Truth to Tell: The Oracle at Delphi

In the myths of the early Greeks, the ancient gods and goddesses ruled the Hellenic people with their superhuman strength, enviable beauty, and abilities not only to walk upon the earth but also to fly across the heavens, dwell in the oceans, and thrive in subterranean territories. Gods and goddesses often mingled with mortals, and their divinity was peppered with human character flaws, moral ambiguity, and mood swings that could change the fate of cities. Despite the fact that these deities were themselves subject to fits of jealousy, lust, and vanity, they often found ways to punish the less-than-divine behavior of humans. They did not prescribe a way of life or establish a moral code for the Greeks to follow but frequently exacted payment for their favors. How then were humans to find guidance and inspiration in the midst of these erratic and often ignoble gods and goddesses?

According to stories passed down, oracles were a great help. Thought to transmit the utterances of a god or goddess, an oracle was consulted for guidance in personal lives as well as in matters of state. While references to many oracles can be found in ancient Greek literature, none of the oracles had the longevity or impact of the voice of the god Apollo---the oracle at Delphi.

Located on Mount Parnassus in central Greece, the cave at Delphi was considered a sacred place long before Apollo proclaimed it the home of his oracle. According to myth it was the dwelling place of the great serpent Python, who protected Gaea, the goddess of the earth. This same serpent had brought harm to Leto, Apollo's mortal mother, and the god swore revenge. Using the golden bow and arrow given him by his father, the god Zeus, Apollo slew Python and established his own sanctuary at the site. To assuage Gaea's anger at losing her guardian, Apollo named his priestesses Pythiae and imbued them with the prophetic powers of the oracle.

Unlike many of his colleagues, Apollo was known to be a truthful god; he never went back on his word. The prophecies and advice given by his priestesses at Delphi were considered to be true to the letter---if interpreted properly. Kings, philosophers, historians, and commoners consulted the oracle. Esteemed thinkers such as Herodotus and Pythagoras were known to visit Delphi for advice. According to Plutarch, Alexander the Great once demanded a prophecy from a Pythia on a day that the oracle was deemed unavailable. Under duress and struggling to free herself from his grasp, the priestess said, "My son, you are invincible!" Alexander left Delphi, satisfied that the oracle had spoken.

The actual experience of receiving a prophecy may have changed considerably over the thousand years that the Delphic oracle continued active, but there were certain features that apparently remained consistent. There is some indication that the priestesses lived chastely and purified themselves by drinking water from a sacred spring, burning bay leaves and barley meal to cleanse the sanctuary surroundings. Seekers also were expected to remain chaste prior to consultation and were directed to bring gifts and make sacrifices as an offering to Apollo. The Pythia chewed laurel leaves, sitting on a tripod above a fissure in the earth that emitted vapors, and waited for a divine "breath" to fill her before answering inquiries. Priests interpreted and inscribed the words of the Pythia, for she often spoke in tongues from a trancelike state possibly caused, according to recent evidence, by intoxicating gases.

Perhaps the most famous statement made by the oracle at Delphi is inscribed in the lintel at the sanctuary of Apollo: Gnothi Seauton (Know Thyself). This answer may have been given first to the Lydian king Croesus when he asked how best to live a happy life; or it may have been directed at Chilon of Sparta when he queried, "What is best for man?" In any case the oracle at Delphi's famed advice has lived long after the demise of its powers; in the 4th century A.D. the rise of Christianity triggered the decline of the oracle, and ultimately, silenced it forever.

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The Japanese Tea Ceremony: A Ritual Meditation

In ritualistic ceremonies practiced by myriad cultures throughout the world, the imbibing of a potable plays an important role. Consider the wine used to symbolize the blood of Christ in the Catholic communion rite. Or, imagine the clan gatherings on the Micronesian island of Ponape, where the mildly narcotic drink sakau is sipped communally from a coconut shell. In Japan, as well, a drink plays an important--and in this case, central--role in a spiritual gathering known as the tea ceremony.

Chado, the Japanese name for tea ceremony, is rooted in Taoism, a Chinese system of thought dating back to the third century B.C., and its predecessor Zen Buddhism, a philosophical system whose main tenet is the practice of meditation. Zen Buddhist monks, whose school of thought endeavors to recognize greatness in life's quotidian events, brought the tea ceremony from China to Japan in the 15th century. The ritual of tea ceremony stems from the Zen monks' practice of drinking tea before a depiction of Bodhi Dharma, the founder of their religion; although intended as a show of worship, the tea may have also been used to help the monks stay awake and alert throughout their meditation. There are variations in the practice of the ceremony, a practice that continues into the present day, but since its beginnings the renowned masters of the ritual have aimed to adapt the spirit of Zen into everyday living. All practices are centered on the serving of tea to guests, and some include the consumption of a light meal, of cakes or other sweets, or of sake.

Although tea ceremony can be practiced anywhere, it is typically performed in homes, teahouses, and community centers. All aspects of the ceremony--from the size and layout of the rooms designed for the practice, to the ritual itself--are founded on the doctrine of Zen. Guests invited to partake in tea ceremony wait in a shelter until they are summoned to enter the main room, or cha-shitsu. The guests decide among themselves the order in which they will make their way down the roji, or garden path, into the room. The path itself is meant to sever ties with the outside world, offering a new experience that will prepare the participants for the meditation that is to take place in the sanctuary of the tearoom.

Upon approaching the room, guests must crouch down in order to pass through a door that is less than 3 feet (0.9 meters) high, a design meant to encourage the guests to reflect on humility. Once inside the room, guests will observe an alcove, called tokonoma, in which decorative objects, such as scrolls or flowers, have been placed for their admiration. The guests then sit and wait for the tea master to join them. The room is kept immaculately clean, as a tea master is schooled in cleanliness. (Connected to the main room is an anteroom, where the tea utensils are kept and washed.) Each object within the tearoom is imbued with significance, as is its placement. Care is taken to avoid repetition of colors or designs and to remove any monotony from the room. In its simplicity, then, the tearoom becomes a respite from the troubles that plague life in the world outside. In a place unconnected to the vulgarity of the everyday world, one can devote oneself entirely--for the duration of the age-old ritual--to the appreciation of beauty.

The event brings together four main tenets: peacefulness, purity, harmony, and respect for others. Within the sanctuary of the room, the participants are asked to concentrate on the natural beauty inherent in the surroundings: the sound of the teakettle, the light streaming into the room, the coals glowing in the fire, the scent of incense. The guests focus their attention on exquisitely crafted objects, such as the ceramic teapot or the calligraphy on a scroll--as a reflection of the universe's creative force, made manifest by human craftsmanship. Such focus keeps the participants mindful--that is, it allows them to concentrate their minds solely on the present moment. Within the tearoom, discussion is limited. The participants do not chat, but instead focus their conversation on appreciating the beauty before them. The ritual encourages the participants to live in the present moment--the objective of Zen Buddhism--by centering the senses on the event at hand, with no distractions from the commonplace. The tea master who conducts the ceremony has the task of creating a perfect instant in time.

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The Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels

As the first cathedral in the world dedicated in the new millennium, the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels in Los Angeles, offers a spiritual anchor for the archdiocese of Los Angeles, the largest and most diverse Roman Catholic archdiocese in the United States, a reality reflected in the cathedral's mission as well as its design. Situated along the Hollywood Freeway and located between Los Angeles's civic and cultural centers, Our Lady of the Angels is a gateway to the area's religious community and to its civic and cultural life. The construction of the cathedral began in May 1999 and was completed in spring 2002. The sale price of the property was $10,850,000, and the estimated construction cost, some $200 million. Since opening in September 2002, this contemporary, 11-story cathedral, which was designed by the Spanish-born architect and professor Jose Rafael Moneo, has drawn millions of visitors. 

Our Lady of the Angels serves its members and the surrounding community. The archdiocese of Los Angeles alone comprises three southern California counties--Los Angeles, Santa Barbara, and Ventura. According to statistics from the archdiocesan office, the total Catholic population for the archdiocese as of January 2005 was over 4.3 million.

The community of Our Lady of the Angels is not only large, it is also diverse, representing many backgrounds and cultures. Founded in 1781 by a small group of Hispanic people, Los Angeles has come to be the home of African Americans, Armenians, Chinese, Filipinos, Japanese, Koreans, Mexicans, and Poles, among many others. According to a 2003 government estimate, Los Angeles has a population of more than 3.8 million. It was this diversity that the architect Jose Rafael Moneo bore in mind when he designed the cathedral. Moneo's own diverse teaching experience at the Spanish schools of architecture in Barcelona and Madrid, at Princeton and Harvard universities in the United States, and later at the University of Lausanne in Switzerland, figured into the mix.

Moneo approached the design of Our Lady of the Angels using two key theological truths. The first was the light of God as revealed in salvation history, especially through Jesus Christ. The second was the pilgrimage toward redemption and the kingdom of God in heaven. Inspired by the twin themes of light and journey, Moneo chose Spanish alabaster for the windows and a slightly inclined ambulatory at the entrance to the cathedral that encircles its interior and leads to the nave.

From these foundational principles, the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels came to comprise 11 devotional chapels. The main cathedral includes a set of bronze doors designed by the Mexican-born Los Angeles sculptor Robert Graham, who also created the "Olympic Gateway" at the Los Angeles coliseum. The tapestries in the nave were created by the renowned California figurative painter John Nava, and the bronze tabernacle and 12 bronze candleholders are by the sculptor Max DeMoss, known for his bronze work and for his sculpture for sacred spaces. The altar was designed by the fourth archbishop of Los Angeles, Roger Cardinal Mahony, with artisan Louie Carnevale; the life-size bronze crucifix by the master binder and sculptor Simon Toparovsky; and the ambry, or holy-oil cabinet, for the cathedral's baptistery was designed by Jeff Tortorelli, a liturgical artist whose work focuses exclusively on pieces used in community worship spaces.

It was, however, the vision of the architect, whose work includes the Barcelona Concert Hall (1990) and the museums of Modern Art and Architecture in Stockholm, Sweden (1994), that was fundamental. Muneo has said that his biggest challenge in creating the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels was determining the meaning of a sacred space for today. Answering that question meant that he had to address the emblem of Christ--the cross, a 50-foot (15-meter) concrete lantern-style version of which adorns the front of the cathedral. At night its glass-protected alabaster windows are illuminated and can be seen from afar. In a 2002 interview Moneo said, "I like to see the cathedral reduced and oversimplified to the image of the cross ... The cross connects with the city. It is the symbolic element that is so important and so determinant in this faith."

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Palestine, the Birthplace of World Religions

In addition to Palestine’s historical strategic importance based on its relatively fertile plains and its location at the crossroads of Asia and Africa, it is a holy land to three major religions--Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Although it is only about 10,000 square miles in area, it is difficult to imagine a comparable tract of land in the world that has played a more important role in the affairs of humankind or has been as often and as bitterly contested.

At Palestine's heart is the holy city of Jerusalem, home of three of the world’s most sacred sites. Within the city are the Wailing Wall, said to be a part of the original wall surrounding the Temple of Solomon and traditionally a gathering place for Jews lamenting the destruction of the temple and praying for its restoration; the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, built on the rock of Calvary, where Jesus Christ was crucified; and the Dome of the Rock, the late 7th-century mosque enshrining the rock from which the prophet Mohammed ascended to heaven.

Bethlehem, a few miles to the south, is second only to Jerusalem as a holy city to Jews and Christians. The city of King David and place of his anointing by Samuel is also the birthplace of Jesus Christ; the Church of the Holy Nativity includes an altar, marking the traditional site of Jesus's birth, highlighted by a silver star and illuminated by fifteen silver lamps representing the various Christian communities. In medieval times the church was one of the most fought-over places in the Holy Land. In recent months, it was again the site of armed conflict as a battle between Palestinians and Israelis inside the church compound led to a five-week siege and several deaths.

Since biblical times, the significance of Palestine to the world has far exceeded that merited by its size and resources. Not surprisingly, it has been a frequent stage for violent conflicts as Jews, Christians, and Muslims alike have fought and died for the privilege of controlling access to its holy places.

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Modern Paganism: Everything Old Is New Again

Contemporary paganism is among the more arcane and misunderstood of modern religious phenomena, but this loose collection of spiritual traditions dates back thousands of years and continues to grow in popularity and influence. Perhaps the most pervasive misconception regarding paganism is that it is an organized faith, yet the very basis of modern pagan beliefs is their repudiation of institutionalized spirituality, a fact that has often placed paganism in direct conflict with the more conventional faiths of the Western world.
 

The term pagan is derived from the Latin word paganus, meaning "country dweller," and it came into use to describe religiously conservative residents of rural Roman territories following the conversion of the emperor Constantine I to Christianity in the 4th century A.D. While urban Romans were quick to embrace the faith imposed on them by their emperor, rural communities maintained their polytheistic traditions, which included the worship of Roman mythological deities that represented various aspects of nature and human society. Thus these "pagans" were immediately associated with three enduring aspects of modern paganism: a rejection of prevailing organized faiths, polytheism, and an explicit deification of nature.

The word paganism, therefore, can and has been used to describe classical Roman polytheism as well as a host of revived or reinterpreted polytheistic or nature-worship traditions, including those practiced by Druids, Wiccans, and the Asatru, who worship the ancient Norse gods. While these faiths are not institutionally or organizationally connected, they all share common themes and origins within the modern pagan revival movement.

This revival began perhaps as early as the Renaissance, when European fascination with ancient Greco-Roman culture began to flower and a tacit reinstatement of Greco-Roman religious ideas took root in certain corners of the scholarly community. However, the most obvious and public reestablishment of pagan traditions took place in the late 18th and the early 19th century, at the height of European colonialism.

Westerners observed active polytheistic and nature-worship practices among the native peoples of Africa, the Americas, Australia, and the Caribbean and themselves became interested in the European counterparts to these religious traditions. The role of Christian missionary institutions in oppressing many of these same native peoples also fostered dissatisfaction with conventional Western traditions, including religion, and spurred many Europeans to return to their own "innocent" pagan faiths. The most famous examples of these colonial pagan revivals were the Druid societies formed by the Londoners John Toland and Edward Williams during the 1700s.

A much later, but in some ways similar, popularization of paganism occurred in the 1960s, when counterculture movements in Europe and the United States sought alternative religious concepts to the prevailing cultural institutions of the day. General public interest in--and, in many cases, outrage over--paganism subsequently skyrocketed. Many if not most of the active contemporary pagan traditions are indirect products of 1960s youth movements. This has in turn led to the association of paganism with both youthful rebellion and modern environmentalism, which also was popularized in the 1960s.

Today so-called alternative religions are arguably more popular than ever, a cultural phenomenon attributed by some observers to the increasing use of the Internet. With more information about nontraditional spiritual faiths available for public consumption, these willfully noninstitutional faiths are poised to thrive as never before. Thus paganism has come full circle, with ancient ideas and practices reinvigorated by the most modern technologies and a formerly traditional practice becoming instead a rebellion against cultural conservatism. It is ironic, given that many pagan faiths espouse reincarnation, that paganism itself has in many ways been reborn.

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Hagia Sophia: From Church to Mosque to Museum

Sitting on Aysasofya Square in Istanbul, Turkey, is the most important surviving work of Byzantine architecture--Hagia Sophia. Its Greek name means "Holy Wisdom," and its history is closely connected with the rise and fall of two great empires, the Byzantine and Ottoman. It has witnessed amazing episodes of social upheaval, religious fanaticism, and spiritual tolerance.

Roman emperor Constantine I, who accepted Christianity, transferred the administrative center of the empire from Rome to Byzantium in the early 4th century. He envisioned a great Christian church in his new capital, renamed Constantinople after him. This dream was realized by his son, Constantius II. The Megali Ecclesia, or "Great Church," was dedicated in 360. This church, however, did not last long: a mob protesting the exile of John Chrysostom, the archbishop of Constantinople, burned it down in 404. Emperor Theosidius II rebuilt the church to the original floor plan by 415. This stood for nearly 120 years, until the popular revolt against unfair taxation in 532, when the church was destroyed once again. After Emperor Justinian quashed the revolt he immediately began construction of a new, much larger and grander church.

The huge size of the new church, the blistering pace of the construction, which took less than six years, and its exotic ornamentation (rare materials were brought in from all over the known world) led to an astronomical cost. The main dome was 184 feet high, with a diameter of 100 feet; it would remain the biggest church dome in the Christian world until the 15th century. In order to build something so big, so unlike anything that stood at that time, significant theoretical knowledge was needed. Justinian hired two men who were not renowned builders; Anthemius of Tralles and Isidorus of Miletus were, however, well versed in mathematics, statics, and kinetics. Their creation, Hagia Sophia, reconciled the traditions of a longitudinal basilica and a central vaulted church. On the church's completion, Justinian was reported to have cried out, "My God, I am grateful to you for choosing me to complete this monument. I am now greater than Solomon." 

Hagia Sophia was the church of both the emperor of the Byzantine empire and the patriarch of the Byzantine Orthodox Church. The most important religious and state ceremonies were held there for more than nine centuries, until May 29, 1453, when the armies of the Ottoman empire stormed Constantinople. After they sacked the city, the Ottomans converted the church into a mosque. Initially Turks preserved the frescoes and mosaic figures of Christian saints that decorated the walls; however, in the 16th century these were completely covered by plaster, since the Islamic code forbade figural representation.

The building remained under Muslim clerical control until 1923, when it was taken over by the republican government of Turkey. Secular-minded Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, founder of modern Turkey, who wrenched the nation into existence and banished religious rule, had taken this building from the hands of the imams. Many of the original Christian decorations were uncovered and restored, and following Ataturk's orders, Hagia Sophia was converted into a museum in 1935. Now Hagia Sophia belongs to the whole world.

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W. B. Yeats and the Abbey Theatre

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939) has been called the greatest poet of his time, but, in addition to being a writer of brilliant verse, he was also a dramatist who helped to establish Ireland's first national theater---the Abbey Theatre in Dublin. Today the Abbey is respected throughout the world, but it was very controversial in its early days, and some of its initial productions prompted riots in the streets.

Although there had been various theaters in Dublin since 1637, they were created not by the Irish but by the English elite. The many Irish-born or Irish-raised playwrights of the 17th and 18th centuries rarely wrote about Irish topics or issues and primarily used English actors for their plays. By the late 1800s there was still nothing that could be called an active Irish dramatic tradition. In London in 1898, however, an Anglo-Irishwoman, Lady Augusta Gregory, recorded in her diary that she had had tea with the ambitious young writer William Butler Yeats: "He is very full of playwriting and very keen about taking or building a little theatre somewhere."

Yeats was born in Dublin but spent much of his childhood in Ireland's northwest countryside. Amid Sligo's storied hills and lakes, the young man developed a love for mythology and folklore, creative touchstones that found their way into much of his later work. While studying art in Dublin and London in the 1880s, Yeats often returned to the myths and legends of his youth and soon decided to devote himself entirely to writing.

In his early verse and plays, Yeats endeavored to awaken an interest in Ireland's historical and legendary past, and he often employed pre-Christian, Celtic symbols. He also sought out likeminded individuals, such as Lady Gregory and the aspiring playwright Edward Martyn. Together they formed the Irish Literary Theatre (ILT) in 1899. Their goal was to continue the bardic traditions of ancient Ireland and enhance the cultural identity of the nation through dramatic art. 

Working without an established venue, the ILT presented its first few plays in various London halls. It made its Dublin debut with Yeats's The Countess Cathleen in the city's Antient Concert Rooms in May of 1899. Although involved with the cause of Ireland's independence from England, Yeats had intended his play to transcend mere politics and evoke instead the heroic spirit of Ireland's past. Hard-line Irish Catholics and nationalists, however, objected to its raw depiction of Irish peasantry. A pamphlet distributed prior to the performance attacked The Countess Cathleen for being heretical and blasphemous, and Yeats found himself on stage during the production trying to howl down a mob. 

Despite these inauspicious beginnings, the poet's ambition to create a national theater was realized in December 1904. Annie Horniman, a philanthropic Englishwoman and an admirer of Yeats, acquired an abandoned theater on Abbey Street in Dublin and presented it to the Irish National Theatre Society (formed in 1903 by the merger of the ILT with W. G. Fay's Irish National Dramatic Society).

Subsequent Abbey productions---most famously John Millington Synge's The Playboy of the Western World (1907) and Sean O'Casey's The Plough and the Stars (1926)---incited riots that landed Yeats and Gregory in political hot water again. Yeats's own politically charged play Cathleen Ni Houlihan helped stoke the fires of Irish nationalism that would eventually flare up into the Easter Rising of 1916. 

Today, Yeats and Gregory's dream of a native theater producing Irish drama is alive and well. The Abbey not only stages regular productions for local audiences but also has become world-famous for producing talented playwrights and actors such as Brian Friel, Liam Neeson, Siobhan McKenna, and Gabriel Byrne.

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The Magic of Haiku

Haiku is a Japanese verse consisting of 17 syllables arranged in three groups of five, seven, and five. Founded in the Zen Buddhist philosophy of simplicity and disregard of the extraneous, the form is intended to express a sensation of a specific moment of life.

After rain all clear -
for just seconds the light scent
of hawthorn flowers.

The poet who raised the Haiku form to its highest level was Matsuo Basho. A son of a low-ranking samurai, Matsuo Munefusa (1644-1694) lived in a modest hut in a rustic area of Edo (now known as Tokyo). A local resident planted a banana tree near the hut as a gift to his poetry teacher. Soon the teacher came to be known as the Master of the Basho ("banana tree") Hut, or simply Master Basho. The poet was happy to accept the nickname and used it for the rest of his life.

Japanese Haiku	English Translation
Basho nowaki shite	A banana tree in autumn -
tarai ni ame o	listen to the rain dripping
kiku yo kana.	into a basin at night.

The most popular poetic form in Japan since Basho, haiku became widely appreciated around the world in the 20th century. It inspired many artists, from the Ecuadorian poet Jorge Carrera Andrade to the Scottish composer Thea Musgrave. The challenge of conveying a vivid impression in only 17 syllables has given rise to numerous clubs, journals, and international contests. The Haiku Society of America was founded in 1968.

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The Ladies of the Dime Novels

When one thinks of women writers of the 19th century, novelists such as Charlotte Bronte or George Eliot most often come to mind. There was, however, another group of women who made their living through storytelling, and while their work may not be of the caliber of a Bronte or an Eliot, it had no less impact on the readers of the day.

These women wrote dime novels, pocket-sized paperbacks of roughly 100 pages that sold on newsstands and were popular from about 1860 until the 1890s. The popularity of dime novels was perhaps best expressed by Charles M. Harvey, writing in the Atlantic Monthly in 1907: "Beadle's dime novels. . .made their appearance in 1860. Many Americans who were old enough to read at that time remember 1860 better from that circumstance than they do because it was the year of Lincoln's election and the secession of South Carolina."

One variety of dime novel, often published in series, enthralled an audience of boys and men with rags-to-riches stories as well as tales of war and the Wild West. There was another type of story, however, with a more decidedly feminine appeal--the romance. Two major dime novel publishers, Beadle and Adams and Street and Smith, were quick to recognize the importance of women as a market for these books, and although women novelists were by no means relegated to producing only romance stories, they did contribute mightily to the genre.

The first Beadle and Adams dime novel, written by Ann S. Stephens, combined heart-wrenching pathos with the legends of the West. Published in 1860, it was entitled Malaeska: The Indian Wife of the White Hunter and tells the story of a Native American woman who marries a white trapper. When Malaeska's husband dies, she leaves her young son with his paternal grandfather and returns to her tribe. On the eve of the son's marriage, she appears and tells him of his Native heritage. Overcome with grief and shame, he kills himself. His heartbroken mother dies as well.

Stephens's story originally had been published in The Ladies Companion in 1839. Reprinted as the first volume of Beadle's Dime Novels, the 128-page book sold some 300,000 copies in its first year. Mrs. Stephens was paid U.S.$250 for the rights to her tale.

Another very prolific writer of dime novels, and one who found her work a great deal more lucrative, was Laura Jean Libbey (1862-1924). In just over 40 years, Libbey completed 82 novels. She was so prolific that she often had multiple stories running in a number of different series at the same time.

Libbey's novels all had similar plots--stories that will be familiar to readers of today's romance novels. A young working-class girl, alone in the world, meets a man to whom she is attracted, though he is very much her social superior. He returns her affection, but, as in all romances, the course of love does not run smoothly. Inevitably, however, after many mishaps and separations, the couple marries.

In spite of having little formal education, Libbey was a savvy businesswoman, able to negotiate lucrative contracts. At one point she reported earning $60,000 a year from her work, which, if accurate, was an enormous sum, especially for a woman at the time. Unlike her heroines, Libbey herself did not wed until she was 36 years old. So centered was she on her reputation as a writer that in a curiously modern twist and in contrast with most of her peers, she insisted upon being known by her maiden name even after her marriage.

Another very successful dime novelist was Metta Victoria Fuller Victor, the wife of Beadle's editor Orville J. Victor. (Mrs. Victor was a published writer before she met her husband.) Her most popular novel, Maum Guinea and Her Plantation Children (1861), was a tale of slave life, which sold more than 100,000 copies. Translated into several languages, Maum Guinea was cited by the abolitionist Henry Ward Beecher, brother of Harriet Beecher Stowe, as the novel that hindered the Confederacy's bid for British support, while Abraham Lincoln praised the book for being "as absorbing as Uncle Tom's Cabin."

Unlike many of her contemporaries, such as Laura Jean Libbey, who were prolific writers of sentimental romance but whose careers faded as interest in the genre waned, Victor was able to change her writing style to match the times. With the death of sentimental fiction, she turned her attention to humor and sensational romance. Indeed, she proved so adaptable that her novel The Dead Letter (1874), written under the pseudonym Seeley Register, is recognized as one of the earliest examples of the detective novel genre.

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Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz---"The Tenth Muse"

Seventeenth-century Mexican culture was dominated by the patriarchal Roman Catholic Church (much more orthodox in New Spain than in Spain itself), and it was generally disparaging of intellectual women. Despite the barriers placed in her way by church and society, however, Juana Inés de Asbaje y Remirez became one of the greatest poets and dramatists of colonial Mexico. Nicknamed "The Tenth Muse," she was a proponent of educational opportunities for women and was centuries ahead of her time.

Her drive and intellect were apparent early in life. Accounts of Juana Inés's childhood indicate that she persuaded a local schoolteacher to teach her to read at the age of three. By the age of five she was writing and embroidering. At six or seven, she begged to be sent to the University of Mexico. When her pleas failed--girls could not attend university--she contented herself with her grandfather's library. She learned Latin by the age of eight in order to understand the classics. Juana Inés's thirst for knowledge was so intense that she would punish herself when she did not satisfy her own high standards. She would cut her hair when she felt she was not learning quickly enough. "[I]t didn't seem right to me," she wrote later, "that a head so naked of knowledge should be dressed up with hair. For knowledge is a more desirable adornment."

At the age of eight or so, Juana Inés was sent to Mexico City to live with her mother's sister. She continued her studies there, immersing herself in literature, philosophy, mathematics, and theology. Impressed with Juana Inés's ability, her aunt and uncle took her to the court of the viceroy. Vicereina Doña Leonor Carreto, the marquise de Mancera, was especially interested in the girl and took her into her palace as a maid-in-waiting. During her four years there, Juana Inés was frequently asked to write poetry for official events. She earned a reputation for her erudition, wit, and beauty.

Despite her success at court, however, Juana Inés entered the Convent of the Order of Saint Jerome at the age of 19. She apparently thought the cloistered life was more suitable to the continuation of her studies. She took the veil under the name Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, the name by which she is now commonly known. Her religious duties were light, and convent rule fairly liberal. Sor Juana continued to write and studied music and painting. She amassed a library reputed to be the largest in Mexico, and had many visitors to her " salon." 

Over the next two decades, Sor Juana composed religious and secular songs, poems, and plays. But it was her critique of a controversial 40-year-old sermon that eventually put an end to her career. Her letter criticizing the sermon was published without her knowledge or consent by the bishop of Puebla under a feminine pseudonym. It aroused the anger of the archbishop of Mexico, a confirmed misogynist. He criticized her for her intellectual pursuits and lack of religious commitment. Sor Juana responded by defending her studies. She believed that girls have the right to be educated by female tutors. She was also convinced that intellect, whether male or female, was a gift from God. This was a radical idea in the late 1600s. In response, the church pressured Sor Juana into discontinuing her studies. She bowed to authority. She turned over to the archbishop all her books and instruments to be sold for the benefit of the poor. She also submitted to rigorous penance for past religious transgressions. Nursing her sister nuns through an epidemic, she herself contracted the plague and died in April 1695 at the age of 43.

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Sir John Falstaff: Sage or Satan?

Sir John Falstaff is one of the most intriguing characters in the entire Shakespeare canon. He appears in three plays, Henry IV, part 1 (1597), Henry IV, part 2 (1597-1598), and The Merry Wives of Windsor (there is controversy over the date, but 1599-1600 seems the most likely). Indeed Falstaff was so compelling that composers, authors, and directors have created material built around the character up to the present day.

Several operas were created around this larger-than-life Elizabethan persona; these include Antonio Salieri's Falstaff (1799), Giuseppe Verdi's Falstaff (1843), Otto Nicolai's Di Lustigen Weiber von Windsor (1849; "The Merry Wives of Windsor"), Gustav Holst's At the Boar's Head (1925), and Vaughn Williams's Sir John in Love (1929). In addition Edward Elgar examined the character in a symphonic study for full orchestra entitled Falstaff, op. 68 (1913), while Orson Welles in the movie Chimes at Midnight created probably the most memorable film interpretation of the fat knight. Falstaff was even the subject of Richard Nye's 1976 novel Falstaff, which was written in the form of an autobiography. Although Falstaff is not particularly moral and certainly not heroic, there is something in his character--perhaps its very duality--that has captivated generations. Companion to Prince Hal in the Henry plays, Falstaff is seen as both the clown and the fool; he is laughed at for his pompous posturing and generates laughter through the use of his trenchant wit.

The dichotomy of Falstaff's personality was underscored by critical reviews of the 2003-2004 production of Henry IV at New York City's Lincoln Center Theater. The critics, Michael Kuchwara of the Associated Press and David Scott Kastan of the New York Times, offered two divergent views of the character. In the Nov. 23, 2003, edition of the Salt Lake Tribune, Kuchwara defines Falstaff as "that bibulous, bellowing, carnal creature," whereas Kastan in the Nov. 9, 2003, edition of the New York Times offers both sides of the persona when he asks whether Falstaff is "the vitalist truth-teller who exposes the life-denying lies of power," or the "disruptive force of misrule who threatens the hope for order and coherence."

Academics as well as critics take opposing views of Falstaff. In Shakespeare's History Plays, E. M. W. Tillyard presents Falstaff as "a complicated figure combining several functions which it might tax the greatest author to embody in even separate persons. First . . . he stands for sheer vitality, for the spirit of youth, ready for any adventure . . . [But] he also goes on from the harmless comic Vice to the epitome of the Deadly Sins at war with law and order." Tillyard also reveals Falstaff's great appeal through the words of George Orwell, who saw a bit of the Elizabethan knight in every human. "There is one part of you that wishes to be a hero or a saint, but another part of you is a little fat man who sees very clearly the advantages of staying alive with a whole skin. . . . The high sentiments always win in the end; leaders who offer blood, toil, tears, and sweat always get more out of their followers than those who offer safety and a good time. . . . It is only that the other element in man . . . can never be suppressed altogether and occasionally needs a hearing."

Harold Bloom, on the other hand, lays his personal affection for Falstaff bare in Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human. Rather than seeing a "fat little man" struggling against his foibles, Bloom finds a character who "transcends virtually all our cataloguing of human sin and error . . . Falstaff, who is free, instructs us in freedom, not a freedom in society, but from society. . . . The immortal Falstaff, never a hypocrite and rarely ambivalent . . . is essentially a satirist against all power."

When duty calls at the end of Henry IV, part 2, Prince Hal, now King Henry V, rejects and banishes Falstaff, for with Hal's assumption of power comes a sense of responsibility that will not allow chaos to triumph. Although Hal must abandon outsized passions and view a disregard for the rules as inappropriate, we remain charmed by Falstaff--the rogue who loves life, who schemes and plots, who laughs and makes others laugh--even as we explore the truths he tells about power and ourselves.

Regardless of whether critics and academics see Falstaff as a sage or a buffoon, all maintain that he is immensely human. Indeed, what makes an author or playwright great is the ability to create characters in whom large numbers of readers, or theatergoers, see something of themselves. Falstaff's role, in many ways, is that of the fool who imparts truths through his jokes and jests. That we still debate his meanings after more than four centuries is a tribute to the power of a master playwright.

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Some Famous Diaries You Might Want to Know

A day-to-day recording of experience, the diary is a unique literary form. From the Renaissance to contemporary times, published diaries or journals have presented a broad range of material, from sensational exposures, such as Marie Bashkirtseff's 'Journal,' to philosophic speculations, such as those in Andre Gide's distinguished 'Journals.' The finest examples of the diary have been produced by political and religious leaders ( George Washington, Cotton Mather, Pope John XXIII), travelers ( William Parry, Capt. James Cook), and literary figures ( Jonathan Swift, James Boswell, Walter Scott, Katherine Mansfield). The lucidity of the diaries of public figures is less surprising, given that such diaries were often written with an eye to eventual publication. Such ambition was satirized in the comedy of manners 'The Importance of Being Earnest,' in which 18-year-old Cecily describes her diary as

"a very young girl's record of her own thoughts and impressions, and consequently meant for publication."

Still, the undisputed classic of all diaries in the English language is the diary of the English naval administrator Samuel Pepys. His is one of the most fascinating and dramatic accounts of life in Restoration England, describing such catastrophic events as the Great Plague and the Great Fire of London:

"I did within these six days see smoke still remaining of the late fire in the City; and it is strange to think how this very day I cannot sleep a-night without great terrors of fire; and this very night could not sleep till almost 2 in the morning through thoughts of fire."

alongside everyday matters such as what he ate for dinner:

"He [Sir W. Hickes] did give us the meanest dinner---of beef---shoulder and umbles of venison which he takes away from the keeper of the Forest---and a few pigeons; and all in the meanest manner that ever I did see---to the basest degree."

One of the most memorable of 20th-century diaries is the diary of Anne Frank, published in 1947. Anne kept her diary from 1942 to 1944 while she, her family, and some friends were hiding in a warehouse in Amsterdam, Netherlands, in an attempt to escape the persecution of the Jews under National Socialism ( Nazism). Surrounded by death and destruction, she set down the hopes, conflicts, and feelings of a young girl on the verge of womanhood:

"I simply can't build up my hopes on a foundation of misery and death. ... I hear the ever approaching thunder, which will destroy us too; I can feel the sufferings of millions; and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right. ..."

A few days after her last entry, the Nazis ferreted out the group, and Anne was sent to a concentration camp, where she died at the age of 15.

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Behind Black Mask: Hard-Boiled Detective Fiction

The fictional characters Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe, quintessential lone wolves who earned their living in a violent world guided only by their individual moral codes, personify the genre known as "hard-boiled" detective fiction. Originating in the 1920s, this literary form developed with a distinctive voice and style, which was exemplified by Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler in the stories they wrote for the magazine Black Mask and which has endured well into the 21st century.

Black Mask began publication in 1920, and although its fortunes rose and fell before it finally ceased publication in 1951, the magazine and its rivals (collectively known as the "pulps") changed the face of the detective story (a class of mystery story). Many critics believe the hard-boiled detective genre was born with the publication of "The Road Home" (by Dashiell Hammett, writing under the pseudonym Peter Collinson) and "The False Burton Combs" (by Carroll John Daly) in the November 1922 issue of Black Mask. The movement hit its stride the following year with the appearance of Daly's creations Terry Mack and Race Williams, who were considered to be the genre's first real hard-boiled detectives. In describing himself, Race Williams described the individuals who would dominate the genre for the next 20 years: "I'm what you might call the middle man," he says, "just a half-way house between the dicks and the crooks . . . but my conscience is clear; I never bumped off a guy who didn't need it."

In 1923 the magazine debuted one of Hammett's creations, the Continental Op, an unnamed detective specifically described by the writer as "hard boiled." An ex-detective himself, Hammett began writing in 1922. The following year 6 of his stories were published, 3 of them in Black Mask. In all, the magazine published over 50 Hammett pieces between 1923 and 1936, including four novel serializations. An author of over 80 short stories and five novels, Hammett possessed a terse writing style, and, through his creation of cynical characters and complex plotlines, he was able to bring a new energy to detective fiction, establishing a style other writers would seek to emulate.

The works of Hammett and his contemporaries reflected the life of the 1920s, a decade of prohibition, speakeasies, and bootleggers. Corruption seemed rampant, and gangsters were viewed as part villain, part hero. As the hard-boiled detective genre developed, it offered stories that captured the perceived reality of life during this period. Fiction appearing in Black Mask and other pulps featured tough-guy protagonists, loners who obeyed a private code of ethics and sought a small degree of justice in a less-than-perfect world. Stylistically the stories favored harsh realism and terse dialogue.

By 1930 Black Mask's circulation had risen to more than 100,000. In subsequent years, however, sales declined owing to the effects of the Great Depression, the introduction of rival magazines, and the desertion of many of the magazine's best writers, including Hammett, who left to devote his talents to the more lucrative fields of movie and radio writing. By 1935 sales had fallen to 60,000.

Although the Depression dealt a major blow to the magazine, it also gave it a new star: Raymond Chandler. After losing his job with an oil company, 50-year-old Chandler decided to become a writer. His first Black Mask story, "Blackmailers Don't Shoot," appeared in December 1933, featuring a hero named Mallory, the precursor to Chandler's signature creation, Philip Marlowe, who debuted six years later in the novel The Big Sleep (1939). "Blackmailers Don't Shoot" shares the style that marked Black Mask fiction overall: wisecracks, one-liners, underworld lingo, and metaphors such as "a city where pretty faces are as common as runs in dollar stockings." Marlowe, like Hammett's Sam Spade introduced in The Maltese Falcon (1930), was a tough private eye who, nevertheless, lived by an inviolable code of honor.

While Black Mask and the pulps faded, the hard-boiled detective genre remained popular, albeit in a somewhat altered form. One star practitioner was Mickey Spillane, who began writing for the pulps in the 1930s and continued to write into the 21st century. Spillane's creation, Mike Hammer, is unquestionably a representative of the "hard-boiled" detective school. Introduced in the 1947 novel I, the Jury, Hammer was still plying his trade in Black Alley, published in 1996. Although his character echoes those of previous writers, Spillane's style differs from that of his predecessors in its use of scenes containing graphic sex and sadism.

The genre's first female practitioner is said by some to be Marcia Muller, whose protagonist, Sharon McCone, appeared in 1977 in Edwin of the Iron Shoes. The debate over the genre's survival continues, with some critics believing that writers such as James Ellroy, Joseph Wambaugh, Lawrence Block, Robert B. Parker, and Sue Grafton are heirs to the Black Mask legacy, and others arguing that hard-boiled detectives have disappeared as sensibilities have changed and machismo has gone out of fashion. Whether today's writers fit the mold is a matter of conjecture, but on late-night television, the attraction of Humphrey Bogart's portrayal of Philip Marlowe remains as potent, as masculine, as hard-boiled a tribute to the genre as one could wish.

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A'Lelia Walker and the Dark Tower

A'Lelia Walker and the Dark Tower may sound like a fantasy adventure. In reality A'Lelia Walker was an entrepreneur and patron of the arts in the 1920s. Her greatest project, the Dark Tower, was among the best-known writers' salons of New York City's Harlem Renaissance. The movement nurtured the country’s most visionary and enduring African American authors.

Born in 1885 in Vicksburg, Miss., A'Lelia grew up in St. Louis, Mo., and attended Knoxville College in Tennessee. In 1910 she helped her mother found the Madam C. J. Walker Manufacturing Company, and in 1913 they moved to New York City. When Madam Walker died in 1919, A'Lelia became president of the Walker Company and inherited her mother's fortune.

As a person of taste who reveled in cosmopolitan life, Walker made the most of her wealth and the city. She organized lavish literary events and the parties that accompanied them. She also became a patron of writers, artists, and poets, entertaining at her city townhouse and Villa Lewaro in Irvington-on-Hudson. The African American architect Vertner W. Tandy designed both homes.

Walker named the townhouse the Dark Tower after the work of celebrated poet Countee Cullen. Cullen had written a column entitled "The Dark Tower" for the literary magazine Opportunity, a publication of the National Urban League. He also penned the forward-looking poem "From the Dark Tower," which largely expressed the independent spirit of the Harlem Renaissance.

Guests at the tower included poet Langston Hughes, author Zora Neale Hurston, and writer Jean Toomer. Also among the visitors was lyricist, author, and critic James Weldon Johnson. Johnson was also a civil rights activist who believed in integration as the solution to inequality. The Dark Tower, whose visitors were both white and black, provided a place for such noted figures to exhibit and discuss their work. It also offered an environment where their gifts were accepted and cultivated, even by African and European royalty.

Fond of recognition, finery, and the high life, Walker epitomized the gilt-edged roaring twenties. She traveled the world visiting such dignitaries as the Ethiopian empress Waizeru Zauditu in 1922. But Harlem was her home. Her ties there prompted Langston Hughes to hail her as the "joy goddess of Harlem's 1920s." When Walker died in 1931, Hughes observed her passing as the close of the Harlem Renaissance.

Also called the New Negro Movement, the Harlem Renaissance had an impact that outlived even its most dedicated patron. The Depression of the 1930s forced the diaspora of the Dark Tower, and the Harlem Renaissance ended around 1940. But the movement was a catalyst for profound change in African American literature. Poetry, fiction, and essay blossomed from works of limited scope into insightful accounts of African American life. In the book entitled, Harlem Renaissance, author Nathan Irvin Huggins noted the importance of an urban setting in fostering this change. Harlem's varied culture was key in the appreciation of the African American experience, roots and culture. The support of A'Lelia Walker and the Dark Tower helped make it happen.

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