“The Thorns and Dangers of This World”

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King John Poisoned by Monks in Shakespeare’s Play

I have just finished re-reading Shakespeare’s The Life and Death of King John. While this is not the evil King John of Robin Hood fame, this is certainly a weak monarch who leaves England in an awful mess. As I read these lines spoken by Philip Faulconbridge, usually referred to in the play as “Bastard,” I was reminded of the United States under Donald Trump’s second term, which I liked to refer to as his Revenge Tour. The lines are from King John IV.3.140-158:

I am amazed, methinks, and lose my way
Among the thorns and dangers of this world.
How easy dost thou take all England up!
From forth this morsel of dead royalty [the body of Prince Arthur],
The life, the right and truth of all this realm
Is fled to heaven; and England now is left
To tug and scamble and to part by the teeth
The unowed interest of proud-swelling state.
Now for the bare-pick’d bone of majesty
Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:
Now powers from home and discontents at home
Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits,
As doth a raven on a sick-fall’n beast,
The imminent decay of wrested pomp.
Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can
Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child
And follow me with speed: I’ll to the king:
A thousand businesses are brief in hand,
And heaven itself doth frown upon the land.

A Messed-Up History

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Ruins of a Jesuit Mission in Paraguay

Today, as Paraguay sent Germany packing by its World Cup victory, I mused about poor Paraguay, one of only two landlocked countries in South America (the other one is Bolivia). Most of this post is from a March 22, 2022 post entitled “At the Tomb of the Inflatable Pig,”

Definitely on my travel bucket list is one of South America’s two landlocked countries (the other one is Bolivia, which had a seaport on the Pacific until they lost it in an 1870s war with Chile). I am speaking, of course, of Paraguay, which is surrounded by Argentina, Brazil, and Bolivia. I personally know no one who has been to Paraguay, yet I am yearning to visit it.

What piqued my interest was John Gimlette’s At the Tomb of the Inflatable Pig, which captures the insane history of this little known country, which is known for:

  • The Paraguayan War (1864-1870) against, simultaneously, Argentina, Brazil, and Uruguay, in which 50% of the population lost their lives.
  • The Chaco War (1930s) against Bolivia, in which two armies confronted each other in a waterless desert and which, surprisingly, Paraguay won despite horrendous casualty rates.
  • The dictatorship of Alfredo Stroessner (1954-1989) in which the country welcomes fleeing Nazis.

While it is theoretically possible to fly into the capital, Asunción, I would rather enter by bus from Argentina. When I visited Iguazu Falls in 2015, I was only a few miles from Ciudad del Este, which is a known hangout of smugglers and Hezbollah terrorists—but I chose not to visit it at that time. (Actually, probably never would suit me.)

If I went to Paraguay, I would be interested in visiting the old Jesuit missions that were destroyed by the Brazilians. At one time, in the 18th century, Paraguay was controlled by the Jesuits and was considered a paradise on earth. To corroborate, read Voltaire’s Candide and see Roland Joffe’s 1986 film The Mission with Robert De Niro and Jeremy Irons. But after the missions were destroyed, things went bad.

And I would like to stay in Asunción sipping Tereré, a cold preparation made with Yerba Mate. If I had time, I would like to see a little bit (a very little bit) of the Chaco region in the northwest.

The Eyes of Hedy Lamarr

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Clark Gable and Hedy Lamarr in Comrade X (1940)

It was a strange movie made at a strange time by an eminent director (King Vidor). I had never seen Comrade X before, and what I remember most about it were the eyes of Hedy Lamarr. It was an early Hollywood film—released by MGM no less—by the Austrian actress who caused a succès de scandale seven years earlier when she appeared in the buff in a Czech film by Gustav Machaty called Ecstasy.

The strange thing is that Hedy was one of the most intelligent-looking actresses in Hollywood. This is borne out by the fact that she also had a career as an inventor. Not the sort of thing one would expect with a nudie actress.

Hedy Kiesler (Later: Lamarr) in Ecstasy (1933)

I have always regarded Hedy Lamarr as one of the most beautiful actresses in Hollywood. I watch her films whenever I can because seeing her films gives me a frisson of sorts.

Comrade X was released a year before the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. We were officially an ally of Russia at the time and were running aid ships to Stalin via the port of Murmansk. In addition to Gable and Lamarr, the film starred all the usual Slavic suspects, such as Oscar Homolka, Vladmir Sokolov, Felix Bressart, and Mikhail Rasumny. In a few short years, the film’s goofy innocence would be a red flag to Senator Joseph McCarthy, who saw the film as a kowtowing to the Soviet enemy.

Hedy Lamarr as a Russian Streetcar Motorman in Comrade X

When I have recovered sufficiently from my broken collar bone, I plan to seek out and read Lamarr’s ghost-written autobiography, Ecstasy and Me.

One Night in Bangkok

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Palaces and Temples in Bangkok, Thailand

Now that I am (1) retired and (2) living on a fixed income, my fantasies of travel become ever more vivid. Some months ago, I found a copy of the Lonely Planet Guide to Thailand in one of those take a book/leave a book stands. Ever since then, my mind has traveled to Bangkok, Chang Mai, Pattaya, and Ko Samui and points in between.

I know that if the money for travel should drop into my lap, most of my fantasy travel destinations would involve my going by myself. Martine wants no part of the Third World, let alone closer destinations like Yucatán or the Alaska Panhandle.

No matter: Even armchair travel can be a rewarding experience. I am currently reading Alex Garland’s The Beach about a visit to a strange island near Ko Samui. And I continue to pore over my Lonely Planet Guide, even if it is a year or two out of date. And I will look for more of those Bangkok crime novels featuring Sonchai Jitpleecheep written by John Burdett. It should make for a fun summer.

Of course, if I went to Thailand, I probably would not spend much time on the beach. To be sure, I would visit museums and Buddhist temples and spend hours at various Thai “Walking Streets” and night markets. The food would be fantastic. And, being the type of person I am, I would get a ton of reading done. Not for me the full moon parties on the beach and the girlie bars of Soi Cowboy and Patpong.

And when I have read my fill of Thailand, there are other places that I could explore from my armchair.

As for real, non-armchair travel, I am looking forward to going with Martine to Arizona sometime in the not too distant future.

“An Ever-Fixèd Mark”

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William Shakespeare

Here is perhaps my favorite poem about love, Sonnet #116 by William Shakespeare. There’s nothing there about “a summer’s day” or Moon or June, but it covers its subject admirably.

Sonnet #116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand’ring bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

This one’s for you, Martine.

Brazil vs the Tartan Army

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Brazil’s Vinicius Jr and Scottish Goalkeeper

As part of my broken collarbone recuperation program, I watched a great soccer football game between Brazil and Scotland. Played in Miami, the stadium was packed with Brazilian and Scots supporters.

Brazil played a great game, with the South Americans winning with a score of 3-0. The announcers seemed to be mostly supporters of the Scots. While Vinicius Junior was taking apart the Tartan defense, all the announcers seemed to talk about was the convoluted mathematics that would allow the Scots to continue after their mediocre showing in the group stage for Group C.

I can understand that the Fox TV audience would take to British announcers more easily than they would a Brazilian announcer with a thick Portuguese accent.

In the end, the announcers finally conceded that the Brazilians played a superior game in every category that they could measure, but the Scottish team was clearly the sentimental favorite. And, in my estimation, the Brazilians played with more heart. It was a pleasure to watch them.

Futbol

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Lionel Messi of Argentina at Work

Since I am still slowly recuperating from a broken collarbone, I have taken advantage of the 2026 World Cup to watch a lot of soccer football or futbol. Generally, I am not a big fan of spectator sports, but futbol is in my veins, so to speak. My father played the game in Czechoslovakia and Cleveland, where there were nationality club leagues active in the 1930s.

When I was a lad, my father took me to Moreland Park in Cleveland, at a time when there were still a lot of nationality clubs active. I was impressed that a lot of the older spectators knew the terrible Paris twins, Elek and Emil. Among the scuttlebutt was a story that my father kicked so hard that he broke the other players’ legs more than once.

Less believable was the story that Elek thumped a referee in the back as he was inhaling before whistling a foul, causing the ref to swallow his whistle, which had to be pulled out by the lanyard.

Mind you, I don’t know that much about futbol and am confused by concepts such as off sides and the rules regarding corner kicks and free kicks and such like. What I enjoy is the fact that the game is action-packed, with a minimum of time-outs and no lengthy breaks for advertising, other than halftime.

The sport today is more forgiving than in the thirties, where there weren’t so many substitutions, and injuries meant your side had to play with less than a full complement of players. And there definitely weren’t any hydration breaks.

Who am I rooting for? Of course, it would be nice to see the U.S. team do well. Unlike my father, however, I am for any team that plays with its heart in the game. And I secretly have a preference for Argentina, Brazil, and the other teams from the Americas. Whom would I like to see lose? Probably Germany. I still haven’t altogether forgiven them for two world wars.

Summer Is Here

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Although I live two miles from Santa Monica Beach, I don’t go there to read: It’s too hard to concentrate when sand is getting into your shorts. But since today is the first day of summer, I thought I would give you some idea of what I tend to read during the hot months of the year.

For the most part, my summer reading tends to be on the light side. On the other hand, that’s also when I tend to tackle William Faulkner and other difficult 20th century writers.

Below are six categories with samples of my summer reading during the last three years (1923-1925).

India

I just recvently finished Heinrich Zimmer’s Myths and Symbols in Indian Art and Civilization. Some other titles include Somadeva’s Tales from the Kathāsaritsāgara and Anita Desai’s Diamond Dust and Other Stories. I’ve always thought Desai’s fiction was underrated.

Latin America

These include Fernanda Melchor’s Hurricane Season (Mexico) and Cesar Aira’s Fulgentius (Argentina). See also under Mystery,

Mystery

I enjoyed the Brazilian writer Luiz Alfredo Garcia-Roza’s Pursuit and Icelandic writer Arnaldur Indriðason’s The Darkness Knows. Indriðason is one of my favorite mystery writers, and I’ve read everything of his that’s been translated into English.

Noir

Summer is a great time to read books by writers like Jim Thompson, David Goodis, Raymond Chandler, and Cornell Woolrich. Recently, I read Woolrich’s The Bride Wore Black and Waltz Into Darkness and John Fante’s Dreams from Bunker Hill.

Sci-Fi

Recent reads were William Gibson’s The Peripheral and the Russian Sergei Lukyanenko’s Twilight Watch.

Travel Classics

This is one of my favorite summer categories, including such titles as Charles M. Doughty’s Travels in Arabia Deserta; Allen Ginsberg’s South American Journals January-July 1960; and Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s Writing Across the Landscape: Travel Journals 1960-2010.

From Concord to India

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Brahma (from the Hindu Portal)

I ran across this short poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882) about Brahma, the creator of all things in the Hindu religion. He is depicted as having four faces, one facing in each of the directions.

Brahma

If the red slayer think he slays,
Or if the slain think he is slain,
They know not well the subtle ways
I keep, and pass, and turn again.

Far or forgot to me is near;
Shadow and sunlight are the same;
The vanished gods to me appear;
And one to me are shame and fame.

They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they fly, I am the wings;
I am the doubter and the doubt,
I am the hymn the Brahmin sings.

The strong gods pine for my abode,
And pine in vain the sacred Seven;
But thou, meek lover of the good!
Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.

For some background on “the sacred seven,” check out this website.

Heavy Going

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The Goddess Slaying the Monster Buffalo (Māmallapuram)

I have just finished reading Heinrich Zimmer’s Myths and Symbols in Indian Art and Civilization (Washington DC: Bollingen Foundation, 1946), edited by Joseph Campbell and with contributions from Ananda K. Coomaraswamy. It was fairly heavy going for most of its length. Curiously, the most interesting chapters were the first (The Parable of the Ants) and the last (a Hassidic tale). Even if the rest of the book proves way too erudite for you, and if you just aren’t geared up to read Sanskrit, I suggest you check out these two chapters.

Hinduism with its armies of gods, demons, demigods, semigods, and hemigods has always fascinated me, though I always found myself slogging through too much detail. Tales from the Indian scriptures always fascinated me, but I could rarely remember what I read a mere few hours later.

Nonetheless, I will try to read more of this material, including, perhaps, an abridged edition of India’s great epic, The Mahābhārata, which consists of some 200,000 couplets. Wish me luck!