Guess where Pamela, Kathryn, and I were last night? Here are some hints to the answer:

Look at the pretty holiday decorations, the funny sign, this all points to… the team at McNally Robinson Booksellers!

Yesterday, Shane Peacock was invited to talk about his Boy Sherlock Holmes series at McNally Robinson Booksellers. The store has a book club for children and they had just finished reading Eye of the Crow (some were almost finished reading Death in the Air too). This was a great opportunity for the club members (and their parents) to ask Shane some questions. He brought in his laptop and we hooked it up to the projector to show his book trailers.

Shane did a dramatic reading from each of his books after showing the individual book trailers. Below, Shane reads an excerpt from Vanishing Girl:

Thank you to the book club readers and their parents for coming out to meet Shane Peacock. Thank you once again to Nicola and to the wonderful staff for making the event a success!

Note from Tundra: We hope people are happy to see pictures of themselves on Talking with Tundra, but if you would like your photo removed, please contact us at tundra@mcclelland.com. Thank you.

I pinta moooooolt bé

Somewhere in the vaults of the bank of Cox and Co., at Charing Cross, there is a travel-worn and battered tin dispatch-box with my name, John H. Watson, M.D., Late Indian Army, painted upon the lid.

"With his cane he struck the ledge several times without leaving a mark."

The Problem of Thor Bridge is remarkable for that tin despatch box, the first mention of an item which would become a thing of lore in Sherlockian circles, and indeed in the fiction that would be written about Holmes by others. This interest in the Holmesian legacy lends the story from the off a more substantial character than that of many of the other stories in the Casebook. It reads in several ways like the earlier adventure – exciting, evocative and adroit.

The central mystery revolves around the marriage of the American gold millionaire Neil Gibson, perhaps the richest of all Holmes’s clients, to a Brazillian woman, Maria Pinto, whom he has come no longer to love. (What is this interest in mysterious South American women so late in Conan Doyle’s career?). The arrival at Gibson’s Hampshire estate of a beautiful new governess, Grace Dunbar, breeds resentment in Gibson’s wife, whom he treats brutally in an attempt to kill the love she still holds, unrequited, for her husband. (“If I have been harsh to her, even brutal as some had said,” Gibson says, “it has been because I knew that if I could kill her love, or if it turned to hate, it would be easier for both of us.” It’s not a defense Holmes has much time for.)

The distinctiveness of this set-up – and of the crime scene itself, a lonely patch of woodland with that memorable bridge, deserted except for the body of the lady of the manor – lends the story a richness, as does the excellent characterisation: Gibson, if in some ways a stereotypically brash American, is given a real ebb and flow of (a not entirely likeable) character; Sergeant Coventry, the local policeman Holmes allows to manage the case, is one of the canon’s more memorable incompetents; and the battle of wits between the story’s two women is striking.

Unfortunately, the women remain defined principally by their beauty. Watson, as ever the ladies’ man, is struck somewhat dumb by the sight of the governess: “I can never forget,” the good doctor breathes, “the effect which Miss Dunbar produced upon me.” The principal matrimonial failing of Maria, meanwhile, is to age and lose her looks: “It was only when the romance had passed,” sighs Gibson, “that I realized we had nothing – absolutely nothing – in common.” D’oh! Holmes’s hope at the end of the stort that a man who has driven his wife to insane jealousy “has learned something in that schoolroom of sorrow”, and will come to marry the lovely and faultless Miss Dunbar, rings a little hollow.

Still, if the women revolve around their man, their personal affiliations form the bedrock of the case – unusual in a Holmes story, which more ordinarily revolves around the type of dirt encrusted upon a man’s shoe. “We’ve got to understand the exact relations of those three people if we are to understand the truth,” Holmes insists, and perhaps his usual aversion to such psychoanalysis is the reason for, as he berates himself, his “wanting in that mixture of imagination and reality which is the basis of my art.” Whatever the cause, that feeling of the investigation being stretched just enough is a tricky one to evoke – more often a story will be overly drawn out or too easily resolved. This successful balance, and the emphatic manner in which Holmes ultimately tips it, is what makes The Problem of Thor Bridge, its Victorian sexual politics aside, a late mini masterpiece.

Debido a un pequeño contratiempo con la cabecera del grupo A, y ya que el grupo de Carlos (Campos) y David, la tenían acabada, he decido subir esta y dar una nueva oportunidad al grupo del grupo A. Perdonad la tardanza en publicación de Post, pero llevo unas semanas liada, y no he tenido oportunidad.

Debo decir a todos los que os habeis ido del festival de cortos, que los locales eran dignos de ver, y que os habeis perdido unas verdaderas obras de arte (podeis consultar a Pedro o a Nuria, que han sido los únicos, junto a mi, que hemos quedado de la escuela)

Como sé que a muchos de vosotros os gusta Miyazaki, y a los que no os guste…pues que os vaya gustando… aquí dejo un blog, con un análisis de la serie Sherlock Holmes, la cual la mayoría de vosotros no recordareis porque casi no habríais nacido :S Creo que son los cinco capítulos los que Miyazaki dirigió, y en su línea todo con un gusto increíble, y una creación de personajes alucinante. Os recomiendo que le echeis un vistacillo.

http://www.ionlitio.com/cine-tv/sherlock-holmes-de-hayao-miyazaki/

LIVRARIA PORTO DAS LETRAS acesse: www.estantevirtual.com.br/acervo/livrariaportodasletras

ANOTAÇÕES FINAIS (dia 25.11.09, as anteriores encontram-se abaixo):

“Já era tempo de botar para funcionar aquela massa cinzenta de que tanto me orgulhava e de que até então fizera tão pouco uso”.        (Alexis Lecaye, SHERLOCK HOLMES & MARX)

   Holmes e Laura Lafargue, née Marx, iniciam um ardente romance em plena Paris sitiada.  Um dia ela desaparece misteriosamente. Em busca da mulher amada, ele  vai a Bordeaux, na qual  casal Lafargue reside, e descobre que teve em seus braços uma falsa Laura, pois conhece a verdadeira filha de Marx: “Era falsa a carta de Marx à sua filha que eu lera em Paris, falsas as boas novas. mais terrível ainda: falsa, a identidade da mulher que eu adorava e cuja doçura e entega haviam adormecido em mim todas as desconfianças, atenção e vigilãncia. Falso,  o rapto! Falsidade! Falsidade! Falsidade! Era tudo uma mistificação. Mas então quem era aquela mulher? O que ela pretendia? Quais eram seus motivos, seus interesses? “

      Na verdade, a falsa Laura é o verdadeiro X, é ela quem pretende assassinar Marx (não vou revelar os motivos aqui). Para chegar a Londres e impedi-la (o que acontecerá, com Holmes assumindo a identidade do autor de O capital, numa demonstração das suas habilidades no disfarce), Holmes, voltando a Paris, tem de sobreviver (e seus amigos também, e mais o pobre Rupelski, que era inocente) à invasão bárbara que a cidade sofre, e ao massacre dos seus habitantes, narrados de uma forma ao mesmo tempo concisa e eficiente por Lecaye. Na figura de X, a falsa Laura, vemos também uma alusão àquelas formidáveis e atraentes mentes criminosas femininas que tanto obsedaram o Holmes de Conan Doyle, embora nenhuma delas chegasse a ser tão destrutiva.

ANOTAÇÕES DO DIA 24.11.09

“A diferença entre criminosos e inocntos não está na concepção, mas no poder e na força de transformação de um pensamento em ato. Se tivesse respeitado essa verdade eterna, infelizmente inacessível a um espírito de 23 anos, inexperiente, ainda imbuído de princípios rígidos, incapaz de imaginar uma passagem, uma passarela entre o mundo do Bem e o do Mal, a seqüência de minhas aventuras teria, uma vez mais, sido outra” (Alexis Lecaye, SHERLOCK HOLMES & MARX, mas aí na esteira dessas reflexões, precisaria ter uma pitada de Freud na perspicácia sherloquiana).

(para o leitor se orientar: estou comentando o livro SHERLOCK HOLMES & MARX, de Alexis Lecaye, mas utilizando como apoio dois textos de Marx da época da comuna de Paris de 1871: A guerra civil na França & Cartas a Kugelmann; veja as anotações do dia anterior logo abaixo)

“É um fato estranho. Apesar de tudo o que se falou e se escreveu, com tamanha profusão, durante os últimos 60 anos, a respeito da emancipação do trabalho, mal os operários, não importa onde, tomam o problema em suas mãos, logo recomeça a ressoar toda a fraseologia apologética dos porta-vozes da sociedade atual, com os seus dois pólos, o capital e a escravidão assalariada… como se a sociedade capitalista se achasse ainda em seu mais puro estado de inocência virginal, com seus antagonismos ainda em germe, com suas ilusões ainda encobertas, com suas prostituídas realidades ainda não desnudadas. A comuna, exclamam, pretende abolir a propriedade, base de toda civilização! Sim, cavalheiros, a comuna pretendia abolir essa propriedade de classe que converte o trabalho de muitos na dos expropriadores.  Queria fazr da propriedade individual e o capital, que hoje são fundamentalmente meios de escravização e exploração do trabalho, em simples instrumentos de trabalho livre e associado. Mas isso é comunismo, o irrealizável comunismo! … Se a produção cooperativa for algo mais que uma impostura e um ardil, se há de substituir o sistema capitalista; se as sociedades cooperativas unidas regularem a produção nacional segundo um plano comum, tomando-a sob seu controle e pondo fim à anarquia constante e às convulsões periódicas,  conseqüências inevitáveis da produçao capitalista, que será isso, cavalheiros, senão counismo, comunismo realizável?

      A classe operário não esperava da comuna nenhum milagre. Os operários não têm nenhuma utopia já pronta para introduzir, por vontade popular… Eles não têm que realizar nenhum ideal, mas simplesmente libertar os elementos da nova sociedade que a velha sociedade burguesa agonizante traz em seu bojo…”

                      (Karl Marx, A guerra civil na França)

     Ontem, contei que no romance de Lecaye, Marx marca um encontro com o jovem Sherlock Holmes em 13 de abril de 1871. Querendo contratar os seus serviços, o informa de que, sob as ordens de Bismarck, um anarquista russo, “com status de desertor, um homem estranho, aristocrata arruinado, anti-semita e xenófobo” se prepara para assassiná-lo. Seu nome: Rupelski: “O que eu quero lhe pedir… procurar o assassino, desmascará-lo sem que ele suspeite de nada e fazê-lo desaparecer… Quando digo ´desaparecer´, entendo com isso esconder, dissimular, raptar se quiser, subtrair  à atenção e colocá-lo fora de circulação… O senhor o guardará durante algumas semanas, o tempo necessário para eu concluir um trabalho que me é caríssimo. Depois poderia soltá-lo…o importante é ele não me matar agora, o que representaria um golpe fatal para o movimento.” Que movimento? A Internacional dos trabalhadores. Marx fica espantado com o desinteresse e ignorância políticos de Holmes:  “Vocês, britânicos, são incríveis! Concedem asilo, quase irrefletidamene, ao cérebro de uma organização que, com ou sem razão, faz tremerem todos os burgueses e governos do continente, e não sabem sequer da sua existência…O senhor, jovem burguês briânico, inteligente e culto, não apenas não têm medo, o que concebo perfeitamente, como sequer tem conhecimento da nossa existência!” Numa carta de 27 de julho do mesmo ano a Kugelmann, Marx diz: “O trabalho da Internacional é imenso, e além disso Londres está abarrotada de refugiados, pelos quais tenho de olhar. Mas estou sobrecarregado por outras pessoas, jornalistas e gente de toda espécie, que querem ver o monstro com os próprios olhos. Acreditou-se até agora que o crescimento dos mitos cristãos durante o Império romano foí possível apenas porque a imprensa ainda não fora inventada. É precisamene o contrário. A imprensa diária e o telégrafo, que em um instante difundem invenções por todo o mundo fabricam mais mitos (o gado burguês acredita neles e aumenta com base neles) em um dia do que antes se fazia em um século.”. Numa preciosíssima  carta anterior (de 18 de junho), ele escreve: “Você sabe que durante o período da última revolução de Paris fui denunciado continuamente como o grand chef da Internacional, pelos jornais de Versalhes, e por extensão, pela imprensa aqui da Inglaterra… tenho a honra nesse momento de ser o mais bem caluniado e ameaçado homem de Londres. Isso faz um sujeito sentir-se bem, depois de um idílio entediante de 20 anos em seu antro…”

      Voltando ao romance, após algumas peripécias londrinas (inclusive, um atentado contra sua vida), Holmes aceita a proposta de Marx, que é a de viajar para Paris, onde Rupelski, ou X (porque não há certeza firme da sua identidade) está camuflado, nos meios anarquistas, “em pleno coração da Paris revolucionária. Hoje em dia é o melhor lugar para se esconder e se urdir complôs, no meio da desordem e da efervescência populares”. Holmes vai para o continente com um colaborador francês da Internacional,  Philibert Longuet, e depois de algumas aventuras pelo interior da França (há até um duelo, mas deixo os detalhes para o leitor do romance), entra disfarçado em Paris, através de túneis subterrâneos antiquíssimos. acompanhado pelo desdenhoso e intrigante Vigot. Entre os comparsas da viagem de Holmes está a família Gottlieb, e madame Gottlieb, contrariando o marido, diz a seguinte frase, que vem a propósito, quando pensamos na missão do detetive e nas palavras que Marx escreveu em suas missivas a Kugelmann: “Se perguntar aos operários parisienses, não encontrará muitos que sequer conheçam o nome do senhor Karl Marx”.

       Em Paris, Holmes refugia-se no apartamento de Vigot, conhecendo a irmã dele, Isabelle, uma pintora passional (e aqui podia-se temer que houvesse uma convencionalíssima aproximação amorosa, mas Lecaye se mostrou muito mais hábil do que se podia esperar, fazendo com que haja uma fixação por parte dele, enquanto os interesses dele irão por outros caminhos; ele a deixa indignado com sua “inocência” inglesa, não “entendendo” o que ela quer dele, e mantendo-se fleumático e racional: “Aquela desordem dos sentimentos, que nada seria capaz de explicar, bem diferente da apaixonante desordem de uma investigação criminal que esconde de fato elos secretos e encadeamentos rigorosos… O que há de mais fascinante que isolar o fio vermelho do crime da meada incolor da vida?”; mais adiante, numa daquelas considerações que são típicas das narrativas retrospectivas, ele se auto-congratula pelas decisões que moldaram sua existência: “felicito-me a cada instante por ter sido capaz, à minha revelia talvez, mas é o resultado que conta, de evitar os escolhos da paixão para me ater ao conforto de uma sólida e viril amizade“, referindo-se aqui, é claro, à sua relação com o doutor Watson).

       Enquanto conhece melhor os irmãos (chega a posar para quadros de Isabelle, entre um e outro arrufo), ele perambula por Paris, tentando estabelecer contatos (que Marx forneceu) e localizar X/Rupelski. E ele consegue se introduzir num círculo de niilistas (“o senhor viu a cidade que se diverte, vai descobrir a cidade que pensa”), que se reúnem nas catacumbas da Igreja Santo Eustáquio,  e ouvir o discurso inflamado, visando diretamente a figura de Marx, do tal Rupelski, um exemplo cabal dos eternos derrotistas, daqueles que teorizam para não agir e para impedir os outros de agir: “Entre esses homens, há um particularmente cuja ação e palavra devem ser imperativamente refreadas, tal é a astúcia diabólica que mostra na apresentação de seu programa e de suas idéias: trata-se de Karl Marx, gênio mau de todos os que aspiram ao movimento livre e espontâneo da revolta… Seguia-se então uma longa enumeração dos vícios imperdoáveis do pensamento e da ação de Karl Marx, um catálogo em que se misturava confusamente tudo o que Rupelski podia recriminar ao revolucionário alemão, inclusive sua origem judaica e seua pretensa lascívia (…) Apesar do tom virulento de Rupelski, a despeito do silêncio religioso que acolhia cada palavra sua, tive a estranha impressão de ter assistido a um sermão dominical, em que o fato de estar presente e escutar bastava para garantir a consciência limpa e sustentar a fé de todos os participantes. Decerto não era ali que se elaboravam os complôs e as decisões irrevogáveis.”

      E Holmes consegue capturar Rupelski e mantê-lo preso num porão abandonado do edifício em que moram os irmãos (Isabelle até se torna uma amiga do niilista russo). A missão estava completa? Holmes tem a sensaçao que não, sua intuição lhe diz que não aprisionou um tigre, mas um reles chacalzinho, astuto e escorregadio, porém inofensivo. Por isso, decide esperar instruções do próprio Marx…

      Holmes recebe, então, uma carta de Laura, a filha de Marx casada com o jornalista e colaborador da Internacional Paul Lafargue, dizendo que está em Paris e deseja encontrá-lo no Hotel de Bordeaux. Lá, ele sofre um “coup de foudre”: é amor à primeira vista, fica idiotizado, desajeitado, completamente tomado por aquela mulher (e a coisa pelo visto é recíproca): “sou incapaz de achar as palavras adequadas para explicar as razões daquela súbita e vergonhosa perda de autocontrole”). Mesmo embasbacado, há assuntos urgentes:  ela traz uma carta do pai, escrita no seu estilo característico (pitoresco e misturando palavras de vários línguas, uma das várias coisas que me fazem aproximar na minha cabeça, às vezes, as figuras de Marx e James Joyce). Nessa carta, ele diz que a missão realmente pode ser encerrada, pois ele não corre mais riscos. Holmes informa à Laura que capturou Rupelski (ela até chega a vê-lo no porão onde está trancafiado, embora tenha ficado desconfiada e mesmo em pânico quando Holmes a encaminhou até ali). De qualquer forma, Holmes está apaixonado, citando Werther e completamente indeciso quanto a voltar para a Inglaterra…

ANOTAÇÕES DO DIA 23.11.09

“O que há de mais mortal, mais destruidor que a ordem para o espírito curioso, para o olhar esquadrinhador, que encadeia elos aparentemente disparatados, mas na realidade profundamente complexos?” (Alexis Decaye, SHERLOCK HOLMES & MARX).

       Em 1974, Nicholas Meyer engenhosamente imaginou um encontro entre Sherlock Holmes e Freud, em razão do vício do primeiro em cocaína, em Uma solução sete por cento (A seven per-cent solution, um dos três livros em que ele reinventou o detetive de Conan Doyle) , que depois seria, infelizmente,  adaptado por Herbert Ross, com sua habitual preguiça de criar qualquer coisa de pessoal ou marcante, num desperdício da inteligência do texto e também do maravilhoso elenco (Nicol Williamson, Robert Duvall, Alan Arkin, Laurence  Olivier, etc). O  filme virou por aqui Visões de Sherlock Holmes e lhe faz falta a  mistura da pena da galhofa & da tinta da melancolia que o mestre Billy Wilder imprimiu a um filme contemporâneo: A vida íntima de Sherlock Holmes.

        Em 1981, fo a vez de Marx. O autor francês Alexis Lecaye escreveu o imaginativo SHERLOCK HOLMES & MARX, traduzido há alguns anos por André Telles e publicado numa interessante série da Zahar,  “Creme do Crime” (há outra aventura lecayana de Homes, Sherlock Holmes & Einstein).

        Lecaye imagina Marx (que morou em Londres boa parte da sua vida) contratando os serviços de um muito jovem Holmes (aliás, ele comete uma ousadia: faz do detetive o próprio narrador das suas aventuras: “É a primeira vez, e muito provavelmente a última, que pego da pena, pelo menos no que se refere à redação de um capítulo das minhas Memórias. Outros se encarregaram disso por mim. Por que, então, esse súbito prurido de escrever, esta necessidade irreprimível de traçar eu próprio os contornos esmaecidos de um passado irrevogavelmente morto?… O caso que vou recordar aqui… exerceu, mais que qualquer outro, grande influência em minha mocidade. Essa influência chegou inclusive a se estender para além da minha pessoa. O episódio talvez tenha alterado toda a história européia deste fim de se´culo. Será que o próximo também sentirá o seu peso?”), na época da eclosão da comuna de Paris (em 1871), quando a capital francesa ficou sitiada por meses, após a derrota francesa na guerra com a Alemanha. Um assassino, a soldo de uma potência estrangeira, pretende eliminar Marx, e este envia Holmes à França durante esses meses revolucionários que o autor de O Capital descreverá com uma retórica majestosa (às  vezes muito exagerada, porém como foi escrito no calor do momento) nos seus panfletos que consituirão A GUERRA CIVIL NA FRANÇA. Dessa mesma época temos as cartas que ele escreveu para seu admirador , o ginecologista L. Kugelmann, “que tomou parte em sua juventude no movimento revolucionário de 1848 e por toda a sua vida se considerou um ardente seguidor de Marx” (trecho do prefácio de Lênin a essa correspondência).

       Antes de mais nada: o romance de Lecaye é ótimo. Eu teria o maior prazer de indicá-lo (sem que isso represente uma diminuição ou visão paternalista) para jovens leitores: é uma aula de como abordar uma aventura histórica sem pedantismos e sem explicações inúteis, confiando apenas na narrativa e na curiosidade e inteligência do leitor.  Em 170 páginas consegue nos transmitir uma imagem perfeita da Londres vitoriana, dos dias da comuna, da paisagem francesa (que Holmes atravessa para poder chegar a Paris e cumprir sua missão), das querelas ideológicas daquele momento, e, sobretudo, da transformação de Holmes em.. Sherlock Holmes, com as características que o consagrara, através de um relato retrospectivo que é um pouco também um balanço de vida, uma espécie de “ilusões perdidas” ou “educação sentimental” do detetive inglês. Gostei muito e recomendo (depois teríamos um “jovem Sherlock Holmes” muito interessante, também, na visão de Chris Columbus que resultou no filme, para mim e para vários amigos, memorável, porém pouco apreciado pela crítica: O enigma da pirâmide, talvez por ter sido realizado por outro diretor tão bisonho e nulo quanto Herber Ross: Barry Levinson).

      E, por falar em “jovem” Sherlock Holmes, abaixo temos uma foto do “jovem” Marx, longe do estereótipo de velho barbudão, meio Jeová, consagrado pela posteridade:

      A GUERRA CIVIL NA FRANÇA, fixando definitivamente o conceito de “luta de classes” vai tentar interpretar, mesmo no calor da hora, como afirmou Engels (num texto escrito vinte anos mais tarde), a “significação histórica da Comuna de Paris”: “A 28 de maio os últimos combatentes da comuna sucumbiam ante a superioridade de forças do inimigo… O desarmamento dos operários era considerado o primeiro dever para os burgueses que se achavam na frente do Estado… Era a primeira vez que a burguesia mostrava a que extremo de crueldade e vingança é capaz de chegar sempre o que o proletariado se atreve a defrontar-se com ela como uma classe independente, que tem seus próprios interesses e reivindicações… O Segundo Império fora o apelo do chauvinismo francês: a reivindicação das fronteiras do Primeiro Império, perdidas em 1814… isso implicava a necessidade de guerras periódicas e de ampliação de fronteiras… não havia extensão territorial que tanto deslumbrasse a fantasia dos chauvinistas franceses como as terras alemãs da margem esquerda do Reno… Defraudado em suas esperanças de  ´compensações territoriais´ por Bismarck e por sua própria política demasiado astuta e vacilante, não restava a Napoleão [não o original, bem entendido, e sim o seu desprezível arremedo] outra saída a não ser a guerra, que se deflagrou em 1870… A consequência inevitável foi a revolução de Paris de 4 de setembro de 1870. O Império desmoronou-se como um castelo de cartas e foi novamente proclamada a República…. A 25 de março foi eleita, e a 28, proclamada, a comuna de Paris… Como os membros da comuna eram todos, quase sem exceção, operários, ou representantes reconhecidos, as suas resoluções se distinguiam por um caráter marcadamente proletário. Uma parte de seus decretos eram reformas que a burguesia republicana não se atrevera a implantar por vil covardia e que lançavam os fundamentos indispensáveis para a livre atuação da classe operária, como por exemplo, a implantação do princípio de que, com relação ao Estado, a religião não é senão um problema de foro íntimo; outros tinham o objetivo de salvaguardar diretamente os interesses da classe operária, algumas vezes mesmo abrindo profundas brechas na velha ordem social. Mas tudo isso, numa cidade sitiada, não podia ir além de um início de realização… Paris estava submetida a incessante bombardeio e pelas mesmas pessoas que haviam estigmatizado como um sacrilégio o bombardeio da capital pelos prussianos… E então atingiu o seu ponto culminante aquela matança de homens desarmados, mulheres e crianças… Logo quando se viu que era impossível matar a todos, vieram as detenções em massa, iniciaram-se os fuzilamentos de vítimas arbitrariamente escolhidas entre as fileiras de prisioneiros e a transferência dos demais para grandes campos de concentração, onde aguardavam o comparecimento diante dos conselhos de guerra.” (utilizo aqui o texto constante nas Obras Escolhidas, volume 2, de Karl Marx & Friedrich Engels, publicadas pela Alfa-Õmega; nã há indicação de tradutor).

         No primeiro dos onze capítulos de SHERLOCK HOLMES & MARX, o detetive novato recebe uma carta de alguém que ele ignora completamente quem seja: Marx, marcando uma reunião no dia 13 de abril de 1871. O indivíduo que se apresenta, com cerca de 55 anos,  tinha “estatura ligeiramente inferior à média, vestido com um casacão escuro, um pouco puído, e levemente folgado nos ombros, como se seu proprietário o tivesse pego emprestado de um amigo mais gordo, ou então subitamente emagrecido. Sua tez amarelada, doentia, e as olheiras roxas me fizeram inclinar pela segunda hipótese. Colarinho branco e botinas reluzentes, o restante do seu traje era irrepreensível. Uma grande barba precocemente grisalha, muito na moda em alguns círculos do continente, nele bastante crespa e encimada por um bigode basto e negro, engolia-lhe a parte inferior do rosto, sem conseguir dissimular uma grande boca, de expressão irônica”. Holmes fica admirado diante das “incrível vitalidade de sua expressão… Acima de espessas sobrancelhas, erguia-se uma testa imensa e ossuda, com pequenas entradas. O enorme cérebro escondido por trás daquela fronte devia encerrar uma inteligência prodigiosa. O que quer que tivesse vindo me propor, certamente eu não estaria perdendo meu tempo em escutar”.

     Em 12 de abril de 1871, Marx escrevia a seu amigo Kugelmann, a respeito da sua saúde: “atualmente estou submetido ao tratamento do Dr. Matheson, o qual diz que meus pulmões estão em excelente estado e que a tosse é relacionada com bronquite, e pode afetar o fígado.” Ele informa seu correspondente também que, embora  genro (Lafargue) esteja em Paris, sua filha, Laura (guardem esse nome, terá grande importância neste post) não o acompanhou. Nesta carta lemos ainda: “Que elasticidade, que iniciativa histórica, que capacidade de sacrifício desses parisienses! Depois de seis meses de fome e ruína, causada mais pela traição que pelo inimigo externo, eles levantam-se por sobre as baionetas prussianas, como se nunca houvera uma guerra entre a França e a Alemanha  e o inimigo não estivesse às portas de Paris. A história não tem exemplo semelhante de tamanha grandeza…” (utilizo a edição conjunta, publicada pela Paz & Terra de O 18 Brumário & Cartas a Kugelmann, estas últimas traduzidas por Renato Guimarães).

(คำเตือน): อ่านข่าวนี้ แล้วอาจจะนั่งเสียดายสักพักหนึ่ง แต่ก็อย่าเพิ่งเชื่ออะไรมากครับ เพราะอาจจะยังไม่ใช่ความจริง

นั่นก็เพราะว่า เฮีย โรเบิร์ต ดาวนี่ย์ จูเนียร์ จากหนังเรื่อง Iron Man ที่ภาคสองกำลังจะคลอดปีหน้า และ Sherlock Holmes ที่กำลังจะฉาย ก่อนคริสมาสต์นี้ ในไทย ดูเหมือนจะปลงซะแล้วครับ ปลงอะไร ปลงทำไม นั่นก็คือประเด็น ส่วนหัวข่าวที่ตั้งไว้ ก็เป็นส่วนหนึ่งของเนื้อหา ที่คุณจะได้อ่านต่อไปนี้

โดยทาง Entertainment Weekly ได้สัมภาษณ์กับ โรเบิร์ต แล้วก็ได้เรื่องมาว่า

“ผมยังไม่ได้วางแผนอะไรเกี่ยวกับอนาคตไว้เลย วันนี้เป็นวันของผม สำหรับอาทิตย์นี้ และแน่นอน ลูกผม โมลาร์ส และ  ซูซาน เมียผม ต้องการเริ่มชีวิตใหม่ ที่ดี เท่าที่เรานั้น ทำงานมาตลอด ผมอยากพักบ้าง อยากไปนั่ง และนึกว่า ‘คืนนี้ มีหนังเรื่องอะไรบ้าง’

ระยำเอ๊ย! ผมอยากทำอย่างนั้นจริงๆ และคิดว่า คงอีกนาน ซึ่งถ้าหนังเรื่อง Sherlock Holmes ประสบความสำเร็จ ผมอาจยุ่งไปอีกเจ็ดถึงสิบปีเลยทีเดียว“

โรเบิร์ต นั้น ก็ได้เปรยๆ เอาไว้ว่า เขาอาจจะไม่อยู่ในหนังภาคต่อๆ ไป ของ Iron Man หรือ The Avengers ซึ่งมันเป็นอะไรที่น่าเสียดายจริงๆ (ถ้าเป็นเรื่องจริงนะ)

ผมคิดว่า เขาคงเหนื่อยมามากกับการแสดงจริงๆ อะไรก๊าน! จะปลงขนาดนี้เลยรึ แล้วถ้าไม่มีเฮีย โรเบิร์ต จะสานภาคต่อเรื่องราวของมนุษย์เกราะไม่เหล็ก Iron Man ภาคต่อๆ ไป ได้อย่างไร แต่เรื่อง The Avengers ไม่มีเฮียแกแสดง ก็ยังไม่เท่าไหร่ เพราะมันหนังรวมซูเปอร์ฮีโร่ โฉมหน้าที่แท้จริง อาจจะไม่จำเป็น แต่ยังไงก็นะครับ เรายังชัวร์ไม่ได้ ว่าที่เขาพูดจะเป็นเรื่องจริง ดังนั้น เราต้อง ติดตาม!! ต่อไปครับ

(สำหรับบทพูดนั้น ผมพยายามแปลให้เข้ากับ ท่าทีการพูดของเฮีย โรเบิร์ต อย่างแท้จริง จึงออกมาเป็นอย่างที่เห็นแหละครับ)

Sherlock Holmes มีแผนฉาย (ไทย) 24 ธันวาคม 2009

Iron Man 2 มีแผนฉาย (ไทย) 29 เมษายน 2010

และ The Avengers มีแผนฉาย (สหรัฐ) 4 พฤษภาคม 2012 ครับ

Guy Ritchie en noviembre del año pasado se divorció de Madonna. Esta peli fue lanzada en diciembre del año pasado pero su lanzamiento estaba preparado para octubre. No sólo el lanzamiento fue el más afectado en la peli creo Ritchie como director tiene un producto iconoclasta que raya muy fuerte en esta ocación con aburrimiento y poca sorpresa.

Una peli sin ritmo, sin un protagonista claro, sin una consistencia bien establecida, una historia medianamente hilada pero con todos sus personajes súper desarticulados. La mayoría de la peli viene sin audio protagonista y es precisamente cuando hay un “flashback” o momento recordado en el pasado de la historia cuando se muestra el robo a los rusos donde se prende la banda sonora y volvemos a recordar que es una peli del director, con humor negro, excelentes tomas, valga la repetición, una muy buena banda sonora.

El reparto tampoco es el mismo equipo de siempre de Ritchie, se siente la falta de su actor fetiche Jason Statham que aunque encasillado en el mismo papel siempre es mejor narrador que Mark Strong o Gerard Butler quien está completamente perdido en la historia. El reparto lo encierran el magnífico Tom Wilkinson que es el que medianamente salva la peli y la bellísima Thandie Newton que definitivamente paga la boleta o, en mi caso el alquiler.

No es más lo que se pueda decir de esta peli más allá que los créditos son hermosamente manufacturados y que esperemos que esté completamente recuperado de su divorcio para que Sherlock su siguiente peli sea más interesante.

It was a morning dog walk much like every other morning dog walk, though Leeloo, Otto and I stepped out onto the porch to find conditions on the damp side.  Light rain and overcast skies set a rather melancholy tone for our 6:15 a.m. journey around Sonoma Plaza, a change from the previous morning’s clear and frosty weather.  As a rule, the dogs prefer the feel of crunchy frozen grass under paw, but are not impartial to piles of soggy leaves, provided they’re gathered sufficiently high to facilitate vigorous redistribution via aggressive hind leg action.

Going against common wisdom, I tend to actively pursue cognitive dissonance in my life, above and beyond the ample supply heaped upon us by everyday existence.  And so it was last night when, following the conclusion of Sherlock Holmes’ “The Last Vampyre” (1993, Jeremy Brett, Edward Hardwicke), I retired to bed to catch up on some reading.  To supplement the online course materials for my MBA class on Research Methods, I find myself slogging through Marketing Research (McDaniel and Gates, 2007) and Multivariate Data Analysis:  With Readings (Hair, et al., 1995), neither of which are quite the page-turners that I find Alan Furst’s novels of Eastern European espionage and political intrigue in WWII to be.

After a dozen or so pages on programmatic, selective, and evaluative research, it was time for a stiff shot of cogdiff so I reached for my copy of Revolution at the Gates:  Žižek on Lenin – The 1917 Writings and thumbed through the remainder of Lenin’s second “Letter from Afar” (March 22, 1917), written from Zurich to his revolutionary colleagues back in Russia on the topic of the provisional revolutionary government and the proletariat.

Now, of course, there’s more than enough cognitive dissonance to go around here.  The transition from learning how to sell more stuff to consumers to understanding why the provisional revolutionary government’s efforts to reach compromise with the Tsarist supporters of Nicholas II, in order to protect the interest of Russian land owners, the bourgeoisie, Western European investors, and war profiteers, could only be accomplished at the expense of workers’ and peasants’ freedom and economic well-being, is not exactly an effortless one to make.

Yet it is precisely by juxtaposing contemporary marketing practices against Bolshevik political discourse that we are forced to look at the two things in a different light than we would ordinarily do.  And this is setting aside what is probably the more dissonant experience of even reading Lenin’s writings at all, in this post-Communist / post-revolutionary age.  For isn’t it commonly received wisdom that Lenin is one of the arch-villains of history, the father of the original “Evil Empire” that was ultimately vanquished by the triumphant forces of capitalism and democracy, but only after the suffering and death of millions of innocents?  What could possibly be learned from reading anything Lenin ever wrote?  Indeed…

In fact, what is striking about Lenin’s letters – as Slavoj Žižek points out in his forward to the collection – is his intuitive grasp of the revolutionary conditions of possibility which emerged as a result of the incipient failure of the initial revolt against tsarist rule in 1917 (itself a continuation of the failure of the 1905 uprising).   As Lenin observed, most commentators surveying the events of early 1917 interpreted the situation as portending either the gradual transition from autocratic monarchy to constitutional liberal democracy (should the revolution succeed) or the restoration of monarchical power, albeit with some provisions for limited democratic expression (should the revolution fail).  Lenin, on the other hand, understood that conditions were unfolding under which the power of a unified coalition of workers and peasants – a coalition which did not yet exist but would have to be forged by the Bolshevik Party and it’s allies – could sweep away both the tsarists and the parties of established wealth and privilege, and the lay the foundation for a truly transformational society.

Well, we all know how that turned out.  And yet, at 6:30 a.m. on a damp and foggy morning, it’s hard (for me) not to reflect on current conditions, here at the “end of history”.  We’re being told by our leaders that threatened economic collapse has been avoided and that we are slowly on the road to recovery, despite ample evidence all around us that the situation remains dire and the underlying systemic causes of the melt-down remain unaddressed.

Meanwhile, as the dogs stopped to inspect what to my untrained nose was yet another indistinguishable patch of grass, I noticed someone, warmly bundled against the chill, standing in the shadows by the duck pond, distributing bread crumbs to several large ducks.  Once upon a time, chickens and ducks roamed Sonoma Plaza freely, and a pond had been constructed to provide suitable “natural” habitat for the migratory ducks and geese who dropped in for seasonal visits.  Like many good deeds, this one had unintended consequences, as the feathered visitors flocked to enjoy the new amenities, and warm-hearted residents were more than happy to provide snacks.  Eventually the chickens were banished from the Plaza, in 1999, allegedly out of concern for their own safety.  The ducks, who were reconsidering their migratory status and contemplating a more settled lifestyle, were periodically “culled” – an interesting euphemism – in order to keep their numbers under control.

My overactive imagination wondered whether this scene wasn’t ripe for some kind of critical analogy about homelessness, illegal immigration, bleeding heart liberalism, welfare, or any number of political hot button issues bombarding us these days.  I confess to actually looking around to see if there might be someone of a different ideological persuasion lurking in a car, hammering away furiously on a laptop his or her latest inflammatory outburst of righteous indignation.  I didn’t see anyone though, so the dogs and I proceeded around to the other side of the Plaza.

My take away from the metaphorically-overdetermined bird feeding scene is that there’s nothing easier than building simple analogies from complex assortments of facts.  Feeding migratory birds apparently reduces their inclination to migrate and renders them dependent on the kindness of strangers to subsist through the months of inclement weather.  Better to let them fly away south for the winter, to warmer environs.  Thanks for the visit, see you next spring.  And so too migrant farm workers and homeless people, n’est-ce pas?  When I lived in Santa Barbara, free bus tickets to Long Beach were used to promote the orderly process of seasonal migration.

The morning walk was almost done, as we prepared to cross the street to where the Subaru was parked in front of the Ledson Hotel.  I noticed how the view down First Street East of the old First Baptist Church, built in the late 19th century, was partly obscured by the telephone poles arrayed like fence posts from one corner to the next.  It occurred to me that when electricity and telephones were first introduced, the presence of these poles and wires must have been experienced as signs of modernity and progress – of the spread of civilisation and all its conveniences.  Of course, there were no doubt Luddites who bemoaned the passing of an earlier age, but the benefits of these new technologies far outweighed romantic nostalgia or aesthetic considerations.   But in 2009, I’m struck by how unsightly these things are, and how they’ve lost whatever earlier sense of the new and modern they might have conveyed.  The fact that the more affluent parts of town have removed all external traces of these things – save for the occasional gray fiberglass “rock” signifying the location of an access point to underground utility cabling – speaks volumes to where we are today.

With the dogs snug in the back of the car, we concluded our walk and drove home, to reflect on the things we’d seen this morning and to eat some kibble.

Oh, I have had a fun month of reading. Those of you who know me, may be wondering how I actually fit in reading between the chaos of renovating my new house. I’m not exactly sure how it happened either, but it’s working, and I’ve got a lot to share!

The Original Illustrated Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, illustrated by Sidney Paget

Before picking this up, the only Sherlock Holmes story I had read was the full-length novel, The Hound of the Baskervilles. I’m finding the rest of the stories highly entertaining, and am now super excited to see the new movie with Robert Downey Jr and Jude Law. Of note, this edition of the book (Castle Books, 1985) has reprinted the stories as they originally appeared in the Strand Magazine, complete with columns and illustrations.

Doyle chose a very interesting way to tell these stories—as most of you know, from the point of view of the sidekick, Dr. Watson. I rarely read narratives which are told in first person, but which do not focus inwardly at all on the storyteller himself. Watson is a shockingly invisible sidekick, and really doesn’t do much at all to solve the cases. I also find myself wondering how on earth he finds the time to attend to all of Sherlock Holmes’ mysteries when he’s a practicing doctor and recently married to boot.

At any rate, I love reading half or all of a case before bed, as they are fairly short (and not scary at all, which is refreshing with all the second rate crime on TV that glorifies inane violence and disgusting close-ups of open wounds).

The House of the Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne

This house, in Salem, Mass., was Hawthorne's inspiration. Given the location, you can understand why the haunting story has its roots in the witch hunts.

I can’t get enough of books like this one. While reading it, I was consistently reminded of another novel, Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier (which is one of my all-time favorite books, and I recently saw a wonderful performance of it at the Theatre in the Round on Washington Ave., Minneapolis) However, Hawthorne’s tale is less haunting than Rebecca, and at times, a wee bit boring. I do NOT mean to deter you from reading this one, since I am really happy myself to have read it. The House of the Seven Gables was Hawthorne’s own favorite—above The Scarlet Letter. As it is extremely character driven (rather than plot driven), just don’t go into it expecting a rolicking mind-blow, and you’ll come to be fascinated with the Pyncheon family. It’s a fantastic ghostly story, perfect for autumn.

Inspector Cadaver (An Inspector Maigret Mystery) by Georges Simenon

This was a very quick read that kept my attention, but unfortunately had a rather unsatisfying end. I haven’t read any other Maigret mysteries, but I wouldn’t let the ending of this one keep me from reading another.

I just love this era of detective novels. Set in probably the 1920s or 1930s French countryside, the narrative is more sensitive to the psychology of people and their motives, rather than focusing on minute technical details. And its not a chasing story. I have a gripe against modern crime novels, as you’ve probably noticed by now, which seem always to have the main character running away from an impending murder, only to escape at the last second because an “everyday hero”—often a journalist or a big-city professional who is not accustomed to solving crimes—is thrust into the situation and wins against all odds. Lame.

Go Maigret, a real detective—one who understands the importance of slowing down long enough during the case for a snifter of cognac.

Producer Joel Silver was recently promoting Ninja Assassin when he spoke about a whole heap of comic book movies and the great detective may return quite quickly.

Lobo – Lobo is a DC Comics character for mature audiences, an alien antihero who exterminated his own race. He has super strength, healing and smell and frequently swears with words like “frag” and “bastich.” Silver wouldn’t reveal whether the big alien Lobo would be created on a computer or with prosthetic makeup, but he has already commissioned a promising test. “We just did a big test, and the studio just saw it, so we’re seeing how we’re going to pull that off,” Silver said. “It’s up to the studio to make the decision what they want to do, so I’m waiting to see if they want to make that movie.”

Sgt. Rock – Also from DC Comics, Sgt. Rock is a World War II soldier with superhuman endurance and strength, a crack shot who can bring down planes with a machine gun. I Am Legend director Francis Lawrence has impressed Silver with a way to make a new movie about Rock. “Francis has got a real vision for this thing, and if we can pull it off it’ll be a great movie,” Silver said.

Swamp Thing – In September, Silver announced plans to make a new Swamp Thing movie in 3-D. Silver confirmed that the project is moving along but probably won’t be ready in time for Halloween 2010. “I don’t think it’ll be that soon, but we’re working on it,” Silver said. “It’s happening, so we’ll see what happens. I mean, it’s something I’m excited about doing, and I want to hopefully pull that off, so we’re working on that now.”

Sherlock Holmes 2 – The new update of Sherlock Holmes opens Christmas Day, but Warner Brothers president of production Jeff Robinov has already ordered a sequel. “There’s an article in Entertainment Weekly this week about Sherlock,” Silver said. “[Robinov's] quote said, ‘If the movie’s a hit, I want to get the sequel going as fast as possible.’ So he just came right out there and said that. I would have just waited until the movie opened first, but he wanted people to know that’s what they want to do. In fact, we have a script being written, and if the picture does work, you’ll be seeing another one, I hope, pretty soon.” Silver added that the first Sherlock, starring Robert Downey Jr., clocks in at just over two hours.

Source: Sci-Fi Wire

Com direção de Guy Ritchie (o mesmo de “Snatch, porcos e diamantes”  e “Jogos, Trapaças e dois canos fumegantes”), o filme “Sherlock Holmes” traz o astro Robert Downey Jr. (que fez também “Homem de Ferro”) no papel-título e Jude Law como o Dr. Watson, o fiel companheiro do lendário detetive inglês.

Robert Downey Jr

A estréia no Brasil está prevista para o dia 8 de janeiro de 2010.

Fonte: Folha Online

I was listening to an excerpt of Patricia Bray’s workshop lecture on the protagonist. Bray is the author of The Chronicles of Josan and the Sword of Change series. Although she actually spent more time (at least in the clip) talking about the sidekick, she made some very interesting points that immediately pushed me into a few wild speculations on how social networking and the use of technology might be shifting the way we perceive ourselves and others.

Sidekicks, Bray states, are useful as they can stimulate audience interest in the first person while still acting as chronicler. She uses the Watson/Holmes model as an example: Watson narrates the story, taking care of all of the workaday details, while remaining in first person and thereby creating a gateway for reader identification.

Yet the sidekick narrator, she adds, also allows the reader the cushy position of superiority to Watson. We may identify with the good Dr, but we can imagine ourselves to be more like Holmes, the old “If I were like Watson, I like totally would have figured that out by this point.” And last and most obvious, the appeal in creating creating a sidekick , Bray states, is because multiple characters pick up a larger audience/readership.

So, where am I going with all of this?

Social networking applications also allow us to present a “real” version of ourselves that takes on the dual role of first person chronicler. Take the status update in which we can switch back from first or third person. “I am not happy that my cat has lobbed a hair ball on my lap,” or “Ryan is not happy that her cat has gobbed a hair ball on her lap.” This is both an act of chronicling and a call for identification.

Second, in creating these personas on Facebook or Twitter, its often the case that we try to project someone who is more Holmes than Watson — and this is a very loose comparison, by which I mean the role of a main protagonist — but the irony is that through our labors our real selves play sidekick to our own projection.

Third, no matter how little glamor or mystique our own profiles actually present, our voyeuristic tendencies mixed in with our ability to haze over reality, allow us, like the reader, to feel superior to those other personas that our “friends” project on the web. Think about how many times you’ve curled your lip ever so slightly at seeing your friends misspell a word or hearing that their movie plans include a second viewing of New Moon? That we rarely reflect on how asinine we may in fact look to others, insures that we remain busy pumping air into that puffed up and ultimately phony profile.

And as for attracting a larger audience through multiple characters, can you think of a better example than Twitter, where retweets from our collection of followees spawn an even greater of followers and so on until we can barely make out why we signed up in the first place.

There are arguments that social networking is in fact thinning out our personalities, making us hollower, flatter, and ultimately less interesting. I definitely agree that there’s something to that. But it’s even more unsettling when we remember that it wasn’t Watson who was performing all of those amazing mental feats. It was Holmes who kept his eyes and his mind trained firmly on the world, while we, pale shadows to that series of sparsely worded one liners, fabricate a weak reflection of what was once ourselves.

Vissa saker får sådana konsekvenser i den skönlitterära världen att det blir ett före och ett efter. Jag kommer alldeles strax till det senaste exemplet på något som omvälvt storyvärlden, men låt mig först säga lite om hur stort det här är.

Omkring 1300-talet kom något som skulle få en sådan effekt. Då grundades nämligen vad som med en väldigt lös definition kunde kallas polisyrket. Själva yrket förvandlades och förändrades ända in i 1900-talet när i stort sett alla moderna länder började få liknande polisstyrkor, men redan från början har en sak varit konstant: det här är några figurer som man kan kontakta när man har problem med brott och/eller kriminella. Man behöver inte längre ta tag i sådana problem själv. Det här har som sagt varit något hyfsat konstant sedan 1300-talet, och möjligen ännu tidigare, om man räknar med de stadsvakter som har funnits sedan de första städerna bildades.

Under 1800-talet när det moderna polisyrket fick mer stadga började författare skildra polisernas yrkesliv. De första regelrätta deckarna dök exempelvis upp i mitten på 1800-talet. Folk fick alltmer förtroende för polisen, delvis därför att polisens metoder förbättrades (faktiskt inspirerat av berättelserna om Sherlock Holmes). Man började kalla på polisen snarare än att duellera, och skönlitteraturen förändrades för evigt. När filmen kom fanns det här med från början.

Ändå skriver folk fortfarande om hjälten som måste göra sina hjältemod på egen hand – gå in i det hemska huset, möta skurkarna obeväpnad, hitta skatten – men det är i stort sett omöjligt att skriva sådana historier utan att ta upp den här centrala frågan:

Varför låter han/hon inte polisen ta hand om det här?

Titta på alla bra filmer, på alla bra böcker, och på alla bra pjäser som har med brott och/eller brottslingar att göra. Man måste, som författare, ha ett svar på frågan “Varför låter han/hon inte polisen ta hand om det här?”

Här har det naturligtvis uppstått ett par olika modeller för hur man besvarar frågan, och dem tänkte jag inte ta upp här, för det räcker med att konstatera att du troligen inte tar ett verk som handlar om brott och/eller brottslingar på allvar om inte den centrala frågan besvaras på ett tillfredsställande sätt.

Nu har en ny sådan central fråga uppstått. Den begränsar sig inte till skönlitteratur om brott, utan finns i alla typer av skönlitteratur.

Frågan lyder så här:

Varför använder han/hon inte mobiltelefonen?

Man hade kanske kunnat tro att nästa steg skulle vara datorerna, men än så länge finns det inga sådana tecken. Internet och datorer behandlas än så länge som en ny arena eller möjligen som en ny genre, inte som något som finns med i varenda story. Mobiltelefoner däremot har förändrat folks beteende. Förr var man tvungen att ta sig till en plats för att skicka ett meddelande (telefonkiosk, polisstationen, telegrafstationen). Numera är det en baggis att få i stort sett vem som helst på tråden i stort sett när som helst. Det är ju därför som huvudpersoner så ofta har urladdade telefoner eller dålig täckning.

Och jag pratar heller inte om enbart telefonsamtal. Jag pratar om att ha Wikipedia i luren. Eller Google Maps. Eller Amazon. Det finns snart inte någon information som man behöver vänta på eller ta sig fysiskt till (även om man såklart inte vet vad man inte vet, d.v.s vad man borde ta reda på).

Strunta i om det här är överdrivet teknikförhärligande eller inte. Det här är något som är svårt att bortse ifrån när man skriver, hädanefter. Hur ska någon kunna plädera okunskap eller ens kunna låta bli att få reda på saker när det står på sin tilltänktas Facebooksida att hon/han gillar Ferrari-bilar eller att ta mysiga skogspromenader? Det här är inte bara en fråga om privatliv, som vissa filosofer funderar på, utan en fråga om hur skönlitteraturen kommer att se ut de närmaste 50 åren, eller ännu mer. Hur länge till kan roman- och novellvärlden stå emot trycket från de som dagligen lever i mobilen? Min gissning är att rätt många författare inte skriver om det här, för att det fortfarande inte är en naturlig del av deras eget liv. En del författare jag möter i mitt dagliga liv gör inte ens en koll på Google för att kolla vad andra har skrivit om deras favoritämne, men kommer de att överleva i det nya klimatet? Det blir spännande att se.

A rede social Facebook foi eleita para divulgar o lançamento do blockbuster Sherlock Holmes - estrelado por Robert Downey Jr. e Jude Law. O game viral 221B (lembre-se que 221B Backer Street é o endereço de Holmes no filme!) vai ficar no ar até o lançamento do longa-metragem no Reino Unido, no dia 26 de dezembro.

Através do aplicativo, dois jogadores encarnam a dupla de detetives Holmes e Watson e juntos perseguem vilões, interagem com personagens do filme e exploram locais em busca de pistas.

Segundo a Warner Bros., a experiência coloca os jogadores na Londres de 1890 utilizando tecnologias de última geração. Cool!

O novo Sherlock Holmes é musculado e dá porrada. A versão é de Guy Ritchie, o realizador de “Snatch” (e, claro, o ex de Madonna), e é interpretada por Robert Downey Jr.

O Pop Bit deixa três imagens para preparar a estreia, a 31 de Dezembro em Portugal.

Pursuit to Algiers, the twelfth film to star Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes and Nigel Bruce as his boon companion Dr. John H. Watson, is a minor entry in the series, but a thoroughly enjoyable one. It’s the ninth Holmes picture directed by Roy William Neill, and his sure hand and professionalism are fully in evidence.

The film gets down to business in a wonderfully circuitous fashion, as Holmes and Watson are handed cryptic directions by a series of strangers. In each case, it takes Holmes a few beats to catch on, while Watson is oblivious the whole time. Eventually they are led to a group of men from an unnamed foreign country whose king has just been assassinated. They want Holmes to guard the life of the heir to the throne, Nikolas, who was educated in England. Holmes suggests that Nikolas pose as Watson’s nephew on a steamship voyage to Algiers. Once at sea, the film introduces a worthy cast of drawing room mystery characters, including a trio of sinister but quirky assassins.

Elements of Leonard Lee’s screenplay are taken from an otherwise unrecorded affair mentioned in the beginning of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s story “The Adventure of the Norwood Builder,” in particular the use of the steamship Friesland. And at one point in the film, Watson begins to share with his fellow dinner guests aboard the ship his adventure with Holmes that involved the “Giant Rat of Sumatra,” which is mentioned in Doyle’s story “The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire.” These references are similar to what Anthony Boucher and Denis Green would occasionally do in their scripts for the radio show The New Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, which was heard on the Mutual Broadcasting System, and, like the film series, starred Rathbone and Bruce. For instance, in one program, Holmes is willed a patch of land in gratitude for his successful work on a case, and he tells Watson he plans to retire there someday and keep bees. (In Conan Doyle’s stories and novels, the background of Holmes’s retirement in 1903 to the Sussex Downs, where he engaged in beekeeping, was never supplied.)

At times, Pursuit to Algiers comes dangerously close to being a musical, as one of the passengers on the ocean liner is a young and beautiful pianist named Sheila Woodbury (Marjorie Riordan), whom Dr. Watson makes a bit of a fool of himself over. It’s all in good fun, though, and Bruce’s “silly old goat” act is always fun to watch, even if his portrayal of Watson is a bit more ridiculous than Conan Doyle’s original conception of the character. Sheila plays several songs on the piano, including the beautiful “Flow Gently, Sweet Afton.” Watson even joins her at the piano toward the end of the picture for a lovely version of “Loch Lomond.” Director Neill always keeps things moving, however, and despite its minor status, Pursuit to Algiers is still a worthy entry in the Sherlock Holmes series.

Who was Sherlock Holmes? The enemy of our time, surely. The question itself suggests why.

Many fans of Conan Doyle’s series like to play what they call ‘The Great Game’, in which they pretend that Holmes and Watson were real and that Conan Doyle was merely their literary agent. As one might expect, the game’s first move consists of endorsing the ‘gentle fiction’ (as Leslie S. Klinger, one of its greatest players, has called it) that William Sherlock Scott Holmes was born in 1845 and that he must have died some time ago now. But if I might make a modest proposal, such fiction is anything but gentle. For it may be a harbinger, and also a cause, of that most melancholy of objects, none other than the end of our civilization. Let me explain.

Distinguishing between fiction and non-fiction is essential to the reality of our everyday lives. ‘The everyday’, as we might call it, is where most of us (adults) spend most of our time: it is the domain of family and work, of ethics and politics, indeed of the whole matrix of personal and social practices. And all of these are, of course, fundamentally non-fictional.

There exists another non-fictional dimension, to be sure, that of ‘the natural’. It is where we may be said to go whenever we don the white coat of the natural scientist and look at things from a disengaged perspective, grasping reality as it exists independently of our everyday purposes. Modern science has brought with it enormous powers, but these have also come with great threats – as the many philosophers who have written of the dangers of a technological world-view have warned.

Essentially, these thinkers’ main worry is that the everyday is being colonized by the natural. What they tend to overlook, however, is the threat coming from ‘the other side’, so to speak, by which I mean from ‘the aesthetic’. This is a dimension of fiction rather than non-fiction, and yet it is no less real because of that. It is where we go whenever we do one of three things: savour, imagine, or play. By savour I mean to refer to the act of taking pleasure in a thing’s beauty, in how, as Kant once described, it appears to our senses for its own sake. When we imagine, by contrast, we use the capacity that Vico called fantasia in order, for example, to make or grasp metaphors, or to ‘put ourselves in another’s shoes’, as the saying goes. And regarding play, we need to be playful if we are to make, or at least get, jokes, as well as, of course, to play games, wherein we conform to systematic rules that are set apart from our everyday lives. These rules are set apart because they, too, must be at least partly followed for their own sake instead of for their ability to serve our everyday values. Why should I kick the ball in that goal or shoot the puck in this net? Because that is how the game is played, nothing more. And why can I not pick up the ball with my hands or kick the puck in with my skate? Because such actions would violate the rules – rules, again, which exist simply because we could not play without them.

‘Come, Watson, come! The game is afoot.’ Now this has, of course, been taken to be Sherlock Holmes’s rallying cry, and it says a great deal about how he conceives of his cases. For though he is undoubtedly quoting Shakespeare (Henry V to be exact), where the reference is to a hunt’s quarry, to the deer or wild boar whose chase was led by greyhounds, Holmes’s meaning is also that which comes most naturally to us today: the idea of competitive play. Because, above all, Holmes is a man in it for the fun.

‘I play the game for the game’s own sake’ was thus how he once corrected his brother Mycroft when the latter suggested that much fame would come to the man who solved a particularly important case. True, Holmes used to care a great deal about recognition, but that was in his younger days, before he abandoned this value altogether in order to ensconce himself fully in the aesthetic. He came to treat money in the very same way, making it into yet another everyday item that held no interest for him (as we see from his decision to work upon a fixed scale – when he did not remit his charges altogether, that is). Indeed Holmes’s disdain for the everyday only grew and grew, so much so that he came to conceive of his whole life as but ‘one long effort to escape from the commonplace of existence’. So it should come as no surprise that, bemoaning the lack of ‘audacity and romance’ that appeared to have passed from the criminal world, he would often inject himself with a seven per cent solution of cocaine in order to stave off boredom. For it is nothing but boredom that, as Kierkegaard once pointed out, is the bane of all who would lead an aesthetic life.

What a sad spectacle. But what should we expect from a man who looks back on the 50 murderers in his career as if they were players in a game – or actors on a stage? For that, too, is how Holmes sometimes views his cases. As he himself once pointed out: ‘Watson insists that I am the dramatist in real life. Some touch of the artist wells up within me, and calls insistently for a well staged performance.’ And what is his justification for treating such serious business in a theatrical way? Yet again nothing but the aesthete’s desire to stave off boredom, for ’surely our profession would be a drab and sordid one if we did not sometimes set the scene so as to glorify our results’. In response, we have only to cite Holmes’s own words back at him: ‘To the man who loves art for its own sake, it is frequently in its least important and lowliest manifestations that the keenest pleasure is to be derived.’ No wonder he was such a fan of Wagner.

‘Come, friend Watson, the curtain rings up for the last act.’ Again and again, Holmes can be heard explicitly invoking his friendship with Watson. It seems to me, however, that he insists upon it just a little too much. He does so because he suspects that he and Watson are not genuine friends after all and that, moreover, it is he himself who is to blame for this. The reason is simple: his aestheticism has kept him from developing the steadfastness and sensitivity to others that real friendship requires. How else to explain his abominable treatment of the man who was his roommate, associate and biographer? Of the many examples that one might cite, the most manifest is surely his keeping Watson ignorant – for three long years and for the flimsiest of reasons – of the fact that he was not, after all, killed during his struggle with Dr Moriarty at the Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland (where, it’s worth mentioning, members of the various international Sherlock Holmes societies make a pilgrimage every May 4th to commemorate the ‘death’ of their beloved hero). No real friend would ever have behaved in such a terrible manner – which is why we need to recognize that Holmes has never been a real friend to anyone, indeed, that he is simply incapable of friendship. Because what is friendship if not an everyday rather than aesthetic thing, more like milk than honey? Watson, then, could never serve as anything more than a tool for Holmes’s aesthetic endeavours. And indeed he never did so, no matter how much he may have believed otherwise.

However surely the worst of Holmes’s transgressions was one perpetrated upon those of us in the everyday rather than imaginary world. For though some might consider this but a philosopher’s conceit, it seems to me that Holmes’s greatest contribution to the blurring of fiction and non-fiction arises from the highly detrimental effect that he has had on our conception of rationality. For how is it that so many have failed to notice that the cold logic he proudly and repeatedly claims to employ is nothing of the kind? Holmes does not deduce, moving from general premises to specific conclusions, but abduce, which is a very different form of ‘reasoning’. At base, it consists of the examination of a series of seemingly unrelated phenomena in order to arrive at a hypothesis about their connection on the grounds of intuition − of a hunch, essentially − and what is a hunch if not a product of the imagination? ‘The first rule of detective work,’ Holmes has helpfully declared more than once, is to ‘imagine any possible alternatives.’ Moreover, when it comes to validating the hypothesis, this is to be done by determining that it is the best possible explanation for the data through an application of Occam’s razor, which is to say by judging it on the basis of elegance and simplicity. But what are these if not further aesthetic standards?

So Holmes blurs the border between the everyday and the aesthetic. And nowadays it is much more than just his fans or, as one might expect, philosophers (from the postmodernist to John Rawls and Charles Taylor) who enjoy conflating reason and the imagination, games and serious life, the good and the beautiful. Because one might also invoke some of our leading historians (think of the French school of the ’social imaginary’), political scientists and economists (think game theory), journalists (think ‘infotainment’), filmmakers (think Oliver Stone), comics (think Jerry Seinfeld or Larry David, their opposites being The Daily Show’s John Stewart and Hotbox’s Pat Thornton), and novelists (think Martin Amis, for whom ‘A novel is a rational undertaking’, or Clancy Martin). Many, many others could be mentioned as well. Which is why I feel it necessary to conclude with a humble warning, namely, that this blurring can only lead to one thing, and that is the aestheticization of our politics. Think of how often already it has been reduced to spectacle, to events consumed by spectators in which players compete or act according to classic plays, tropes or archetypes. And when this happens − when, as The Tragically Hip sing, the struggle has a name − can fascism be far behind?

Holmes, or should I say Conan Doyle, has much to answer for.

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En inglés y francés…

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Attention, 7-Eleven. Your movie tie-in promotions are officially out of control.

I understand when you use beloved properties from my childhood to peddle your greasy wares, and for the most part, I don’t take any offense. This is just business, after all, and properties like Transformers and G.I. Joe wouldn’t exist if not for the need of certain segments of our society to sell poorly constructed plastic action figures to certain other segments of our society in an effort to keep the wheels of commerce turning contentedly. That in mind, it seems like a disingenuous splitting of hairs at best to complain about Optimus Prime selling Slurpees.

But there is a fucking limit, people, and it shall here to fore be known as the Sherlock Holmes Line.

If you are going to have Sherlock Holmes hock a product for you, said product must live up to a certain standard of, for lack of a better word, coolness. If you want to use Sherlock Holmes to sell pipes, say, or deerstalker hats, then by all means, go for it. If you want to push cocaine in little baggies emblazoned with the image of the greatest detective in the history of fiction, then you are an awesome genius.

But in the interest of maintaining the integrity of the character for respectable enterprises like haberdashery and cocaine sales, some rules must be set, and I am hereby setting down the first one.

Sherlock Holmes DOES NOT shill fucking taquitos.

This is not an issue for negotiation or a matter of opinion. It is a fact, and I will state it again in the interest of making crystal clear this unequivocal point.

Sherlock Holmes DOES NOT shill fucking taquitos.

End of goddamn story. There will be a test on this material later.

My Primary Care Physician retired a while back, and I’ve been examined by the doctor who replaced him, a Dr. Holmes. Dr. Holmes seems to be a nice enough person, and fairly familiar with Congenital Heart Defects.

The nurse that worked with the retired doctor is now working for Dr. Holmes – that makes sense, as she would already know the patients. But I found out today that her surname is Watson!

I feel much better knowing that Holmes and Watson are on the case!

Over the last few months there’s been lots of talk about Augmented Reality. John Mayer launched an augmented reality enhanced music video and dozens of apps popped up for the smartphones utilising this technology. So it’s no surprise that with print in a slow decline, Esquire have jumped on the bandwagon.

This month sees Decembers issue of Esquire come to life when you log on to their website.

The front cover boasts celebrity content with Robert Downey Jr introducing the issue, whilst throwing in a quick plug of his new movie Sherlock Holmes. The rest of the AR features all supplement content in the print magazine. In one of the fashion features, tilting your magazine in different directions controls the weather, and the model adjusts clothing appropriately. There’s also a time-based joke – check out the AR component after midnight and the content changes.

There’s already been quite a buzz about this campaign and whilst I wouldn’t expect it to become the norm, it’s definitely been a great way of generating word of mouth marketing as well as encouraging new readers to the magazine.