This morning I did something I have never done before. You see, I’ve used Macintosh computers for almost exactly twenty years. I began with a second-hand ‘baby-Mac,’ and old SE30. From there it was a brand new Centris 610, with (ooh!) color – 256 colors to be exact. I was in heaven. From System 6 through 9, and every shade of OS X, I’ve never missed an upgrade, never failed to adopt early. Today, after maybe 10 Macs (plus a dozen more in offices and agencies I’ve worked in) I did something I’ve never done before.

Less than 24 hours after installing Lion. the latest and greatest OS from Apple, I gave up in disgust, and downgraded back to Snow Leopard, my previous OS. Truthfully, it was a hard thing to do (not technically, I’ve been upgrading with new and all but untried OSs before). It felt a little like breaking up.

So why the parting of ways? The bald truth is I hated Lion. I think Apple has made some great updates below the hood, and that’s great. But they have made some big mistakes up front, and taken the interface backwards; a long way backwards. Here are some of those mistakes.

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I am a big fan of PBS in general. So when a documentary series covering the history of the Inquisition and some of the major heretical movements in medieval Europe showed up on my Netflix recommendations list, I was cautiously optimistic. (I say cautiously because so far, in my experience, history documentaries tend to be dismal in terms of you know, actual history, having instead an alarming and overwhelming tendency to favor sensationalism over fact every time.) But being PBS, I thought the chances of some actual history leaking in were good. Ah, hope springs eternal! Sadly, I was disappointed.

After a predictably dramatic (and sensationalized introduction – almost de rigeuer for this sort of production), the series begins with the Cathar heresy. However, it glosses over the heyday of Catharism in Europe in the first ten minutes (badly, needless to say) and instead jumps right into the supposed account of the small town of Montaillou in the French Pyrenees. Now this in itself is odd for several reasons. One, the Inqusition (initially a body created for investigation, not murder and mayhem, as this series luridly suggests) was founded directly in response to what even the Vatican considered a disaster – the Albigensian Crusade against the Cathars of southern France. Montaillou was a small remote town, and didn’t fall under the eye of the Church until some time after the Inquisition was founded.

What’s worse however, are the “experts” who appear on screen to give credence to the dramatized action (complete with overly dramatic voiceover). For this section, the main authority is a novelist, who, according to the website for her novel, read a French account of Montaillou while studying French literature in her undergraduate. From this, apparently entranced by the romanticism of it, she wrote the novel whose title appears with her name on screen. (The book is not noted as a novel, leaving the viewer to assume it is a volume of history rather than fiction.)

This is pretty much typical of the series )or at least as much of it as I could stomach watching). Part one, at least is a small handful of facts, picked seemingly at random, pasted together with a patois of drama and pseudo-history. I did look at the list of sources listed on the PBS site, but found little to convince me that later installments would be of any higher quality. The series lists among its bibliography James Carroll (of “Contantine’s Sword” fame, or perhaps infamy is the better term; my review of that is here),  Mark Pegg (author of “The Most Holy War,” which I reviewed here), and Michael Baigent, the fellow behind the Holy Grail, bloodline of Christ business that formed the basis for the DaVinci Code. All of these men are known for work on the medieval church which is spotty at best. Clearly PBS was not particularly rigorous in its research.
Yes, they did list a few more authoritative sources, among them Malcolm barber, one of the most respected historians on the subject of medieval heresy and the Episcopal Inquisition, but I saw little evidence of his work and far more of the influence of the former.

The series also seems happy to present events from a single (and somewhat myopic) viewpoint. For example, in presenting the Albigensian Crusade, it is suggested that the devastation of the Languedoc was the intent of the Church. Not only do they fail to mention the murder of the papal legate sent to the court of Raymond of Toulouse, which was the last in along string of provocations from the Cather side, they also utterly ignore the machinations of the French nobles, only to eager to sweep in and reclaim lands long under the control of English. It was this desire to recapture any territory possible which accounts for the awful brutality of the Albigensian Crusades at least as much (I would argue more) than any sentiment of the Church itself.

Another thing, minor, perhaps, but it bugged me – they showed the Inquisitors accompanied by Templar knights. But to my knowledge the Templars were not involved with the inquisition at all, that is until they were on the wrong end of it, and then only by virtue of being offered up as sacrificial fodder to placate the King of France and protect the name of Pope Boniface VIII. I suspect the Templar presence is inspired by Baigent and his ilk; I’m surprised they didn’t try to claim the Grail was being hidden in Montaillou, too.

It is just this convenient ignorance of the context of events, together with a seeming reliance on the same old sensationalism surrounding the Inquisition, which is itself a product of protestant and subsequent romantic literary and historic traditions that makes this series no better than anything the History Channel puts out (which may be damning with faint praise, or is that praising with faint damnation?). All in all, if you like hijinks and mayhem in the Middle Ages, enjoy this for entertainment value, but don’t look to this series for anything resembling actual history.

Or why the new Classifieds made me see red on FPN!

I just wanted to offer a philosophical take on the Classified Kerfluffle over at Fountain Pen Network. Certainly I, along with everyone who has either raved or ranted about the new selling format, has (or ought to have) a deep and genuine appreciation for the (volunteer) work on the project and on FPN in general. Nevertheless, I do see that a lot of folks reacted pretty strongly to the new format. If I’m being honest, I must confess my own inner curmudgeon came out swinging.

My apologies for that; that’s why I sat down and tried to determine why I had the gut reaction I did. I thought I’d share, for my own sake, for the sake of letting our tireless (and often unthanked) mods know what was up, and maybe, if what I have to say isn’t pure rhetorical fluff (and as an academic, I always acknowledge that’s possibility) it may be good to think about moving forward.

I think part of the problem is that the new marketplace format has gone from feeling like a community thing, like a farmers market, to feeling more like an institution. In this day and age, I think we (consumers, users, customers, members) are too used to having ‘new and improved’ shoved down our throat, will we or nil we, only to find, that “new and improved’ may indeed be the former, but is almost never the latter. We are also surrounded by incomprehensibly and excessively complex systems for everything, from calling our local bank to reading our phone bill. And in too many venues, “new” too often means “even less comprehensible, and even less useful.”

As it was, for all its flaws, the old selling forum was not complex, it was not rigid. It was simple, and relied on integrity and community goodwill to work. And, by and large, from where most of the members sat, it did. It was more of a conversation, a series of exchanges and interactions, not between vague entities, but directly between people. I think that is something we don’t have enough of, and I for one, cherished that on FPN.

Now? This is no longer feels as personal, it is not a direct conversation. Sure, technically, it still is – the same exchanges, the same interactions. Pens, PayPal, etc. But this classified format acts as an entire structure, an edifice, a simulacra of a storefront between buyer and seller that did not exist before. It occupies, I think, the same mental space as customer service phone menus and fine print. On a purely psychological, symbolic level, it creates distance by inserting complexity. I think people tend to rebel against that.

I do get the drawbacks of the old system; I really do. And I get that, in the end, it is rarely (if ever) possible to make people behave voluntarily. However, the freeform nature of the old sales forum was something I, for one, really valued for that specific reason, and was actually proud of. The casual, personal, ‘I’m dealing with a real human being’ nature of it was a big part of the reason I’d prefer to go here than eBay. I suspect the same is true of a lot of those who are objecting.

Perhaps we are overreacting. Likely, it will still be more personal and ‘real’ than eBay ever will. But will it be the same conversation? Will it regain its intimacy? Will the sense of ‘community’ overcome the distance? We’ll see, and I’m not the one to prognosticate. My purpose here is merely to reflect on what changed for me and why. If that proves useful to others, well, I’ve done far more than I ought to have hoped for.

Today I had the privilege of spending a few hours with a terrific (and gratifyingly large) group of fellow pen enthusiasts, courtesy of Kentucky Pen Collectors. While there I was gifted with a Noodler’s Flex Piston Filler pen, had one of my beloved Viscontis retooled, and got a couple pens-ful of new inks, which I have naturally fallen in love with!

So on to the reviews: I can’t thank Julie enough for thinking of me and bringing along the Noodler’s! She said she had had an awful time with it, and figured I might be able to do something with it (considering my love of flexy nibs). Well, right off, the nib looked like it was seated in a bit too far? So I took out the nib, cleaned it all a bit (not that it needed it, Julie takes great care of her pens!) and reseated the nib a good way further out. From my reading, it seems that you can control the amount of flex based on how you seat the nib; something I will have to experiment with later on. I did get it writing, and my first impression is… meh. I have a few scans below, and id does give a nice line variation. (In these scans, more so than my vintage Waterman, which is in part due to the poor quality paper, and the ink in said Waterman, which tends to be a lot wetter than that in the Noodler’s.) However, it writes a bit rough. That may smooth out over time and use, but I’m not sure it will have the chance, given that the flex it offers takes a bit of effort. At least I have no fear of springing the nib, but I can’t see myself using this comfortably for any length of time. I may see if I can smooth it a bit, and fiddle with the nib placement, and see if I can get a smoother, easier flex out of it.

Here’s a detail shot:

And for contrast:

In a brighter note, I had the nib on my Visconti VanGogh retooled, courtesy of Pendleton Brown, the well-known nib-meister of ‘Pendleton Point’ fame! It was such a pleasure to meet Pendleton, and he gave a wonderful talk & demo of his retooling process. We all learned quite a bit, and Pendleton himself is a fantastic fellow to talk to. Right before my very eyes, my rather dull Visconti steel medium was transformed into a Pendleton ‘Butter-line Elegant Stub! I’m in love with this pen all over again! Sadly, I don’t have any ‘before’ images, but really, you’re not missing much. Here’s the sexy ‘after’ scan:

And a detail:

Needless to say, I am very pleased! In addition, Pendleton, along with several other folks, were kind enough to have a few inks up for sampling. I got a sample of Noodler’s Blue Ghost UV ink, which I will review as soon as I figure out how to photograph it! But my Soyuz Soviet pen was allowed to sip a fill of my first Pilot Iroshizuko, in Yama Budo, or Wild Grapes. Here’s a scan:

Overall, I really love this ink. I haven’t used it enough yet to confirm it’s good behavior, but everyone I talk to raves about the quality and performance of this ink. I will say that I like the color way more than I expected to! It’s a purple/fuchsia/pink/burgundy/red-ish. Yeah, it’s kind of hard to pin down, which may be what I like about it. I know it’s not too red, not too pink (a big one for me; I simply don’t do pink), and it’s not too purple. It’s bright without being washed out, and saturated without being too dark. It’s a purple that doesn’t scream purple, and I like that about it. It has some subtle shading, and when it gets on really heavy, it does an interesting color shift, showing a deep, blood-red tone that is nowhere to be seen in lighter strokes…. Here’s a close-up:

Overall, I dub the day a fantastic success! Thanks again to all who helped organize this event, and I’m really looking forward to getting together again in July!

Current Mood:  cheerful

The Visconti Hours, National Library, Florence (Slipcase Edition)
by Millard Meiss

This is a gorgeous volume, not quite a facsimile edition, but a richly reproduced selection of plates from one of the most lavishly illustrated Books of Hours. There is a brief but very informative introduction, which presents not only the manuscript itself, but the background of the Visconti family. It is always good to know background, especially with Books of Hours, as they tended to be customized for their owners, but in this case, the background adds immeasurably to the experience of the illuminations.

The Visconti family employed one of my favorite coats of arms: a basilisk devouring a human child. Not only is this a delightful commentary of the rather ruthless nature of the Italian clans in the middle ages, it survives today, on the front of every Alfa Romeo ever made. So it is particularly interesting that the Viscontis, and this Visconti in particular, motivated by an intense desire to legitimize his position (not quite legitimately attained) as Duke, saw fit to plaster that very insignia all over his personal prayer book, making it rather like a game of ‘Where’s Waldo,” assuming of course, that Waldo is a suitable name for a child-devouring basilisk.

On a more serious note, however, the commentary which accompanies each plate makes this an excellent volume for the study of manuscript illumination, and of Books of Hours. If I have a quibble (and it is a minuscule one), it is that the metallic ink, intended to accent those areas which are embellished with gold leaf in the original, cannot begin to convey the glory to which it refers. I might almost prefer to have the unaccented image, lest the poor pigments available damn the original with faint praise. Then again, photographing gold leaf reliably is notoriously difficult, so perhaps the spot ink serves to clarify rather than dim, in which case, I am happy to have it.

In any case, this is a beautiful book, lovingly crafted with regard to both content and production. It’s a volume that should appeal to those with artistic as well as historic interest in medieval manuscripts.

Current Mood:  accomplished

Finally got together with a few o the pen folks again, and had a lovely time. One person has some stunning Japanese pens – these may have to go onto my wish list, if maybe not shopping list for this poor professor. Another had several really lovely Pelikans, which only confirms a Pelikan as my next big pen purchase. And I say big purchase both in size – I love big pens, and price – they don’t come cheap (well, for me, anyway! Seems some folks out there have snagged some enviable deals!)

All in all, it’s got me back to being fired up about fixing up some of my project pens, and maybe (gulp!) thinning my collection down a bit. First step will be fixing what can be fixed, deciding which of those to keep, which to sell, and which to simply give away with full caveats. Then, perhaps I’ll turn my eye to thinning the regular collection! (Can you believe that I really miss taking notes in classes? I don’t get to use pens anywhere near as much!)

Unlocking the Torah Text Vayikra is essentially an explication of the third book of the Hebrew Bible, Leviticus, and is part of a series of similar books on he books of the Torah. Goldin’s work is aimed squarely at the observant Jew, educated in Torah and its interpretation. A broad knowledge of Hebrew helps, too.

Goldin’s approach is intensely detailed, and he delves into even the smallest shadings of linguistic subtlety (which is where some knowledge of hebrew helps). Nevertheless, as an academic with considerable experience with Jewish Studies, I was hoping this would be a more scholarly work, rather than one aimed at the faithful. That, I failed to find. I can’t really evaluate the value of this volume to its intended audience, since I am not that audience. Nevertheless, while I am aware the Vayikra/Leviticus is as problematic and challenging a text in Judaism as it is in Christianity, Goldin seems, from my non-Jewish perspective at least, to make a creditable case for its applicability to modern life. That is, if you are an observant Jew.

What this book does not do is make the Jewish understanding of this book more open to non-Jews, or provide the sort of historical background into its interpretation that an academic reader is likely to be looking for. If your interest in Scriptural texts is, like mine, an academic and historical one, this volume will not provide the kind of scholarly foundation you are looking for, and will likely frustrate you, as it did me, even as I admired Goldin’s thoroughness.

If, however, you are seeking a deeper personal religious understanding of Vayikra/Leviticus as an exploration of your Jewish faith, Goldin’s work seems readable, sensitive, and engaging. In that case, I think this volume may hold tremendous insight.

(Note: An Advance Copy was reviewed, final work may differ from the exact text reviewed)

First, I must say that my familiarity with Italian history lies far more in the Middle Ages, but 15th C Rome isn’t exactly foreign territory. Therefore, while I can’t say if Sara Poole’s backdrop is correct in every particular, I can say she captures the time and place very adroitly. The famous political giants struggling for power in Rome, the Orsini, the Sforza, the Colonna, and of course the upstart Borgias: are all there in their ambitious and conniving glory. Her portrait of the Papacy and the Church of the 15th C is deliciously, and quite accurately, scathing as well. And her sympathetic handling of Cesare and Lucrezia Borgia strikes a chord with me as well – as a fan of Machiavelli, I have inherited a kinder view of the Borgias (Cesare in particular), and recent scholarship bears it out. It’s refreshing to see a more nuanced view of these figures than the unrelentingly black-and-white depictions so often trotted out.

From that perspective, Poole’s offering is excellent. I have quibbles, though. While I enjoyed the first person narrative, it did, at times, become too self-conscious for my taste. One wants to feel the personality of a first person narrator, without being too distracted by it. Francesca’s occasional asides didn’t always fit, and the “But, I digress, I shouldn’t be telling you this” sort of asides should have been used far more sparingly. Poole seems to be experimenting with a style of voice, and while I think it works, she needs to fine-tune her use of it to keep it just a bit more transparent.

The grammatical and typographical errors are frequent enough to really stand out. I suspect these are editing gaffes; things like a singular noun with a plural verb, duplicated or omitted words, or the wrong character name inserted into the narrative are jarring and intrusive, though the overall meaning is still apparent, if at times with a moment’s pause. Such things are doubtless the nature of a pre-release review copy, but I hope they are corrected before print!

My other quibble is a more significant one. Poole builds a masterful plot, complex and engaging. She builds equally complex and engaging characters. By three quarters of the way through the book, the stage is set and the story is fully fleshed out. But then the ending comes in a rush. I think Poole should have taken another 50, even 100 pages to spin out her conclusion with the same deft hand as she built the rest; it’s a disservice to the time both she and her readers have invested. That’s not to say she doesn’t wrap up the plot, or that she leaves holes – she doesn’t. It just feels…rushed.

Overall, I think this is a delightful story, well grounded in a vivid, believable and largely accurate setting. Her characters are appealing, and the plot keeps interest throughout. It’s definitely worth the read, and I will be looking for more work buy this author.

Got four new inks added to the Inks page: Claret, Monaco Red, Burnt Sienna and Imperial Purple, all from Diamine. I think that Monaco is going to be a favorite, and will require a large bottle to be obtained directly…. Thanks for John from FPN for arranging the volume purchase! if you’re not careful, you’re going to end up our designated group buyer!

Also recently added two NOS Visconti inks, Aquamarine & Ruby Red. Both lovely colors, though I am a little leery of the Ruby Red – it seems a little too frothy, but I’ll let it settle a bit and see. I have plenty of easily flushed pens I can try it out in first to make sure it’s still good. The Aquamarine had leaked a little in transit, so I’ve had blue fingers for the last two days.

Which reminds me, a giggle for all of you pen-fiddlers out there, with which I am sure we can all identify:

I’m really ambivalent about this book. I have started it twice, and I can’t get too far into it. I’m a HUGE lover of Dante and the Commedia (I’m writing my Master’s thesis on it!) and I know it quite well. But even while I can sort of see the connection, I don’t identify with it.

Dante’s Inferno is balanced, ruled by a certain kind of reason; even the most horrific scenes in the Inferno are still meticulously crafted in some of the most beautiful, lyrical Italian ever set down. Maybe I haven’t gone far enough to see a pattern, but I just don’t see that resonance here. The tone, the violence, the language – it isn’t about Dante to me. And if the main character is intended to evoke Dante the pilgrim, I don’t think the author gets Dante at all. Without that connection, the rough, dark, contemporary violent edge just isn’t a style I’d read otherwise. I may go back and give it another go sometime, but for now, I’d say give this one a pass.