. Sorry, but the book was rubbish. It left me cold on any one of a number of levels, slightly cheated, and wanting to go read something funny or substantial to wash the taste of failed satire out of my mouth.

Really, avoid it. Even for the mere couple of hours it’ll take to get through it, it will only aggravate you and leave you questioning the literary legacy of a dead man. Let it go.

§1988 · February 23, 2008 · 1 comment · Tags: , , , , , ,