Monday, October 31, 2022

Morgan Griffith on Medical Research

From U.S. Representative Morgan Griffith (R-VA-9)"

"

Book Review: Descent into the Hallway of Madness

For Halloween, a book full of horrors and gross-outs...

Title: Descent into the Hallway of Madness 

Author: Anthony DiAngelo

Date: 2020

Publisher: Anthony Di Angelo

ISBN: 979-8686202177

Length: 409 pages

Quote: "He craved almost ceaseless action because he couldn't stand the silence of solitude."

People who can't stand the silence of solitude can be dangerous. In this thriller, full of almost ceaseless "action" and crass sex and violence, such a person is the serial murderer. Part of what's made him such a successful murderer is his psychotic condition.  

That's about all I'll say about the plot except to confess that I walked right into the psychological trap of the mystery novel. So will you if you think, as it's deliberately easy to think, that DiAngelo clumsily reveals the murderer's identity in chapter one. He doesn't. Chapter one is the set-up to keep you guessing how that character is doing all this evil and thus missing the clues that another character...oh, read it yourself and find out. 

What else do you need to know before reading this novel? It's full of sex, violence, violent sex, and sexualized violence. It's full of moral confusion: the good characters do bad things. The virtuous police detective wants a suspect to confess, so she barges into his hospital room and yanks the tube out of his throat, sneers when they realize that he still can't speak, aims a weapon right at his sensitive parts and orders him to "write fast." Apart from short-term pain, panic, and humiliation the suspect seems to be no closer to death after this bit of police brutality than he was before, and the detective has very virtuously resisted an urge to assume he's guilty and kill him--so, is torturing a helpless patient a virtuous act? Lots of moral confusion. Meh. Dostoyevsky and Joseph Heller have presented moral confusion  in less sensational ways, so it's probably not a good idea for students to read this book and try to convince teachers that you're reading it as a study of the interactions between good and evil in human life.

And it's one of those (hundreds of) thrillers where the author's purpose is to deplore men's violence against women, but in order to deplore it he depicts it in enough detail that the book amounts to porn for sadists. Actually, both the male and the female detective in this book are divorced and sleep around enough, in scenes narrated in detail, that the older generation would have called Descent into the Hallway of Madness porn, period. 

And DiAngelo's writing style would undoubtedly please some editors and reviewers, including this one, more if he'd adhered to the rule "Show, not tell" in conversation scenes and been content to "tell, not show" in bedroom scenes. 

I didn't enjoy it. Well, I'm not the reader who's supposed to enjoy it. Stories like this one are written for guys, not for aunts. For people who like thrillers that consist mostly of cross-gender violence, this is the kind of thing they like. By way of Redeeming Social Value, readers learn a bit about a rare psychiatric disorder. 

(Can psychiatric patients change the color of their eyes? Easily. Hitler did it all the time, being on drugs. Eyes that are not normally described as dark, having a ring of blue, green, or gray around the pupil, seem to darken when the person is interested in what person is looking at, when the pupils dilate (expand) to take in more light. Some drugs and other forms of brain damage can cause the pupils to stay dilated for hours on end. Newsreel film clearly showed that in his most exuberant moments Hitler had distinctly black eyes, and in calmer moods his eyes were blue. A few people really do get that effect from a disease condition, rather than drugs.)  

Sunday, October 30, 2022

That Editorial Comment on Congressman Griffith's Letter

U.S. Representative Morgan Griffith sent this web site a separate e-letter, in addition to the regular E-Newsletter. I received the e-letter on Friday and pasted it into Blogspot for posting today. Then I blinked out of cyberspace about the time the sun went down on Friday night. I thought the letter needed an editorial comment, and spent an hour or so writing one. Google then chose to break the connection and lose the whole comment. Oh, no worries, I'd copied it to the "clipboard" feature in Windows. Well, Google had managed to lose the "clipboard" too! What fun! Yes, this is a post some corporate types aren't going to like, and one thing the U.S. Congress needs to do is order those corporations to deal with it. Nobody elected any of these corporations to any position in any government. They are private corporations that can only be allowed to exist because, and while, they serve private individuals. 

Now, the comment...

What a well written letter that one (below, on this web site) is! You can tell that it was written to reply, with minimal variations, to comments on one of Congressman Griffith's recent E-Newsletters from any and all sides. I like and respect that. If he ever gave up politics Morgan Griffith would probably do very well as a writer. The letter states the Republican Party's general position on energy issues, as it relates to Virginia, very well.

Unfortunately the Republican Party's position doesn't go far enough for Virginia.

What prompted me to e-mail a reply to the E-Newsletter, rather than just posting a comment here as usual, was the offhand, casual, complacent mention of a nuclear reactor back on the schedule for construction here in the Ninth District. 

Alarmism is deplorable, but there are things it's proper to sound the alarm about. Nuclear reactors in any part of the Appalachian Mountain region are among those things.

For those who don't know, the Appalachian Mountain region consists mostly of karst land--limestone slowly eroding into underground watercourses, many of which watercourses have, due to long-ago geological events, formed mountain springs, some of which are energetic enough to be what are called artesian wells. Artesian wells are mysterious, magical, even mystical things. Mystical types always feel a "spiritual" awe in places that have artesian wells. Whatever spirits may or may not be involved, there is something mysterious, in the sense of not fully understandable or controllable, about water that has not flowed downhill away from mountains, but continually springs forth near the tops of the mountains. When humans meddle with artesian wells, the consequences are unpredictable and have often involved loss of human lives, not to mention property.

The mountains are somewhat unpredictable and dangerous all by themselves. Though the Appalachian Mountains have been relatively stable compared to some other mountain ranges, they were formed by seismic activity and they have had occasional earthquakes, even in the present century. Places that have had earthquakes do not need nuclear reactors.

The mountains are higher and the mineral resources more tempting in Pennsylvania, so we in Virginia have generally enjoyed the privilege of sitting back and watching how proposed schemes to exploit natural resources work for Pennsylvania before rejecting them for us. Mining, drilling, and hydraulic fracturing have done lots of unpleasant things in Pennsylvania. Among other things they still have an unquenchable underground fire making hundreds of acres of land unusable for any purpose. They've struck poison gas, too, and had mountaintops cave in, houses crumble, people (not only coal miners, either) and animals killed by geological events. Pennsylvania was, of course, the site of the Three Mile Island disaster. 

We don't need any of those things in Virginia. However greedily the rest of the world may be reaching toward our resources, they don't need to be allowed to cause any of those effects either. The Ninth District of Virginia is not only pretty, although pretty it certainly is and during the last week Virginia took in a nice cash infusion at the peak of the prettiness. The Ninth District is also mysterious and awesome and not to be meddled with. There must be better ways to meet "energy needs."

Fortunately there are several. Electric power companies tend to think in terms of an outdated centralized model in which they own all the "power plants," often places where fossil fuels were burned and pollution was high, that deliver all the electrical current through a big unsustainable "grid" that frequently breaks down and leaves people without the use of their plug-in devices for weeks. Usually that happens in winter and people lose their electric heat during snowstorms. Sometimes it happens in warm weather and people become ill from eating food that was stored in electric refrigerators or freezers. The grid model is ripe for replacement. People don't like paying monthly bills, especially in months when they didn't get what they're paying for.

Virginia doesn't get as much sunshine as Arizona, where people who've installed solar collectors have been selling electricity to the companies for years...but we get enough sunshine that Virginia home and land owners should be selling electricity to the companies. Eleven years ago the company wanted to build a "new" coal-burning plant. This web site supported that. Delegate Kilgore supported that. The company got that plant, built it, used it, and already they're saying they need to raise rates to invest in building more sources of energy. Very well. Let them invest in the communities they serve. I have several outbuildings on the sunny side of a hill. Let them put solar collectors on the roofs of those buildings. I think that will take care of my electricity requirements and give me a little monthly income from the surplus, and if the solar collectors work on the outbuildings, we can talk about putting more of them on the house.

That's not the only way the company could profitably invest in their own community and be able to sell energy to other places. We have a landfill in my county. It is filling up. We do not really need another landfill. At a well filtered central location, such as that "new" coal-burning plant, the company could be disposing of biomass. Whether it's dead leaves or food scraps or old newspapers or bodywastes, modern toilets quickly convert even the nastiest by-products of life into something the company could be burning for energy. The rest of the Commonwealth, as well as people in Tennessee, Arkansas, and Louisiana, want the Ninth District to stop paying sewer bills and start collecting payment for biomass. We get our water from our mountain springs, and the rest of the Southern States drink what runs off our land, and they need us to stop putting our personal "honey" in it.

Then I'd like to see what Elon Musk could do with the concept of pedal-powered generators. How many people in the Ninth District look as if we could use a good gym routine? How many of us either don't go to gyms, or pay for memberships and then don't go, because it's embarrassing to pay money to beat the air uselessly? Walking treadmills and pumping iron could be generating electricity. Going to the gym could become a way to show public spirit. That would do a lot to improve the aesthetics of the Ninth District, too, and the use of drugs that become addictive and harmful (exercise being the best painkiller), and other burdens on the medical care system.

There are three largely untapped energy sources that Virginia needs to be tapping. 

Then let's talk about reducing consumption. I live in a house that has twenty-eight electric circuits. Since the 2011 cyclone, three of those circuits have been usable--in the bathroom, in two seldom used bedrooms, and in my office room. At first I missed the electric stove and refrigerator. Now I don't. In fact, I realized, the toilet and water heater get enough heat from being in front of a west-facing window, most of the year, to serve two frugal users well. One circuit is enough to heat and light one room and run an optional plug-in device--computer, small-battery charger, whatever--of the occupant's choice, and that's all a reasonable person really needs. 

Republicans are divided on this idea of reducing consumption. The urban type, which are unfortunately the type who run for Congress, have been encouraged to hold stereotypes about the less urban type. The stereotyping and ridicule work both ways, of course. Let's just say that American small farmers, especially the Amish and the Appalachian region's hill farmers, have forgotten more about the True Green way of life than Chuck Schumer or Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez ever learned. Unfortunately too many of them have literally forgotten. 

There are people who live on the land in a frugal Green way because they hold some sort of, shall we say, unpopular beliefs. Amish, Mennonite, vegan, McCarthy-era bomb-shelterer, would-be rebel against everything who will cave and move back to town the first time head lice move into his dreadlocks, and other people whose beliefs urban Republicans will never understand, do exist. But actually, in Virginia's Ninth District, "back to the land" is a rooted, traditional lifestyle that appeals to people of "conservative" temperament, too. If they have joined the Republican Party, other Republicans who don't know them well probably don't see a difference between them and the urban Republicans.

These are the type of people who appreciate Congressman Griffith most and whom he represents best, these frugal Green people, fiscally conservative because they believe thrift is a virtue, socially moderate, conservative by temperament and upbringing. People of "conservative" temperament choose their universities and/or branches of military service based on what their same-sex parents did, accepted Rick Boucher (D-VA-9) because he was an incumbent, and they may really like Morgan Griffith because of his politics or may think they don't care much about politics and vote for Congressman Griffith because by now he's an incumbent. Some of that type of people inherited urban-conformist-consumer lifestyles but some were blessed with better opportunities in life; therefore they farm, or live on farms, whether or not their small farms make a profit. Many have worked in cities and come back to the Ninth District as retirees, or semi-retirees. They're not fanatics, and many of them are not even poor. They choose a frugal Green lifestyle because it's a good lifestyle; as an old book my parents used to own put it, Life at Its Best.

That's the kind of frugal Green lifestyle I would like to see Republicans embrace and celebrate. For the first year or so people may sing "It's not easy being Green," but after an adjustment period they sing "I wouldn't have it any other way." (Music link here.) The changes they need to make are modest, and actually save money. Three simple changes--of attitude, not policy--would reduce "energy needs" significantly. Republicans will still be Republicans if they let themselves consider that:

(1) Walking is the way healthy people get around. Wheeled transportation is for long-distance hauls and for people with disabilities. Those who thank people for not smoking should also thank them for not driving.

(2) Getting things done, then refreshing their minds by actually playing a game (not the electronic kind) or singing or reading a good book, are the things healthy people do for fun. Television seems noisy and boring to people who have something going on in their minds, though it's a comfort for very sick patients in hospitals.

(3) Minimizing monthly bills is a sign of intelligence. Making lots of payments is a sign of incompetence. The person with the lowest use of kilowatts in the neighborhood, for any month when the person was living at home the whole time, deserves some sort of award (with a cash payment), because this person has shown not only intelligence but also public spirit. 

There are other changes people can make and still be temperamentally conservative Republicans (and White, and American, and Baptist). They can minimize grocery bills, and the energy costs of transporting food to big-chain stores, by eating what grows on their own unpoisoned land, the way their grandparents did, planting those "victory gardens" in suburban yards. They can be as clean as they want to be and still have water bills low enough to make the city water service wonder whether they're still living at home, by being vigilant about leaks and drips. Several things our grandparents did, and urged us to do--little things like turning off the light on leaving a room, hanging tinsel or paper chains instead of lights for holiday decorations, putting plastic over windows in winter if you don't have storm windows to reduce heating cost--don't actually save as much money as our grandparents hoped they would, but every little bit helps. 

Then, a third point of concern is raised by Congressman Griffith's letter's nonchalant acceptance of the idea of a growing global population demanding more energy at the expense of places like the Ninth District, which are still relatively sparsely populated and therefore relatively pleasant places to live. We all need to accept that human overpopulation exists, even if we live in places like Sweden or the Dakotas where population is decreasing. The fact that few people want to live in some places does not change the fact that people are badly overcrowded in other places. All places on this unsafe planet are subject to natural disasters; in order to be considered safe places to bring up children, places need to be sparsely populated enough that people can clear out of them in an hour or two, /All buildings are subject to fire; in order to be considered livable, buildings need to be close enough to the ground that people can safely leave by windows. And that's not the way the places where young people look for employment are

People who resist awareness of overpopulation tend to belong to my generation. They don't like being called the older generation, but let's face it, the generation before ours is almost gone. Baby-boomers don't like being "older" because old age brings an increased risk of long-term or permanent disabilities, which might cause us to have to depend on others for help. Help from tax-funded institution seems less personal and less embarrassing to some people. Baby-boomers grew up hearing that impersonal, professional geriatric care, as well as comfortable retirement, were available to all older people thanks to the Social Security system. Relatively few of us had parents who admitted that the Social Security system was an unsustainable pyramid scheme made possible for a few years by the plagues that had gone before it. In the 1950s very few old people had survived influenza, diphtheria, and tuberculosis, and young people, miraculously free from those diseases, were working to allow those survivors to grow old in comfort. So some of us thought, "We can keep that rolling if we can only keep the population growing," and that took care of our parents. But the population can't keep growing; now we have plenty of young people, but not enough jobs that pay them enough that they can pay into Social Security. 

We may want to believe that that's because our own younger generation are unfit or unwilling to work, and the problem can be solved by allowing young hardworking people from poorer countries to immigrate. This is unfortunately not true. We've technologically advanced ourselves and our children out of jobs. The factories went overseas in the 1980s, the clerical jobs were computerized in the 1990s, the push to replace cashiers and waiters with robots started early in this century, and now efforts are being made to replace schoolteachers with computers too. Entry-level jobs are increasingly limited to those in which a select few young people are being trained for promotions--not that most of them will get those promotions. Corporate careers with retirement pensions are not available to those of us who've not already been pensioned off. Nor will they be available to our children or grandchildren. There are very few full-time jobs available for anyone without special training, and the competition for those specialized jobs is vicious.

We need to accept that we've reached a dead end--we baby-boomers. Social Security is not going to fund our retirement. If you thought it was, too bad for you; I always knew we were paying to support our parents and would not be able to collect the money for ourselves. We need to commend ourselves for having supported our parents, the first mature decision we made as a generation and probably the best thing history will say we ever did, and focus on trying to save at least the small part of Social Security that pays for disability pensions. We need to accept that most of us are not going to be able to retire, but at least, if we keep working as much as we can and accepting regular daily activity as part of our personal health care plans, we may be able to salvage disability pensions and medical care plans for those whose survival really depends on such. 

We need to reverse population growth. Nature has ways of doing that, when overpopulated animals lack the ability to make reasoned decisions about it. By far the most comfortable way is to think rationally about the matter, then lose our aversion to any non-reproductive lifestyle choices the young feel able to make, and make sterilization a condition for immigration, work permits, or even student visas. But of course we as a species can choose plagues, wars, and individual violent insanity, instead. We just need to be realistic about the fact that those are our options.

Some parts of the Ninth District have in fact lost population, largely because of economic pressure on people who would prefer to move back here and live frugal Green lives. We need to welcome those people back and encourage them to live frugal Green lives, as distinct from "Green New Deal" lives.

All Americans, especially all Republicans, have heard some form of the idea that everything needs to start out big and keep growing bigger. When you live in an orchard you see that this is not the case. A plant, bush, or tree grows to a certain point, produces its fruit or seeds, and dies. Some plants live for one year and have to be re-planted from new seed every year. When the same plant, usually a tree, keeps on living and producing fruit for several years, you don't want it just to keep growing and growing. If you do that, it will stop producing fruit and die. The old growth on that tree is dead wood that breeds parasites and diseases. You want to keep pruning away the dead wood so that new growth keeps the tree alive and keeps producing fruit. There are different rhythms for different trees, some apple trees can stand years of neglect if conditions are right, but there's always a balance between growing and pruning.

Republicans should win big in this election, because we have too many Democrats in office and they are making a horrible mess. In Gate City I had to go online to look up who was running against Congressman Griffith; people here aren't taking that person seriously. This being the case, it does behoove Republicans to start thinking seriously about both the realities and the perceptions of climate change and global "energy needs." The realities and the perceptions are two different things, but the party that wins this election needs to address these concerns. We can begin with the indisputable fact that reducing consumption of electricity, gasoline, and natural gas is a way to address both climate change and "energy needs." Where climates are verifiably changing is in the localities where people are consuming most energy, so there we are. 

The unsound, in fact insane, idea of putting a nuclear reactor in any part of the Ninth District could only have come from people Back East who regard the Point of Virginia as a wilderness full of welfare cheats. We produce food, and have some small artisanal industry, but we sell most of those products among ourselves or to our visitors; people in the rest of the state do not see trucks hauling in Scott County tomatoes or Russell County blueberries. What do we export back to the rest of Virginia? Coal, but there's not much of that left. Tobacco, but there's not much demand for that left. So they sneer, and I've spent enough time in the Hump to hear plenty of it, that all we produce is welfare-cheating, drug-addicted kids, probably all the illegitimate offspring of unacknowledged unnatural acts among cousins if the truth were known, and so on and so forth. We could indeed turn this around. We have more open space for more sunshine, and less pollution so that we actually get more sunshine when it's not raining, than the eastern part of Virginia does. We could be selling them electricity, and still say no to the stupid, unsustainable proposals for fracking, or strip mining, or nuclear reactors. 

Morgan Griffith on Energy and Ecology

From U.S. Representative Morgan Griffith, R-Va-9:

"

October 28, 2022

Dear Ms. King,

     Thank you for contacting me regarding energy and environmental policy. I appreciate you taking the time to share your thoughts.

     As always, we need to balance the needs of the country. I support common sense policies that safeguard our ability to have clean air and clean water while advancing our country's economic health.

     I believe any effective plan to counter climate change must be based in science, rely on America’s technological strengths and bountiful natural resources, and have a global vision. I have supported policies that meet these criteria. First, any plan to reduce carbon emissions needs to rely on accurate scientific data and predictions. Second, a plan to reduce America’s carbon emissions should embrace our vast supply of natural resources and our talent for technological innovation, national strengths that powered our economic rise. Finally, America must be a leader for cleaner energy in a world that still depends on fossil fuels. 

     H.R. 1512 set targets of reducing greenhouse gas emissions by 50 percent by 2030 and 100 percent by 2050. The House Committee on Energy and Commerce has held multiple hearings looking at topics included in this all-encompassing legislation, many of which attempt to justify spending and enact parts of the Green New Deal.

     One witness invited by the majority mentioned in her testimony that an energy policy based around renewables would require the massive expansion of the continent’s high-voltage electric grid. That means more high-voltage lines crisscrossing the country – using eminent domain to take people’s land. Further the costs of building those lines will be paid by you, the consumer, through higher rates. 

     I asked her if such a project would take “twenty to thirty years at a minimum,” and she replied, “Yes.” This means their targets of 2030 and 2050 are impossible to meet.

     Instead, we can pursue practical energy policies rooted in innovation that solve environmental challenges while supporting economic growth. Choosing such a course would be heeding the lessons of this series of hearings.

     The United States is already leading the world in reducing greenhouse gas emissions through innovation and technological development. We should be focused on continuing to reduce emissions, developing and exporting clean energy technologies, and making our communities more resilient, all while ensuring affordable and reliable energy prices.

     Green New Deal-style plans expect us to dismantle our economy and fundamentally alter our lifestyle to cut carbon emissions. But how would it change the behavior of China, the world’s largest polluter, or India, another rising economy emitting increased carbon? It is illogical to think that developing nations are going to impoverish their people by not using fossil fuels. In fact, China’s current five-year plan scales up the use of coal operations. If our policies force businesses overseas, in order to compete in the world economy, they relocate to countries that have far fewer regulations or concerns about the environment.  Our jobs go overseas and air pollution in the world actually increases.  Everything released in the atmosphere affects us all. Accordingly, as a nation we must balance all of these important concerns.

     As a member of the Energy and Commerce Committee, please know that I will keep your thoughts in mind both in my committee work and when I have the opportunity to vote on legislation affecting our national environmental and energy policy in the House of Representatives. 

     For more information on what is happening in Congress, please visit my website at www.morgangriffith.house.gov. If I may be of further assistance to you on this, or any other issue, please feel free to contact me in my Washington, DC office at (202) 225-3861.  I remain

 

 Sincerely yours,H. MORGAN GRIFFITHMember of Congress

I spent a few hours typing an Editorial Comment. Google didn't like that comment! Whoops! The connection broke just as I hit "publish" and the comment was lost! Well, it was long enough to be a separate post anyway....even if the separate post appears above the letter.

Book Review: See How They Run

Title: See How They Run

Author: Lorilee Craker

Publisher: Waterbrook (Random House)

Date: 2004

ISBN: 1-57856-488-3

Length: 199 pages plus 3 pages endnotes and advertising material

Illustrations: black-and-white author photo and drawings of toddlers’ toys that look like Ken Westphal’s cover drawing

Quote: “Toddlerhood scares me. I’ve been through it all the way once with my firstborn…I have three months to go before Term Two ends…)Term Three is just a twinkle in our eyes right now as we fill out the paperwork to adopt…) Right there in those parentheses, you can see that toddlerhood must not be that bad if I’m actually going…through it a third time.”

This is a mildly witty, unobtrusively Christian review of what Modern Psychology tells us about two-year-olds, as vetted by the author’s friends. If the jacket drawing is not enough to turn you off the idea of giving birth to a future toddler, on the grounds that you and your spouse are likely to produce a child who looks a little less like a butterfly-fish than that, you might want to read the actual toddler tales inside the book.

Baby-sitting for sprogs at this stage of life is probably the key to success with abstinence-focussed education for teenyboppers. With its frank discussions of screaming and kicking toddlers, fighting and biting toddlers, toddlers at the stage of self-control where the male or Maximum Gross-Out Model can gush flu virus in at least three directions all at once, See How They Run seems like an ideal gift for any teenaged girls you catch showing any interest in teenaged boys. If Craker’s and friends’ anecdotes don’t extinguish every trace of Teen Romance, someone might have to volunteer to take the risk and leave the girl in charge of an actual toddler.

I was not thrilled by reading See How They Run. Due to my mother’s poor health, I started to be held responsible for infants and toddlers before puberty (even my brother occasionally earned a quarter by baby-sitting for half an hour, at age six), and it was a tremendous aid to celibacy. I can vouch for some of the tricks Craker and friends describe using with their toddlers, firsthand or at least secondhand. Careful reading of this book would be a good way to prepare for your first encounter with a two-year-old if you’ve not lived with one before. But who wants to live with a two-year-old?

Well…I spent considerable amounts of time with some of The Nephews when one of them was two years old. I must confess…I enjoyed it. At an age when most children make their parents want to run away, that one was a pleasure to know. But he was a very special two-year-old who snacked on raw vegetables, rarely watched television, and kicked and screamed only on two occasions all year; and during at least one of those two tantrums I think he was right. Some people do produce two-year-olds as precociously congenial with humans as that child was. Nobody can afford to expect they’ll have one. Even my brother, in many ways “the perfect kid” my natural sister bitterly called him, had mostly given up biting and kicking but was still a howler at age two. My natural sister was a little monster and, based on what I remember about myself at less disgusting stages of life, I’m sure I was another.

The ones that screech? If I’m on the jury, the maximum charge of which a person who killed a screeching two-year-old is guilty would be third-degree homicide, an involuntary reaction to pain, for which having to listen to a counsellor explain the concept of ear plugs is probably as much punishment as anyone needs. (So I’m saying it here.) Craker doesn’t say it but, if obliged to spend time around a two-year-old, bring ear plugs. They leave enough brain cells in a functional condition that you can remember to lock the screecher in the nursery and go to the far end of the house until quiet lets you know that the little beast has either worn itself out and gone to sleep, or made itself sick and become interested in ways to spread the mess over the entire room, or maybe managed to sonic-sweep out its own brain. But most likely it’s asleep, looking angelic as it dreams of more diabolical ways to torture adults.

I prefer kittens. I say this on a day when the kittens in residence still think it’s terribly clever to show off that they’ve learned how to foul the path. If you do not have a big estate to keep in the family, you'll probably agreed after a few days' baby-sitting that almost any other lifeform is easier to live with than a human toddler. 

If you are determined to have a baby, there are all kinds of ways they annoy and embarrass people that this book doesn’t even mention, but on the other hand they do sleep a lot. Craker mentions this but at less length than she describes the many ways toddlers gross us out. The tot’s early-to-bed time and nap time will become the high points of the day. You can’t count on them lasting long enough for a really good re-creation of what you did to get stuck with this toddler in the first place, even if you did it the oldfashioned way and didn’t fill out forms—but you might be able to get through your e-mail, or a book, or a simple household chore.

It gets better, of course, in another year or so. Toddlers learn to control their hands and feet better; in hindsight it seems that they turned into children who could walk and talk and use the bathroom even to bathe, all by themselves, too fast, and you barely had time to enjoy the brain-picking munchkin stage before they were in primary school and the next thing you knew you had teenagers to deal with. There is a tendency to feel nostalgic about toddlers, which must be resisted. At least, if you do have three or four bedrooms to fill up, Craker's  provided the good example of filling those rooms with adoptive or foster children. 

Friday, October 28, 2022

Long Deep Thoughts About Knitting Patterns

(Music link: I found a long one, longer than this post will take to read, for the official bard of Knitter's, Norman Kennedy. In addition to music, NK's desire to preserve Scottish traditions led him to study weaving and knitting. In its early days Knitter's magazine had a sibling, Weaver's, and both magazines advertised NK's records. YouTube recordings of his songs unfortunately seem to be full-length performances; you can stop at any point, of course. If you want to test your Gaelic, the two songs in Gaelic come in the last half-hour. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sEc-0-2t1fI )

I was reading back through my collection of Knitter's magazines this week, and I noticed something. 

I had bought every issue of Knitter's for years; had gone into stores just to buy the latest Knitter's. After an uneven start that magazine came out quarterly, as did several other knitting pattern magazines that flourished between 1980 and 2010. I usually took in a $20 bill and was able to buy the latest issues of Interweave Knits, Vogue Knitting, and one of the others at the same time but I went in looking for Knitter's

Why?

And also, I'd stored all my Knitter's in one place. Other magazines were just in the pattern hoard, which is divided into two categories: clean books (or magazines) and moldy ones. Magazines go moldy faster than books do, and deteriorate faster even if they're not moldy. Magazines also tended to gravitate to the bottoms of boxes and the backs of shelves as least-often-consulted patterns. When I found yarn on sale, over the years, and came home to consider what I was going to make of this lovely stuff, I usually had one or two patterns in mind and would review the books in which those patterns appeared first. Then if the amount of yarn, or the stitch gauge I got with it, turned out not to be quite right for the first pattern I had in mind, there were the books I'd browse through first and the books I'd browse through later. Magazines were generally in the "later" file, partly because unnecessary handling would add wear and tear, partly because they were less likely to contain patterns that hadn't stuck in my mind but that turned out to be just right for the yarn on sale. 

But that's only part of the reason why the magazines drifted to the back and the bottom of my collection. I can't afford to knit as much as I do just so I can wear a different sweater every day all winter long. I knit for other people. They are a diverse lot of other people. I really enjoy knitting for visitors who grew up in other countries and didn't absorb the prejudice against real wool from which so many Americans suffer, so yes, I'd agree that the small market for real hand knitting includes "upscale" clients. It also includes wheelchair dwellers, and children and their frazzled parents. And old and young, rich and poor, male and female, the clients who've visited my pattern hoard with me have gravitated in the same directions I did. Books over magazines--except for Knitter's, and a few early issues of Interweave Knits. Those magazines stay among the books. 

Older people in my part of the world used to include magazines and even catalogues in their definition of "books." Once in a posh wool shop a member of my generation carelessly slipped into this habit, saying (before I'd started looking for Knitter's) "We have a new Knitter's book." Then, catching herself speaking her grandparents' dialect in public, she corrected herself, "That's a magazine actually, but they really are as good as books!" I agreed.

Why?

I could have offered some answers to the question "why?" in 1996, which was when the storekeeper made that observation...but let me add another observation. I was digging into my magazine stash for material that might be used in a biography of the Grandmother of Modern Knitting, Elizabeth Zimmermann. As I scanned the table of contents in each issue I noticed my eyes coming to rest on some other names besides hers. Meg Swansen--that was logical. Swansen, still a feature writer at Vogue Knitting today and still an eye-catching model for her own work, at age 80, publicly said "I'm proud of being Elizabeth's daughter" and always advertised her work with that phrase. Barbara Walker? Well, she was close to EZ's age, or seemed so to my generation. Priscilla Gibson-Roberts? Linda Ligon? Sally Melville? What was going on here? Those were very different people who wrote very different books in different times and places, but my memory grouped them together.

It was not just that they'd been published in the same issues of Knitter's. Some other authors and designers who were published in the 1980s definitely were not in the same category: Kaffe Fassett, Patricia Roberts, Helene Rush...no, it was not that I hadn't liked and kept their books too. I had. If anything I've knitted more variations on their designs than I have variations on designs by that group I was associating with EZ.

Why?

Here's another thing I noticed. Although I was delighted to discuss "Eighties Sweaters" with readers who don't remember the 1980s, I also noticed myself feeling that the phrase is inaccurate and borders on being rude. Tactless, anyway. In the actual 1980s a lot of the sweaters people were knitting and wearing were revisions of patterns from the 1920s, 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s. (Relatively few patterns were published for hand knits in the 1960s and 1970s, but yup, in the 1980s yuppie knitters were revisiting those too!) The idea was that a sweater is simply a sweater, whether the fashion industry is marketing sweater looks this season or not. A handknitted sweater can be classified as well made or otherwise, as fitting or becoming to an individual wearer or otherwise, as a real heirloom that makes the knitter's relatives want to find out whether it can be preserved for centuries or as a piece of old clothes to be cut up and worn out as cleaning rags, but handknitting is not about fashion. Though it may be hoped that those of us who started knitting in the 1980s have learned and improved after thirty years of experience, though some of us are in fact now knitting things that we would have felt unable to knit in the 1980s, what we want to knit has not changed much over the years. 

Oh, well, maybe a few things have changed. In the 1980s everyone wanted to knit, design, and wear sweaters with elaborate multicolored pictures, and sometimes textures and sewn-on trimmings; in the early 1990s this style peaked with pictures knitted in cotton in every color of the rainbow, especially bright red and green in "Christmas sweaters." By the late 1990s, the way some of those red and green cotton yarns, and some of those trimmings, reacted to machine laundering had generated the phrase "Ugly Holiday Sweaters." People my age are more cautious about making, buying, or wearing those "picture knits" because, though some of us still think they're cute, all of us have seen that it's hard to predict how well they'll hold up over the years, or how bad they will look before they become rags. I suppose you could call sweaters with large realistic pictures knitted in different colors and textures "Eighties Sweaters" if you really wanted to. But, darn it (and darning is what you have to do if you're determined to keep a picture-knitted piece when washing loosens a knot and those little chunks of colored cotton start to separate from one another), despite the caution we've learned about expecting multi-yarn knitting to last long, many people still enjoy knitting and using that kind of thing too

Almost every kind of sweater in the known universe could be called an "Eighties Sweater"; somebody was probably wearing something like it in the 1980s. And, whether a sweater was knitted in the 1920s and proudly worn in the 1980s, or knitted in the 1980s from a 1947 design, or knitted from a 1980s pattern book in 2022, the fact of its being handknitted makes it...well, either a timeless classic, or an unsatisfactory sweater that tried to be a timeless classic and failed, but still, it's a sweater, not some kind of fashion item. In the handknitting community, nothing is more chic than a garment that is literally "dated," with the year knitted into it. I've knitted holiday hats with the year, and sometimes the name of the market, worked in as fairisle-stitch bands. They tend to sell the first time they're displayed. People who like handknitting tend to treasure items like that, and the earlier the date, the better.

Why?

When Knitter's was launched its staff demographics were not too unusual. The magazine was officially owned by a man--a lad, some would have said, considering those early photographs of baby-faced Alexis Xenakis, despite the college degree and military experience. (I was baby-faced too, and know what it is, and wouldn't have rubbed it in to Xenakis in the 1980s. I can mention it now that those of us who looked like children while we were entrepreneurial phenomena, in the 1980s, are such well preserved specimens of middle age.) Obviously a team of seasoned women made the magazine work.; "little Alexi" took great photos and got interviews with interesting people, but everyone knew that Knitter's was a production of Elaine Rowley, Dorothy Ratigan, and Meg Swansen. Then in the 1990s two of those editors retired, and Nancy Thomas moved up--it was already "up"!--from Vogue Knitting, brought in more of a New York attitude than some readers liked, but worked with the designers and editors who'd made Knitter's special. Nancy Thomas's version of Knitter's just grew and grew.

Other male publishers of knitting magazines recognized that most knitters are women and, despite the shrill angry way some left-wing feminist activists denounced needlework in the 1970s, most of us are feminists in a more serious and radical way than those leftist chicks ever were. We like to support and celebrate other women's work. Even when the original editors of all-female Interweave Knits retired and the magazine was sold to the more typical non-knitting male investors, those guys had enough sense to keep it edited by women. 

Xenakis, however, really was a phenomenon, and thought he could get away with anything, even hiring a male editor for Knitter's. Rick Mondragon, a frequent contributor, took over as editor when Nancy Thomas retired. A few weeks later terrorists crashed planes into the World Trade Center, and the United States officially went into war mode, which had a depressing effect on Americans and American business generally. Other businesses recovered. Mondragon's version of Knitter's never did. Revisiting the magazine collection, I caught myself thinking of more recent issues in phrases like "Mondragon-blight set in" and "advanced stage of Mondragon-rot." 

Men who knit in public are a distinctive breed. By and large I like them. It's not just that they tend to be excellent models, although they do. They can be any age, size, or color but they do a lot for whatever they wear. They come across as confident, natural, having soaked up enough attention for themselves and developed the grace of taking an interest in other people. They're likely to have learned to talk to women, really talk, not just spout a line that basically communicates "me-me-me and my little hormones." Even across the C-cups of those of us who are being towed through life by such. That's rare, and much appreciated. Because they're comfortable with themselves and with women, they have no trouble finding dates when they're single and also working and socializing with women without that obnoxious compulsive flirtation insecure men do, when they're taken. Well-known male knitters are of two kinds: the ones who are "gay" but not boring about it, since they call attention to their work rather than their sex lives, and the ones who are proud husbands and fathers, usually travelling in family groups with a wife and at least one adult child who also knit. The whole Knitting Universe, therefore, adores male knitters. Thus my husband, while he was still just a car-pool buddy modelling one of my sweaters at Stitches Fair, recognized that he had what it takes to be a male knitter-in-public, and soon became one.

Mondragon was not a typical male knitter. Nor was he an outstanding one like Xenakis or Kaffe Fassett. He was chubby and charmless, and designed more tacky sweaters than appealing ones, and never managed to grow a beard worth displaying in public, and never had enough sense to shave off the mess either. I never liked him; but tried to be charitable, as one does about other people's friends, until I looked back over the years and saw how much damage he'd done to Knitter's magazine.

Why?

Finding and transcribing all the content about the Zimmermann and Swansen family, I found more support for my original sense that there are two sources of influence on knitting today. They can look similar. They can flow together, and still, like two rivers tinged with different kinds of silt, maintain the distinction for many miles.

One of these sources of influence on knitting is practical. It comes from people who actually knit (and spin, dye, and sew) and who actually wear and use handknitted material. When these people sell material or patterns they often do very well, but their focus is on doing something they enjoy doing and do well. 

The other source of influence is commercial. It comes from people who only sell material, patterns, or knitted products. For these people knitting is a potential source of profit (often an unsatisfying one) rather than an actual source of pleasure. As a result these people often try to market more and different products than the knitters and wearers want. They're the ones who pay attention to fashion, and fill pattern magazines with uninspired versions of basic designs knitted up in impractical "novelty" yarns.

Between 1985 and 1997 Knitter's was truly by and for knitters, a thoroughly practical magazine. That was what built it. The very first issues were thin and full of misprints, but what patterns they had were practical. As the magazine grew, knitters were invited to contribute patterns that fitted into themes. Some of the results were silly--but "witty knits" was trendy in the 1980s. Mostly the results were patterns that people enjoyed knitting and wearing. When I look at the patterns in Elaine Rowley's Knitter's, today, I find myself thinking "Without the color pictures..." and "Without the bobbles..." and then, "...I'd still wear that, or I know someone who would." Most of the patterns call for specific amounts of specific commercial yarn, but Gibson-Roberts and other contributors always reminded knitters that, if we didn't find the right yarn in the shop, we could try spinning it for ourselves. Yarn amounts were calculated in yardage rather than weight.

In the late 1990s, when Nancy Thomas took over, the magazine grew explosively by adding more commercial input. Pages were filled with instructions for knitting "basics" that real knitters already knew how to knit. Such "designs" had appeared in Elaine Rowley's Knitter's--as advertisements, which worked for knitters. I don't think there's anything wrong with knitting a simple plain-stitch scarf that celebrates this season's colors in this season's "novelty" yarn. Sometimes that approach to knitting is fun. But I don't need to pay for any more paper to tell me how it's done. I might be more likely to do it after seeing a picture of how someone else put the colors together, but I can already figure out that they would have cast on about forty stitches and knitted every stitch plain for about two yards. By 1993 I was inspecting the other knitting magazines to make sure they included patterns that had something to teach me, not merely "basics" in "novelty" yarns.

Knitter's maintained the level of progress it had reached, throughout its history, in one way. Before Knitter's, yarn manufacturers had tended not to disclose how many yards of yarn went into a skein sold by weight. Substituting yarn? They just didn't recommend that, not ever, not under any circumstances. If the shop didn't stock the yarn the pattern specified, the manufacturers wanted knitters to buy a new pattern to knit with the new yarn. In the 1980s some manufacturers grudgingly sold wool shops lists of yardage that could be used to make sure the storekeeper recommended the customer buy something from the same manufacturer. Elizabeth Zimmermann had little patience with that sort of commercial nonsense, although she sold her own brands of yarn. She encouraged knitters to calculate how many yards they would need to knit thinner or thicker yarns in the shapes or patterns they wanted, to be their own designers--or even spinners. 

In other ways Mondragon pushed the magazine off that balance Nancy Thomas had maintained, into the commercial approach that made the other magazines so inferior to books. Right away Meg Swansen, Priscilla Gibson-Roberts, Lily Chin, and the other contributors of "On Designing"articles disappeared from the magazine. Articles, generally, were pushed out by advertisements, and advertisements-disguised-as-patterns for "basics." Knitter's designers continued to supply designs that did offer something an experienced knitter might have paid for...but often it was those intarsia pictures of which we were all becoming wary, seeing what was becoming of all those Christmas sweaters. 

I collected Knitter's faithfully up to Issue #100. I'd started around #35 and had hunted down a majority of the issues printed before that. By about #70 I'd recognized that I was buying Knitter's to complete a collection rather than to read the news from the designers who'd become pen friends I met at Stitches Fair--most of them were no longer with Mondragon's version of Knitter's. Of course these knitters weren't young; some of them had stated intentions of retiring from designing in the 1990s. Of course the knitting universe needed to give younger knitters their share of attention. But somehow Mondragon was failing to draw out the talents of those younger knitters, encouraging them to publish designs that don't work for actual people. 

Part of it, I remember well, was Mondragon's obsession with sleeveless vests. Whether because he never mastered the intricacies of knitting sleeves and resented that most knitters do, or  because he was too fat to fit into jackets and sweaters with sleeves, or both, he encouraged designers to publish more designs for chunky sleeveless vests. Well, news flash: a lot of people won't wear a vest. I don't wear vests. I don't see the use of them. If you're motivated to wear something to keep you warm, arms need more insulation than the heart does. If you're motivated to wear something for looks, a sleeveless vest will really make you look shorter and wider. I don't recall even Diana Spencer wanting to look that much shorter and wider. I have redesigned a few printed patterns for vests into jackets with sleeves, always feeling that I was paying other people to do work they were then failing to do and leaving to me.

So Knitter's continued to become a bulkier magazine, printed on heavier paper, wider sheets of paper, which was another thing I remember disliking. When you carry knitting about, if you're following a printed pattern, you want to protect that printed pattern from wear and tear. I like to fold a magazine up inside a binder or a hardcover book. Later issues of Knitter's stuck out. Bigger pages were a commercial decision. They looked distinctive, they allowed bigger pictures to be printed, they made it harder for knitters to photocopy patterns. (Publishers feared that knitters would photocopy patterns and sell them to people who would then fail to buy their own copies of printed books. This actually happened with more popular genres of literature but I'm not aware of anyone actually doing it with knitting patterns.) Bigger pages did not work for knitters. 

Then there was the poverty factor. After Internet writing became my primary income source I obviously could not afford to collect yarn or magazines any more. I acquired new pattern magazines by leading customers into shops and inviting them to commission pieces of knitting from the magazines and books I wanted. Knitter's had always been an easy sell but increasingly, when people looked at Mondragon's commercialized version of Knitter's, they were saying "Does it haaaff to be this magazine? These other magazines are all cheaper. Let's see if their patterns for (hats, sweaters, blankets, whatever) are just as good or better," and after Issue #100 they almost always did say that. On several occasions people bought me hardcover books, rather than the commercialized Knitter's.

I have two issues of Knitter's that came after #100. Each contained one pattern that somebody wanted. I don't know that all the other late issues of Knitter's lacked patterns that appealed to customers, though, because the stores were ordering fewer copies of Knitter's. Fewer or none. 

How many of your marketing and even production decisions are practical, Gentle Readers, and how many are commercial? Could an overemphasis on the commercial aspect of your business actually be sabotagng the practical aspect? Could immediate profits be bringing your long-term profitability down?

Rotten Book Review: Dumping Billy

In which, by way of consolation to those who've felt that my reviews may have overlooked their books' best point, I deliver a harsh review to a novel that's sold well. Some people do manage to like this book. I did not.

Title: Dumping Billy

Author: Olivia Goldsmith

Quote: “I thought that if I just said ‘Mommy, come back’ a million times that she would be back.”

CONTAINS SPOILERS. This novel deserves all the spoiling it can get.

There’s chick lit, which is a flippant, affectionate if satirical, look at very young women and their little mental worlds of self, sex, and stuff, and there’s hateful, hurtful stereotyping of young women as fools. Dumping Billy is definitely the latter. I feel uncomfortable displaying it for sale. I have it, and will sell it, if someone Out There is doing a study of “backlash” misogyny in recent pop culture. I didn’t feel that reading it had done me any permanent harm, but I did feel slimed.

This novel begins with its heroine, a psychologist, debunking a little boy’s Magical Thinking, and then goes on to indulge its readers in a kind of Magical Thinking that’s as toxic and as pathetic as the child’s.

A woman—according to the jacket drawing, a remarkably unattractive woman, in Halloween-witch shoes and boxy checkered skirts that make her flab the focal point, and apparently having “lost her head”—wants, just because she’s thirty, to be married. She broke up with a man to whom she was intensely attracted because he was participating in the Playboy Game, in which men who can get all the benefits of marriage without marriage understandably don’t want to follow through on the promise of marriage even when the women have their own money. These women’s mothers bartered sex for some amount of “security” but women like Kate Jamison are giving away sex, expecting to get security, and feeling heartbroken when what they get is used and discarded. Kate, having been used by Steven (to whom she was and still is attracted), is now being used by Michael (to whom she’s not even attracted), just because she was brought up Catholic and is going through the motions, at least, of having sex in the Catholic way. A happy ending for this character might involve her discovering The Rules and letting the men be the ones to beg her to take The Relationship out of the friend zone, but it doesn’t.

The “social value” that saves this novel from being classified as strictly soft porn comes from a lingering glance at the folk cultures evolving in different New York City neighborhoods. If your tolerance for New York City allows you to notice its having different neighborhoods rather than seeing it as one big mess, you can enjoy rating the author’s observations. “It’s always hotter in Manhattan than it is in Brooklyn,” a character wails, because of “all the sidewalks.” Kate grew up in Brooklyn and has a best-friend-forever and some other old childhood pals who still live there. In Manhattan her best friends are a male homosexual couple. They behave like Worst Friends who dispense bad advice and unhelpful emotional comfort, but they love to listen as Kate, and even more her best friend Bina, wail about the men who use them and leave them. I’ll take Goldsmith’s words that male homosexual couples who can suppress their fundamental misogyny enough to be even Worst Friends to women may exist, somewhere; I’ve never actually met any. Men who identify publicly as homosexual couples are extroverts, and extroverts do very well at being acquaintances but not so well at being friends.

Bina has a crisis when, instead of offering her the engagement ring she knows he’s bought (one of the crowd saw him buy it), Bina’s boyfriend announces that he’s going overseas and “thinks we should explore our singleness.” He doesn’t believe—or make that feel—he can simply take control of his body, telling it “I’m not into diseases, so I’m going to be monogamous, and this is the woman I’ve chosen.” He has to have a few months of shameless promiscuity and see whether he can get a disease from some foreigner he picks up in a foreign bar. I believe that men like that exist, but does anyone actually marry them? When they’re not even pregnant, I mean?

Bina sinks into a pathological emotional state, clinging desperately not only to Kate but to the “gay” couple, and this inspires the nerdier half of the couple, Elliott, to come up with a theory: There’s a rich, good-looking, playboy-type bartender who’s won the nickname of “Dumping Billy.” He answers to “Billy” not “Bill,” he always shows his date a good time, he attracts attention to himself and to her, and the last half-dozen women he’s dated and dumped have all married other men within a few months. If Bina can just be seen with Billy a few times, her boyfriend is sure to come back. Billy just happens to be between bedmates now.

So Kate and Elliott set up a date for Bina and Billy. Bina reports that the social event went well, but oh, she feels like a bad girl having enjoyed sex so much, but “he” was so nice, etc., etc. Since we’ve been convinced that Bina’s head contains nothing but a “biological clock,” and since this is supposed to be a comedy, we are supposed to believe that Bina keeps babbling about how nice “he” is for weeks before disclosing that, while being seen with Billy, she’s actually having a fling with yet another man.

Meanwhile, in between behaving well in public with Bina, Billy also seems to be attracted to Kate. At least, though they’re not going out, working together, or admitting they like each other, they’re soaking a lot of sheets. And Michael is totally turning Kate off with his assumption that, like any “nice” girl who settles for a Playboy-type relationship, she’s eager to marry him and will want to move across the country when he does, though he’s been offered a better job in Texas and she’s not. Her secret fling with Billy seems, rather than sapping her self-respect as such flings tend to do in real life, to give Kate the fortitude to tell Michael she’s not willing to relocate. By the time Bina’s boyfriend gets home, Kate’s positively shoving Bina at him, telling Bina that even after all that torrid sex—with Max! Not Billy!—“You want to be married to Jack. It’s what you’ve always wanted,” so Kate can be the next woman to be seen with Dumping Billy.

But, because this is the very sickest kind of fantasy, instead of having nice dates for a few weeks and then breaking that up and having that raise Kate’s point value in the dating game, Kate and Billy break up right away. Billy discovers that he doesn’t want to be used to get Kate and Steven married, and Kate discovers that, although living with a drunken widowed father had given her the sort of attitude toward alcohol that at least four out of five people of Irish descent need to have, her hormones are raging as they’ve never raged before. So, although the rest of their relationship is left to the reader’s horrified imagination, we’re told that they marry each other in the end.

Right. Flop into bed with a well-known commitment-phobic playboy, girls, and instead of the usual fumbling that makes cocktail parties or, for that matter, dental appointments seem like fun, you’ll have the kind of experience real couples have to be married for a year or two to achieve, before you’ve even agreed to a second date, and he’ll turn into a prince and you’ll live happily ever after…or perhaps not, perhaps you’ll be absolutely miserable, but at least being married to a bartender means you can always get drunk enough to forget what a bad choice you made.

Fantasies have their uses. The good ones help us visualize better worlds and better selves. Fantasy adventures at least get us thinking about what courage, loyalty, and love mean to us. Elaborating our fantasy worlds can inspire artistic and even scientific work. If the “Rings” and Narnia fantasies didn’t make Tolkien and Lewis rich during their lifetimes, they’ve certainly been blessings to those authors’ heirs, and look at what Harry Potter and Game of Thrones have done for their authors. The first thing we can all safely say about Sigmund Freud is that he was totally wrong about the value of fantasy…

Except when it’s the cheap, self-serving kind of fantasy that leads people to make really bad choices based on their attachments to sick, self-serving fantasies. Asking open-ended questions like “If I were forced to participate in a sadistic ‘survival’ game where I was being set up to bond with a friend just in order that I could then be set up to have to kill my friend, how could I get out of that situation other than by killing my friend?” gives the world novels like House of Stairs, The Hunger Games, and Headspace, and may give some of us useful ways to think about, e.g., whether people who’ve been playing on our team all through high school become mere competition for university scholarships. But fantasies like “I’ll be the one poor fool ‘Dumping Billy’ doesn’t want to dump, I’ll be the one person in a million who can use cocaine in moderation, or even the one Irish person in five who can drink alcohol in moderation, I’ll be the first to pull off this particular kind of crime and not get caught,” lead people into real trouble.

I despise the sick fantasy in this book and so, although I’ve liked some of Goldsmith’s other attempts at comedy, I’m sure people who like New York would enjoy the neighborhood study, and the sex is no more explicit than kids are likely to see in paperback romances sold in supermarkets, I find myself unwilling to accept the blame for selling Dumping Billy. It is not a book one can display in public with a clear conscience.

Where are the novels about young women who respect themselves, keep their pants on at least until the engagement is announced, and may have announced a few engagements under the influence of movie-theatre activity but can at least still claim to be “sophisticated virgin” brides when they do get married? And then, having given themselves and their mates time to grow up, they stay married? We need more novels like that.