Euromodel Rail Review, Nos 1-25 (1983-87)

     Euromodel Rail Review, Nos 1-25 (1983-87) This was a short-lived and erratically published magazine that couldn’t find its niche, and in particular couldn’t compete against Peco’s Continental Modeller, and presumably the European magazines such as Eisenbahn.
I found a copy of it, then bought back issues and subscribed. Rereading it reveals clues to its demise. The layout sketches (one can’t call them plans) are heavy-handed, with hard to read lettering, possibly blown up from smaller originals to fill space. The photo reproductions range from fairly good to execrable, especially the model shots. A lot of the editorial content is thinly veiled advertising. Too many of the photographs are mere variations on the same subject. And the ads constitute 20% of the page count or less, always a bad sign. The layouts featured in the early issues are generally of a mediocre standard, with too much of the European penchant for spaghetti bowl track plans, and so-so scenery at best, with toy-like trees, and buildings apparently chosen for their cuteness rather than their contribution to a believable illusion. It’s no wonder that a reader survey revealed a desire for more prototype information.
     And it’s because of the prototype information that the magazine does have value. There is a great deal about particular lines and branches, the colour photos are very well done, and if you want to work a layout prototypically, there is more than enough information about timetables and train makeup. A special issue about the centenary of the Arlbergbahn has a long essay, with goodly number of pictures (even if their subjects are somewhat repetitive). The occasional studies of locomotive classes are also well done, for example the ÖBB’s 1020 (DB E194) class. But the large scope of the magazine means that the information one wants is scattered; most of the magazine deals with railways one doesn’t care about.
     As I write this, I’m considering whether to clip the magazines for the stuff I want to keep, or whether to keep them intact. * to **** (2003)

Dale Wilson. A National Passenger Chronicle, Vol. 2 (2000)

     Dale Wilson. A National Passenger Chronicle, Vol. 2 (2000) A jackdaw’s collection of information and pictures about CNR and predecessor lines’ passenger services. The bias is towards Ontario, not surprising when you consider Wilson’s location (Sudbury). One of the more interesting chapters consists of W. A. Corkill’s recollections of his travels as a boy, mostly during wartime. The human interest bits add to the chronicle, and I hope Dale has more of them in future editions.
     The pictures are all interesting, though (as Paul Levin pointed out) they could have been reprinted a little better. Some of them show enough of the station and yard to have increased value, but most are cropped tightly on the trains. Pity; I like the incidental information in the background.
     Nevertheless, this is a valuable book for anyone interested in the subject, and full of other incidental information. For example, most of the local trains were short, half a dozen cars or less, including the head end cars. Also, heavyweight cars lasted well into the 60s, especially on local trains, and as work cars lasted into the 70s. Most sleepers and other special cars were rebuilt several times; they must have ended up like the legendary grandfather’s axe, which had two new heads and five new handles.
     The other tidbit I noted was the number of cars bought or leased from US roads; a table listing these would be useful to anyone trying to figure out which US models are convertible to Canadian roads. The lack of tables is the only real fault; but I guess Dale had enough troubles putting the book together. He alludes to desk top publishing, and must have used this book and its predecessor as a learning project. **½ (2003)

E. K. Milliken. Lancastrian and Tudor (1949)

     E. K. Milliken. Lancastrian and Tudor (1949; repr.1964) Old schoolbooks remind us of how attitudes and notions of common knowledge have changed, as well as providing glimpses of abandoned pedagogies. An old history book does more: it shows us how our concepts of ourselves as a nation have changed. This book does both. It’s organised in short, sharp chapters with boxed quotes and tables, both obviously designed to simplify the task of deciding what the pupils should be able to regurgitate. The impression of a Gradgrind style of teaching is hard to escape, and the “quick fire questions” in the book reinforce it. But then you read the writing questions, and you realise that this book was not intended as a textbook, but as a crib for both teacher and student. Its summary style assumes extensive lecturing by the teacher, and much student activity, including everything from making models of interesting objects (gunships, for example) through plays and skits, to student presentations. Realising this, one sees also that there are brief digressions from what is apparently the core of the book, which is a catalogue raisonne of people, places and events tied to dates and putative causes. In other words, Milliken assumes that names and dates form the skeleton of history, and that it’s the teacher’s and student’s task to put flesh on that skeleton.
     That being said, what view of British History does Milliken have? He (or she?) assumes that we know what’s right and civilised, even if our present times are not the peak of either ethical behaviour or civilised attitudes. He also assumes that most of British History demonstrates the superiority of the British way of life. But the intention to instill an enthusiastic patriotism does not prevent Milliken from passing sharp judgments on some of the people discussed. The brutality of Henry VIII, for example, gets a sharp rebuke, and Milliken is well aware of the social and economic effects of familial infighting among the nobility
     On the whole, Milliken’s history is one of men (and a few women) and their actions. There is little about the ordinary life of ordinary people, nor of the modern emphasis on technological change that brings about social change because it changes the range of choices available to people. Neither is there the modern belief that all cultures are equal. Some are clearly superior to others, and the European (Western) way of life is the most superior. History is a series of advances and retreats, with advances slowly gaining ground. Milliken’s judgments on art and science are particularly interesting: the Renascence revival of classical art, literature, and science is a high point, and painting and sculpture of that period has never been surpassed.
     Here, history is presented as a body of knowledge. The present doubts about our ability to understand the past are entirely absent. ** (2003)

Grace Paley. The Little Disturbances of Man (1959)

     Grace Paley. The Little Disturbances of Man (1959; Penguin edition 1985) Paley has the same melancholy realistic view of humankind, especially American humankind, as Raymond Carver, but she also has a hope and wit that he lacks. They can both break your heart with a few words characterising a relationship; but where Carver often sees a darkness that verges on despair, Paley sees glimmers of brightness in the acceptance of the way things are. Her characters have few illusions, and when they do, they know they have them. Both writers have the gift of seeing things clearly, and both escape the risk of sentimentality. Both show us people who have accepted the inevitable defeats of ordinary life yet manage to take what joy they can. The Americans believe in the pursuit of happiness as an inalienable right. Paley (and Carver, along with other writers) shows that happiness is more often found in the small successes than the large, and that it’s more a matter of how you deal with life than of what life deals you. *** (2003)

Jim Davis. Garfield Gains Weight (1981)

     Jim Davis. Garfield Gains Weight (1981) This second book of Garfield shows that Davis is still finding the definitive line, and includes Lyman, Jon’s neighbour, who disappears soon after this series. But the ongoing motifs are all there: Garfield’s weight, his passion for lasagna, Jon’s doofus relationships with women, and Odie, who doesn’t have as much of a role here as he gets later. Reading a pile of Garfield strips one sees that Davis doesn’t have the wit and edge of a Watterson, nor the insight of a Johnston or Schulz, but he’s pleasant enough, and a Garfield book is a good way to pass some time. ** (2003)

John Grant Discarded Science (2006)

John Grant Discarded Science (2006) Or Ideas that Seemed Good at the Time. Nicely done historical survey of the development of science, which more often than not, and rather surprisingly when you think about it, turned out to be progress. Two take-aways: a) science, like any other human endeavour, is limited both by the available data and by the climate of ideas; and b) there is a rather wide fuzzy band between science and crackpottery.
     It’s extremely difficult to think outside the box, despite the many gurus who’ve claimed they’ve found fool-proof ways of doing so. We just can’t think thoughts involving facts and concepts we don’t have. Breakthroughs come not so much from brand new concepts as from rearrangements of the old ones. The type example is of course Einstein’s equating of gravity and acceleration, based on nothing more than the observation that the equations of motion can’t tell the difference.
     Sometimes, new concepts are literally unthinkable: we know that photons and other bits behave like both waves and particles, so some people promote the term wavicle to label them, but a label in this case doesn’t help us imagine what they are. Best to go with the current suggestion that wave-like and particle-like behaviour depends on context. How these entities behave depends on what they are interacting with. IOW, context is everything; and the interface (interaction) is the only observable reality. “There is nothing behind or before the mask. There is only the mask”.
     Contemplating the discarded theories that seemed reasonable at the time reminds us how difficult it is to translate even apparently simple ideas into testable hypotheses. It took a heap of very careful experiment to show that fire was not the gain or loss of phlogiston, for example. It also reminds us how limited our present concepts must be. Perhaps we have reached the limits of our ability to make sense of the universe. There’s no a priori reason to assume that we have the capacity to frame the ultimate Theory of Everything. After all, most of us have difficulty even understanding the questions that the physicists pose, let alone get an inkling of a notion of an idea of what the answers mean. Our concepts, even the most esoteric ones, are grounded in our sensory experience of the world around us. We construct an image of that world using sense data, and are pleased to call it true. But the reality is not what we think it is. We cannot in fact think what it is.
     Pseudoscience and other crackpottery comes in for (rather gentle) mockery. The index helps find Grant’s  witty and ironic comments, in case you need a good quote to underline some absurdity.
     Well done, a keeper. ***

Miyamoto Musashi The Book of Five Rings Translated by Victor Harris (1982).

     Miyamoto Musashi The Book of Five Rings Translated by Victor Harris (1982). I finally read this book; it’s been sitting on the shelf for about twenty years. I must have tried reading it once before; and reading it now, I see why I gave up on it. The introduction includes a brief life of Musashi; he was a killer, and in my opinion no amount of twaddle about sincerity, honesty, discipline and the Way will excuse that fact. It’s obvious that Harris admires Musashi and all that he stands for, and this affects his translation. I don’t know how opaque the original is, but the translation is riddled with vague abstractions and fuzzy language about the Way.

    Musashi does give some practical guidance, but he ends every short paragraph in which he describes some principle or strategy with an exhortation to study this deeply. Since he himself says he can’t describe his methods in detail, this exhortation amounts to nothing. Musashi clearly believes that if you want to succeed you must apply yourself and focus on your goal to the exclusion of pretty well all else. That’s a truism, and it doesn’t take a three-hundred-year old text to teach us that. More interesting is the assumption that the nature of the goal is irrelevant. Only the method of achieving it counts, and the only methods that count are the ones that lead to success.
     Musashi does not question the rights and wrongs of setting out on a life of murder; he questions only the rights and wrongs of achieving success in killing. Underlying this is apparently some creed of martial honour. Musashi duelled with anyone who came his way and offered to fight, and killed about 60 people by the time he quit. Whether he quit because he’d had enough, or because no one else would challenge him, is unclear. In any case, he never questioned the rights and wrongs of wanting to live this way.
     The closest thing to an excuse for his behaviour is the wretched political and social conditions of 17th century Japan. The samurai had essentially lost their place in society, and their only viable trade was as mercenaries for the few warlords who were left, and who during that century were subjugated by the Tokugawa clan. One can argue that when murder is the only way to survive, murder is condonable. But the very conditions that made the samurai unnecessary also made murder unnecessary. Musashi did take part in battles, but most of his killing was done in the course of duels. Duelling is a particularly stupid way of maintaining one’s honour, and the honour one gains by success in duelling is indeed Nothing, or the Void, as Musashi calls it. In the end, Musashi’s philosophy amounts to little more than a fancifully packaged nihilism.
     Eastwood’s The Unforgiven has the best comment on this lifestyle: “Right and wrong ain’t got nothing to do with it.” Exactly; and while that ethos makes for a certain thrill in certain kinds of fantasy, it is not one on which to base a life. If anything, not fighting takes more courage in the kind of society in which Musashi lived than fighting does; but that’s an answer to a question that Musashi did not conceive of, and perhaps could not understand if it were put to him. The fact that for a while this book enjoyed a vogue as a guide to corporate behaviour among American executives (who believed that the Japanese were beating them in the market by using Musashi as inspiration) merely confirms the lack of morality of the American Way of Business. We can understand, and I can empathise with, the boys of all ages who find the figure of the Warrior attractive. But the confusion of the killer with the Warrior is disturbing. A killer kills because he wants to. A Warrior kills because he has to. * (2003)
     Update 2020 06 20: Gordon Dickson's Dorsai stories are I think a definitive exploration of Warrior's ethos.