Zeus, Hera, and Author's Intent

This week I read Mary Higgins Clark's recent book, As Time Goes By, which features a murder, a woman's search for her birth parents, illegal trafficking in prescription drugs, romance, sleuthing, and family drama. Ms. Clark's reputation as a writer of popular fiction is well established, and I'm sure some of my readers are more familiar with her than I am, but I was interested in certain domestic themes that appeared in her book. It may sound grandiose to suggest that they are mythic, but indeed, they are; works of popular fiction are often the place in which mythic themes first appear.

It's tricky to try to infer an author's intent. Even if they tell you their purpose, there may be ideas in their work that appear as if of their own volition: that's the way the unconscious works. By the time you untangle your interpretations (which may be brilliant but almost inevitably involve some degree of projection) from the author's own intents and purposes (as far as they can be known) you are left with an explication that may bear little resemblance to what the author was thinking as he/she sat down to write. I'm inferring that Ms. Clark intended Delaney Wright to be her main character since the prologue begins with the story of her birth. However, this is somewhat belied by the fact that there are several intertwining stories in the book, some of which offer more drama than that of Delaney's search for her parents.

This at least is my perception. Ms. Clark certainly has a Demeter and Persephone theme going in which Delaney plays the Kore role, although she is a particularly well-adjusted Persephone. In her case, a successful life is shadowed by her need to know her origins but is not consumed by it, and this may be the reason I didn't sense as much dramatic tension in her part of the story. The real center of the action, it seemed to me, was the murder plot in which a wealthy woman is accused of murdering her husband, a victim of Alzheimer's disease, in order to marry her old flame. Betsy Grant is loved and respected by a wide group of friends, but the circumstances of her husband's death make it very difficult for someone who doesn't know her to see her as anything but guilty. Most people believe she snapped under the pressure of her husband's illness, a perception largely influenced by the fact that the only other person with a clear motive has an alibi.

It wasn't until the various subplots began to fall together into one storyline that the identity of the guilty party became obvious, and that was late in the novel. To try to ascribe mythic personalities to the characters involved in the murder plot would be to reveal too much to those who haven't read the story, but it's true to say that the motivation behind the crime is different than it appears to be. I noted in passing the motif of "three," common in folk tales and fairy tales, in this case embodied in the character of Dr. Grant, the murdered man, and his two partners, all three of them orthopedic surgeons. The theme of healing is turned on its head by the murder; ironically, Dr. Grant is killed by a pestle, a symbol of medicine given to him as an award for his professional accomplishments. There's even a deus ex machina of sorts in a talkative burglar named Tony Sharkey.

What I really think this story is about (and Ms. Clark might contradict me) is marriage. I say that because most of the characters appear most often in conjunction with their spouses (or former spouses), in a series of more or less successfully--sometimes much less successfully--matched pairs. The story jumps from one to the other of these private dramas in succession. Delaney's not being married is one thing that sets her apart from all of this domesticity.

Actually, I was reminded of nothing less than Ingmar Bergman's Scenes From a Marriage. Bergman's theme was the public face of a seemingly successful couple and how greatly that can differ from married life as experienced by the couple themselves, especially as the relationship unfolds over time. It struck me as curious that the purported heroine of As Time Goes By so often takes a back seat to these other characters. She is a Persephone surrounded by Zeus and Hera types, a circumstance that certainly underscores her "orphan" state. Maybe that's the point, but for me the pathos of her story paled somewhat in comparison to the theatrics of the married couples, which I found more entertaining.

I doubt if it was Ms. Clark's express purpose to throw the limelight onto a secondary character, but I was most interested in the relationship between Dr. Grant's former partner, Scott Clifton, and his spouse, Lisa, for whom the phrase "trophy wife" seems appropriate. Lisa has given up her successful pharmaceutical sales career to marry Dr. Clifton and is in the process of realizing how empty the relationship is when we first meet her. She first tries to save the marriage, but when she realizes it has all gone south and is not coming back, she calls up the movers and arranges to get her old job back. Nothing wrong with a can-do spirit; she is one of the few characters who refuse to be constrained by circumstance.

Undoubtedly, Ms. Clark was more interested in telling an entertaining tale than in anything else, but I found the way in which all of these married couples kept stealing Delaney's thunder to be so pointed that I had to wonder if the author was being at least slightly satirical. I can't say for sure. I went so far as to look at the author's picture on the back of the book, and she does strike me as a person who is fully in control of her material, so who knows, maybe she was pulling our leg a little bit. I also noted with approval how well-groomed, poised, and successful she appears, all good characteristics in any writer, and qualities to which we may all aspire.

Persephone in Philadelphia

So, how was your Fourth of July? Mine was quiet, the highlight (or lowlight, depending on which term you prefer) being an evening walk interrupted by a police officer, who informed me that the Arboretum was closed for city-sponsored fireworks. I love fireworks but had no interest in either crowds or city-sponsored anything, so I walked away from the gathering people to a path through the woods that I'd been meaning to explore anyway. When I came out the other end (on a quiet residential street), a police car was parked at the exit. Back on my own street, the first thing I saw was a drone flying overhead. I've never seen one before, and though it's not surprising that there was security in the area, the overall effect was the opposite of reassuring. It was a bit Big Brotherish, to tell you the truth. This is our brave new world, I guess.

Speaking of that, just this week we've had controversy over the Benghazi Committee's report, terrorist attacks overseas, and now, finally, the news that the Justice Department is closing the investigation into Hillary Clinton's email arrangement. While there seems to be a movement afoot to "move everyone along," away from both Benghazi and the email investigation, I don't mind telling you that I doubt justice has been done in either case. In fact, both the Benghazi report and FBI Director James Comey's remarks in the last couple of days have, if anything, only left me with more questions. I gather that I'm not the only one who feels this way.

Accusations of partisan politics will not unnaturally arise in a situation like this one. However, I am not a Republican, but a Democrat, and I believe the current administration is both corrupt and highly skilled at concealing its own deceptions. It gives me no pleasure at all to say this, let me tell you. I wish it were otherwise. I voted for President Obama twice and for Hillary Clinton once in the 2008 Kentucky primary--and these seemed like reasonable decisions at the time. If I have lost all respect for these people, it's entirely their own fault. Far from leading us into what I thought would be a time of healing and greater maturity as a country (sorely needed after the Bush administration), our current leaders have only let us in for more of the same. If they had any integrity, the headlines you'd be reading would be far different than the ones you're seeing.

Mr. Comey of the FBI has always struck me as the no-nonsense type; that he bristled today when someone questioned his integrity doesn't surprise me. So what do we make of the fact that, despite being highly critical of Mrs. Clinton's actions, he didn't feel they met the bar for indictment? He mentioned the lack of evidence of her intention to do wrong and the lack of precedent. I'm a non-lawyer, of course, but I did look up the section of the U.S. Code (18, sec. 1924) that governs handling of classified information, and this is what it says:

Whoever, being an officer, employee, contractor, or consultant of the United States, and, by virtue of his office, employment, position, or contract, becomes possessed of documents or materials containing classified information of the United States, knowingly removes such documents or materials without authority and with the intent to retain such documents or materials at an unauthorized location shall be fined under this title or imprisoned for not more than one year, or both.

It doesn't say anything about the need to establish intent, and Mr. Comey characterizes Mrs. Clinton's handling of the classified materials as "careless"--so I understand why so many people are puzzled over the lack of an indictment. I'm puzzled as well. Many Clinton supporters point to such factors as the email practices of former Secretaries of State, Mrs. Clinton's admission that she made a mistake and wouldn't do it again, and the lack of evidence of any harm being done as proof that the entire affair has been overblown. I can't see what bearing any of that has on whether or not the law was broken. Hasn't security been breached, by definition, just by the way the material was handled?

I have no wish to add to the pain of the friends and family of the Americans killed in Benghazi, but my view of that situation hasn't changed either. In what universe are people living that they deem it forgivable to fail to provide security in such a hotspot as Libya? Mrs. Clinton's assertions that she herself never received any security requests carry no weight with me. How could anyone, least of all the Secretary of State, have failed to know what was happening there, when there had already been one attack on the facility? It's not as if the post in Switzerland had reported a loose shutter and been told to find a couple of nails and a hammer until some hinges could be shipped. The failure to protect as any prudent person should have done is so egregious that it seems to me to rise to the level of active culpability.

Now that Mrs. Clinton has seemingly wrapped up the votes of African Americans and Bernie Sanders is a jerk for having marched with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., I suppose we can look forward to a new era of compassion and enlightened policy if she is elected (much like the "kinder, gentler nation" former president George H.W. Bush spoke of once upon a time. Perhaps the Bushes and the Clintons have been trading ideas on how to bring this about, since they all seem to get along so wonderfully now).

I don't doubt that Mrs. Clinton could find it in her to throw a few bones to the working class and people in need if it didn't cost her anything politically, but I doubt she would even dream of touching the underlying issues of economic and social justice, of peace and stability, both here and abroad, that would truly make for a prosperous America. There's money to be made in war and nation building, but I doubt if much of it would make its way to you and me. Even if it did, it would be blood money.

On this blog, I sometimes discuss myths that seem to shed light on current events, but I don't know that I've ever mentioned the Abduction of Persephone. That one, I think, captures the spirit of the times as I see them more closely than any other, if you think of Persephone as standing in for the bright promise (a promise only--not a guarantee) of the Constitution and a free and open society. America has already lost its innocence, though I'm not sure how many people are aware of it. We're in the underworld now, and you see the evidence all around you. Only think: as a leader, you can dedicate yourself to doing what's best for your people, to acting selflessly, or you can use your powerful position for selfish and immoral ends. If I, as a Democrat, am critical of the current leadership, it's because I see too little evidence of the former and much proof of the latter.

I was thinking the other night about the upcoming Democratic Convention in Philadelphia when I started to hear Bruce Springsteen's "Streets of Philadelphia" playing in my head. I'm including a link to the video here, though I really should ask you to look it up for yourself. I know you're not going to disappoint me by asking what a story about AIDS has to do with either Persephone and Hades or 2016 America, but if you're in doubt, check out the video, which itself makes skillful use of one man's illness as a metaphor for the condition of society. It's very affecting, I promise.

Mrs. Clinton has criticized Donald Trump's slogan, "Make America Great Again." Whatever else Mr. Trump may say, I do agree with him on that--there has been some serious slippage of late. Whether or not we, like Persephone, are fated to eventually find our way back to the upper world is more than I can say, but what I do say is that we have to try. In order to do that, though, we have to grow up and stop believing in fairy tales. If we don't, and soon, I don't think you have to worry about looking up the video. The streets of Philadelphia will find their way to you.

Magic Flash Mobs in the Month of May

Last autumn I wrote a blog about the end of summer and the myth of Demeter and Persephone. I was thinking about the two of them today when I was out and about, on a day of just about perfect weather. Yesterday was beautiful but a little cool; today was just right. There was a bright blue sky, angelic white clouds, a warm (but not hot) sun, trees in full leaf, irises in bloom. To repeat an observation I made a few weeks ago, it was like stepping into an illustration in a children's picture book, one showing a perfect neighborhood with a smiling sun, children waving, and everyone from the mailman to the baker going cheerfully about their business.

So -- Persephone comes back in the spring. The melodramatic part of the myth concerns her leaving and Demeter mourning her loss in autumn. The story goes on to say, though, that a compromise is reached whereby Persephone is returned from the Underworld in the spring, to the general rejoicing of Demeter and everybody else. Persephone is spring personified, with violets entwined in her hair and daisies springing up where she walks. I think of the delicate beauty of April as characteristic of her youth. A day like today, when the promise of early spring has blossomed into something closer to summer, makes me think of her mother, Demeter, whose care greens the earth.

The nurturing and feminine aspects of May are reflected in several traditions. The name of the month probably comes from either Maia, a Greek nymph beloved of Zeus, or the Roman goddess Maiesta, who was associated with veneration and honor. In the Roman Catholic tradition, May is the month of Mary, the mother of God. Of course, May is also the month when we celebrate Mother's Day in the United States. Here in Kentucky, we run the horses on the first Saturday in May. I'm not sure what they think about it, but for the people, it's an occasion marked by showy hats, spring finery, mint juleps, and elaborately planned parties.

The birthstone for May is the emerald, whose stunning green seems like the perfect color for such a lush and opulent month. The flower for May is the Lily of the Valley. That seems quite right too, because if I were to assign a fragrance to the month, it would be the old-fashioned but unforgettable (to me, anyway) Muguet des Bois, which contains an essence of this delicate but lingering floral. If you took everything bright and beautiful about the month -- from the luxuriant grass to the shy flowers in the woods -- and distilled it into a bottle, it would smell like this perfume.

I live in an area with a lot of large trees that create an avenue of green this time of year. I have a fantasy about a "Dancing in the Moonlight" sort of reverie that I would like to make into a film someday. This vision came to me out of nowhere not long after I moved here and involves an empty street in the middle of the night. To the tune of either "Dancing in the Moonlight," "Looking Out My Backdoor," or "Moonlight Sonata," a group of people in formal attire appear casually from under the trees, assembling in the middle of the street. They all waltz together. As the music picks up, they start to dance faster, and then you begin to notice the presence of fauns, nymphs, naiads, and other minor gods and goddesses in the crowd (it's an ecumenical group). After a few minutes of kicking up their heels in fine mythic fashion, they all disappear into the trees again, leaving a silent street.

I don't know what it is about the neighborhood that gave rise to this fantasy, but I think now that if I were to film it, it would have to be in May. I've pictured it in autumn to the tune of "Moondance," and I think that would work. But May is really the time for this type of extravaganza. If I ever do commit this to film, look carefully at the faces in the crowd. Demeter and Persephone will certainly be there, as well as Maia and Maiesta and Hermes and Artemis and whoever else is up for a frolic. There might be a few jockeys in the crowd, some emeralds, silk, and boas, fancy buttoned shoes, and some really fine hats.

When the sun comes up the next morning on another beautiful day, it will be as if nothing ever happened -- but that's the way it is with these midnight flash mobs in the merry month of May.

Looking With Persephone

A couple of weeks ago, I was taking an evening walk when I noticed how pleasantly cool it was. This was in the midst of a heat wave, which made exercise in the middle of the day unwise at worst and unpleasant at best. It was one of those evenings that gives you a foretaste of fall. A true summer evening, even as it cools down, retains a lazy residue of the warmth and humidity of the day. Those evenings that signal change have a completely different character, even a slight urgency. Hurry up! Time to get the harvest in and the barns filled! You'll be carving pumpkins before you know it!

At the time, I thought, "How nice this feels." Even as inveterate a fan of summer as I am can't help but be a little refreshed by the cooling and hint of change in the air that generally comes around Labor Day. This year, having been baked to a crunch during an unusually searing summer (on the Fourth of July, it seemed the height of foolishness to step outside the door without a sizable water bottle), even I say the cooling is welcome.

There have been times in the past when I didn't want summer to end, but my feelings are conflicted this year. September and October are usually very pleasant here, and the turning of the leaves can be spectacular. You're always aware, though, of November, that moody month with a split personality, out there waiting in the wings. In the best years, it's a continuation of October's glorious red and gold riot, Keats's "close-bosom friend of the maturing sun"; it may even be an Indian summer extravaganza. In the worst of times (which seems to be most of the time), it ushers in an unending series of dark, damp, and gloomy days that last, off and on, until the latter part of March.

Still, there is a certain buzz about the early and middle days of autumn. I have been reading essays lately about the association of fall with new beginnings. A Jungian writer points out that this is when school begins, older kids go off to college, and adults return to their jobs with (we hope) renewed vigor and enthusiasm for new projects that couldn't get off the ground while people were out on vacation. There is a cozy quality about fall and all of that soup-making, squash-baking, leaf-raking hearth and home activity touted by homemaker magazines and advertising campaigns for cardigans and corduroy. It's beguiling, in a way; you can still be active outside, but the inside of your home is more welcoming than it was in July, and you may actually want to be in your kitchen, making chili, pigs-in-blankets, and apple cake.

I think this emphasis on change and new beginnings is real but ironic. In nature, spring is the time of the new. Spring is when Persephone, forced underground in the autumn to spend the six dark months with Hades, comes joyously back to the earth accompanied by new flowerings, the greening of fields and trees, and the warming sun. For many of us, however, although spring is a very welcome sight, it does, in fact, signal an ending -- of the spring semester at school, of the season of serious work and deadlines, of the calendar of normal activities soon to be interrupted by summer vacations. When I was an undergraduate, I sometimes felt at a loss in the spring, viewing summer as an upheaval that required new plans to be made.

I'm different now, having reverted to my childhood mold. I always say that no matter how hot it is, I'll take a summer day over a winter one any time. Exhilarating winter days of sunshine on clean, sparkling snow are an ideal but rarely seen, but a summer day is always a summer day. Spring and fall are more ambiguous, each signaling change in its own way and each (unless we work on the land) at odds with some of our human purposes. Maybe "April is the cruelest month," if your circumstances are unlucky, as mine have sometimes been. But, all other things being equal, could it ever top the last week of November? Or the first week of January?

Even as I welcome the release from the heat, I find myself looking back over my shoulder with regret, like Persephone, at the bright skies, warm nights of fireflies and crickets, and full-leafed trees of summer now receding. Orion is rising, but Persephone is fading. Three months from now, I'll be dreaming of July. Have I ever dreamed of December?