Book:

Author: Mary Shelley

Faced with the current COVID-19 pandemic, the implementation of social distancing, travel restrictions, and self-isolation, many of our regular pursuits and pastimes have been curtailed.  This situation has affected schools, offices, stores, restaurants, bars, concert venues, airlines, public transit, and even fitness facilities.  With everyone staying home and cocooning, it may be a good time to revisit at least one influential example of classic literature.  While it may be more difficult to get our hands on a new copy of any book right now, several sources, including public libraries, provide online access to Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (originally titled Frankenstein; Or, the Modern Prometheus).  A quick search of my local library’s site, for example, brings up numerous e-book editions of the novel, including Frankenstein: Annotated for Scientists, Engineers, and Creators of All Kinds, a Spanish language version, downloadable audiobooks, and streaming video adaptations.  Clearly, it’s an extremely popular story.

First published in 1818, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein belongs to the horror category, but was also instrumental in creating the science fiction genre.  In the novel, Victor Frankenstein collects and connects parts from dead bodies, creating a living being.  As soon as it’s brought to life, however, the scientist is repulsed by his creation, leaving it rejected and abandoned.  As revenge, the creature murders Victor’s younger brother William.  Even though Victor knows that his creation is the murderer, William’s nanny, Justine is blamed for the death, tried, and executed.  There are three more deaths in Victor’s circle: the murder of his friend Clerval; the murder of Elizabeth, his new wife who also happens to be his adopted sister (suggesting that Victor’s experiment wasn’t the only problem affecting the family); and Victor’s father, who dies from the combined grief of losing his son William, the beloved nanny Justine, and his daughter-in-law / adopted daughter, Elizabeth.  Frankenstein eventually loses his own life when he attempts to hunt down and destroy his creation.

Modern readers may find the novel’s pace slow, and dialogue wordy and overly elaborate, yet it’s consistent with the literature of that era, and frankly not particularly intimidating.  It’s interesting to note how the narrative’s point of view also changes over the course of the novel.  It begins from the perspective of Robert Walton, the captain of a ship exploring the arctic, and his encounter with Victor Frankenstein.  Frankenstein continues the story, relating his early life, scientific studies, his single-minded effort to improve upon humanity, and the creation of the being that he instills with life (but never names).  The creature then describes how he teaches himself to read and write, his struggles and his loneliness, and his demand that Frankenstein build a mate for him, a demand to which the scientist initially agrees.  Afterward, Frankenstein again takes over the narrative.  He decides to abandon his efforts to create the companion, and then witnesses his creature’s retaliation.  Finally, the story concludes with Walton as the observer as Frankenstein dies and the creature disappears.

While it may be written in an older literary style, Shelly’s novel successfully conveys an eeriness surrounding Frankenstein’s single-minded scientific pursuit, and then the threat posed by the creature turned stalker and killer.  In some ways, this early 19th century story seems to be a predecessor of the engineered and weaponized superheroes and supervillains that are part of the recent X-Men series.

Shelly’s novel exhibits the spirit of discovery and enquiry that characterized the early 19th century.  Captain Walton, who relates part of the story through his letters, is on an arctic expedition when he encounters Frankenstein and the creature.  Though Shelley provides no details about the manner in which the creature is brought to life, we do know that around the time of the novel’s writing, there was speculation that electricity could be used to reanimate the dead (which Shelley hints at in the introduction to the 1831 edition of the novel).  Shelley’s story also reflects the grim practices of medical science in the early 19th century, since in order to build his creation, Victor Frankenstein harvests tissues from the dead.  At the time, body snatchers were actually stealing corpses for use in medical education, and over 10,000 bodies were stolen from British graveyards between 1800 and 1810.

While the practice of body snatching may have ended, Frankenstein’s continued relevance comes from the ethical questions which it raises.  Shelley’s novel about a man taking on the role of God – and unleashing a monster – has implications for scientific experimentation on humans, genetic manipulation including the merging of human and animal DNA, the development of synthetic life and artificial intelligence, the harvesting and sale of human tissues and organs, human-induced climate change, and environmental devastation.

Unfortunately, many people are only familiar with cinematic versions of Frankenstein.  (Many people also mistakenly believe that the creature is named Frankenstein).  These films tend to feature an assortment of electrical contraptions that arc, spark, and crackle, the mandatory laboratory assistant (Fritz or Igor), and a mob of angry torch-bearing villagers chasing a monster with a flat skull.  (Did Victor Frankenstein forget to replace the dome of his creature’s skull after he inserted its brain?) Most of these images come from a 1931 Universal Pictures film directed by James Whale and starring Boris Karloff as the creature.  None of these dramatic touches appear in the novel.  More importantly the films usually fail to give a sense of the novel’s depth and complexity, and they overlook Shelley’s suggestion that parenting and education make vital contributions to the development of character.  Her intelligent, articulate, fast, and nimble creature is often depicted in film as unthinking and silent, only able to move slowly and awkwardly.  Frankenstein’s abandonment of his creature, which is so central to the original story, and which turns the creature into a monster, is rarely explored in cinematic adaptations of the story.  While Shelley’s novel reflects the issue of nature versus nurture, most films fail to consider this debate.  For readers who might have an interest in this original, profound, and compelling story, the novel is well worth the effort.

Title:  Making the Monster: The Science Behind Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

Author: Kathryn Harkup

Soon it will be Halloween, and the classic horror film depiction of Frankenstein’s monster—with the flat skull and bolts on either side of the neck—will be a common sight in toy stores and seasonal pop-up costume shops and may even be seen on a few doorsteps.  Although Frankenstein certainly fits into the horror genre, it’s also the first science-fiction novel ever written.  The story—about a scientist who pieces together a creature from corpses, brings it to life, and as a result loses everyone he loves—is over two-hundred years old.  At least part of its enduring relevance may be found in the ethical questions it raises about scientific experimentation.  The novel has been invoked in the development of genetically modified foods (“Frankenfoods”), the threat posed by nuclear weapons, the implications of manipulating the human genome, and the consequences of artificial intelligence. 

While modern readers may see the novel as relevant to today’s concerns about scientific progress and ethics, science writer Kathryn Harkup illustrates how the book reflects the reality of Enlightenment era science.  In Making the Monster: The Science Behind Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Harkup explores a period marked by a burgeoning interest in the internal workings of the human body, a thriving trade in grave-robbery, and ghastly experiments on corpses.

Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin was still a teenager when she started to write the legendary work.  She was living with the English writer Percy Bysshe Shelley, who was still legally married to his first wife Harriet.  Mary, Percy, Mary’s stepsister Claire Clairmont, poet Lord Byron, and Byron’s physician, John Polidori, holidayed together in Switzerland during the summer of 1816.  In “the year without summer”, the weather was far from enjoyable, as ash from a volcanic eruption in Indonesia the year before had caused a global decrease in temperature.  Violent storms kept the group indoors and to amuse themselves, the party read ghost stories.  Byron proposed that each of them should write their own supernatural tale.  As a result of this challenge, two stories were published, and neither one was written by either of the established authors.  Polidori wrote The Vampyre, and Mary wrote Frankenstein.

The original title of Mary Shelley’s book was Frankenstein; or, the Modern Prometheus.  Prometheus, a figure from classical mythology, is punished for stealing the secret of life from the gods, and using it to bring a man fashioned from clay into being.  Harkup shows the reader how the theme of a creature made from the earth is reflected in a number of cultural traditions, but surprisingly she doesn’t include the Bible story of God forming the first man from clay in Genesis (2:7).  Given that Victor Frankenstein is a man taking for himself the role of God, the reference would have been particularly suitable.

Victor Frankenstein, however, doesn’t form his creation out of clay, but rather from dead bodies.  In eighteenth century, he wouldn’t have been the only person seeking corpses; in England, the study of anatomy had become a required course for students studying medicine, and many enterprising anatomists set up their own private anatomy schools.  These developments spurred a great demand for corpses, and too few were available through legal means.  But eventually it was Britain’s legal code which helped to put more bodies into the hands of students and educators.

In 1752, parliament passed “An Act for better preventing the horrid Crime of Murder”, commonly known as the Murder Act.  Many crimes were already being punished by hanging, and politicians wanted to make the sentence for murder especially humiliating for criminals and their families.  With the enactment of the Murder Act, the bodies of executed criminals were handed over for public dissection as part of the sentence. 

Harkup describes how the hanging and anatomizing of criminals sometimes led to horrifying incidents.  The short-drop hangings used at the time didn’t break the prisoners’ necks, but instead killed them through slow strangulation.  Death can sometimes be difficult to prove today, but was more challenging in Shelley’s time, when stethoscopes had not yet been invented, and the determination of death relied on the absence of a heartbeat.  In some instances, it was actually reported that executed criminals – though presumed to be dead – regained conscious as they were being cut open by anatomists.

Even with the supply of additional corpses provided by post-mortem punishment under the Murder Act, there were still too few bodies.  This prompted gangs of grave-robbers, also known as resurrectionists or sack-‘em-up men, to raid cemeteries at night to meet the need.  It was a lucrative career for those willing to do the work.  With his own background in grave-robbing, the surgeon and anatomist, John Hunter used gangs of grave-robbers to supply his private anatomy school and acquire anatomical specimens for public display.  According to Harkup, Hunter also had an interest in trying to resuscitate the dead, and may have inspired Shelley’s portrayal of Victor Frankenstein. 

The first edition of Frankenstein provides no explanation of how the scientist brings his creation to life.  In the introduction to the 1831 edition, however, Shelley mentions galvanisation, or electricity, as the source of this animating power.  Harkup delves into the eighteenth century’s interest in electricity, including its effects on animal and human bodies.  Luigi Galvani investigated the source of muscle contractions, believing that electricity—known as “animal electricity” (now called bioelectricity) —was the cause of neuromuscular activity.  His experiments used the severed legs of frogs to demonstrate how static electricity caused the muscles to contract, and the legs to move.  Years later, Giovanni Aldini, Galvani’s nephew, began using slaughtered animals for his electrical experiments.  Eventually, he conducted public exhibitions in which he applied electrical shocks to human corpses, in particular the body of George Forster, who had been convicted of murder, executed by hanging and his body was handed over for dissection.  Electrical shocks were applied to the corpse’s head, producing a wide-range of facial contortions.  Shocks to the body caused limbs to flex and move.  As Harkup suggests, it’s easy to see how demonstrations like those performed by Aldini helped to foster the belief that an electrical charge could reanimate dead tissue.

So when Mary Shelly wrote about a scientist giving life to a body that he had assembled from a collection of tissues, it did indeed seem to be within the realm of possibility.

Harkup presents a rich historical and scientific background for Frankenstein, but also shows how Mary Shelley’s own education and experiences influenced the story.  Shelley’s travels to the European continent, her parents’ social circle and their writings, her husband’s interest in science and the occult are also examined by Harkup.  By itself, Making the Monster is a fascinating book, but it will make the reader look at Frankenstein with a greater understanding of Mary Shelley’s world.  Or, it might just might provide a spooky read at Halloween.

In the 1700’s, among the Slavic subjects of the Austrian empire, the investigation of alleged incidents of vampirism, and the exhumation and killing of vampires were subject to legal codes enforced by occupying soldiers and civil authorities, and sometimes involved examinations by imperial surgeons.  These events were reported in the popular press of the day, leading philosophers and clergymen to contemplate the nature of the vampire.  If vampires were once human, philosophers wondered, might they retain anything of their former human character? Some theologians merely dismissed vampires as Catholic or Orthodox superstition, others saw the vampire as evidence of an afterlife, and others still considered it a demonic deception.

Vampires also became a theme in Romantic literature, which—with its emphasis on emotion and imagination—was a reaction to the rationality and empiricism of the Enlightenment.  In 1816, in a Swiss villa on Lake Geneva, the English poet Lord Byron challenged each of his travelling companions to write a ghost story.  That competition brought Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein into being, but also inspired Byron’s physician, John Polidori, to write The Vampyre.

While vampires continued to make appearances in literature and theatre throughout the nineteenth century, Groom credits Bram Stoker’s Dracula, published in 1897, as having had a “seismic influence.” Incorporating accumulated vampire folklore, Stoker researched geography, history, and medicine, but the story was also influenced by the real-life crimes of Jack the Ripper.  In Stoker’s gothic horror, the Transylvanian Count Dracula brings his thirst for fresh blood to England, along with 50 boxes of his native soil, which he plans to distribute among the numerous English properties he’s purchased.  Written 120 years before today’s Brexit crisis, it reflects the xenophobia and the anxiety over international trade that were current in Britain at the time.

Three hundred years after Austrian authorities and physicians began investigating incidents of vampire predation, the legacy of the undead remains popular today.  Nevertheless, in Medusa’s Gaze and Vampires Bite: The Science of Monsters, science writer Matt Kaplan suggests that we have become less fearful of vampires because we now understand that they aren’t responsible for deadly diseases.  In contrast, Groom’s perspective credits vampires with having profound adaptability, ensuring their continued longevity.  Indeed, vampire stories have changed over time, found their way into new genres, taken on new elements, yet show no sign that they are about to die any time soon.

Groom’s book, like the evolution of the vampire narrative, isn’t at all predictable.  The author makes it clear that his book isn’t meant to be an exhaustive investigation of everything related to vampires, but with the theme of blood coursing through the book, it’s surprising that there are no references to diseases spread by blood, particularly the demonization and fear of those infected with HIV/AIDS.  And although Groom does indeed catalogue many ways in which vampires have been represented, he makes no mention of the influence that vampires had upon the representation of zombies in today’s popular culture; George Romero’s pivotal 1968 film, Night of the Living Dead,  was influenced by Richard Matheson’s I am Legend, a horror novel about a vampire plague.  Since then, zombies—like vampires before them—have spread infection through their bites.

The book ends with the Irish potato famine, and the panic and mass death that it caused.  That plague, part of Bram Stoker’s own family history, originated underground, moved silently through the land, very much like a murderous, stalking vampire.  Even with the humble potato, Groom reminds us, the ordinary can suddenly become evil.

Book:

Author: Mary Beth Pfeiffer

Through my cat, Merlin, I was introduced to Ixodes scapularis, also known as the blacklegged tick or the deer tick, in November, 2017.  Apart from the ick factor associated with discovering the unwelcome and engorged arachnid on the family pet, Ixodes scapularis (along with Ixodes pacificus, or western blacklegged tick, in British Columbia) can potentially carry the corkscrew-shaped bacteria Borrelia burgdorferi which causes Lyme disease.  In humans, the infection may initially produce a rash and flu-like symptoms, including fever, chills, and muscle aches, and, untreated, can lead to a range of consequences including facial paralysis, joint pain, heart disease, neurological disorders, arthritis, and in some instances, death.  Pets such as Merlin are at risk of acquiring Lyme disease, and infected ticks on pets may fall off and attach themselves to humans.  After attaching to a host for 24 hours or more, infected ticks can transfer bacteria to the host, so it was paramount that the tick be removed quickly.  Following an emergency visit to the veterinarian, the tick was submitted to Alberta’s Surveillance of Ticks on Companion Animals program, and fortunately was found to be negative for Borrelia burgdorferi.  In effect, Merlin had become an unwitting sentinel in monitoring the risk of Lyme disease in Alberta.

The veterinarian was surprised that Merlin had encountered the tick so late in the year and in my own backyard, in an urban neighbourhood, rather than a rural area.  The circumstances that struck the veterinarian as unusual are in fact indicators of a growing tick problem.  In Mary Beth Pfeiffer’s 2018 book, Lyme: The First Epidemic of Climate Change, the investigative journalist has researched the escalating threat of ticks in the environment, the danger posed by the pathogens they carry, and problems with the medical system’s response to tick-borne illness.

Pfeiffer’s book starts with her own personal experience with ticks in upstate New York.  A single instance of walking the family dogs along a meadow by her home, on an unusually warm day in late December, brings her four canines into contact with a total of twenty-one black-legged ticks.  According to Pfeiffer, the species of tick (blacklegged ticks rather than dog ticks which were common 30 years earlier), as well as their unusual number, and their persistence into winter are relatively new developments in that region.

In North America, ticks carried by birds and roving mammals, benefitting from milder winters and with an increasing period of time in which they can find hosts, are thriving in ecosystems that didn’t previously sustain them.  Meanwhile, on the other side of the Atlantic, Europe’s castor bean tick, Ixodes ricinus, also carries Borrelia burgdorferi and is similarly expanding its range, being found in more northly areas and at higher altitudes and than had previously been the case.  China too, is seeing an increase in the numbers of reported tick bites and the number of Lyme disease cases.  Pfeiffer blames climate change, shifting patterns of land use and a lack of predators for these developments.

In addition to the environmental issues that facilitate the spread of ticks, Pfeiffer looks at the impact of Lyme disease on human health.  The infection takes its name from the town of Lyme, Connecticut, where in the 1970’s a group of young children developed rheumatoid arthritis-like joint swelling and pain.  Eventually it was determined that ticks were the vectors of their illness.  In 1981, the bacterial pathogen that had caused the sickness, Borrelia burgdorferi, was identified and named for its discoverer Willy Burgdorfer.

Pfeiffer argues that inadequate diagnostic and treatment protocols developed in the US and adopted elsewhere have caused needless suffering throughout the world, and she investigates a number of issues that can delay or prevent a physician from reaching a correct diagnosis.  In diagnosing Lyme disease, for example, a bull’s eye rash around the site of the tick bite, erythema migrans, is a definitive symptom.  Often, however, patients are unaware that they have been bitten by a tick, as the bites are in fact painless, and in a considerable number of cases, the rash doesn’t appear or isn’t seen.  Pfeiffer refers to a CDC study of 150,000 patients in which 69.2 % exhibited the rash, meaning of course, that it wasn’t seen in over 30 % of the cases.

In symptomatic patients demonstrating no evidence of a rash, there is a blood test to diagnose Lyme disease.  Pfeiffer has concerns about false negative results, and the sick patients who fail to receive appropriate treatment or for whom treatment is delayed as a consequence.  Raymond Dattwyler, one of the individuals closely involved with developing the procedure decades ago, is also critical.  He concedes that the test is outdated, the indicators of infection detected by the tests were not really understood at the time.  Pfeiffer quotes him, “Twenty years ago, I would’ve said they’re fine.  Now I say, ‘oh shit, we were wrong.’ It doesn’t look as good as we thought it was” (p.110). 

Compounding the difficulties with ensuring the proper diagnosis of tick-borne disease is the potential for ticks to carry other pathogens, in addition to Borrelia burgdorferi.  These include other harmful bacteria, but also a parasite that produces symptoms similar to malaria, Babesiosis, and the encephalitis-causing Powassan virus.

Pfeiffer also delves into the issue of Lyme symptoms which persist subsequent to antibiotic treatment.  Known as Post-Treatment Lyme Disease Syndrome (PTLDS, sometimes called chronic Lyme disease), patients experience chronic pain, neurological problems and memory loss, but in the medical and research communities it is a contentious and conflict-ridden issue.  While some physicians are dismissive of PTLDS, even suggesting that the disorder is psychological in origin, others risk their careers treating patients with extended courses of antibiotic therapy.  She also interviews patients and families of patients who appear to be suffering the debilitating effects of chronic Lyme disease but go untreated because of current diagnostic and treatment guidelines.

Researchers investigating PTLDS experience difficulties getting their work published or securing funding.  Reflecting on the debate, known in the field as Lyme wars, Pfeiffer quotes one researcher who states, “You have to decide what side you’re on.” (p.  137).  Pfeiffer, however, cites research evidence from the US and Europe, of human and animal studies demonstrating the presence of Borrelia burgdorferi DNA following treatment, and in at least one cases, recovery of the organism three months post-treatment, bolstering the argument that the current recommended antibiotic therapies sometimes fail to cure Lyme disease.

PTLDS aside, there is an overall lack of funding for Lyme disease research, even though it is the most common vector-borne disease (a disease transmitted by blood-feeding anthropods, like ticks and mosquitoes) in the US, with hundreds of thousands of people in the US being diagnosed annually.  Pfeiffer contrasts the funding by the US National Institutes of Health for West-Nile virus research ($40 million spent annually; 2,000 cases) with the amount it spends on Lyme disease ($24 million annually; in 2015, nearly 400,000 cases, according to Pfeiffer) and describes the situation as “a woeful picture of underfunding” (p.  201).

Lyme: The First Epidemic of Climate Change investigates the growing environmental threat from tick-borne diseases, and presents the shortfalls that Pfeiffer sees in the medical system’s response.  Pfeiffer interviews researchers, physicians, and patients in several countries and provides a long list of selected references drawn from medical and scientific journals, but she makes the information understandable for the average reader.  The book is fascinating, timely, and controversial.

Book:

To a great extent, autism is mysterious disorder.  Its possible causes have been a mystery for a long time and are still being investigated.  Some early psychoanalytic researchers held the view that “refrigerator mothers” were responsible for their children’s autism.  More recently, anti-vaccinators seized upon childhood inoculations as the culprit and refused to have their children immunized, leaving many children and young adults vulnerable to harmful viruses.  Currently, it is thought that genetics are a contributing factor but the effects of parental age, bacterial or viral infections, and exposure to pesticides, heavy metals, and even electromagnetic radiation are being considered by some researchers.

While investigators work to uncover the causes of autism, the perspective of someone with severe nonverbal autism is, to a great extent, also a mystery.  Nonetheless, it is possible to find insights into the mind of one young man who struggles with this form of autism.  Japanese author Naoki Higashida has written more than twenty books, two of which have become international bestsellers, The Reason I Jump, and, most recently, Fall Down 7 Times Get Up 8: A Young Man’s Voice from the Silence of Autism. 

For many people, writing can be a struggle, but for Higashida it is an especially difficult task.  It requires him to point to the letters of the English alphabet printed on paper in a QWERTY keyboard arrangement and vocalize the corresponding sound in the Japanese hiragana alphabet.  Meanwhile, another person must transcribe his words.  (Videos such as his series “What I’d like to convey as a writer” on his YouTube channel give one a sense of the tedious process involved).  An image of an alphabet grid, smudged and obviously well-used, is reproduced in Fall Down 7 Times Get Up 8.  Alternately, Higashida can write using a computer but he gets distracted by the phonetic text-converter.

The Reason I Jump and Fall Down 7 Times Get Up 8 were translated into English by KA Yoshida and David Mitchell.  Mitchell is an accomplished author, having written several popular novels including The Bone Clocks and Slade House.  He is married to co-translator Yoshida and the couple have an autistic child.  The couple became aware of the original Japanese edition of The Reason I Jump as they searched for information to help them understand their own child.  Mitchell also provides an introduction to Fall Down 7 Times Get Up 8, helping readers to understand the depth and significance of Higashida’s writing, and how it influenced the way in which Mitchell and Yoshida interact with their own autistic child.  Apart from the difficulties in raising an autistic child, Mitchell explains that he also struggles with society’s ignorance of autism.  He confronts the beliefs of some critics that a person with severe autism could not write books, that the young Japanese author or someone around him is orchestrating a hoax, or that Higashida was misdiagnosed and is not really a severe autistic.

In particular, some critics of The Reason I Jump, written when Higashida was 13 years-old, suggested that facilitated communication – a communication technique in which a caregiver gently touches the hand of a disabled individual in order to help them point at letters on an alphabet board or press keys on a keyboard – had been used in writing the book.  The concern with this controversial method is that the words produced are those of the facilitator, rather than those of the disabled person.  In Fall Down 7 Times Get Up 8, Mitchell and Higashida respond to the controversy associated with the earlier book and deliberately emphasize that the author has no physical contact with anyone else when he is using his alphabet grid for writing.

Higashida not only addresses critics who refuse to acknowledge him as an author, but also disproves the assumption that people with severe autism must be intellectually disabled as well.  Through short, insightful passages, Higashida demonstrates an awareness of himself and the world that surrounds him, as well as the assumptions that people make about him.  He is aware that he is different from neurotypical people, aware of his own struggle to work through emotional meltdowns, and aware of the difficulties that his parents are faced with.

He shares the frustration he experiences when he tries to communicate with others and explains why he sometimes involuntarily utters some seemingly random phrase that he may have learned in school or heard in an advertisement, describing these compulsions “like a replay button that I have no control over.” He writes about the challenge of dealing with his obsessive behaviours, the involuntary sounds and motions that he makes, and the judgments made by strangers.  The short stories, commentaries on his everyday experiences, poetry, and excerpts from a newspaper interview demonstrate that, in spite of severe disability, he is ultimately a thoughtful observer of himself and others.

Poignantly, the first and last stories in Fall Down 7 Times Get Up 8 are about Mother’s Day.  “Mother’s Day 2011” is but a single paragraph in length, nevertheless Higashida conveys his profound sadness about being unable to simply say “thank you” to his mother.  In the final story, “Mother’s Day 2013”, he is able to tell his caregiver of his wish to buy a carnation, which he later presents to his mother.  His small request, “Carnation …  Buy”, is no simple task for someone with his disability, and he explains the difficult process he had to undertake to produce these two words.  Taken together, the two stories illustrate his passionate ambition to connect with other people.

Through his writing, Higashida has managed to take away some of the mystery surrounding autism.  Through translators Yoshida and Mitchell, he has managed to bring that to English-speaking readers as well.  Mitchell’s introduction, written from the perspective of co-translator and parent of an autistic child, complements Higashida’s insights from the realm of autism.  In translating Fall Down 7 Times Get Up 8, Mitchell and Yoshida bridge a language gap, while Higashida, through his books, bridges a gap between the world of severe nonverbal autism and the neurotypical world.

Book:

Author: Kurt Andersen

For decades, Kurt Andersen has written about President Trump, having featured the billionaire’s dubious business deals, vulgarity, and vain personality in Spy magazine.  More recently, Andersen collaborated with actor Alec Baldwin—who famously parodied Trump on Saturday Night Live—on a satirical biography of Trump.  You Can’t Spell America Without Me: The Really Tremendous Inside Story of My Fantastic First Year as President Donald J. Trump was released last November.  The audiobook version features Alec Baldwin’s hilarious impersonation as the US’s least capable president but world’s most famous narcissist.

In contrast, Fantasyland: How America went Haywire: A 500-year History, doesn’t focus on Trump’s presidency, although Andersen describes it as a consequence of many Americans’ inability to distinguish between fantasy and reality.  According to Andersen, the choose-your-own-reality perspective has always been an aspect of American individualism.  The author presents a society where truth is malleable, and a large segment of the public gullible.  Sampling a wide-range of subjects in US history and culture—conservative Christianity, belief in the supernatural, conspiracy theories, the entertainment industry, the prevailing anti-science mindset and common distrust of experts—Andersen depicts a society exceptional in its irrationality.

Andersen claims that two forces were pivotal in creating the Fantasyland of modern American culture.  First, the counter-culture movement of the 1960’s not only protested the Vietnam War and experimented with drugs (to which Andersen readily admits his participation), but also relativized reality, bringing about a society in which the difference between feelings and facts have become indistinguishable.  And second, recent technological changes like the internet have allowed otherwise fringe beliefs to be spread, shared, and widely accepted with stunning efficiency.  But even before these relatively recent developments, Andersen argues, fantasy has been part of his country’s DNA.

Religion takes several hits from Andersen, especially Christians who regard the Bible as the literal word of God.  In terms of his argument about American exceptionalism, however, Protestantism, with its tendency to split into further offshoots, spurred American individualism and fostered divisions, leading to competing factions, each claiming its particular version of “truth”.  For this reason, the founding Puritans (“a nutty religious cult” according to Andersen) sailed to America to get as far away as they possibly could from their fellow European Protestants.  American Protestantism also created a style of Christianity which is particularly anti-science, opposed to the teaching of evolution, insisting that the Genesis creation story is literally true, and forcing many schoolboards to teach creationism as “science”.

Fantasyland doesn’t delve into the matter, but you don’t need to examine the fossil record to find problems with the Bible’s creation story.  Genesis contains two distinct creation stories: in the first chapter of Genesis, God creates animal life and humankind last, male and female; in the second chapter of Genesis, God creates the first human male, then creates all of the animals, and when none of the animals are suitable companions for the first man, God creates the first female.  (Most Jewish and Christian Bible scholars believe that each version is from a different author).  Even from a purely chronological perspective, belief in the literal truth of the creation story requires an Orwellian thought process.  It is no wonder then, that nonbelievers like Andersen are sometimes dismissive of religion.

If you believe in the literal truth of the creation story, then it’s probably not much of a stretch to believe Satan leads a vast conspiracy of devotees who practice dark arts that involve sexual depravity, murder, and cannibalism.  Conservative Christians, as Andersen reminds us, had a role in the satanic ritual abuse panic of the 1980’s and 1990’s.  At the time, many people were starting to talk about their actual experiences of physical and sexual abuse as children.  The belief in repressed memories also gained popularity around this time, and hypnosis became a controversial instrument for delving into past abuse with unfortunate consequences.  Based upon memories “recovered” under hypnosis, Michelle Pazder, along with her husband and former psychiatrist Lawrence Pazder, wrote a book called Michelle Remembers.  In it, she recounts her implausible and uncorroborated experiences with a satanic cult when she was five years of age.  Her narrative set the pattern for subsequent reports of satanic ritual abuse.

This period happened to coincide with a growth in conservative Christianity, a group that imagined a satanic program at work in the world, and willing to believe that Satanists were murdering and cannibalizing thousands of babies and drinking their blood.  In reality, the physical evidence for such crimes didn’t exist.  Nevertheless, the panic, bolstered by ABC News’s 20/20 and talk shows hosted by Oprah and Geraldo Rivera, placed pressure on police forces to investigate these claims.  Soon, the craze echoed the Salem witch trials.  People came forward with wild and impossible accusations, and investigators subjected children to prolonged and manipulative questioning until they finally gave statements that fit the expected depictions of satanic ritual abuse.  Before the panic finally ran its course, many innocent people had been charged, convicted and imprisoned, and numerous children removed from their homes in a bizarre modern-day witch-hunt.

Fantasyland focuses on the US, but Canadians helped to create the scare and were among its victims.  When Andersen writes that Michelle Pazder (and her psychiatrist turned husband, Lawrence) lived “just across Puget Sound from Seattle” he’s referring to Victoria, BC.  I’m guessing that Andersen wants to downplay the Canadian connection because of his central argument that belief in the fantastic is chiefly an American trait.  Apparently, Canadians can be irrational too.  (A retrospective article in the September 5, 2017 edition of the National Post declared “How Canada tricked the world into believing murderous Satanists were everywhere”).

Similarly, Andersen overlooks or perhaps is unaware that the hysteria was felt here in Canada.  “The Satanic Panic never really took off outside the United States”, Andersen writes.  That may be true, but it definitely didn’t stop at the Canada/US border.  After all, many evangelical and fundamentalist Christians in Canada are very similar to their US counterparts.  In the conservative Christian town of Martensville, Saskatchewan, a daycare worker was accused of sexually abusing a child.  The subsequent investigation by an inexperienced police officer, however, morphed into charges of satanic ritual abuse by a fictitious cult named the Brotherhood of the Ram.  Over one hundred charges were laid against nine people, including police officers.  In one instance, a child was shown photos of police personnel, and said that the officer in one of the photos forced the child to perform sexual acts at gunpoint.  In fact, the child and the accused officer had never met.  It would take the accused officer many years to have his name cleared.  An RCMP task force determined that “emotional hysteria” was responsible for the madness.  The province of Saskatchewan eventually apologized for this gross miscarriage of justice and paid out settlements to those falsely accused.

And while many American Christians imagine Satan and his cronies actively at work in our world, many American gun advocates are unable or unwilling to acknowledge the gun violence that permeates their society.  Andersen’s book was published before the February 14 shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida, which resulted in the murder of 17 people.  But shooters, as Andersen writes, often engage in role play, seeking fame and taking revenge upon whatever forces or systems they blame for their unhappiness or failure.

Apart from the individual fantasies that motivate killers, many gun advocates are fearful of imaginary conspiracies.  The intention of the US Constitution’s Second Amendment was to ensure that a militia would be available to provide security for the nascent country.  For some survivalists, however, the right to bear arms validates their Armageddon plans, their belief that they will eventually need to battle the US government or some other perceived enemy.  And to the NRA, it seems any suggestion of requiring background checks on potential gunowners is merely a plot to enable the wholesale confiscation of privately-owned guns.  Some gun advocates even deny the reality of the 2012 Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting in which 26 people died, claiming that it was an elaborate hoax.  In the minds of many gun advocates, conspiracies aimed at clamping down on gun ownership have no bounds.

In contrast to Trump’s “Make America Great Again”, Andersen wants “to make America reality-based again.” He calls on citizens of his country to turn the tide against delusions and expose the lies that have become so common.  Andersen also raises the possibility that although the US is a leader in make-believe, other nations, including Canada are headed in the same direction.  If he’s right, we might all have to claw our way back toward rationality.

Despite its heavy subject matter, Fantasyland is a thought-provoking, entertaining, and enjoyable read.  Its wide scope will undoubtedly provide surprising insights.  (For example, “Half the states require no standardized tests or other measures for homeschooled children, and fewer than a dozen require home teachers to be high school graduates.” Those facts should alarm any rational person and raise concerns about the US’s alternate education system which allows families to shield children from science-based education).  Not everyone will agree with Andersen’s perspective; conservative Christians will take offence, conspiracy theorists will assume that it’s part of a vast misinformation campaign, and gun advocates will use the book for target practice.  In other words, the people who should read it probably won’t.

Before her death from breast cancer in 2007, writer Siobhan Dowd began to develop a story about a boy facing the imminent loss of his mother to cancer.  She drew inspiration from the highly poisonous yew tree, which was nevertheless the source of an anticancer drug she was being treated with.  Dowd would not live long enough to complete this project, but, from her preliminary work, author Patrick Ness and illustrator Jim Kay created an award-winning book for teens, A Monster Calls.  In 2016, the film version was brought to life through a UK and Spanish co-production that weaved together live action, animation, motion capture, animatronics, and CGI.  The PG rated film was given its general North American release in January, 2017.

In the film, Conor O’Malley is a lonely and isolated 13-year-old boy and his mother has cancer.  He is bullied at school and his parents are divorced, with his father living in the US with a new wife and child.  Conor’s grandmother is a stern businesswoman whose sterile museum-like house is no place for a 13-year-old boy, though with his mother’s worsening health, Conor will have no choice but to live there.  The adults who surround him are not telling him the truth about the severity of his mother’s cancer, and he repeatedly suffers from a harrowing nightmare in which the grounds of the nearby cemetery swallow his mother while he desperately struggles to hang on to her.  Amid these struggles, or rather because of them, the yew tree in the neighbouring churchyard tears itself from the ground and sets off to confront Conor.  As the movie progresses, the massive and ancient tree tells Conor three stories and then Conor must tell the tree a fourth story, “the truth”.  But the truth, like the monster’s stories, contain difficult moral ambiguities and contradictions.  A Monster Calls is a dark exploration of the pain involved in confronting an impending loss, but it is more: Conor has a secret that only deepens his sense of isolation.

Conor struggles—along with the audience—to grasp the meaning of the stories told by the tree.  But stories can be powerful, and the tales illustrate human contradictions.  Eventually, Conor is forced to admit his own contradiction, his own truth.  In the book, it was clear that Conor felt the need to be punished, and this may have been obscured in the transition from printed page to screen.  Perhaps this is why some reviewers wrongly concluded that the film was simply about loss, but—spoiler alert—what weighs upon Conor is that he wants his own suffering to end, and that of course will only happen with the death of his mother.  He wants his own pain to simply stop, even if it seems contrary to his love for her.  Recognizing and accepting his human frailty prepares Conor for the loss of his mother.

The film, by J.A.  Bayona, who also directed the upcoming Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom, brings together an extremely talented group of actors.  There can be no doubt that Lewis McDougall, as an anguished Conor facing the death of his mother, draws upon his own experience of having lost his mother to multiple sclerosis.  As Conor’s mother, Felicity Jones, perhaps best known as Jyn Erso in Rogue One: A Star Wars Story, convincingly portrays a young woman succumbing to terminal cancer.  Conor’s severe grandmother is played by veteran actor Sigourney Weaver, while Liam Neeson provides the weathered voice of the ancient and gnarled monster.

In spite of a compelling story, talented actors and fantastic visual effects, the film, in North America at least, was not an overwhelming success.  Perhaps its dark subject matter did not appeal to most movie-goers: it doesn’t feature a miracle cure, a last-minute reprieve or tidy Hollywood ending.  On March 28, 2017, it was released on DVD.  Nevertheless, A Monster Calls remains a profound and poignant film, destined to find an audience among cinephiles who appreciate its subject matter, stunning visuals and unusual narrative style.

Even though the movie made only a short appearance in theaters, A Monster Calls remains a popular book since its release in 2011, and a quick internet search indicates that it is still readily available from numerous bookstores and online.  In 2015, an unillustrated version of the book was released in anticipation of the film, but in the absence of Jim Kay’s dark and foreboding images, it offers less visual pull.  (Perhaps the intention was to avoid having the original images compete with those in the film).  In 2017, A Monster Calls: Special Collectors’ Edition was released, and included the original illustrations as well as additional artwork by Jim Kay, interviews with the writer/screenwriter Patrick Ness, actors and director, as well as insights into the film’s animation and special effects.  Though it will not appeal to everyone, A Monster Calls—as a book or a film—is an intense and haunting story.

The Battle of Vimy Ridge was part of the larger Battle of Arras in northern France during the First World War.  Between April 9^th to 12^th, 1917, four Canadian divisions wrested control of the ridge from the Germans, at a cost of 7,000 Canadians wounded and 3,598 killed.  The capture of Vimy Ridge is often presented as a turning point for the young Canadian nation, establishing its military prowess and marking its independence from Britain.

In The Vimy Trap or, How We Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Great War, Canadian Historian Ian McKay and journalist Jamie Swift attempt to demythologize this Canadian legend.  The authors trace the representation of Vimy Ridge in the Canadian psyche over the last one-hundred years, from a single battle in a futile war to the myth of a nation building moment.

As the title indicates, the authors see the symbolism that we now associate with the Battle of Vimy Ridge to be a trap.  They view the mythology of Vimy (a perspective they call “Vimyism”) as dangerous, presenting a romanticised vision of combat that denies the realities of modern warfare.

Of course, the book’s subtitle alludes to Stanley Kubrick’s 1964 classic satirical film, Dr.  Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.  The movie’s plot ridicules the Cold War and the policy of mutually assured destruction.  In it, after an unbalanced general in the United States Airforce orders the bombing of the Soviet Union, the US futilely attempts to call off the mission.  In response, the Soviets set off a weapon that will destroy all life on earth.  McKay and Swift seem to be warning us that an unchecked militaristic perspective leads to disastrous consequences.

Throughout The Vimy Trap, McKay and Swift separate the First World War (the Great War as it was originally known) and the Battle of Vimy Ridge from the significance later imposed upon these events, and help the reader understand what the war meant to earlier generations of Canadians.  They examine contemporary reports, books written by the combatants, newspaper and magazine articles, as well as artistic works, and museums and monuments, to show us that few people during the war or immediately after saw Vimy as the symbol that it has since become.

McKay and Swift also challenge our modern notions about the Great War.  Though often justified as a war against tyranny, that was never true.  Our allies, the “Entente” included Czarist Russia, a country hardly interested in democratizing the world.  (One could say the same about Great Britain and France, each with a vast empire built upon the invasion, domination and exploitation of foreign nations).  It was clearly, as the authors quote historian J.L. Granatstein, “a battle of rival imperialisms” (p.  33).

Nevertheless, the book’s focus is on Canadian participation in the war and the many assumptions we now take for granted.  It was not, as we are now told, a war that united Canadians.  In fact, at the war’s outbreak most of the Canadians who enlisted were British born.  While at least initially these English-Canadians eagerly enlisted (and were convinced they would participate in a quick and easy victory), French-Canadians had little enthusiasm for war.  Amid protests against conscription four Quebecers were shot to death.  And rather than reminiscing about valour or glory, Canadians who fought in the Great War remembered its horrific carnage.  In its aftermath, instead of a nation revelling in gallantry and heroics, the authors portray an atmosphere of overwhelming revulsion at the destruction created by modern warfare.

Likewise, the book also confronts many of the accepted beliefs about Vimy Ridge, placing little strategic significance on the hard-fought victory.  The Germans certainly did not see it as a defeat, nor did it lead to the anticipated allied breakthrough that would have ended the trench stalemate in that region.  Furthermore, few Canadians at that time, according to McKay and Swift, believed that Vimy Ridge represented a nation building episode.  The authors assert that for the most part, this understanding would only be imposed upon the battle many decades later, in the 1980’s and 1990’s, with the mythology eventually making its way into popular books and educational materials.

For many readers, this book will challenge their perceptions of the battle at Vimy Ridge and the First World War, but it is meticulously researched, including extensive notes and further reading sections.  Short listed for the Writers’ Trust of Canada Shaughnessy Cohen Prize for Political Writing, The Vimy Trap would make an fascinating read for anyone interested in popular politics, cultural studies, Canadian history or the history of the First World War.

War Horse
by Michael Morpurgo
Egmont: 2017
ISBN 978 1 4052 2666 0

On September 19, 1914, my grandfather enlisted in the 3^rd Battalion of the Canadian Expeditionary Force and headed off to war.  In addition to volunteering, he offered his horse for military service.  According to family lore, my grandfather wanted to serve with his horse in the cavalry.  Nevertheless, he ended up in the infantry, suffered multiple gunshot wounds and injuries from shrapnel, but survived the war.  I have no way of knowing what became of his horse, but most horses used in the First World War met tragic ends.  Having grown up with the story of a farm horse sent off to war, Michael Morpurgo’s book War Horse holds a special significance for me.

War Horse is not a new book, but it is a book that I often think about as Remembrance Day approaches.  It is clearly meaningful for many other people as well, given that it has been reissued numerous times since its original publication in 1982, turned into a play for London’s National Theatre in 2007, and made into an epic film by Steven Spielberg in 2011.

Michael Morpurgo presents the story of a young horse named Joey and his young master, Albert.  Following the start of the First World War, Albert’s father—to pay the mortgage on the family’s farm—sells Joey to the British Army.  When Albert learns of this betrayal, he promises that he will eventually find his horse.

The First World War was largely waged through trench warfare, and suicidal attacks mounted against enemy positions often resulted in capturing insignificant amounts of enemy territory.  To overcome the stalemate on the battlefield, the Germans developed poisonous gas and Britain and France developed tanks.  Even though the means of killing became more industrialized and automated in the First World War, both sides were still using horses for cavalry, to transport the wounded, for supply lines, and to haul artillery across a shattered landscape impassable with the motorized vehicles of the day.

At first, Joey is used by the British cavalry.  Told from the horse’s perspective, we witness the futility of young men on horseback, swords drawn, charging through enemy machinegun fire, artillery shells and barbed wire.  After being captured by the Germans, Joey is pressed into service transporting wounded soldiers to a field hospital.  Eventually, he becomes part of a team of horses hauling German artillery.  Throughout the story, Joey witnesses the senseless slaughter of humans and horses.

As Jilly Cooper recounts in Animals in War, most horses that died on the Western Front were not killed by the enemy’s weapons, but rather succumbed to the weather, a lack of supplies and exhaustion.  Many fell into bomb craters from which they could not be rescued or drowned under the surface of the pockmarked and muddy landscape.  It is estimated that eight million horses died in the First World War.

War Horse is certainly one case in which the book is better than the movie. The even-handedness with which Michael Morpurgo depicts the warring sides is not reflected in Spielberg’s motion picture.  The film lacks the nuances of Morpurgo’s writing and instead lapses into a stereotypical portrayal of Germans.

Though the intended audience is young readers from about 9 to 12 years-of-age, War Horse is an insightful and thought-provoking book for readers of any age.

Though the Nazi regime brought about human misery and death on a massive scale, it is surprising to learn that humour still existed and indeed flourished during this dark era. In Dead Funny: Humor in Hitler’s Germany, German director Rudolf Herzog (son of filmmaker Werner Herzog) examines the very broad issue of comedy and the Third Reich.

Despite the possible penalties, artists and civilians alike used humour to understand and even mock the political situation. Dead Funny describes Nazi efforts to silence its critics and profiles several actors, cabaret artists, and ordinary Germans who were subjected to interrogations, imprisonment, and even death for making jokes about the Nazi government. For example, Berlin cabaret performer Werner Finck had made a career of ridiculing Hitler and the Nazis. He was often under surveillance as he performed and would joke about not being allowed to talk, even offering to speak his lines more slowly so that Gestapo agents in the audience could more easily record his words. Finck only escaped the clutches of Propaganda Minister Goebbels by joining the military, thereby surviving the war.

Other satirists and comedians were persecuted because they were Jewish, supported left-leaning politics, or were in some manner at odds with Nazi values. Among them were screen actors who suddenly found that they were no longer offered film contracts and cabaret entertainers left with no venue in which they were allowed to perform. Many of these were arrested and sent to concentration camps or forced into exile. One case is particularly tragic: that of Jewish comedian, actor, and director Kurt Gerron. Gerron had fled to Holland in order to avoid persecution by the Nazis. But when the Germans invaded the country, Gerron was sent to Theresienstadt concentration camp?and forced to perform in comedies and direct a Nazi documentary about the camp. Eventually he was sent to Auschwitz, and like many other talented German performers of his generation, perished there.

There are also cases in which ordinary Germans were punished by the Nazi state for making political jokes. Although an individual’s repeated failure to adhere to Nazi values and increased radicalization as the tide of war turned against Germany made execution a more likely punishment, Herzog emphasizes that death sentences were restricted to ?exceptional? cases. This point, however, gets lost among the many deaths that Herzog documents, and the title Dead Funny only helps to further this misconception.

In one instance Marianne Elise K., a technical draftsperson in a Berlin armaments factory, was denounced for sharing a wisecrack with her colleagues:

?Hitler and Göring are standing atop the Berlin radio tower.
Hitler says he wants to do something to put a smile on Berliners? faces.
So Göring says: ?Why don’t you jump???

The fact that Marianne K.’s husband had been killed in the war failed to help her case. The People’s Court handed down a death sentence.

Overall, Dead Funny is both interesting and thought-provoking. It is very broad in its scope; in addition to describing anti-Nazi humour originating in Germany itself, it also discusses Allied efforts to ridicule Hitler, BBC broadcasts in German, and the Nazis? own brand of humour. The author also devotes a chapter to the dark humour shared among Jewish people even as they were facing persecution and annihilation.

One of the most thought-provoking questions Herzog raises is whether it is acceptable to laugh at Hitler and his regime. While this may seem like a rather surprising question for North Americans, who may be familiar with the 1960s sitcom Hogan’s Heroes or countless comedy skits featuring stereotypical Nazi interrogators, the situation is different in Germany itself. According to Herzog Germans, burdened by their past, do not want to be accused of trivializing horrific events. Furthermore, unlike here, where anyone can purchase Hitler’s Mein Kampf, Germany has strict laws about accessing and displaying items associated with the Nazi regime. Given this backdrop, German cartoonist Walter Moers? 1998 spoof of the Nazis in his Adolf, the Nazi Sow was indeed groundbreaking, an event seen by Herzog as a sign of increasing freedom within Germany to ridicule rather than simply demonize Adolf Hitler.

Internationally, filmmakers are no longer completely constrained by earlier conventions in which the Holocaust could only be portrayed with faithful accuracy. Most strikingly, in Roberto Benigni’s 1997 film La Vita e Bella (Life is Beautiful) a Nazi concentration camp?resembling Auschwitz, as Herzog points out?becomes the setting for a comedy.

Dead Funny forced me to consider the manner in which the Holocaust has been presented in film and other media, and what sort of treatment it may receive in the future. With the passage of time and with fewer perpetrators and victims still living, will new artistic representations of the Holocaust continue to develop, including the use of comedy? Or will Benigni’s film remain the only internationally successful film that uses humour in the portrayal of Hitler’s Final Solution?

Although it is a translation, Dead Funny flows quite well. However, it could have used more careful editing of its content. Perhaps the book’s most jarring error is in reporting that Hitler committed suicide on April 30, 1944. It is surprising that an error concerning an event which is so closely linked to the final few days of the war and occurred in 1945 was not detected prior to the book’s publication.

These oversights, however, should not distract readers from an otherwise well-researched and well-presented analysis on a subject That’s rarely discussed.