Look into their eyes

So take the best, most thoughtful, engaging writers from every conceivable country all around the world with totally different backgrounds and social standing; cram them together into rooms to talk amongst themselves about everything from religion to love to politics to writing--and then let the public in to eavesdrop.

That's essentially one of my favorite NYC festivals, the PEN World Voices New York Festival of International Literature. I was only able to go for one day this year, but got to see four panels.

All panels at all conventions and festivals should be like these... 90 minutes never flew by so fast, every panel easily could've gone on for hours longer and yet at the end of every one you felt satisfied with how the topic had been hashed out.

The first panel I saw was Idols and Insults: Writing, Religion, and Freedom of Expression. The panel was structured around this:

Writers in many countries have come under threat for perceived insults to religious traditions, and some countries—England most recently—have tried to criminalize religious defamation. But the global repercussions of a Danish newspaper’s decision to publish cartoons depicting the Prophet Mohammed internationalized the debate over free speech and respect for religious beliefs. Writers from several countries discuss the shifting and increasingly perilous terrain surrounding art and religion.

It was an interesting panel, made up of:

Ian Buruma, a solid Dutch novelist who's also written for prominent magazines and newspapers, moderated; his bio says he lived in Japan and Hong Kong for many years, maybe that's where he got his even keel from. He was an archetypical moderator--very much in control, but not overtly, secure enough in himself to let the panel define itself.

Juan Luis Cebrián, the energetic Spanish editor of El Pais, which Buruma said had a readership of about 3 million and may be the most respected paper in Europe. I'd never heard of it; but really liked Cebrián, he was an informal, rumpled man who seems to have seen a lot. He's obviously someone who lives and dies journalism, but hasn't spent his life shut up in an office. He started the panel off, saying universal values are not so universal anymore, that unfortunately it's only the economic ones that most people pay homage to. With a nod to the cartoon controversy, he said you need to differentiate between criticism and provocation; but at the same time, he believes it a duty of jounralists to provoke. Total old-school left-wing journalist, governments, totalitarian movements and big business are the enemy, writers and reporters need to fight them with all means necessary.

Upamanyu Chatterjee, an understated Indian novelist who appropriately enough is also a civil servant. He's not one of those precocious Indian writers, struck me more as the type who rose early every morning and worked patiently on his writing. In his opening he said you have to differentiate between insults in the private vs. the public sphere. Then he added he doesn't think you should criticize something as uniquely sensitive as a religion unless you really understand it; and that you should probably start by criticizing your own religion.

Hans Magnus Enzensberger, a brash old-school German critic and writer, with all the virtues and vices of someone steeped in centuries of literary tradition. [Whoever chose the photos for PEN did a good job]. He was kindof an irascible figure, someone who loved nothing more than talking about ideas and writing, maybe a bit too certain of his beliefs and thus not someone to be bothered by what other panelists said. In his opening he said a lot of people doing the attacking on religion are ones who can't themselves bear to be attacked; he didn't specifiy, but it was obvious he meant Muslims. He added that 'agents' made the cartoon issue bigger than it should've been.

Nilüfer Göle, a surprising Turkish woman who's a professor of sociology in Paris. I went from thinking she was kindof stuffy and didactic to thinking she's quite insightful and is probably someone who's used to being smarter than everyone else, but the only one to know it. She opened by contrasting taboos installed by the state with taboos via 'social norms', and saying you can't disconnect speech from power. She also said you can no longer think in terms of secular Europe and pious America, because of Islam in Europe and the reaction to it. She ended her dense opening by talking about how there's now this generation of Islamic neo-martyrs, suicide bombers who reflect an unprecedented mixing of faith and identity.

Ayaan Hirsi Ali, an astonishing Muslim originally from Somalia who's now a member of the Dutch parliament, a writer, and the co-creator with Theo van Gogh of the film Submission. She was the rock star by the time the panel ended, if not at the start. One of those people who seem to exist out of time; most people would count as a life's work what she's already accomplished in any one field. She'd requested to go last in the opening; started by saying "I like to laugh at Islam." Said all religions attempt to limit free speech, but Islam was the worst. She said she has no problem, though, with Islam trying to shut up critics--except for the fact that Muslims are violent about it. People applauded for everyone, but hers was of a different degree; funny, nobody thinks of someone like her when they picture Muslim women--but there she was.

Tariq Ramadan, a Swiss-born Islamic scholar and professor at Oxford who the moderator said was the grandson of the Egyptian founder of the Muslim Brotherhood (now that's a lineage!) appeared via videotape. The U.S. government wouldn't grant him a visa; at first I thought too bad, after he spoke I thought my gosh, that decision deprived me of seeing in person someone amazing. Ramadan and Hirsi Ali's kids could rule the world; he was one of the most charismatic speakers I've seen in a while, very appealing and instantly likeable in the Barack Obama mode, even if a couple of times he did seem a bit too much of a politician. He basically said Muslims should learn to maintain a critical distance when others criticize their faith, and not get too emotional or fall into the trap of reacting to bait. On the flip side, non-Muslims need to respect Islam. And governments should play a mediating role between the two.

Ramadan also sortof said, but in a sly or hinting way, that Europe deals more carefully with the Jews, for example, because its considers Jews part of their society. That if you consider Muslims a minority, you're already threatened by them. He finished his part of the program by saying in today's Europe, Islam is not a foreign religion; "we are citizens, this is my society."

The 'opening statements' took like 45 minutes. But it was well-worth it, you totally got a sense for how each panelist thinks. After that Buruma threw out the question of does power matter, when it come to speech about religion. He also said let's not just talk about Muslims reacting to speech, bringing up the example of the anti-Semitic aspects of Rainer Werner Fassbinder play, Garbage, City and Death, that prompted the 'small' Jewish community in Frankfurter to protest and ultimately prevent the play from being performed.

It's too bad none of the panelists delved into that incident--given Germany's special history with Jews, it's understandable that the country has a law that prohibits denying the Holocaust, which certainly is a restriction on free speech; and likewise, it's understandable that the few Jews that still live there feel vulnerable to what others might dismiss as mere words.

Likewise, considering what Muslims in Europe live with, it's not surprising to me, at least, that they're pretty sensitive about overt attacks on their faith.

At any rate, the Spaniard Cebrián said essentially democracy is not a happy life; people are always going to be insulting and stepping on each others' toes. Hirsi Ali said what she'd really like to talk about is the horribleness of Islamic regimes in the Middle East, but given how repressive their governments are, the duty of Muslims who understandably immigrate to Europe is to reform their religion there, undergoing self-criticism in hopes of one day being able to change the religion back home as well.

Chatterjee said something about nowadays idols are performative, not discursive, that it's not surprising it was cartoons, with their immediately powerful imagery, that was at the root of the latest violence, instead of books, which get banned pre-emptively but which nobody reads anyway, specifically citing the case of the Satanic Verses in India. The other panelists responded to this question as well, nothing particularly distinct but Enzensberger went off on a thing against political correctness, saying people are so sensitive nowadays. Yeah, kindof makes you wish for the good old days when intellectuals and others in power could say whatever they wanted, and people knew their place....

After that Buruma asked a second question, I don't remember what it was but people didn't say much that was different from their opening. So Göle said since the panelists were all agreeing about everything, she'd try to be provocative, and in the course of discussion she wound up asking Hirsi Ali what she thought the solution was when free speech collides with religion.

Hirsi Ali said it's up to the secular state to mediate, with an emphasis on protecting individual rights from backwards Islam in particular. Göle said flatly she didn't accept that answer; that secular states so often are authoritarian, citing the example of her native Turkey, and France (in particular over the recent headscarf madness). She then basically India was the only secular state she could think of that wasn't authoritarian, but that in general she distrusted central control. The panel pretty much ended there, with some audience questions that didn't add much.

My thoughts coming out of the panel was I really like Hirsi Ali as a person; she's immensely courageous, and although she may not be intellectually the smartest person on the panel, she knows what she knows, and what for others is an interesting exercise is for her life. It's so interesting that she's a politician; I don't actually agree with some of her views, and some Muslims probably criticize her for airing the family's dirty laundry. But the key thing for me is she's still in the family--she's still a Muslim, which means she's speaking from love.

Likewise, I liked Ramadan; interestingly, I agree probably more with his views, but feel he's a little more slick and careful as a person than Hirsi Ali. Expanding upon his thoughts and mixing it with Hirsi Ali's biography, I think the essential problem with Europe when it tries to deal with Islam is that white European Christian still think of their Muslim countrymen as other. As long as that attitude persists, whatever they say--even if it matches exactly what someone like Hirsi Ali says--is going to be rejected by Muslims, because they know it's not coming from love, but rather in most cases hate, distrust, and at the very best that ugly word 'tolerence.'

Wecs have to understand because there's such a disparity in power, their words and their actions come inherently with a feeling of threat. Even if there's no such intention--which there always has been, unfortunately. That's why Muslims don't laugh when wecs make fun of them, they feel and see the steel underneath the jest, and react accordingly.

Ironically, wecs themselves are incapable of really joking about Islam because they're scared of Muslims--they don't understand them, and don't want to understand them, and worry they're going to get blown up by them. Really, they just want Muslims to in a best-case scenario somehow leave; at worst keep their heads down and not cause trouble. But this isn't possible; especially because Muslims in Europe tend to be poor and unhappy, openly ostracized from society and often physically ghettocized.

Besides which, Muslims wonder, who appointed wecs to be the arbiter of what's acceptable and not acceptable in a religion they have no understanding of? It's hard enough dealing with criticism from family like Hirsi Ali and Ramadan; it's intolerable when the next-door-neighbor jumps in with their half-baked, self-aggrandizing orders.

So it's no wonder Muslims fight back... on whatever pretext, sometimes riled up by disingenuous self-serving trouble-makers, but usually as a result of not just the immediate incident but the underlying smoldering anger, as well. When you're insulted in hundreds of small ways every day, when you're in a country where people call for you to 'go home', it all builts up and every so often explodes.

The only way out of this is for wecs to understand Muslims are part of the family now, for better or for worse. They're not people who can be sent away or done away with. Treat them like family, stop using words like 'them' and 'other' for Muslims and 'us' and 'we' for Europe, when you really mean wecs.

And given the demographic trends, it's in the interest of wecs to mend their relations with the rest of the family as soon as possible, since Muslims are soon going to be their literal caregivers.

Life, death

Just watched "Beat" Takeshi Kitano's Sonatine, which he directed and starred in. It was quite interesting; plot is roughly a yakuza leader in Tokyo is sent by his boss to Okinawa, ostensibly to mediate a turf war, in reality to set him up so the boss can take over his increasingly lucrative turf.

The movie starts with a simple, synthesized song that gets in your head and recurs a few more times. A couple of early scenes set the sense that for the yakuza, violence is just part of their job; indeed, a theme running throughout the movie seems to be the juxtaposition of violence and boredom, murder and everday time-passing.

-Kitano's character, Murakama, oversees the 'scaring' of an illegal gambling operator who refuses to pay off the yakuza, they dunk him a couple of times into a harbor via a crane, the second time they keep him down too long while they're talking of other things; he calmly walks off and says doesn't matter, hush it up.

-There's a stabbing and then scuffle in the office between some new and veteran gangsters while Murakama's talking to the yakuza boss' second in command, they just watch impassively.

The movie really starts once they go to Okinawa; against the blue sky and lush green backdrop the gangsters hurry up and wait, holing out after they get drawn into a murderous battle with one of the factions they're ostensibly there to mediate with. The beachfront cottage they spend their time with becomes the set for all sortsof odd but telling pass-times--veteran yakuza Murakam winds up digging holes in the beach and laughing as his unwitting underlings fall into them, drawn forth by his summons.

A side plot develops when Murakama stops a rape from taking place; it turns out the attempted rapist was the woman's husband (I believe). The two start hanging out, she admiringly tells him how much she loves tough guys and how he's so great and unafraid of death. He says "I learned to shoot fast, because I get scared very quickly." And then adds, "when you're scared all the time, you almost wish you were dead."

Maybe the most extraordinary moment in the film is when the yakuza, under a full moon, fight a mock battle on the beach, using somesortof fireworks gun that we don't have here in the U.S. (it's a long tube that keeps shooting out jets of flame). The reds and whites against the dark sky with hazy smoke in the air makes for beautiful cinematography. Despite Murakama's seeming silliness during the beach part of the film, it's clear he's still a ruthless gangster--he pulls out his gun and uses it during the mock battle, to much laughter but his side also prevails.

The movie ends with betrayal and murder; Murakama's gang dwindles to him, a young gangster, and the woman. No matter; they cut the power at a hotel where his double-crossing higher-up and other leaders are meeting with one of the island's factions, and he walks in with a machine gun and wipes them all out.

The movie's mostly stylized--he kills in a larger-than-life manner, with no expression on his face. At the end, in a crazy twist, he's driving back from the wipe-out the next morning; he'd previously turned down an offer by the betrayers to stay on Okinawa and give up his turf in Tokyo, in exchange for control of part of Okinawa. So you know even for all his sense of being on holiday, and his statement early in the movie that he's thinking about retiring, he's only going out on his terms.

Yet it's still a shock when he pulls the car over to the side of the road, just over the hill from where the woman's waiting next to the ocean for him, and shoots himself in the head.

Why does he do this? I'm not sure. It's surprising, yet it fits with the way his character is--it's someone who is sentimental and kind, yet also ruthless. Most normal people would've taken the offer of retirement up, and stayed in a cottage by the sea, with or without the woman (he'd already told her he was going back to Tokyo, so I'm not sure his driving toward the cottage at the end of the movie meant he was going to be with her, she's really nothing special).

But things like honor and respect mean something to him, so he walks into the meeting room and blasts the other gangsters to bits. Maybe this means there's now a price on his head from the big boss back home--but I don't think something like that would lead him to take his own life.

So I go looking online, to see what the reviewers say. I'm surprised at how idiotic the Times' review is--Stephen Holden seems not to have understood the movie, even aside from the flat-out mistakes made in his review, 'Sonatine': No Rest for the Weary in a World of Violence.He claims the machine gun scene is "left to our imaginations." It's not really, we see bodies falling and people shooting back. He says a "group of young hoodlums awaiting instructions playfully stage a mock gangland war"; not really, Murakama's part of the battle and he's neither a young hoodlum nor awaiting instructions. He says "much of the film is set at a mobster's seaside retreat"; the cottage is owned by a relative of one of the gangsters who's out of town, part of the whole movie is how these supposedly glamorous gangsters are always doing things like driving around in substandard cars and holing up in dirty, makeshift places, bored with nothing but themselves for amusement.

In a key misunderstanding, he writes "What else do these young hoods do when they're not busy killing one another, the movie wonders? Why, of course, they spend their time coltishly pretending to kill one another." The movie shows the young gangsters, and Murakama: creating a sumo ring, re-entacting a stage performance, playing dress-up, playing with dolls and paper figures, playing frisbee, playing Russian roulette... the whole point of the movie is these guys are very Japanese, and there's a lot of both violence and odd tenderness in Japanese male culture. Therefore, it's not significant that the young hoods enact mock battles in their spare time--that's in there because they're young men first and foremost; it's the scenes of them hanging out by the beach that are really the interesting ones.

Another thing Holden doesn't get is why these guys are immune to violence erupting around them. He writes "During these eruptions, witnesses remain impassive and poker-faced as though they were frozen in a trance." It's actually the opposite--they're not in a trance or frozen at all. They're relaxed and in a normal state, ready to act if necessary, otherwise it's no big deal to them and is just part of their surroundings.

Holden's failure to get the film leads him to literally conclude: "After each scene, Murakama turns away in disgust, his eyes a little deader than before. As gorgeous as it is, ''Sonatine" does not glorify violence."

Murakama never turns away in disgust. He turns away because there's no reason for him to gawk. It's time to go on to the next thing, it's all in a day's work.

The film definitely doesn't glorify violence, but the way in which it does it isn't by pretending a man who's spent his entire life in a gang is suddenly going be disgusted by violence; it does it by showing how it's no big deal, nothing special, no mystery or mystique here. One concrete example is how when the woman asks Murakam who the first person he killed was, Murakama responds matter-of-factly it was his father. He explains why in a sentence, gives a short laugh, and that's that. No wallowing, no disgust, no psychological unburdening necessary.

Since Holden's no use I turn to Roger Ebert. He writes:

I was reminded of Jean-Pierre Melville's ``Le Samourai'' (1967), another film about a professional killer who is all but paralyzed by existential dread. Neither movie depends on extended action scenes because neither hero finds them fun. There is the sense in a lot of American action movies that Bruce Willis or Arnold Schwarzenegger enjoy the action in the way, say, that they might enjoy a football game. Murakama and the French samurai (Alain Delon) do jobs--jobs they have lost the heart for, jobs that have extinguished in them the enjoyment of life.

I disagree with the 'paralyzed with existential dread' line, but the rest is accurate. Ebert continues "In Kitano's universe, violence is as transient as a lightning bolt. It happens, and is over. It means nothing." And Ebert says:

And in his willingness to let characters languish in real time, to do nothing in between the moments of action, he forces us to look into their eyes and try to figure them out. Films that explain nothing often make everything clear. Films that explain everything often have nothing to explain.

Yeah, I don't think Ebert really got the movie, either. It's one of those reviews that doesn't grapple with anything; maybe Roger's written so many of these that he's tired of it, but I think he's just doing the paint a picture of the movie's general mood and avoid specifics.

So we turn to Mr. Jonathan Rosenbaum (like me, he's gotta be wondering what the title means, right?) First, I notice he gives it a 3-star review, making it a 'must-see.' I think he's right--Americans are used to the stupid we're-not-glamorizing-nudge-nudge-wink-wink-mob-life Godfather films and Sopranos show.

Right away, Rosenbaum tells us something new:

I've only seen three of his last four films--Sonatine (1993), Kids Return (1996), and Fireworks (1997), which played at the Music Box for two weeks last month--yet all three share an almost primitive quality, wholly unconcerned with the conventional rules of narrative structure. This seems entirely appropriate for a filmmaker who claims to shape his stories around compelling images. "When I'm working on the script," Kitano has said, "the visuals come first, before the dialogue."

This totally makes sense to me; the plot of Sonatine is confusing, but the images are always clean and, for a gangster film, it's the nature scenes that stick with you.

Rosenbaum next writes:

Kitano, an inventive and compelling visualist, essentially stops the story and creates a series of spellbinding images and set pieces that are so poetic one hardly notices the dangling narrative. For instance, in order to relieve their boredom, the men invent a game using paper figures crafted in the form of sumo wrestlers, which move like pawns across a board when the ground is struck. Moments later, on the beach, the men repeat the stylized gestures; their movements parallel the sumo wrestlers' ritualized actions, except the manner is theatrical, artificial, closer to No theater. In another sequence, the men form lines on a darkened beach and stage a fake war, launching Roman candles at each other. The succession of ecstatic images is broken up by the playful and ironic Murakama, who insists on firing his gun.

These scenes are basically irrelevant; their effect on the story line is inconsequential. Yet they subtly impart the idea that whatever follows is impossible to predict. With Kitano, narrative and plot become wholly secondary to the emotions, moods, and associations his images conjure. Texture is more important than story. These sequences illustrate Kitano's method of shifting between engagement and detachment, and his resolve to confound our own sense of anticipation. Kitano invites his audience's willful surrender to the experiences and the uncommon depth of feeling his movies are predicated on. Sonatine doesn't encourage a straight reading, where logic dictates meaning and importance. When our normal responses are broken down, we relate more directly to the film.

A director like John Woo will use violence to express his characters' inner conflicts, but Kitano designs violent, horrifying images to explore their emotional aftermath. In a 1995 essay in Film Comment, Chuck Stephens pointed out, "Each of Kitano's films embrace death as a form of self-determination, and yet each offers an underlying concern for victims, outsiders and children, and for the consequences of violence, both on the body and in society." Like Wong Kar-wai, Kitano seems drawn to themes of loneliness and isolation (a car runs along a desolate stretch of road; a man in a wheelchair serenely stares out at a vast sea). This melancholia--the frustration between what one desires and what is available--runs throughout his work. Suicide is also a recurring theme. It's the culmination not of sorrow or despair or a political statement against state oppression but the logical conclusion of the warrior code.

Yeah, that's exactly it. The plot in the film is almost incidental to the images; unlike most gangster films where the violence is glorified by being at the center of everyone's thoughts and actions and hence the audience's anticipation (wow, what a great gun scene!), Kitano isn't awed by the power of the gun, he's more interested in the people wielding the weapons--not just as triggermen, but as people who, bored at the beach, will do all sorts of random but interesting things, some linked to their violent life, others not.

Rosenbaum ends with this:

Kitano has his problems; for instance, he hasn't quite figured out how to create fully dimensional, interesting women. But at a time when action movies typically hand us a canned experience, his pictures carry a charge of originality. He's fully attuned to the emotional consequences of his choices, and his films impart something quite free, daring, and beautiful. He seems to have no real equivalent in the American cinema, or indeed in popular culture.

So no one's yet talked about the suicide, or the title; but Rosenbaum definitely gets the film.

There's a review on IMDb, by an avid fan who goes by the moniker Sonatine97, that I think gets the film:

But eventually even the beach hut where they live is no longer safe from the assassin's bullet and so Kitano has no other choice but to face his rivals once and for all in a bloody gun battle finale.

And so ends the film. It is not a happy film with no satisfying "Hollywoodesque" ending. Far from it, the ending only illustrates the working mind of Kitano at the time. In fact there are many examples within the film that underlines the bleak suicidal tendencies of his mind for real, especially the Russian Roulette scene.

It is also interesting that these gangsters think nothing of their own lives or safety: they accept their fate as a death-wish. They have witnessed so much death in their lives that they have lost their morality & humanity in themselves and to other people. So it is no surprise that during the various gun battles between rival groups neither Kitano or his men hide behind furniture in order to avoid the bullets. Instead they stand erect like statues firing their guns, hoping for the best waiting to be killed by their enemy in full view.

The life of the Yakuza in the context of this film, therefore, counts for little. They have no life, only a limited existence. There are few highlights - such as the Sumo scene, the firework fight and even the scene where Aya Kokumai removes her t-shirt in front of Kitano so that she is semi-nude before him. And yet not even this makes an impression on him. He is has become such an empty shell that even his sensual nature has long since gone, such is the life of a Yakuza warlord.

I think the poster overstates the bleakness of the characters' outlooks; but the rest is accurate.

A post on Amazon from someone with a Japanese name has the answer to one of my questions:

[T]he original title is "Sonachine", not "Sonatine." Sonachine is an indigenous style of music of Okinawa where much of the story unfolds. Sonatine is a classical composition form. Very different vibe indeed.

Hmm, so the score becomes even more important. Maybe it's like sonachine is the background music for Okinawa, echoing how gunfire/fireworks always seems to accompany the gangsters?

And I guess the answer to the suicide may be in order to be a gangster, life and death can't be a big deal to you. The character's more or less done what he's set out to do in life; why not take your own life, instead of waiting for it to be taken from you?

It's chilling when you read how Kitano a few months after filming Sonatine nearly died in a car accident he's since described as an unconscious suicide attempt. I guess he felt, like the character in Sonatine, that he'd reached the end of his road. How wrong he is.

Uncredited photo of Takeshi Kitano in various places online.

As presented by the Times

Quoth the Raven: I Bake Cookies, Too

Mark Landler in The Times: Surely Germany, cradle of the kindergarten and home to some of the world's most generous maternity-leave policies, would do everything it could to make life easier for mothers who work, right?

Well, no. Few developed countries are more resistant to the idea of working mothers, and the hostility can be summed up in one word: Rabenmutter.

It means raven mother, and refers to women who leave their children in an empty nest while they fly away to pursue a career. The phrase, which sounds like something out of the Brothers Grimm, has been used by Germans for centuries as a synonym for bad parent. Today, it is at the center of a new debate on the future of the German working woman, prompted by the first woman to lead the country, Chancellor Angela Merkel.

Mrs. Merkel herself, a physicist and career politician, has no children, making her typical of her generation of German professional women. But she has appointed Ursula von der Leyen, a physician and mother of seven, as minister for family affairs.

Dr. von der Leyen has taken it on herself to challenge some deeply held, if only whispered, prejudices in German society, chief among them that women must choose either to work or to raise children.

To her critics, many of whom belong to her own conservative Christian Democratic Party, Dr. von der Leyen is Germany's latest incarnation of the Rabenmutter — a driven creature determined to impose her own superhuman lifestyle on women who can neither deal with it nor afford it.

Only someone who knows nothing about Germany would be surprised that the country doesn't "do everything it could to make life easier for mothers who work." As for this line, it just made me laugh.

Immigration can solve only part of the problem. Even if Germany's annual influx of immigrants were to double to 200,000, the population would still shrink 8.5 percent by 2050. And Germany already struggles to absorb the current waves of Turks and others.

First, it's telling that Germany tolerates immigration only because it has a rapidly aging workforce. Second, it's a huge understatement to say non-immigrant Germans 'struggle to asorb' immigrants--the language choice itself is telling of how Germans see immigrants as a necessary evil to be made swept under the rug as much as possible.

Immigrants aren't sheep--they know non-immigrant Germans hate them and are pretty racist, so don't assume Germany can bring in as many workers as it needs, or wants. Heck, just look at how Germans treat their own mothers:

"The thinking that mothers should look after children and men should go out and support the family is a product of our dark past," said Reiner Klingholz, director of the Berlin Institute for Population and Development. "It's still in the minds of people, even if they sound liberal or progressive."

Not so past, I'd say.

To Hire Sharp Employees, Recruit in Sharp Ways

The Times: "There's a new war for talent, but most companies aren't bothering to fight," argues John J. Sullivan, a management professor at San Francisco State University and critic of traditional hiring practices. "Whether it's a store manager or a software developer, there's a huge gap between the business results that average employees deliver and what stars deliver. If you want to win the battle in the product market, first you have to win the battle in the talent market."

This is not, Dr. Sullivan is quick to add, a plea to return to the bad old days of the 90's dot-com boom — when the last "war for talent" became an excuse to lavish big signing bonuses on any self-absorbed M.B.A. or self-impressed Internet marketer. It is, instead, a call for companies to become as creative and aggressive about stocking up on talented rank-and-file employees as they are about designing sleek products or producing flashy television commercials.

"The first rule of recruiting is that the best people already have jobs they like," Dr. Sullivan said. "So you have to find them; they're not going to find you. It's amazing that so many companies still use job fairs to recruit talent. Who goes to job fairs? People without jobs! All you get are worthless résumés and lots of germs. Recruiting has to be a clever, fast-moving business discipline, not a passive, paper-pushing bureaucracy."

As an alternative to the passive approach, consider the hiring strategy pioneered by Quicken Loans, the mortgage company based in Livonia, Mich. This fast-growing company, with 3,400 employees, closed $16 billion worth of home loans in 2005, compared with $4.6 billion in 2001, and has emerged as the country's largest Internet lender.

According to Michael G. Homula, Quicken's director of talent acquisition, the company's most pressing business challenge is to add employees quickly enough to keep pace with such meteoric growth without diluting its highly charged culture. (It is a regular on Fortune magazine's list of 100 best places to work.)

Specifically, Mr. Homula is racing to hire 200 mortgage bankers a month for the foreseeable future. "This is the job that really moves the needle at our company," he says. "These are the people who interact with customers, solve their problems, make things happen. We ask ourselves every day, 'Where is our next great mortgage banker going to come from?' "

The primary answer, it turns out, isn't help-wanted ads, Web site postings or job fairs. Mr. Homula and his 34-member department have mastered the art of discovering talented candidates in unlikely places. This month, for example, they organized a "road rally" in which teams of recruiters blitzed a carefully selected group of shopping malls.

They spent hours inside stores like Best Buy and Circuit City and restaurants like T.G.I. Friday's. They walked the aisles, bought merchandise, ordered meals and hunted for employees and managers who stood out by virtue of their energy, enthusiasm and rapport with customers.

This week's entry in the Times' ongoing quest to bring to the attention of American business things they should already know.

Erasing an Error, One Tile at a Time

The Times: DID you ever make a home decorating mistake?

Not a huge mistake, like buying the wrong 40 yards of very expensive chintz for the dining room curtains, then deciding that Venetian blinds are far better. Or hiring a painter to paint a three-story hallway orange, and then discovering that you hate orange.

No, this was just a small error: I had put some moderately ugly flesh-colored tiles on the kitchen backsplash.

Flesh-colored tiles sound pretty repulsive now, but 15 years ago, the manufacturer called them taupe — although they weren't — and the idea was that they matched the color of the paint lining the paneled wooden cabinets. The paint looked good on the inside of the cupboards, but it never looked good on the backsplash. After about a decade of averting my eyes every time I passed by, I painted them an intense yellow to match the curtains. But after a while, the paint started to chip off, exposing the flesh.

This week's entry in the Times' ongoing quest to ignore its changing city and country. Ironic that it went from taupe to 'flesh-colored' even as the term increasingly makes one wonder whose flesh? What color?

Times Laugh Lines: Jay Leno
The president of China, Hu Jintao, arrived in the United States today. His first stop is Seattle. He stopped into a store to buy some souvenirs to bring home. He was a little frustrated. He said, "Do you guys have anything that wasn't made in China?"

So China's president meets America's president. It will be President Hu meeting President Huh.

David Letterman
In Washington, D.C., today is the annual White House front lawn Easter egg hunt. It's a big, big annual event and the kids found so many eggs, it was unbelievable, and I'm thinking, "Well, maybe they should send the kids to look for Osama Bin Laden."

Photo of German Family Minister Ursula von der Leyen and her family by Jochen Luebke/Agence France-Presse/Getty Images.

Hippies come back

They run last week's highlights, including the hilarious digging in the desert exchange between Ray ('get a pattern going') and Yolanda ('yo momma got a pattern going'). Made even funnier by how she said it under her breath.

From the Green Castle in Oman, to... Australia! No money for the hippies. Old people take off at 5:35 p.m., to Perth. 9,000 miles away. And they drop off $20 bucks at the car of the hippies, how cool. Joseph/Monica pretend to give hippies money, but chortle and take off. Idiots. Ah, I guess hippies asked to give them money. The king's coming, so the roads are blocked. An hour behind are Ray and Yolanda, they give the hippies some money, black people are so much more giving and generous. Yolanda and Ray talk about how JoMo pretend to be nice, but aren't. Frat boys give hippies nuttin.

King's gone, traffic moves. Wow, fireworks. Hippies have $30. They're counting on their goofy attitude to get them past stuff. At airport, Jo/Mo beat old people, then R/Y, then frats. Other people don't think hippies will be able to make it. On the way they pick up hitchhikers--one who's a bedouin from the desert. At the airport, everyone's on the same flight. Hippies need gas, ugh. Guy they're with buys them some candy bars, then gas, then mango juice--they touch noses, it's pretty cool actually. Hmm, will they make it in time....

10 minutes to takeoff, and they're just pulling in. Some airport guy grabs them, come with me. Frats say they're sure hippies won't make it, MoJo don't think so either. And the guy--gets them the tickets, woman tells them to run. And off they go--just in time. Good karma, baby.

R/Y are happy to see them, so are old people; Jo/Mo are mad, frat boys annoyed too. They start working the aisles, asking for money--long flight, so plenty of time. IN Perth, need to find war memorial. Old people somehow last. Frats leading, then Jo/Mo. Hippies made over $300, they have more than anyone else.

Frats first to box, to Fremantle, then ferry to some resort island. Jo/Mo next, R/Y--who say they can't afford it by cab, hippies--told they can take a bus. R/Y's driver tells them about bus, too. Old people there next. Frats and Jo/Mo get to ferry place, doesn't depart until 7:30 a.m. Everyone goes off to hostel.

Hippies and R/Y off to get a bus. Everyone else checks into hostel. Bus people show up, a bit later, totally lucky. Then again, saved tons of money. Everyone's on same ferry. Gotta ride a tandem bike to lighthouse. Frats first, Jo/Mo, hippies, old people, blacks. Old people like bikes, they say. R/Y change places, so he's in front. Frats to box first, detour. Either sand--grab a pile of 40 branches, drag to a sand dune to 'brush' the beach (prevents sea erosion); sea--dive and search through 50 crayfish traps to find 2 crayfish, most traps are empty. Jo/Mo next, then hippies, Jo/Mo are just heaping abuse on them for some reason. R/Y show up, say old people may look old, but they're goood.

Hippies catch up to frats, both doing sea. Hippies do dragging. Jo/Mo going somewhere else, are lost, start yelling at each other. Idiots. She's right, he screams at her, gosh what an ugly couple. Frat boys rely on their amazing luck, go diving. Old people do drag too. Frats find a crayfish. Frats find their second one. In first, gotta go to Fremantle prison. Tunnels under the prison.... Hippies about done. Off they go. Jo/Mo dive. Where's R/Y? Jo/Mo get just one. R/Y show up, old people are about done, they do branches too. Idiots Jo/Mo go back for another one. Old people done. Monica has trouble getting crayfish, freaks out, says she's scared of it, can't do it. Idiot.

Amazing how much of a difference editing can make. She grabs it, off they go. R/Y still dragging. They're done, bit behind. Frats still biking. Frats run for ferry, make it before everyone else, just as it's pulling out--the 9:15 a.m. one. Hippies decide to get on 9:25 a.m. to Hillary and taxi down. Old people want a cab waiting before they get off ferry. Jo/Mo there, too. R/Y zip in, and they... make the 10:00 ferry too.

Fremantle, frats off, and off to prison. Hippies cab it. Jo/Mo order a taxi from ferry. Frats at prison already. Roadblock. Search prison for one cell with duracell batteries and flashlight, then gotta go down into tunnels and look for next clue. Whoah. Frat one finds batteries already. Then has trouble finding tunnel. Hippies stuck in traffic. R/Y try to grab a cab on street, old people's didn't show so they go off looking too. They wind up taking a bus to the prison. Frat #1 still can't find tunnel. Jo/Mo show, frats say they've been there for an hour. Hippies thrid. Frat #1 finds the tunnel finally. Jo and Tyler running around, Jo finds batteries. Tyler does next. Frat #1 paddling boat around; R/Y show up, Yolonda's gonna do it. And the old woman... oh-oh. Frat #1 finds clue, off he goes. Jo finds tunnels, as frat boy comes out; he tells him to take the canoe. Heh heh.

Frats off to pit stop, sailing club. Were gonna steal someone's cab, wind up just walking. Joseph finds his clue. Tyler can't find the tunnels. Yolanda finds the light. Fran next. None of the final three can find the tunnel. MoJo grab their cab, off they go. Frats run to club. Frats and MoJo get there about the same time, it's a footrace. Frats beat them out by a matter of feet. Tyler helps Yolanda to find tunnel, then Fran. Now it's pure luck who gets it first--Tyler finds his, off they go, their cabbie waited. Yolanda finds hers, Fran hers.

Editing makes it seem like they're neck and neck, but R/Y grab cab, off they go. Old people from first to last. Hippies finish 3rd, and they dance. R/Y are nervous. Old people say they feel sick. R/Y can't find breakwater, old people running too. And it's... R/Y! Yaay.

Wow, next elimination will be down to final three. This season has flown by. Fran says she won't cry, as they're eliminated; they're a good couple.

Next race--there are gators. Jo/Mo and the hippies seem to turn up their rivalry.

Uncredited photo of Fran and Barry from the Amazing Race.

American surprises

So they're cutting to top five, watching live... for me, highlight will be Andrea Bocelli singing. Hope it's Chris or Elliott or Katharine going, and not Paris.

Out they come, chatting with Ryan a bit, it's weird--they're like about as big as you can get in the music industry, yet here they are on FOX's little reality show. Because We Believe, from Amore. Man, their sales are going to go through the roof after this. Bocelli is astonishing, amazing--maybe one day Idol will see someone who reminds us of him. It's like he's singing for the first time, just for us.

That sense of almost embarassment you get when listening to a great artist. You get a big grin on your face just listening to him swell the notes; and there's no sense of slumming, he seems right at home on the cheesy Idol stage. Like Shakespeare in the park or on the street corner--greatness fits right in everywhere. And the Idolists bask next to him, as audience stands.

Three groups of two tonight, just to mess with them. Then I'm guessing they'll take one from each group. Or, they could pick one, then one from last. Chris and Katharine, Elliott and Taylor, Kellie and Paris.

Right now I'm guessing one from each group. Hmm, Ryan says one has top two, another bottom two, third is somewhere in between. And they have Elliott and Taylor sit down. Wow, Elliott has really made a comeback lately; odd, not sure where his fan base is coming from. So I'm guessing it'll be Paris, Katharine, and Chris.

Whoah, Chris and Katharine had the most votes last night--they sit down, which means Paris is out. No way Kellie will leave. Wow--now way, Paris is safe, Kellie is gone! That's astonishing, she's never been in the bottom, and then first time--and gone.

Her good-bye video is great, so many funny moments. Aww, she's so adorable. She's very gracious thanking the crew, and everyone else--and they don't leave any time for her to sing!

Wow, what a crazy, unpredictable, odd show. Yaay, more Paris; maybe she can nail it outof the park next week.

Talking by listening

Talking It Up

Russell Baker in the New York Review of Books: The conversation was good on the raft that carried Miss Watson's Jim and Huckleberry Finn down the Mississippi. With quiet evenings darkening over the river the talk drifted whimsically, as good conversation should. The earning power of kings was discussed, and the misfortune that required Frenchmen to talk in French. Social problems were explored: Wouldn't the racket of quarreling wives and colicky children in a fully populated harem make a husband's life intolerable?

A fine exercise in philosophical speculation took place when Jim challenged the received opinion about the wisdom of King Solomon. As Mark Twain tells it, Jim not only questioned the very nature of wisdom, a question worthy of Socrates, but also lightened this ponderous exchange with tongue-in-cheek raillery. Solomon's famous proposal to cut a child in two and give half to each of two women who claimed to be its mother was proof that Solomon lacked good sense, Jim said, for "what use is a half a chile?"

These discussions between two socially disreputable Americans—a runaway slave and a seldom-washed boy —may seem at first glance not at all what Stephen Miller has in mind in his meandering and entertaining essay on "the art of conversation." Miller lavishes a great deal of attention on Europeans of the powdered-wig era and this, combined with his frequent references to an "art" of conversation, may leave art-shy readers with the impression that good talk is strictly for the elite. Not so. Huck and Jim—and who could be less elite?—enjoy some of literature's memorable conversation by intuitively following principles laid down by masters of the art. Thus:

Both participants listen attentively to each other; neither tries to promote himself by pleasing the other; both are obviously enjoying an intellectual workout; neither spoils the evening's peaceable air by making a speech or letting disagreement flare into anger; they do not make tedious attempts to be witty. They observe classic conversational etiquette with a self-discipline that would have pleased Michel de Montaigne, Samuel Johnson, or any of a dozen other old masters of good talk whom Miller cites as authorities.

Baker's piece on conversation starts promising enough. But then it all goes downhill, as a different Russell seems to have written the rest of the piece. It's too bad, because I think compared to most, Baker really gets the importance of good conversation and in his personal life probably contributes more than his share to good talk.

The problem though is I'm not sure Baker, in print at least, is able to rise above who he his. And who he is is an increasingly narrow segment of society whose time for shaping the national discourse has passed, and for whom as a result it must seem as if nobody talks anymore--when in result it's just the conversation has moved on to another room and they're unwilling or unable to follow.

For example, he cites Twain approvingly, but not only fails to note that those kinds of conversations between the races were purely fictional for most of history, but doesn't find it odd that what he cites as his highest conversational ideal is a white man's idea of what a conversation between a poor white boy and a grown black man would be like.

No need to mention who leads Twain's conversation, and on whose terms their idyllic rafting adventure is undertaken. Funny also that Baker fails to mention Huck's threats in the book, when talk and things don't go his way, to turn Jim in. Great conversation is inherently dependent on freedom and equality. You cannot praise a conversation the governor has with a condemned man on the eve of his execution, no matter how sparkling the bon mots or astute the observations.

The two are simply not in the same game. The power disparity is so great that what you have is not an exchange of ideas, but one man deluding himself into thinking he's having a light evening out slumming and displaying his common touch and picking up insights, while the other's frantically paddling to stay afloat. How enjoyable is a game of poker if someone's actually got his life at stake?

I think white men have historically had this problem of walking away congratulating themselves on what a fine exchange of ideas has just taken place and how open-minded they are, when the other party is leaving as fast as is polite breathing a sigh of relief; or rolling their eyes, or shaking with exhaustion, or even running in fear.

It's striking how unperceptive and oblivious white men can be; maybe it's why they can say, with all apparent honesty, they had no idea coworkers were being discriminated against, or harassed, everybody seemed to be having such a great time.

Given Russell's burden of a tin ear, it's no wonder he can write without irony:

In Western culture, conversation as art probably reached its highest level in eighteenth-century England and France. (It would be interesting to know if complex ancient cultures in Asia and Africa evolved conversational traditions comparable to the West's, but this is beyond the scope of Miller's essay.)

I think it's probably not just interesting, but probably vital, to know how Eastern cultures valued conversations if you're going to write an essay about conversations without prefacing the word at every turn with 'those that I aware of'. Baker's essay has the tone of the universal, when really it's quite limited.

Which goes to the obvious point--how can the greatest conversations in Western history come out from clubby groups of upper-class white Euorpean men talking just to each other? It's like comparing Central Park to Yellowstone--no matter how carefully and artfully cultivated a park is, it's still small, fake, and stilted, with all sorts of artificial shortcuts behind the scenes. Not to mention it's inherently stultifying over time, even with the best of groundskeepers--and the man who stands in the midst of Sheep Meadow warbling about the magnificence of untrammeled, provocative, dangerous, mind-expanding nature is properly looked at as a provincial at best, blind at worst.

It's like any time someone starts a conversation by talking about the good old days of the '50s, I feel like stopping them and saying, you mean 'the good old days for white males who are perfectly happy to live in a society where all around them blacks, hispanics, Asian Americans, and women were beaten down with impunity, and the only things in your head were what other white males contributed'?

(The sad thing is shot up with truth serum a large number of people in the 21st century would still nod their heads and say yup, those were the good old days.)

This line made me laugh, too:

Like most of the arts, conversation may come naturally to an untutored primitive while a person of education, power, and position may find it impossible. Miller has no theory about this. Could it simply be a matter of having the right genes?

Not sure why he assumes: elites should have better conversations, but they don't always, so therefore it must be something beyond their control, i.e genes.

In my experience it's the complete opposite--cab drivers and doormen are much more interesting to talk to in most cases than their customers because they're unguarded, speak their minds and actually come in contact with a wide range of people who even if they often treat them like they're part of the furniture, that at least gives rise to interesting stories they're happy to relate to people who ask. There's none of the careful sizing up and weighing of words that people of education, power and position put between themselves and the person they're talking to, not to mention the air of busy-ness these poor souls wear as a shield against their world.

And then there's this:

Miller is pessimistic about the future of the conversational art in America and finds few witnesses who are not. The common explanation at the moment is the "polarized" state of our politics, which is said to be so advanced that sensible folk scarcely dare speak on any subject more arresting than food and weather for fear of igniting some human powder keg in a conversation-ending spew of rage. This is to surrender to an excess of politeness which, as La Rochefoucauld observed, can become a kind of slavery.

Attacks on 'political correctness' and its so-called stifling impact always fail to mention that in the past, sure maybe behaviour--for some--was more unfettered, but today we'd probably tag much of what spewed forth racist and sexist, in addition to boorish. The targets of the old-style devil-may-care conversational bomb-throwing--a kind of verbal terrorism, if you will--usually weren't allowed at the table, so there was nobody to object or stand up for themselves, and thus no fuss.

People today disagree about a lot of things and discussions can get uncomfortably heated because social discourse includes a greater diversity of background and thus opinions than ever before. But I don't think anyone can seriously disagree that there's more open and honest clash today than ever before in human history.

Hell, what were the 60s and 70s but one long national conversation? White men with crew cuts may not always have liked the long-haired men/women who seemed to be doing all the talking; they probably hated what was being said since much of it was directed at them, but if anyone cut short the conversations it wasn't the kids. Birmingham and Grant Park and Kent State were, if nothing else, examples of talk being cut short with clubs and guns.

And then Russell goes after Westerns!

Conversation has always had enemies in America. Consider the popularity of the laconic hero. He is a figure extensively delineated in western movies, especially those directed by John Ford, who boasted of how few words he permitted his actors to speak.

It makes me wonder how many John Ford films he's seen, certainly not The Searchers or The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance.

Yes, unlike many Hollywood films of Ford's and our time, there's no idle chatter, no obvious banalities--Ford limits what his actors say because first and foremost he believed he was working in a visual format, and secondly because pairing limited words with his carefully-chosen images is the best way he knew of to communicate, which happens to be the ultimate point of any conversation.

Everybody's different--to criticize Ford because he's no Woody Allen misses the point that the two very different people made very different films, and Ford's as pre-eminent in his chosen genre as Woody is in his. Conversation's not just words-- gesture and context speak volumes. And actually, I'd argue Ford said more than Woody, especially when you consider the themes Ford took on in his movies (racism, gender roles, civilization and war), compared to Woody's very Manhattan self-absorption.

Then Russell really shows his age, with these paragraphs:

In this world men who talk a lot are thought to be comical, ineffectual, or effeminate. Real men keep their thoughts to themselves. If they feel an emotion they are expected to suppress it. In movies, of course, they might express it by firing a gun, blowing up a bridge, or throwing a punch. In real life they can only clench their jaws and silently ponder a couple of cold ones until it passes over.

In this world? It's no longer 1970, there's been quite a lot of water over that bridge since Alan Alda. Maybe among a certain type of white men silence is mistaken for strong, (rather than coldness, emotional stuntedness, or just personality), but I'm not sure too many people in 21st century America have such a narrow canvas upon which to paint 'real men.'

In this media-dominated age voice is power--and white males are nothing if not interested in power. Is Donald Trump not a real man? Dan/Tom/Peter? Heck, even Arnold has jumped into the most loqacious of vocations, seemingly unencumbered by his accent.

Baker goes on to sketch the geneology of his strong/silent straw man:

As Miller explains, the style descends from the Spartans, who inhabited the Greek region of Laconia. The word "laconic" derives from the Greek word lakonizein, which meant to speak in the distinctive Spartan way. Among other things, this involved keeping speech to a minimum. "Spartans thought men who talked a lot were not likely to be men endowed with military spirit," according to Miller.

He describes an oppressively male, homoerotic, military culture in which the only lively art was warfare. Boys were taken from their parents at the age of seven to begin military training and were expected to have a male warrior as lover after the age of twelve. Spartans apparently took pride in avoiding and even being unable to understand complicated discussion. The laconic style has never made for lively conversation."

Sparta's 'homoerotic' culture as an example of a non-communicative society? Odd to toss that in, in our age of sassy and loud gay men; more extrapolation would've been nice.

There's nary a mention, by the way, in Baker's essay of the role the Wills of our time have played in our national discourse, which seems so odd. No mention of Ellen (or the likes of Oprah or Spike Lee either).

I wonder if Russell's real gripe is he doesn't understand or feel a part of all the conversations that are swirling around him. From the perspective of older white men who are used to being masters of the universe--and having nothing but short and direct interactions with anyone not a part of their clubby circle (Yes, sir. Right away, sir. How high, sir?)--maybe something does seem lost in this messy, free-wheeling world of ours.

I wonder if what they've lost isn't conversation, but a certain type of circular stroking of egos and mutual hear hears that indeed, you don't hear much of anymore. The convinial setting of the club probably did impart white men with a feeling of ease and well-being. And indeed, I can see how they miss the comfortable feeling of sitting around a table and, in the course of an evening over whiskey and cigars, circling and ticking through the world, chewing over problems in mouthfuls that within the boundaries of their known world may indeed have felt daring, but ultimately at night's end pushing back from the table with a sense of time well-spent.

I'm sorry if they've lost this sense of fullness, but invite them to stop pining away for the good-old-days of valium and open their eyes to the vibrant, multicultural world that they are a part of, still.

I may be a bit harsh--after all, it must be hard for an ex-Timesman, and one who no longer has a regular column from which to pontificate, to write about conversation without bemoaning the good old days.

And actually, I've always liked Russell Baker the columnist, and it's not his fault he's a man of his age. Heck, if you don't get it, hip-hop does sound just like a lot of shouting, and the cacophony of immigrant-driven voices in our big city can seem like babble.

But really, Russell, if nothing else, how can you not toss in someting about how the Internet and blogs inherently make this the golden age for conversation? Kids--your grandkids among them--are writing more and at an earlier age than ever before; there are no barriers to entry; you can hear from people anywhere in the world; and nobody can forestall anyone else from speaking.

How can this not be better than a few white men at their club in 1872 London talking amongst themselves? Heck, Passepartout always seemed more interesting than Phileas Fogg to me.

You've got to have more than people expressing their views to have conversations, of course. But at least now we all have access to more authentic thoughts and ideas to start the conversation with, and a much wider choice of conversational partners.

If we so choose.

Cover of Around the World in 80 Days from Golden Picture Classic.

Guests steal the show

Top six--singing love songs with the help of Andrea Bocelli. This is gonna be great. Lotsof time, too, for each contestant, hopefully it doesn't get filled up with idle chatter. Each Idol gets two numbers... as if Taylor needed any more help. High hopes for Paris tonight.

They show Celine Dion saying if God had a singing voice, it'd sound a lot like Bocelli. Run some great clips, it's all to promo Amore, which has a great song on it, Because We Believe. First time I heard it I assumed it'd been around forever. And David Foster, Andrea's producer, is with him too.

Idols are totally blown away by his singing. They show him teaching the kids how to warm up. David's kindof a jerk, he's a bit like Simon--but without his charm. Andrea says you become great only if it's your destiny, David's like oh, really.

Katharine first, singing I Have Nothing, written by Foster. They give her some good ideas, she says she was really nervous. Foster and Andrea both say she has a good voice; she winds up singing opera with Bocelli, it's pretty cool, actually. He says you have to say also she's beautiful, and nice, Foster's like how do you know all this?! In odd yellow dress, guess she's going for classic look, just accentuates her fatness. And like always she's totally playing to the camera. Nice big voice, and pretty powerful. She's really come into her own I guess as the competition has gone on--one of those who feeds off her own confidence. Audience is totally in the palm of her hand, she's very much in control. Dress is a bit out of control. There's a moment where she stops to fix her hair, that in a nutshell is why I don't like her. Wow, Sasha Cohen's in the audience.

Randy says it was only okay, waaay too big for you. It didn't come close to Whitney Houston. Paula says it's now getting serious and tough, there were pitch problems, your zone is not pushing your vocals, in your natural voice. Paula has mike problems, but tells her to know herself. Simon says by choosing that song it's like you're coming out and saying you're as good as Whitney Houston--you're not. He just rips her, calls it cabaret. Says it's a step backwards for you; poor Katharine has a surprised look on her face, guess she didn't see the script change coming.

Elliott next, in classic suit, singing A Song for You, he says it was like a good luck charm. Uh, not a good reason to sing a song, but maybe he's comfortable with it. Andrea guesses just from his singing he probably knows it very well, wow, he's very good. Foster's pretty tough on him during auditions, but Elliott finally gets what he wants; Foster says he really, really sings well. Wow, and from get-go, Elliott just busts through, what a great tone. It sounds like he's live, just grabs you from the start. Good singing is so subtle--not sure why this is grabbing me, but it is. It's like the old Elliott is back, with that unique sound. He's like totally relaxed, and just singing. Randy is like did not like arrangement but loved the vocals, you were dope, you were the bomb. And Paula is like in tears, says you move me, you celebrate what this competition's all about. And Simon's like laughing next to her, it's a little outof nowhere. Simon said seven weeks ago I said you were one of the best male vocalists we've ever had, tonight, in part, that was like a vocal master class, it was superb. Hmm, the wheels are turning, the judges are trying to throw a monkey wrench into everything.

Kellie next. In nice peach top, black stretchy pants. Ryan asks if she's dedicating it to anybody special, she says Ryan, thanks for reminding me I don't have a boyfriend, I'm lonely. Unchained Melody. Hmmm. Andrea says her voice is sweet. Foster says she's a little robotic. He gets her to throw in a falsetto at the end. Andrea says she's very happy, and I like her, and this is important on stage, I think. Foster asks him what color hair she has, and he says blonde. Ugh, start is a bit off-key though. Foster says it can be boring if sung without passion, and Kellie so far is playing it safe. Middle is better, she's a little tender. Still all over the place though, think she may be too nervous about ending. Quite flat at times, this is a bit painful, not sure why she isn't just relaxed. Or maybe this is just the LeeAnne Rains version. Wow, falsetto is quite interesting, overall it's one of the weirdest performances ever, but it's Kellie, so you like it maybe more than you should. Randy is just laughing, she says I don't know, I'm just really scared, Randy says not the right song, very strange. Paula says it's hard at this stage, you need to raise the bar each week, I adore you, but you need to show greatness now. Simon says that deserves tears, for a different reason. Simon calls it never-ending, no heart, no warmth, and bland; gets cut off at the end by the music.

Paris, in black and white, so looking forward to this and what they think of her. No pre-interview with Paris, singing The Way We Were. She says she had to choose a love song wisely, since she's only 17. Andrea and Foster are like wow-wee, she's great, Andrea says she has a voice like me, it's incredible. Foster just has one piece of advice, sing the start softer. Andrea says she has an extraordinary voice, and absolutely incredible, spectacular voice. Oh, chills at the start, she's singing in such a sad way, pace is just perfect. Funny little smile suddenly. She sings with such conviction, and stillness. A bit too much head bobbing, maybe, at times. Belts out big; oddly tone doesn't have the vibrancy at times, but it's so smooth, and she really pours her heart and soul into it. And huge loooong last note. Randy is like it was pretty good, liked it, not blown away, you can sing anything. Paula says she thought she oversang a bit. Simon says bit old-fashioned, like you were trying to impersonate someone older, and off to Ryan.

I guess I liked hearing what Andrea/David had to say about her, then maybe the actual performance--I really think she's best in small, intimate rooms, rather than big huge arenas, which sounds counter-intuitive with her great voice. But it's like Billie Holiday--you want the darkness, the smokiness, the intimacy physically as well as vocally.

Back with Taylor. Hmmm. Just Once. Andrea says he's a good singer, is very interesting. David says he has got drawn into the song and the way Taylor was doing it. Andrea likes his song choice; David says he potentially has the most charisma. In weird tuxish outfit. Nice beginning, nice and intimate, and he's very believable. I like him best like this, rather than all crazy--he's good at these story songs. Funny, if he didn't have gray hair, not sure he'd still be around, his voice is merely okay, it really is about his performance for him. His voice has an interesting insistency to it, you wind up listening. Tori Spelling's in the audience.... Randy says it was totally a bad song, didn't like it at all. Paula says not his favorite song, look handsome as heck. Simon says you looked uptight, outside of American Idol that song's nothing special, the phrasing, the performance, like something in a hotel lounge. Paula stands up to try and rally the crowd for Taylor. Uh, he's got the votes, chill.

Hmm, Chris, looking very dapper in suit, I think he'll be very good tonight. So far it's been a bit disappointing, except for Andrea and David, who are the most astute of anyone they've had on the show so far. They're total pros. That's really the best part of the show for the competitors, the amazing coaching. Have You Ever Really Loved A Woman, Bryan Adams. Interesting choice. David says he's not singing from deep enough. Andrea lies down to sing, Chris says it was kindof awkward for him. But you know, tone is really improved, and Chris says that too. David says he sings great, if he delivers the performance of his life he'll do amazing. Tough song, it's so mocked. Chris slooows it down, very soulful. He's really impressed me the last few weeks, wants to win very badly. It's good, I like listening to it, and it's different. Some flatness here and there, but intensity is there as always, and he's very believable. Ending is good, although my attention wandered now and then. Randy says it was amazing, love you; Paula goes crazy, love you; Simon says great performance, good choice, as they're running out of time.

So it wasn't as great a night as I thought it could be, oddly enough since this is the highest-caliber group they've ever had I'm not sure down the stretch I've enjoyed the performances as much. They're not just letting go; maybe because they know they're good enough and don't have to. They leave Ryan's mike on so you can hear him now and then during the performance highlights. Kellie's falsetto really was quite good. And Paris... such a pro. I fear for her for this competition, but she's definitely gonna be around for years.

Elliott, 2
Paris, 4
Chris, 6
Taylor, 5
Kellie, 3
Katharine, 1

Photo of Kellie by C. Gomez via Flikr.

Hark the Herald Angel sings

Now here's an interesting photo.

The structure in the background photo is the Azadi (freedom) monument, built in 1971 by the Shah at God knows what cost to celebrate the 2,500 anniversary of the Persian empire. He originally called it Shahyad (Remembrance of the Shahs) Tower, but since the victors get the spoils.... It now houses a cultural museum

It's a popular destination for protests and demonstrations, which ever since they played a role in bringing down the Shah Iranians have become very good at. Not that there are many demonstrations allowed against the current regime. Some, though.

The photoluminous nature of the backdrop squares with other modern Iranian artwork I've seen, there's a whole Middle East/European love of that kind of hyper-realism/collage/kitschiness. It's something the Japanese also tap into with their anime; it's big in parts of the U.S.--especially California--but by and large we titter at it.

Not sure if there's any other significance to the crystal light or the doves, apart from their universally-accepted meaning of peace and righteousness.

I guess Washington's not the only city that can lay claim to being shining on a hill.

Photo of Iran's President Mahmoud Ahmedinejad speaking at a ews briefing with Iranian and foreign reporters in Tehran that was broadcast live with simultaneous translation by Behrouz Mehri/AFP/Getty Images via the New York Times.

Super New York

Sometimes, you just want to gaze.

The photo was created by 'Automatt' using a technique called High Dynamic Range, which can be done using some versions of Photoshop. Essentially you're taking multiple photos of the same scene, then combining them into one 'super-photo' that contains all the visual information of the multiple photos.

The Wikipedia entry explains that this process gives photos on two-dimensional surfaces like monitors/paper the luminosity and 'realness' your eyes capture.

Yeah, the more photos I take, the more I realize it's first and foremost about the light. Under certain light conditions, that luminosity comes through easier, and the resulting photos always look much better than you expect.

But nothing like these.

Photos by Automatt, from New Amsterdam collection.

Tin ear

Harvard Novelist Says Copying Was Unintentional

Dinitia Smith in the Times: Kaavya Viswanathan, the Harvard sophomore accused of plagiarizing parts of her recently published chick-lit novel, acknowledged yesterday that she had borrowed language from another writer's books, but called the copying "unintentional and unconscious."

The book, "How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild and Got a Life," was recently published by Little, Brown to wide publicity. On Sunday, The Harvard Crimson reported that Ms. Viswanathan, who received $500,000 as part of a deal for "Opal" and one other book, had seemingly plagiarized language from two novels by Megan McCafferty, an author of popular young-adult books.

In an e-mail message yesterday afternoon, Ms. Viswanathan, 19, said that in high school she had read the two books she is accused of borrowing from, "Sloppy Firsts" and "Second Helpings," and that they "spoke to me in a way few other books did."

"Recently, I was very surprised and upset to learn that there are similarities between some passages in my novel, 'How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild and Got a Life,' and passages in these books," she said.

Calling herself a "huge fan" of Ms. McCafferty's work, Ms. Viswanathan added, "I wasn't aware of how much I may have internalized Ms. McCafferty's words." She also apologized to Ms. McCafferty and said that future printings of the novel would be revised to "eliminate any inappropriate similarities."

Michael Pietsch, publisher of Little, Brown, said that Ms. Viswanathan planned to add an acknowledgment to Ms. McCafferty in future printings of the book.

In her e-mail message, Ms. Viswanathan said that "the central stories of my book and hers are completely different." But Ms. McCafferty's books, published by Crown, a division of Random House, are, like Ms. Viswanathan's, about a young woman from New Jersey trying to get into an Ivy League college — in her case, Columbia. (Ms. Viswanathan's character has her sights set on Harvard.) Like the heroine of "Opal," Ms. McCafferty's character, Jessica Darling, visits the campus, strives to earn good grades to get in and makes a triumphant high school graduation speech.

And the borrowings may be more extensive than have previously been reported. The Crimson cited 13 instances in which Ms. Viswanathan's book closely paralleled Ms. McCafferty's work. But there are at least 29 passages that are strikingly similar. ...

It was unclear whether Harvard would take any action against Ms. Viswanathan. "Our policies apply to work submitted to courses," said Robert Mitchell, the director of communications for the Faculty of Arts and Sciences at Harvard. "Nevertheless, we expect Harvard students to conduct themselves with integrity and honesty at all times."

Ms. Walsh, the agent, said: "Knowing what a fine person Kaavya is, I believe any similarities were unintentional. Teenagers tend to adapt each other's language."

It's odd, I feel like there's an element of racism in this article. Both something about the tone, and in what people say.

I don't know, it's like it's a little too easy for the Times, Megan McCafferty, and the Harvard administrator to believe this young Indian American girl who came out of nowhere just copied an older white woman.

Besides which, most young authors, while finding their own voices, sound an awful lot like their major influences. The Times article is utterly lacking in context, which seems odd given how much issues of plagiarism have been in the news recently.

Would the article read the same and the quotes be similar if someone accused a young precocious white girl of copying an older Indian American novelist?

I think not. There's very much an element of what does this Indian American girl know about writing chick lit anyway. Like her only entree would be by cheating. It all fits so easily with our meta-myths that Asian countries just copy, or pirate, the work of Americans. The Japanese are always portrayed as great at copying, the Chinese great at ripping off, the Indians great at doing the backroom work.

Of course, America owns the bulwarks of our civilization--gunpowder, movable type and money--to the Chinese, but never mind that (just imagine if the Irish had invented that trio, there'd be even more How the Irish Save Civilization-type tomes out there!)

At any rate, I'm sure Viswanathan will be cleared, by a court of law if not in the eyes of the Times/McCafferty/Harvard administrator. The one similarity cited by the Times doesn't seem that similar to me--besides which, as Viswanathan's agent says, teens soak up the world around them like sponges anyway. Which is only fair, given how much advertisers and hipsters-wanna-bes steal from teens.

If anything, maybe McCafferty should be questioned about where she gets her dialogue from.

Photo of Kaavya Viswanathan by Jodi Hilton for the Times.

We are not pleased

As noted in Gothamist--Times correction: April 21, 2006

An article in Business Day on Wednesday about investors in The New York Times Company who withheld their votes for directors misspelled the name of the family that has controlled the company since 1896. It is Ochs-Sulzberger, not Ochs-Sulzburger.

Uncredited photo of Adolph Ochs, who bought the Times in 1896, via Jew of the Day.

Uncredited photo of Ochs' son-in-law Arthur Hays Sulzberger via Columbia University.

Deciding how you die

Last Rites, Tailored to Immigrant Customs

Karin Brulliard in the Post: As immigrants have transformed the way of life in the Washington region and across the nation, they also have influenced the way of death, adding customs to long-standing traditions. In recent decades, many cemeteries and mortuaries -- whose directors are mostly white -- have adapted services for a diversifying clientele, designing special burial sections, providing rooms for Muslims and others to wash the deceased and allowing mourners to participate in cremation, as Hindus and Buddhists often request.

"This is what people want: to observe their customs," said Robert M. Fells of the International Cemetery and Funeral Association. "If you say, on the one hand, 'What are you talking about?' or worse, 'We don't do that,' you're not serving the needs of the public. . . . That's not acceptable anymore."

Anymore? When was it acceptable?

It's an interesting article; odd though how it makes it seem like suddenly funeral homes are having to learn the customs of 'immigrants', when for one thing the body of the piece talks about second and third generation Americans.

Further, it'd be nice to have had some historical perspective--funeral home directors at one point had to learn about Jewish practices, Italian practices, Irish practices; this is just the latest in a long chain.

And the photo they highlight in the online version, above, is ridiculous; it underscores the tone of the piece, which is white funeral directors are now accepting 'other' funeral practices. Although the article ends with examples of customs that funeral directors still refuse to accommodate.

It makes me wonder, as always, why white Americans are so comfortable portraying themselves as the arbiters--even extending to death?

Oh well... as Mohamed Magid, an imam, says, it soon may not matter what white funeral directors think:

"At the end of the day, it's business," he said. "If they don't accept us, I'm not going to send people to them."

Religious leaders say that although their communities are grateful for adaptations, some immigrants would prefer to run their own cemeteries and funeral homes.

One Northern Virginia group, the All Muslim Association of America, already does. About a decade ago, members bought a $36,000, five-acre parcel in Stafford County for a Muslim cemetery. There, graves point east, plots are free and burials always happen quickly, volunteer S. Javed said.

Gupta, the Hindu priest, said his temple hopes to build a center that would include a library, education center and funeral home.

Photo of Amrong Chey making a request of Bryan Allison, an apprentice at Fairfax Memorial Fund Home, by Jahi Chikwendiu of the Washington Post.

Barbarians at the library

Wear This Book (but Bring It Back Friday)

The Times: To make room for shiny new books, librarians cull the texts that have been loved literally to pieces, as well as volumes that haven't been stamped with a due date in years. The rejected books are given away, tossed in Dumpsters, melted in acid, even burned — visions that could stop any author's pen in midsentence. It is, as the librarian Michael Whittaker puts it, the book-lending world's dirty little secret.

Mr. Whittaker works for the Portland Public Library in Maine, where a small portion of such ill-fated books are given a new life as art. And this art can now be checked out at public libraries across the country.

Last year, the Portland library joined forces with the Maine College of Art in Portland for a first-of-its-kind project: "Long Overdue: Book Renewal." To inaugurate it, the library invited a Brooklyn-based book artist, Doug Beube, to lecture about his work. That was followed by a "book grab," during which artists were invited to take any of the library's discarded volumes and do with them as they pleased.

Nearly 200 artists, mostly from Maine but also from Boston, California and Wisconsin, participated. Megan Dunn transformed text into a spiny bracelet by cutting pages into long, skinny strips and attaching them to an elastic band. Susan Winn gutted a copy of Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass" and remade it into "Field of Greens," a potted patch of turf in which the waving blades of grass are lines sliced from the book.

"It's like a magical recycling program," Mr. Whittaker said. "They turned trash into art."

The artists had about 90 days to work before their books were due back at the library. In February, the collection of 186 altered books were put into circulation, and within two weeks about 100 had been checked out. Some library patrons used them as centerpieces at dinner parties, others held mini-exhibitions in their homes.

This article made me physcially cringe; it was hard looking at photos of mutilated books.

Plus the breezy tone of the whole thing bothered me. There's still something sacred about a book, even in our digital age and despite the best efforts of the dead trees crowd.

It's like when somebody dies. Humans have evolved ways of dealing with the body--sure, from a utilitarian point of view maybe it makes more sense to strip all bodies of any useful organs or parts, and put it to good use.

But I have full sympathy for people, and religions, that would rather not, and instead choose to cremate or bury the body intact.

Likewise, yeah, we know some books are unwanted, and get thrown away or burned or otherwise destroyed. So from a practical point of view, turning it into art shouldn't be bothersome.

Maybe it's the way the people quoted speak as if these books were worthless until they were imbued with art. (Uh, literature is art). Or the way people display these objects at dinner parties... the same people who buy big shiny books to put on coffeetables.

It'd make me feel better if these books were quietly placed in someone's well-thumbed home library.

Photo of Susan Winn's remade copy of Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass" into "Field of Greens" by Adriane Herman/Maine College of Art via the Times.

Photo of "Candy Dish," made by Brandy Bushey, by Adriane Herman/Maine College of Art via the Times.

Books for liberty

George C. Minden, 85, Dies; Led a Cold War of Words

Douglas Martin in the Times: George C. Minden, who for 37 years ran a secret American program that put 10 million Western books and magazines in the hands of intellectuals and professionals in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union, died on April 9 at his home in Manhattan. He was 85.

The cause was complications of gastric lymphoma, his son John said.

Mr. Minden was president of the International Literary Center, an organization financed by the Central Intelligence Agency, which tried to win influential friends by giving them reading material unavailable in their own countries. The material ranged from dictionaries, medical texts and novels by Joyce and Nabokov to art museum catalogs and Parisian fashion magazines.

The people who received the reading matter were generally Communists or professionals and intellectuals working for Communist regimes. They thought the books were being donated by Western publishers and cultural organizations.

The C.I.A.'s purpose was to offer an alternative, culturally engaging reality that had the implicit effect of promoting Western culture. Mr. Minden did not see a need to bluntly refute Marxist dogma, on the theory that people could use common sense and their own observations to reject Communist arguments.

The project became something of a personalized book club; files were kept on recipients' reading tastes, so as to better satisfy them in the future. It replaced earlier, frankly propagandistic programs, including mass dropping of anti-Communist leaflets from high-altitude balloons.

Mr. Minden wrote in an internal memo that the West's main obstacle was "not Marxist obstacles, but a vacuum," and that "what is needed is something against frustration and stultification, against a life full of omissions."

John P. C. Matthews wrote in 2003 in The International Journal of Intelligence and Counterintelligence — in one of the few public discussions of the program — that the initiative sprinkled reality into an "unnatural and ultimately irrational" system.

When Communism collapsed, in Eastern Europe in 1989 and in the Soviet Union in 1991, Mr. Matthews, who had worked in the book program, suggested that Mr. Minden had laid the foundation for a smoother relationship among opinion leaders in a post-Communist world.

"Intellectuals in the East understood intellectuals in the West because they had been reading the same books," he wrote.

It's the kind of program that makes you shake your head--on the one hand there's a certain nobleness to it from the point of view of its direct participants, on the other the structure of the whole things suggests such great cynicism by Minden's masters.

There's also an element of wishful thinking in this obituary; people in the world of words like to think that because some people in Communist countries read some of our (or their) books, they understood their fellow intellectuals, if no one else.

But I think the messiness of the reunification of Germany shows how different even people raised pretty much on the same books/history/language can be, even if they 'understand' each other. And given how vicious differences of interpretation even in our own society can be (what does the Bible mean by the meek shall inherit the earth?), and how cruel quarrels between intellectuals can be (see: Tom Wolfe calls Irving, Mailer and Updike "the Three Stooges"), who knows what the real impact of Minden's program was.

Not that it should be measured solely by real-world standards; the good intentions of Mr. Minden and his fellow travelers should count for something. And any happiness it brought to any Eastern European reader was certainly worthwhile in its own right, even if it was only a private pleasure.

And then, however misdirected, there are the wonderful homey touches on both sides....

The book mailings began in July 1956, and Mr. Minden took over the program, which has had several names, that year. An early idea was to send a publisher's catalog, inviting people to make one or two choices. A note usually suggested that the recipient send a book in return to make it appear a legitimate exchange.

In 2005, Ludmilla Thorne, an employee of the program, wrote a letter to The New Yorker that noted the program's ingenuity in distributing books and acknowledged that it was financed by the C.I.A. She said that members of the Moscow Philharmonic slipped book pages into their sheet music and that a young woman flying from London to Moscow with her infant son squeezed a mini-edition of Solzhenitsyn's "Gulag Archipelago" into the child's diaper.

By 1991, more than 300,000 books and magazines were being distributed annually, making the overall total more than 10 million. Fully a third of the recipients in later years sent thank-you letters, which along with many other papers, Mr. Minden donated to the Hoover Institution of War, Revolution and Peace.

Perhaps 1,000 people in publishing knew about the program, because they were participants. Intellectuals in the Soviet Union and its satellites marveled at the altruism of the publishers they thought of as their benefactors. (Mr. Matthews noted that the publishers made a tidy profit.)

Image of Bend Sinister cover via Kristykay website.