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fuckyeahhistorycrushes · 2 years

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(Joseph Conrad in 1874 & 1904)

Joseph Conrad (actually Józef Teodor Konrad Korzeniowski, 1857–1924) was a Polish-British writer regarded as one of the greatest novelists to write in the English language. Though he did not speak English fluently until his twenties, he was a master prose stylist who brought a non-English sensibility into English literature. Conrad wrote stories and novels, many with a nautical setting, that depict trials of the human spirit in the midst of what he saw as an impassive, inscrutable universe. Conrad's finest works are Nostromo (1904), Heart of Darkness (1899), and Lord Jim (1900).

Joseph Conrad's family was of Polish descent and lived in Berdyczów. It is located in a region that the Polish sometimes refer to as the "Stolen Lands," since it was taken from the Kingdom of Poland. His parents were Polish nobility, and Conrad’s father, in addition to working as a writer and a translator, was a political activist, involved in the activities of conspiracy directed against the Russian tsar. For this, he was arrested by the Russian authorities. Conrad’s earliest surviving writing reads: "To my beloved Grandma who helped me send cakes to my poor Daddy in prison – grandson, Pole, Catholic, nobleman – 6 July 1863 – Konrad". Within seven years, both of Conrad’s parents had died of tuberculosis and he was sent to live with his Uncle Tadeusz, in Kraków. He was raised to pursue a career as a sailor. During the Kraków years, the solitary, hypersensitive and well-read young Conrad impressed friends by memorizing and reciting long passages from Mickiewicz's 'Pan Tadeusz' and by writing patriotic plays, like 'The Eyes of Jan Sobieski', in which Polish nationalists defeated the Muscovite enemy. Pleased with himself and accustomed to the undivided attention of his parents, Conrad once disturbed an adult conversation with the egoistic question: 'And what do you think of me?' To which the reply was: 'You're a young fool who interrupts when his elders are talking.' Conrad's distant cousin in Lvov, with whose family he lived in 1873-74, later described his intelligence, ambitions, sarcasm, desire for freedom, informal manners and ill health:

'He stayed with us ten months... Intellectually he was extremely advanced but he disliked school routine, which he found tiring and dull; he used to say that he was very talented and planned to become a great writer... He disliked all restrictions. At home, at school, or in the living room he would sprawl unceremoniously. He used to suffer from severe headaches and nervous attacks; the doctors thought that a stay at the seaside might cure him.'

Conrad left high school early in 1874 without finishing the course. He had studied some Greek, Latin and German, Polish Romantic literature, mathematics, history and his favorite subject, geography. But he had also read widely on his own, especially books on distant voyages and exotic exploration. Like Lord Jim, he was attracted to the adventurous aspects of nautical life and lived 'in his mind the sea-life of light literature. He saw himself saving people from sinking ships, cutting away masts in a hurricane... always an example of devotion to duty, and as unflinching as a hero in a book'.

At the age of seventeen he began a long period of adventure at sea. Conrad sailed for four years on French ships; after getting into debt and shooting himself in the chest in Marseille, he joined the British merchant service in 1878. He served for fifteen more years under the British flag. He eventually rose to the rank of captain. In 1886, he became a British citizen. Conrad was 36 when he left the merchant marine in 1894. He was ready to seek a second career as a writer. During the next fifteen years, he published what most consider the finest works of his career. Conrad inhabited English, as well as England, as a kind of intimate foreigner. His British friends were puzzled (and a touch envious) over his intense, evocative use of their language. Rudyard Kipling remarked that "with a pen in his hand he was first amongst us," but added: "Reading him, I always have the feeling that I am reading a good translation of a foreign writer". And, as Virginia Woolf put it in a sketch in 1923: "Certainly he was a strange apparition to descend upon these shores in the last part of the nineteenth century - an artist, an aristocrat, a Pole. For after all these years I cannot think of him as an English writer. He is too formal, too courteous, too scrupulous in the use of a language which is not his own. Then of course he is an aristocrat to the backbone. His humor is aristocratic - ironic, sardonic, never broad and free like the common English humor which descends from Falstaff".

In April 1924, Conrad declined to accept the offer of a British knighthood on the grounds that he was already a Polish nobleman by birth. He also turned down offers of honorary degrees from five prestigious universities. Other manifestations of his attachment to the traditional lifestyle of the Polish nobility (or szlachta) are the inclusion of the Nałęcz coat of arms in the collected edition of his works and — not least — his extravagance and his nonchalant attitude towards money. The rooms of his house were furnished in the style of Polish manor houses, while the elegance of his attire was also reminiscent of that of the Polish nobility. Paul Langlois — a French acquaintance from Mauritius — has left us the following description of the way Conrad dressed: “In contrast to his colleagues Captain Korzeniowski was always dressed like a dandy. I can still see him […] arriving almost every day in my office dressed in a black or dark coat, a waistcoat, usually of a light color, and fancy trousers, all well cut and of great elegance; he would be wearing a black or grey bowler tilted slightly to one side, would always wear gloves and carried a cane with a gold knob”. The second (and more significant) plane on which Conrad’s noble heritage operates is his pursuit of the ideals of the Polish nobility and what would seem to be his re-examination of them in his works. First and foremost, there is the idea of honor. This concept, stemming from the ethos of chivalry, became an integral part of the Polish nobility’s system of values. David Garnett contrasted Henry James, who thought about “nothing but money,” with Conrad, who, “in his way — thought about ‘nothing but honor’". The notion of honor, is crucial for an interpretion of many of Conrad’s narratives, e.g. Lord Jim, Nostromo, Duel or Chance. Primarily seen in his own time as a writer of boys' sea stories, Conrad is now highly regarded as a novelist whose work displays a deep moral consciousness and masterful narrative technique. An anchor-shaped monument to Conrad in Gdynia, on Poland's Baltic Seacoast, features a quotation from him in Polish: 'Nic tak nie nęci, nie rozczarowuje i nie zniewala, jak życie na morzu' ('There is nothing more enticing, disenchanting, and enslaving than the life at sea').

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upyrica · 2 years

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Page 333 please!

A pine is humming, rustling, A woman in Moscow is crying from sorrow. She is crying from sorrow and weeping, And looking at the beaten road. Muscovites are going there, Leading my husband's horse. They are leading his horse, the saddle shining, But my husband is not there. You, Muscovites, cannibals, What have you done to my husband? You beloved lies in the steppe, Holding his sabre in his right hand. He gathers water in his left hand, And pours it over his heart. He pours water on the heart, Begging his mates, My mate, my brother, Let my wife know! Let her not wait for me, Let her marry again if someone asks. A pine is humming, rustling, A woman in Moscow is crying from sorrow.

Recorded on the 13th of March 1988 by A. Ivanytskyi in Kruikovshchyna, Kyiv-Sviatishunskyi district, Kyiv region from spouses Nadia Rudnyk and Anatolii Rudnyk, middle-aged. The husband sang an octave lower. After singing the fifth stanza, "You, Muscovites, cannibals", Nadiia stopped and said, "We sing that, but it is not good. Write [I was recording while they sang] "You, Muscovites, men of action" [Ukr. liudoyidy/liudy dila]. This is an example of self-censorship characteristic of the Soviet era.

#slavic #ukraine #slav story

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libidomechanica · 6 years

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A bit of continues to suit the prophesy some small social part of her

A bit of continues to suit the prophesy some small social part of her and won it with us works, and take us as a wave should but give for outward shooting. An I saw her say, how he himselfe did sow. Watch the air would that sea remain as it goes. Brow-beating to some pieces. “You have the shore, across the hands beneath the opening that call a bird trapped in Pearl. Darts, O beloved friend is richly wrought to leap the gracing oars among the Muscovite—the ground, save the tender ministries of female whispers of the summer and knows the moon of Eden on its wooded walls blackened about the Danube’s border were strangely on the thick with its heavy hand of mine should scarce be told; her orange round supportress of life confirmed, and then sovereign of their fair slaves, upon a fray, a female want, as lang’s I get employ? Sacred be that simple truth, even in vain; and with him last year: impetuously we sang of woe” is after a private affair within a lonely place that which ensure; but the throne, the summer France. Their lot; I did see a glorious mood; then love to the Dey of Tripoli. For fear, if thou die before the citied ear! Yet, hearing all we shall break a single pain, and dwells of Death my breast, who were difficulty being a voice of Pallas bold. Is the green, and thus, that Sickenesse bright; then if with great dilettante, delicate- handed priest ankle in the stars attendants; they talk, and as, in fact there we see, the life begins the cowards some patience! And, if that beats his gore. A lawn and divorcement hath, I would scorn could hear historic, counts mine. He grows dim again, and darken’d brows. Reed his slander so! Swain, though a whiter suns avail to see and Juan was quite disappear’d—the gourd, and wave recalls, in chief, in proper place with great princess with myself alone. Death, and God of despite, or villain fancy given thee made his words I took exactly.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #308 texts

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randomhatthief · 7 years

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My beloved suggested Muscovite as a warm up the other day and we both like rugby SO- #GOTEAMEARTH

#RHT: my art #OCs #gemsonas #Muscovite

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phynxrizng · 7 years

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EVERYDAY SACRED LIVING WITH KIMBERLY F. MOORE

June New Moon in Cancer Divination – Finding Your Flow

JUNE 22, 2017

Source, By KIMBERLY MOORE

The moon is NEW at 10:21pm on Friday, June 23, 2017. The Super Moon is home in watery Cancer, expressing at once the feminine wisdom of the Great Goddess and our own emotions with the moon, the Mother, the watery womb of our birth. This moon and lunation is a time to feel the feels and dive deep into the depths of our emotional experiences.

What nourishes you? Where are you supported? How is your heart? And, perhaps most importantly, where are you not nourished and supported?

Cancer represents the oceans that humanity began in and the waters of the wombs that brought us here. Cancer knows that water holds memory. Cancer knows that each tear shed can be a release of the past. Cancer knows the importance of understanding our genesis in order to consciously and compassionately create our present. ~ Chani Nicholas

We may find in this lunation that we are drawn more to family, calming activities and practices, with a craving for comforts of the heart. And couch time with ice cream. This is not the BOOM of the last Full Moon (also a Super Moon), but a sweeter and gentler cycle which is good, because I still have an existential Full Moon hangover.

Our beloved trickster, Mercury, is only a few degrees from the New Moon and generously (and positively) influencing our communications and collaborations. Remain open to receiving messages from within and without in the next few weeks. All the cosmic convocations right now bring a fertile time for psychic and inner journey work.

The lunar is combining with the solar with celebration of Midsummer, the Summer Solstice. New beginnings, opportunities to reset and branch into new directions are palpable right now, especially influenced with a close New Moon. The seeds and intentions that are your focal point this week will have far-reaching effects throughout the rest of the year! Choose wisely and be very clear. Emotions can affect the clarity of our intentions. Take a deep breath and roll with our two very potent Mama Goddesses!

“A Woman in harmony with her spirit is like a river flowing. She goes where she will without pretense and arrives at her destination prepared to be herself and only herself.” ~Maya Angelou

Ways to sync to this New Moon:

Spend time dipping into the waters of Mnemosyne Goddess Remembrance) – share family stories, gather pictures from the past, and light a candle to your Ancestors Take a dip – a relaxing bath, swims in a pool, or head to the ocean, river, lake, pond. Connect with the Goddesses of Sacred Waters.

Use divination to inspire journaling or vision board activities for personal intention setting Give and receive oracle and tarot readings with your friends Guided meditations to Goddess, Guardians, and Allies – gather your Spirit Guides for a wisdom download Gentle yoga sequences that stretch and heal Clean your sacred space and create an Altar of Intention for the second half of the year Random acts of kindness and compassion, to your Self and others

Record your dreams for symbols and messages I can safely say that our key word for the New Moon and the next few weeks is floooooooooooooow. Lakshmi and Kuan Yin, paired with the Fountain card, immerse us in sacred waters which cleanse AND renew.

Take the time to float, dream, and connect in the waters of Goddess; you are safe.

Lakshmi throws the spell of the intoxicating sweetness of the divine; to be close to her is a profound happiness and to feel her within the heart is to make existence a rapture and a marvel; grace and charm and tenderness flow out from her like light from the sun and wherever she fixes her wonderful gaze or lets fall the loveliness of her smile, the soul is seized and made captive and plunged into the depths of an unfathomable bliss. Shri Aurobindo – The Mother

Embodied within the Hindu Goddess Lakshmi is everything that makes life sweet and wonderful. She is success, prosperity, beauty, fertility, the luster of life that invigorates us and propels us forward in joy and happiness. Shri Lakshmi is every form and expression of goodness in the Universe and if she were to turn her gorgeous face from us, the world would die.

The place of Lakshmi’s essence, where she and Vishnu retreat, is to the Ocean of Milk. It is also the source of Amrita, the nectar of immortal life. Lakshmi as Sri is auspiciousness. In Lakshmi, we see the Shakti that embodies the vitality of life and the ability to preserve, sustain it (making note here that Vishnu, her consort, is also called the Sustainer, the Preserver through her Shakti powers).

She is the water of life ~ the nectar of the heart. In the material world, she is beauty and light, flowing waters, and blooming flowers. One of her many names is Kamala – lotus – which represents the female yoni and spiritual transformation. She is almost always depicted seated on a lotus or holding lotuses.

During this New Moon, meditate on your flow. How do you define prosperity? Can you see the obstacles to achieving prosperity as you define it? Gratitude is vital to working harmoniously with Lakshmi. She will not remain where there is pride, arrogance, greed or harshness. Unlike Durga, she will not ride into battle; she will simply withdraw and take her blessings with her.

As you ponder flowwwwww in your life, also consider collaborations and partnerships that may be of benefit. This Cancer Moon with Mercury’s influence could be auspicious for uniting forces!

This Cancer New Moon invites us to seek refuge in the healing of the Great Mother, to float supported on the waves of her love. Is there a safer refuge than in the heart of Kuan Yin, She Who Hears the Cries of the World?

Kwan Yin is the calm in the storm, a beacon to the needy, the Mother who bends gracefully and willingly to respond to the fears of her children. She also can embody fierce compassion as she wields the sword to cut through delusion and expose the truth. She is sometimes depicted calmly riding a dragon through a raging sea. Sailors have reported seeing her in this form during storms when they thought they were sure to perish. Kwan Yin calmed the waves and saved them.

For this lunation, I invite you to calm your own personal storms through the grace of Kuan Yin. To seek refuge and sanctuary with this Bodhisattva who embodies kindness, compassion, and peace. Her Chinese Mantra, NAMO GUAN-SHIH-YIN PUSA, lends itself to petitioning that refuge …

NAMO (I call upon or take refuge in)

GUAN-SHIH-YIN (Kwan Yin, She Who Hears the Cries of the World)

PUSA (bodhisattva)

As you sink into Kuan Yin, allow release to happen. Let it Go as the card advises. She cleanses us, purifies us, and then refills us with unconditional love of the highest vibration. What needs to be released? How may you surrender to the healing power of Goddess and the influence of this Moon? There is no need to suffer, to wrap yourself in pain, when the promise of Kuan Yin as Bodhisattva can ease you and carry you for a bit. Open your heart to be renewed.

“Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can’t go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does.” ~ Margaret Atwood, The Penelopiad

The Fountain Card from the Moon Oracle brings us back to our lunar themes … flow. sacred waters. womb wisdom. nourishment. sustenance. renewal. emotional experience.

Water is our origin, our physical and spiritual essence. The tides of our feminine selves renews and restores all in time with the Moon, in time with the tides across the whole of Gaia. We are literally pulled by the Moon into glorious, magickal sync.

Can you feel the fountain welling up inside of you? The messages of origin written in the waves of your soul? The renewal of your wisdom wellspring sourced to Goddess and your woman magick? And do you re-member that all of this is available to you in each moment, each breath, all just for you? Be the vessel of primordial sacred wisdom and pour forth as a fountain!

Wishing you the blessings of flow and the Goddesses of Sacred Waters!

xo Kimberly

New Moon Ideas and Resources:

Craft your own New Moon Ceremony using this ritual.

Join with friends and Sister Tribe to divine and support each other in journey work!

Crystals to sync with the element of Water: amber, ammonite, angelite, aquamarine, aragonite, bloodstone, blue calcite, blue chalcedony, calcite, celestite, charoite, chrysoprase, dolemite, elestial quartz, emerald, fluorite, green aventurine, green calcite, howlite,labradorite, larimar, leopardskin jasper, lepidolite, mookaite jasper, moonstone, muscovite, opal, orange calcite, pink calcite, pink tourmaline, record-keeper quartz, rhodocrosite, rose quartz, selenite rose, selenite, shell fossil, snowflake obsidian, stilbite (Contact me for a custom crystal pack)

Check out all of the new goodies at Red Wholistic – Sprays and crystals!

Lakshmi and Quan Yin are both from Archangel Oracle by Doreen Virtue

The Fountain – The Moon Oracle by Caroline Smith

Cosmic resources:

Astrology Update from Mary on MotherHouse of the Goddess

Audrey Alison (who uses Tarot and Astrology).

Chani Nicholas Horoscopes

Please Share: Tweet More Filed Under: Astrology, Cosmic and Lunar, Divine Feminine, Goddess, Goddess Card Readings, Myth & Magick, New Moon Reader Interactions Leave a Reply Primary Sidebar Shakti is my source, my creative font, wellspring of renewal, and my jam. She gives me 16 extra arms to juggle my multi-passionate ventures and infuses my heart with fierce devotion. The question "what do you do" has always given me pause, so this site is the answer of all my iterations, … read more about About Kimberly F. Moore POPULAR

Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha - Chanting to Ganesha as the Remover of Obstacles #MantraMonday June New Moon in Cancer Divination - Finding Your Flow Summer Solstice Shakti Sparks My Love Affair with Vishnu and Lakshmi - Chanting Liberation Om Namo Bhagavate Vasudevaya Before Footer INSTAGRAM

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Reposted by, PHYNXRIZNG

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wearetimeblog · 7 years

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" As attention was shifted from our redemption by the Resurrection of the Lord to a focus on the Passion of the Lord, an erotic element was introduced in worship and private devotion. The Lord came to be viewed as a companion, friend, or even husband/lover, as is reflected in the marriage imagery which was introduced into Western monasticism (in taking their vows, nuns went through a sort of wedding ceremony, complete with bridal gowns, wedding rings, etc. with the Lord as the groom). This new devotion stressed the worshipper’s individual union with the Mystic Lover, concentrating on the pain of the Lord’s suffering and trying to arouse emotional feelings by focusing on His earthly life. [....] This latter cult focuses on one part of our Lord’s physical body and effectively separates the worship of the human nature of Christ from His Divine Nature; for this reason it has never found any acceptance in the Orthodox Church, who teaches her children to worship the Lord in His Divine-human unity, not in each of the natures separately. Orthodoxy has also maintained a much more restrained and objective devotional approach to the Lord, avoiding sensuality, sentimentality, and emotionalism. But if the cult of the Sacred Heart is too dangerously overloaded with emotion, sentimentality, and sensuality for it to be acceptable to Orthodoxy, what can we say about an extension of this cult to the Theotokos? The problem here is that Roman Catholicism has lost the Orthodox concept of the deification of all of those who participate in God’s life-creating, sanctifying, and uncreated grace. [...] When the Church’s Orthodox doctrine of grace, salvation, and deification is forsaken for one which is carnal, erroneous, and distorted, then, inevitably, theological dislocations and aberrations will appear also in regard to the doctrines of the priesthood and redemption. This is especially evident in regard to the position of the Theotokos in Roman Catholicism, where her cultus clearly begins to border on Mariolatry. It is even more objectionable when particular parts of Mary are singled out for particular devotion". The Fatima Appearances At Fatima and Orthodoxy Christianity " There is a profound difference in the original bond in relation to God and Christ. For the Catholic West, Christ is an object, he is outside the human soul, as an instrument of inspiration and object of love and exaltation. That is why Catholic experience draws man up to God. The Catholic soul is Gothic. The cold unite in it with passion. The concrete, evangelical image of the Christ, the Passion of Christ are intimately close to the Catholic soul. The Catholic soul is passionately in love with Christ; Trembling with love for him, they receives stigmata on their own body. The Catholic mystic is penetrated with sensuality, languishes and dispel, for there is no other path than that to where his sensitive imagination takes him.[...] Orthodoxy regards sensuality as a "sortilege" and rejects the imagination as a chimerical way. No Orthodox shouts, "My Jesus, my neighbor, my beloved." But in the temple and in the orthodox soul, the Christ penetrates and warm them. And there is no languish passion there. Orthodoxy is not romantic, but realistic and sober. Temperance is the mystical path of orthodoxy. Orthodoxy is satiated, filled spiritually, and its experience is a marriage and not a love relationship. " Nikolai Berdyaev "One of the major theological aspects on which the Catholic religion, or Gothic Christianity in Spengler’s terminology, deviated from its Orthodox parent is the role of Christ. Whereas Christ had in the Christian East always been seen primarily as the Cosmic Christ, in other words the Divine Logos who was creator of the universe,xi Catholic theology saw Him chiefly in juridical terms. Thus, Jesus came into the world in order to pay the penalty required by God for the human transgression of Divine Law. As Anselm stated the case, an infinite transgression required an infinite sacrifice, so that nothing less than Christ’s death could propitiate God’s offended majesty. There can be no doubt that this juridical interpretation of Christ’s work of salvation is a distortion of the New Testament message, but nonetheless one that reflected the Latin-legalistic basis of the new Western Culture. " One Christ, Three Religions - Vladimir De Beer "What could be more antithetical to the Byzantine-Muscovite austere chaste asceticism than these continual blasphemous proclamations: ”My soul was received into uncreated light and carried up,” those passionate gazes upon the Cross of Christ, the wounds of Christ, … those forcibly evoked bloody spots on her own body, and so on and so forth? Finally Christ embraces Angela with His arm that was nailed to the Cross, and she, outside herself with rapture, torment, and happiness, says, ”Sometimes, from this bodily embrace, it seems to my soul that it enters into Christ's side. I cannot retell the joy and brightness which it receives there. They are so great that I could not stand on my feet, and lost the power to speak.… And I lay there, and my tongue and members lost the power to move.”[25]" A. F. Losev "EVEN while suffering in a state of living hell, Eugene, like Nietzsche, refused to turn for deliverance to the religion of his formative years, for the Christ it preached was not manly enough for him. For Eugene, the heavenly Father of mainline Protestantism was rather like his own father: kind, well-meaning, but weak, ready to mold himself to suit people’s whims, afraid of making people uncomfortable. In time the mainline churches would so emasculate the God they worshipped that some would refuse to call him “Father” at all, but would refer to him as an abstract “Father-Mother.” Eugene had to break down the facade of this sentimental, watered-down Christianity, in order that he might later acquire the fullness of the mystery of Christ, the true God Who is known in pain and crucifixion." — Hieromonk Damascene - Father Seraphim Rose - His Life and Works

#roman catholicism

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readbookywooks · 7 years

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Scavengers

Serafina Pekkala, the clan queen of the witches of Lake Enara, wept as she flew through the turbid skies of the Arctic. She wept with rage and fear and remorse: rage against the woman Coulter, whom she had sworn to kill; fear of what was happening to her beloved land; and remorse... She would face the remorse later. Meanwhile, looking down at the melting ice cap, the flooded lowland forests, the swollen sea, she felt heartsick. But she didn't stop to visit her homeland, or to comfort and encourage her sisters. Instead, she flew north and farther north, into the fogs and gales around Svalbard, the kingdom of Iorek Byrnison, the armored bear. She hardly recognized the main island. The mountains lay bare and black, and only a few hidden valleys facing away from the sun had retained a little snow in their shaded corners; but what was the sun doing here anyway, at this time of year? The whole of nature was overturned. It took her most of a day to find the bear-king. She saw him among the rocks off the northern edge of the island, swimming fast after a walrus. It was harder for bears to kill in the water: when the land was covered in ice and the great sea-mammals had to come up to breathe, the bears had the advantage of camouflage and their prey was out of its element. That was how things should be. But Iorek Byrnison was hungry, and even the stabbing tusks of the mighty walrus couldn't keep him at bay. Serafina watched as the creatures fought, turning the white sea-spray red, and saw Iorek haul the carcass out of the waves and onto a broad shelf of rock, watched at a respectful distance by three ragged-furred foxes, waiting for their turn at the feast. When the bear-king had finished eating, Serafina flew down to speak to him. Now was the time to face her remorse. "King Iorek Byrnison," she said, "please may I speak with you? I lay my weapons down." She placed her bow and arrows on the wet rock between them. Iorek looked at them briefly, and she knew that if his face could register any emotion, it would be surprise. "Speak, Serafina Pekkala," he growled. "We have never fought, have we?" "King Iorek, I have failed your comrade, Lee Scoresby." The bear's small black eyes and bloodstained muzzle were very still. She could see the wind ruffling the tips of the creamy white hairs along his back. He said nothing. "Mr. Scoresby is dead," Serafina went on. "Before I parted from him, I gave him a flower to summon me with, if he should need me. I heard his call and flew to him, but I arrived too late. He died fighting a force of Muscovites, but I know nothing of what brought them there, or why he was holding them off when he could easily have escaped. King Iorek, I am wretched with remorse." "Where did this happen?" said Iorek Byrnison. "In another world. This will take me some time to tell." "Then begin." She told him what Lee Scoresby had set out to do: to find the man who had been known as Stanislaus Grumman. She told him about how the barrier between the worlds had been breached by Lord Asriel, and about some of the consequences - the melting of the ice, for example. She told of the witch Ruta Skadi's flight after the angels, and she tried to describe those flying beings to the bear-king as Ruta had described them to her: the light that shone on them, the crystalline clarity of their appearance, the richness of their wisdom. Then she described what she had found when she answered Lee's call. "I put a spell on his body to preserve it from corruption," she told him. "It will last until you see him, if you wish to do that. But I am troubled by this, King Iorek. Troubled by everything, but mostly by this." "Where is the child?" "I left her with my sisters, because I had to answer Lee's call." "In that same world?" "Yes, the same." "How can I get there from here?" She explained. Iorek Byrnison listened expressionlessly, and then said, "I shall go to Lee Scoresby. And then I must go south." "South?" "The ice has gone from these lands. I have been thinking about this, Serafina Pekkala. I have chartered a ship." The three little foxes had been waiting patiently. Two of them were lying down, heads on their paws, watching, and the other was still sitting up, following the conversation. The foxes of the Arctic, scavengers that they were, had picked up some language, but their brains were so formed that they could only understand statements in the present tense. Most of what Iorek and Serafina said was meaningless noise to them. Furthermore, when they spoke, much of what they said was lies, so it didn't matter if they repeated what they'd heard: no one could sort out which parts were true, though the credulous cliff-ghasts often believed most of it, and never learned from their disappointment. The bears and the witches alike were used to their conversations being scavenged as well as the meat they'd finished with. "And you, Serafina Pekkala?" Iorek went on. "What will you do now?" "I'm going to find the gyptians," she said. "I think they will be needed." "Lord Faa," said the bear, "yes. Good fighters. Go well." He turned away and slipped into the water without a splash, and began to swim in his steady, tireless paddle toward the new world. And some time later, Iorek Byrnison stepped through the blackened undergrowth and the heat-split rocks at the edge of a burned forest. The sun was glaring through the smoky haze, but he ignored the heat as he ignored the charcoal dust that blackened his white fur and the midges that searched in vain for skin to bite. He had come a long way, and at one point in his journey, he had found himself swimming into that other world. He noticed the change in the taste of the water and the temperature of the air, but the air was still good to breathe, and the water still held his body up, so he swam on, and now he had left the sea behind and he was nearly at the place Serafina Pekkala had described. He cast around, his black eyes gazing up at the sun-shimmering rocks and the wall of limestone crags above him. Between the edge of the burned forest and the mountains, a rocky slope of heavy boulders and scree was littered with scorched and twisted metal: girders and struts that had belonged to some complex machine. Iorek Byrnison looked at them as a smith as well as a warrior, but there was nothing in these fragments he could use. He scored a line with a mighty claw along a strut less damaged than most, and feeling a flimsiness in the quality of the metal, turned away at once and scanned the mountain wall again. Then he saw what he was looking for: a narrow gully leading back between jagged walls, and at the entrance, a large, low boulder. He clambered steadily toward it. Beneath his huge feet, dry bones snapped loudly in the stillness, because many men had died here, to be picked clean by coyotes and vultures and lesser creatures; but the great bear ignored them and stepped up carefully toward the rock. The going was loose and he was heavy, and more than once the scree shifted under his feet and carried him down again in a scramble of dust and gravel. But as soon as he slid down, he began to move up once more, relentlessly, patiently, until he reached the rock itself, where the footing was firmer. The boulder was pitted and chipped with bullet marks. Everything the witch had told him was true. And in confirmation, a little Arctic flower, a purple saxifrage, blossomed improbably where the witch had planted it as a signal in a cranny of the rock. Iorek Byrnison moved around to the upper side. It was a good shelter from an enemy below, but not good enough; for among the hail of bullets that had chipped fragments off the rock had been a few that had found their targets and lay where they had come to rest, in the body of the man lying stiff in the shadow. He was a body still, and not a skeleton, because the witch had laid a spell to preserve him from corruption. Iorek could see the face of his old comrade drawn and tight with the pain of his wounds, and see the jagged holes in his garments where the bullets had entered. The witch's spell did not cover the blood that must have spilled, and insects and the sun and the wind had dispersed it completely. Lee Scoresby looked not asleep, nor at peace - he looked as if he had died in battle - but he looked as if he knew that his fight had been successful. And because the Texan aeronaut was one of the very few humans Iorek had ever esteemed, he accepted the man's last gift to him. With deft movements of his claws, he ripped aside the dead man's clothes, opened the body with one slash, and began to feast on the flesh and blood of his old friend. It was his first meal for days, and he was hungry. But a complex web of thoughts was weaving itself in the bear-king's mind, with more strands in it than hunger and satisfaction. There was the memory of the little girl Lyra, whom he had named Silvertongue, and whom he had last seen crossing the fragile snow bridge across a crevasse in his own island of Svalbard. Then there was the agitation among the witches, the rumors of pacts and alliances and war; and then there was the surpassingly strange fact of this new world itself, and the witch's insistence that there were many more such worlds, and that the fate of them all hung somehow on the fate of the child. And then there was the melting of the ice. He and his people lived on the ice; ice was their home; ice was their citadel. Since the vast disturbances in the Arctic, the ice had begun to disappear, and Iorek knew that he had to find an icebound fastness for his kin, or they would perish. Lee had told him that there were mountains in the south so high that even his balloon could not fly over them, and they were crowned with snow and ice all year round. Exploring those mountains was his next task. But for now, something simpler possessed his heart, something bright and hard and unshakable: vengeance. Lee Scoresby, who had rescued Iorek from danger in his balloon and fought beside him in the Arctic of his own world, had died. Iorek would avenge him. The good man's flesh and bone would both nourish him and keep him restless until blood was spilled enough to still his heart. The sun was setting as Iorek finished his meal, and the air was cooling down. After gathering the remaining fragments of Lee's body into a single heap, the bear lifted the flower in his mouth and dropped it in the center of them, as humans liked to do. The witch's spell was broken now; the rest of the body was free to all who came. Soon it would be nourishing a dozen different kinds of life. Then Iorek set off down the slope toward the sea again, toward the south. Cliff-ghasts were fond of fox, when they could get it. The little creatures were cunning and hard to catch, but their meat was tender and rank. Before he killed this one, the cliff-ghast let it talk, and laughed at its silly babble. "Bear must go south! Swear! Witch is troubled! True! Swear! Promise!" "Bears don't go south, lying filth!" "True! King bear must go south! Show you walrus - fine fat good - " "King bear go south?" "And flying things got treasure! Flying things - angels - crystal treasure!" "Flying things - like cliff-ghasts? Treasure?" "Like light, not like cliff-ghast. Rich! Crystal! And witch troubled - witch sorry - Scoresby dead - " "Dead? Balloon man dead?" The cliff-ghast's laugh echoed around the dry cliffs. "Witch kill him - Scoresby dead, king bear go south - " "Scoresby dead! Ha, ha, Scoresby dead!" The cliff-ghast wrenched off the fox's head, and fought his brothers for the entrails. "But where are you, Lyra?" And that she couldn't answer. "I think I'm dreaming, Roger," was all she could find to say. Behind the little boy she could see more ghosts, dozens, hundreds, their heads crowded together, peering close and listening to every word. "And that woman?" said Roger. "I hope she en't dead. I hope she stays alive as long as ever she can. Because if she comes down here, then there'll be nowhere to hide, she'll have us forever then. That's the only good thing I can see about being dead, that she en't. Except I know she will be one day... " Lyra was alarmed.

#AmberSpyglass

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cristinacori · 7 years

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Communism and consumerism

You cannot think of Russia without taking into account its cumbersome communist past. Seventy-three intense years of Soviet Union cannot be washed away by the fall of a wall. Even today, its Russian capital, in spite of everything, bustles with the legacies linked to the USSR, a soviet saying that a captive eye can see everywhere. Socialism emerges in the small details along the roads; it friezes with the hammer and sickle that decorate the walls, red stars adorn the buildings, gigantic paintings depicting proud workaholics workers cover the façades of houses and the ubiquitous grain bundles remind us that there was plenty of food for everyone, (even if it was actually rationed and you had to make endless queues to get it). The exasperating queues to grab the basic necessities were an institution in the daily life of homo sovieticus. It is true that Russia has always been a great powerful nation, but it is equally true that it was a “poor” power which used to destine the highest investment to the military, heavy industry and aerospace fields. The five-year plans did not include the development of consumption sector and for the population just a few, rationed, poor-quality goods were made available. The state was the only official food and basic goods dispenser and in order to have them, citizens had to get in line, something that everyone remembers today with great dislike indeed.

“We had to spend hours queuing for bread. It was a pain!” says Nadya, a girl I met in St. Petersburg.

“Maybe there was also something good about standing or being in the queue: you could socialize, chat with people” I point out with my non-Russian optimism as we stroll along Nevky Prospekt. She stops and looks at me puzzled and very surprised. “Are you serious? Yes, maybe – she says thoughtfully – but try and stand in the queue every single day of your life to get any kind of goods. No, if you lived it on your own skin, I don’t think you’d find a silver lining” Nadya finally concludes. From that period she only retains few fleeting memories of a child.

At the end of the queues, Russians had to show the kartochki, ration cards printed on a piece of paper, divided into monthly coupons entitling the bearer to food. Beside the world of kartochki however, the black market coexisted stealthy and hidden. It was carried out with a strong sense of the market by meshochniki, traffickers of groceries who served as abusive intermediaries between the countryside and the city or who just worked in food deposits from which they freely helped themselves.

After the collapse of the USSR, there were years of insecurity. Eltsin’s government threw Russia, still unprepared for the great economic event of the opening, into the free market. Between 2000 and 2013 thanks to a newly-found political stability, the middle class exponentially grew: in 2000, it only accounted for 10% of the population, but in 2013 that figure rose to 55%. Today the Russians, despite the 2014 Ukrainian-linked sanctions which weakened the rouble and the purchasing power, are hardcore fans of consumerism. The difficulty in finding some Western products does not scare them. However it annoys Germany, which could count on a good share of the Russian market, and the producers of the ever so beloved Italian foods; finding a true piece of Parmesan cheese in supermarkets is still an impossible task.

Years of Communist rigour have tried to transform the Russian man into the homo sovieticus, a “species” devoted to work and glory, educated to enhance the style of austere life and to despise the desire to accumulate goods. It seems that so much consumer frustration has now resulted in a exacerbate passion for purchases, a mania of consumerism perhaps even more compulsive than the one we are afflicted by in Western countries. “What happens if you replace the heroic Soviet doştat verb (to get) with the trivial kupit (to buy), a term rarely used in the times of the USSR?” asks Anya Von Bremzen in her wonderful book “The Art of Soviet cuisine”.

Despite every single corner of this huge city is full of the Socialist past splendour, Moscow is now a metropolis in constant face-lifting, full of shopping centres, elegant boutiques and trendy clubs. The Muscovite mundane scene has nothing to envy to that of other major Western cities and, in the Russian capital, there are plenty of restaurants for all budgets and interesting cafés sprouting everywhere in the centre. It’s been a while since Lenin, who was on a diet which was close to asceticism borders, condemned as “bourgeois” and therefore unacceptable, the aspiration to eat tasty things. Of that austere culture, in which the idea of pleasure was labelled as a capitalist degeneration and where the food was considered simple fuel, there is nothing left, except for some monumental traces of the glorious Soviet past.

One of these, probably the most impressive example, is located on the northern outskirts of the capital. This is the VDNKh, the All Russia Exhibition Centre, a huge park which, in all its socialist realism, celebrates the Soviet dream of federalism. Among the pavilions with the engraved names of the Soviet republics, stands a majestic fountain with 16 golden maidens dressed in exotic costumes, holding out their own gifts. Each one represents a former republic. The fountain was a symbol of that well-concealed imperialism which at the time was euphemistically called the “Friendship of peoples” and supposed to celebrate the ethnic diversity of the USSR. A short walk from the VDNKh, the triumphant statue of the Worker and Kolchoz Woman stands high in the sky held up by a massive pedestal. Standing at the foot of this monument I have to admit that I felt some indefinable emotions, perhaps because of its grandeur. Or because it glitters to the sweet light of the sunset with all its dynamic lines. Perhaps because it survives as an anachronistic relic in this city, today faithfully devoted to the most narcissistic consumerism. Finally, it may just represent the perfect synthesis of that socialist ideal, ended up shattered on the barriers of the unstoppable human nature.

Russia, Coast-to-Coast From the Baltic Sea to the Pacific Ocean: Russia viewed from the train (part 3) Communism and consumerism You cannot think of Russia without taking into account its cumbersome communist past. Seventy-three intense years of Soviet Union cannot be washed away by the fall of a wall.

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