Review of Tai Chi by Master Lam Kam Chuen

I had the pleasure of reading Step-By-Step Tai Chi--The Natural Way to Strength and Health by Master Lam Kam Chuen (Gaia Books, 1994), meticulously illustrated by Gordon Munro.  While I have read the entire 143-page book, I have only just begun to master the most basic level (there are three) of the fundamental movements (there are eighteen).  [As a side note, I find it interesting and not coincidental that there are eighteen fundamental movements of Tai Chi Chuan.  "Chi" is the life force of eastern philosophy and medicine.  "Chi" (pronounced "khai") means "life" in Hebrew, and eighteen is the numerological value of the Hebrew word.]

I learned from Master Lam that Tai Chi is all about balance, harmony, patience, acceptance, and relaxation.  The symbol of Tai Chi Chuan is the familiar yin-yang circle.  It takes years to master the fluid movements of this martial art.  [I should say "movement"--singular--as a Tai Chi form, though it may contain many twists and turns, is considered to be a single, flowing movement.  How lovely!]  However, I am encouraged by the fact that if I consistently practice, I will experience great health benefits, even if I am physically and mentally unable to progress beyond the lowest fundamental level.

Note above that I refer to mastering the art "mentally."  Master Lam sees Tai Chi as "moving meditation" and "moving harmony."  Tai Chi requires mental discipline, concentration, imagination, and inner peace.  Mastering the physical movement of Tai Chi will only take the student so far.

As a physician, the potential health benefits of Tai Chi are certainly of interest--for my patients and for me personally.  In the midst of the current health care "crisis" of chronic pain and opioid addiction, even allopaths (medical doctors, MDs) have been taking a serious look at physical modalities for the treatment of chronic pain, with physical therapy, Pilates, yoga, and Tai Chi showing promising results in the reduction of pain and the reduction of the reliance upon addictive allopathic remedies (chemicals or drugs).  Master Lam claims that, in addition to reducing pain that results from arthritis and other musculoskeletal disorders, the regular practice of Tai Chi can lower blood pressure, improve balance and reduce the risk of falling (particularly important in the elderly), reduce stress, and improve asthma.

Will I ever achieve the "rooted," centered, peace and moving harmony of a Tai Chi Master?  Will my limbs grow lithe and strong, not bulky as a weightlifter's might be, but like powerful coiled springs?  Will my aches and pains be reduced or disappear?  Will my blood pressure drop and my breathing improve?  All of this remains to be seen.  However, even at this early stage, I have noticed an improvement in my balance and posture and a modest reduction in aches, pains, and stress.  So, we'll see...

Review of The View from the Cheap Seats by Neil Gaiman

I had the pleasure of reading Neil Gaiman’s The View from the Cheap Seats (William Morrow/HarperCollins, 2016), a work of non-fiction by my favorite author of fantasy fiction.  [Before continuing, I feel I must state that J. R. R. Tolkien is my favorite author of high fantasy, a distinction that Mr. Gaiman makes in part VIII and that I will conveniently borrow].  The book consists of a collection of some of Gaiman’s previously published essays, introductions, speeches, and reviews of books, music, and art.  The book is organized in ten parts with tantalizing headings such as “Some Things I Believe,” “Films and Movies and Me,” and "On Stardust and Fairytales."  Included as part IX is the entire manuscript of Gaiman’s “Make Good Art” speech, which I read last year in the small book form designed by Chip Kidd.

Most people skip reading the introductions to books and are not too keen on essays either as a rule.  I am not one of those people but still girded myself for what I expected would be a somewhat tedious read.  How wrong was I! Mr. Gaiman’s non-fiction voice is the same entertaining, irreverent, humorous, witty, storytelling voice that he employs in his works of fiction.  And I learned a great deal about what spawned, molded, shaped, and influenced the creative genius of one of my favorite authors.  

The best part for me was learning what books, authors, art, and music had the most profound influence on Gaiman’s development, most of which were unknown to me and which will no doubt be subjects of future study for me.  The King of Elfland’s Daughter by Lord Dunsany, who Gaiman puts right up there with Tolkien (perhaps higher than he), and Lud-in-the-Mist by Hope Mirrlees, which Gaiman considers to be among fantasy novels “one of the finest in the English language,” are two books which I will add to my reading list right now.  And, of course, I will now have to check out The Dresden Dolls on YouTube, as “Amanda Palmer, half of [that] art-punk cabaret-rock band,” is Gaiman’s wife.  And I will definitely have to move Good Omens, Gaiman’s collaboration with Terry Pratchett, up in my reading queue after learning about how much Gaiman loved and admired him.

Review of Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo

I noticed one day that my teenaged daughter, alas not the voracious reader that her father and mother are, could not put down Leigh Bardugo’s Six of Crows, recommended to her by someone else’s teenaged daughter.  So, I thought I’d better read it, too.

Six of Crows is sold as a young adult fantasy novel, but I found the constant, graphic levels of violence (near nauseating at times) to be quite adult indeed (my daughter at least was kind enough to warn me).  The plot revolves around the adventures of a violent street gang, and the subject matter includes slavery (including the enslavement of children), prostitution (including the forced sexual enslavement of little boys and girls), drug addiction, gruesome torture, and a kind of institutional racism against a certain class of characters.  As I read, there were times when I definitely needed an adult.

The authoress has “bard” in her name and, though she is no Shakespeare, her writing is complex, layered, poetic, lyrical, and riveting.  The story is certainly as violent as some of The Bard’s plays--I don’t mind pointing this out again for emphasis.  Bardugo borrows a page from George R. R. Martin by having each chapter told from the perspective of one of the major characters, none of whom is over the age of seventeen, which might be the reason for the YA rating.  

The fantasy world in which the story is set is fairly unique, a sort of marriage between steampunk and standard epic swords and sorcery--a marriage that somehow works. The world is made up of different peoples from different countries with languages akin to Russian, German, Dutch, and something like Norwegian, which adds a foreign yet familiar flavor to the cultural aspects of the book.  There are no elves or dwarves (sorry Tolkien fans), but there are magic users called Grisha with powers similar to those found in the Wheel of Time novels by Robert Jordan.

The main character--a ruthless, amoral, thieving thug with a brilliant criminal mind and gift for sleight-of-hand--is a cripple in constant physical and psychological pain--an interesting choice for an anti-hero.  Bardugo reveals in her afterward that she too is a cripple in constant pain from osteonecrosis, a relentless and cruel disease. There should not be much to love about this character, but Bardugo manages to make the reader sympathetic for him all the same.

There are many little and big twists to the plot, which I will not spoil here.  Suffice it to say that if you can tolerate the violence level, which is definitely not YA but NC-17, and you enjoy fantasy fiction, you will not be disappointed with Six of Crows, whatever your age.  I for one am anticipating reading the sequel, Crooked Kingdom, with great interest.

For Now, I'd Rather Have a Riesling Than a Rhysling

THIS kind of Riesling I can enjoy!

I was just notified by the Marketing Editor of the Science Fiction Poetry Association that one of the poems published in Songs of Eretz Poetry Review in 2017 has been nominated for a Rhysling Award--the SFPA's self-proclaimed "equivalent of a Nebula Award" for speculative poetry.  The notice went on to ask if I would like to congratulate and recognize the poem and poet by purchasing an advertisement in the next issue of the SFPA's journal Star*Line. I admit that this made me quite angry and that I sent a rather pointedly-worded reply to that poor Marketing Editor.  While I regret the vitriol that went into that reply, I do not at all regret my message.

I do not recognize the Rhysling as legitimate.  Here's why.  One must be a member of the SFPA in order to nominate a poem for one, and only a fraction of the membership participates (last I checked it was about fifty people).  Worst of all, these members simply have to pay a membership fee to join the SFPA.  Members have no recognized expertise; they do not earn their positions as members of the Science Fiction Writers of America do.  Thirty bucks and you're in the club!

In contrast, the SFWA requires candidates to achieve a certain amount of recognition in the field of speculative fiction before being considered for membership.  In order to be considered for the privilege of becoming a dues-paying member, a writer must meet certain legitimate criteria of professionalism--such as having a science-fiction novel published by a recognized publishing house or having a certain number of short stories published by SFWA-approved venues.  It is an honor to be a member of the SFWA.

In sharp contrast, there is no honor in being a member of the SFPA and no honor in being nominated for a Rhysling.  So, a dues-paying SFPA member read a poem in Songs of Eretz and saw fit to nominate it?  So what?  The poet would have been better served had this person simply posted a comment about the poem in Songs of Eretz.  And the chutzpah in comparing the Rhysling to the Nebula Award is simply beyond the pale!    

If only the SFPA would change its criteria for membership to something modeled after the SFWA.  Doing so might attract accomplished speculative poets to its cause and would serve to legitimize the organization.  Until/unless that transpires, the SFPA and the Rhysling are not legitimate, and the only "support" I can offer the nominee from Songs of Eretz is to decline the Rhysling nomination...and enjoy a Riesling, perhaps.

The Poetry in Mathematics

Sir Isaac Newton

I have heretofore thought that I wasted a good amount of my youth calculating the derivative of this and the integral of that--even a precious semester as an undergrad in a liberal arts college.  Now, don't get me wrong.  I did not hate math (I was and am still rather good at it, actually), nor did I wish to disparage it, but until now I failed to see the point of studying it much beyond algebra II, that is for the practical, everyday non-engineering type--time that could be better spent reading the great books, exercising, composing love sonnets, or doing just about anything else.  Then I read a nice little essay by Colby Clark, a senior at Hillsdale College (one of the few colleges now worth attending in my opinion--a topic for another essay) entitled, "Recognizing a lion by its claws:  Poetry and Creativity in Mathematics" https://www.hillsdale.edu/hillsdale-blog/academics/classical-liberal-arts/recognizing-lion-claws-poetry-creativity-mathematics/.

Clark makes a good case for including the study of mathematics as part of a liberal arts education, as Hillsdale does.  Naturally, he gives a nod to the utilitarian aspects of math.  Then he quotes Hillsdale College Assistant Professor of Mathematics David Gaebler who adroitly points out, "The question of 'where math fits within the liberal arts' is similar to, "Where does French fit into the liberal arts?'"  Good point!  Paradigm shifted!

Gaebler and Clark would put reading Euclid right up there with reading "Shakespeare, Homer, and Dante."  Clark argues that mathematics is, like French and poetry, simply another language through which man can realize a greater understanding of the universe and that there is a certain beauty in this.  Furthermore, just as a poet may develop a signature style, so too may a mathematician develop a signature way of deriving a solution or illustrating a proof.  It was in this way that a rival of Sir Isaac Newton correctly surmised that Newton was the author of a published math problem that Newton had submitted anonymously.  He was able to "recognize the lion by its claws."