This is a random muse that popped into my head today while doing homework, so I apologize if it seems a bit scatter-brained. I just had to jot it down.
Alright. So, first of all, I want to say that I love Grimm fairy tales. Disney waters most of their stories down far too much, while I prefer many of the original tragic endings to the reworked happy endings. To me, Grimm has a way of making magic feel very real... and altogether dangerous. However, even Grimms' stories are sometimes too simple for my taste.
The story of Hansel and Gretal is a good example. Ignoring the fact that the children/parents were gullible enough to try each of their corresponding find-our-way-home/lose-the-kids operations twice, the basic plot is okay-- but it could most definitely be improved upon. Personally, I think adding a demonic contract into the mix would spice things up nicely.
For example: "Anyone who eats of this house is cursed to remain inside the preset magical boundaries of the property. If the accursed ever steps outside the boundary of protection, he (or she) shall have his entrails brutally ripped out and devoured." Fun stuff, right?
Now then. The witch, while being the one who summoned the demons in the first place, ought to also be subject to the contract. Meaning that part of the contract's terms is that in exchange for their "loyalty" and protection, she's not allowed to leave either-- which is why she has to lure children to her in the first place. As soon as they so much as lick the charmed peppermint, they are trapped by the terms of the magical contract. If they try to leave, the demons will get them, and if they stay, the witch will hunt them down and eat their still-beating hearts to keep herself young.
Also, as an extra safe-guard, I think her house ought to contain slow-working poison that will kill the trespassor all by itself in about, oh, three days' time. That adds an additional sense of urgency to the classic fairytale.
Oh, and part of the demons' job should be to prevent adults from entering the witch's property, because 1) Their hearts aren't at all useful to the witch and 2) They're more likely to figure out how to break the contract, which would result in the demons' taking revenge on their master before returning to the etherworld.
Hmm. Yes. I like this version of the story much better. In the meantime, though, I suppose I'll have to make do with re-reading Jonathan Stroud's "Heroes of the Valley" (which I still consider to be a tale of 'boy who cried wolf' gone bad.)
For that matter, I could just watch Blair Witch Project again... Dear little stick people. I bet each one represents a different human she killed...
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Friday, July 15, 2011
Acknowledging Flaws
"The first step to solving any problem is to accurately define the problem."
My dad told me those words of wisdom several years ago when explaining the correct way to troubleshoot a computer bug. I think I was eight at the time.
"You wouldn't believe how many people call our office, only to say 'well, my computer isn't working'. That's not helpful. There are countless ways a computer can 'stop working', and often it's actually an error on the user's behalf. Half of the time, the client simply forgot to click the OK button. Unless the client tells us exactly what the problem is: "clicked/typed such and such, expected certain response, but computer responded in such and such a manner that was undesirable", it is nearly impossible for us to tell them how to fix their 'bug'."
Those words have stuck with me through the years, and since then, technical difficulties have been considerably less frustrating. However, I don't think this wisdom applies only to the realm of computers.
In order to solve any problem in life, it's important that you first define exactly what the problem is, and (if possible) how the problem arose.
This is why in therapy groups, each of the members introduce themselves along with their problem. "Hi, my name is [insert here], and I've been an alcoholic/drug abuser/mentally ill/etc. for the past [insert time frame here]."
The simple act of acknowledging a problem is an essential part of the recovery process. However, as with many things in life, that's easier said than done. For some people (ahem: me), self-imposed ignorance is a critical coping mechanism. Whether this is out of an unhealthy desire for perfection, or fear that there is no solution, or simply sheer pride, I'm not sure.
The fact of the matter is that this kind of thinking is terribly skewed. For one thing, the idea of perfection in humans (at least, while on earth) is laughable. We all fall miserably short. However, there is hope for some improvement... if we know what we're dealing with. Acknowledging our flaws enables us to adress them, counterbalance them-- or at the very least, strips them of some of their power by naming a nameless beast. Even if there isn't anything that can be done about it (and there almost always is), having an identified problem is often much less overwhelming than dealing with generalized failure. Too often we equate 'sometimes failing' to 'being failures'.
As for pride... Well, that's a whole topic in itself.
In short: It's not necessarily wrong to have problems, but it's what we do with them that counts.
My dad told me those words of wisdom several years ago when explaining the correct way to troubleshoot a computer bug. I think I was eight at the time.
"You wouldn't believe how many people call our office, only to say 'well, my computer isn't working'. That's not helpful. There are countless ways a computer can 'stop working', and often it's actually an error on the user's behalf. Half of the time, the client simply forgot to click the OK button. Unless the client tells us exactly what the problem is: "clicked/typed such and such, expected certain response, but computer responded in such and such a manner that was undesirable", it is nearly impossible for us to tell them how to fix their 'bug'."
Those words have stuck with me through the years, and since then, technical difficulties have been considerably less frustrating. However, I don't think this wisdom applies only to the realm of computers.
In order to solve any problem in life, it's important that you first define exactly what the problem is, and (if possible) how the problem arose.
This is why in therapy groups, each of the members introduce themselves along with their problem. "Hi, my name is [insert here], and I've been an alcoholic/drug abuser/mentally ill/etc. for the past [insert time frame here]."
The simple act of acknowledging a problem is an essential part of the recovery process. However, as with many things in life, that's easier said than done. For some people (ahem: me), self-imposed ignorance is a critical coping mechanism. Whether this is out of an unhealthy desire for perfection, or fear that there is no solution, or simply sheer pride, I'm not sure.
The fact of the matter is that this kind of thinking is terribly skewed. For one thing, the idea of perfection in humans (at least, while on earth) is laughable. We all fall miserably short. However, there is hope for some improvement... if we know what we're dealing with. Acknowledging our flaws enables us to adress them, counterbalance them-- or at the very least, strips them of some of their power by naming a nameless beast. Even if there isn't anything that can be done about it (and there almost always is), having an identified problem is often much less overwhelming than dealing with generalized failure. Too often we equate 'sometimes failing' to 'being failures'.
As for pride... Well, that's a whole topic in itself.
In short: It's not necessarily wrong to have problems, but it's what we do with them that counts.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Death Note Philosophy
So. I've always been a huge fan of anime (i.e Japanese animation), but I've never gotten around to watching a show from beginning to end-- until recently, that is. Over the course of the past few months, my lousy Internet has allowed me to sneak Death Note episodes in here and there. I must say (though this might partly be due to the sheer amount of time I devoted to watching, not to mention forever loading and re-loading, the episodes):
I'm rather impressed with it.
Don't let the animation fool you into thinking this is a kids' show. In Japan, cartoons are for adults as well. Many anime shows contain dark themes, and Death Note is certainly not an exception.
Although the show is 37 episodes long and does an excellent job of keeping the viewer's attention with multiple plot twists (not to mention the intensity of the underlying battle of Good vs. Evil), the premise is fairly simple. One day, in the midst of disgust at the sheer brokenness of the world, a student named Light Yagami stumbles upon a blank notebook. On the inside cover, a few odd but straightforward rules are found. There is a single underlying rule that all the others serve to detail:
The person whose name is written in this book shall die.
At first Light dismisses the book as an immature prank, yet he is unable to completely forget about it. Insatiable knowledge of the book skirts the edges of his consciousness, until his curiosity eventually wins the better of him. He writes in the death note, using the name of a local criminal. Sure enough, the man dies of a heart attack as predicted.
Light immediately decides that it was a mere coincidence. Yet his curiosity is stronger now, and a few days later he finds himself experimenting with it again on another local criminal. The second man also dies. This time, the death is caused by a freak automobile accident-- exactly as specified in the note.
Horrified, Light is now convinced that the note is real. Which means he has just killed two men, murdered them in cold blood just as surely as if he had held a gun to their faces. And yet, as soon as these thoughts enter his mind, more come to replace them. After all, he reasons, isn't this what he's always wanted? The ability to cleanse the world of all that is evil and ugly, to make wrongdoers suffer for their crimes, and to protect the innocence of the helpless? The death note is a blessing in his hands, not a curse. Thus begins his spiralling descent into the grip of absolute power.
Am I a little obsessed with the show's concept? Most definitely.
Regardless, the questions the protagonist wrestles with throughout the entire series are deep ones: Do some people deserve to die; and if so, who gets to make that judgement call?
Yes, I'm sure you're remembering certain lessons from Sunday School when you were a kid. Good. Now I want you to really think about it. If you were given the ability to punish criminals for their wrongdoings, would you? More importantly, if you alone decided what was worthy of death-- if moral wickedness and innocence was defined solely by you-- would your judgements be righteous? Or would you be no better than those very criminals deemed 'unfit for life'?
In the case of Light Yagami, the god-like power of the death note slowly corrodes each of his ideals one by one, until it ultimately destroys him.
"Anything obtained by killing people can never bring true happiness." -Mr. Yagami (Light's dad)
"This isn't divine judgement. It's the work of some childish killer who's playing at divine retribution. That's all." -Ryuuzaki (L)
"No matter how gifted you are, you alone can't change the world." -Ryuuzaki (L)
"Humans are so... interesting!" -Ryuk
((If anyone wants to see a condensed version of Light's transformation from idealistic schoolboy to complete psychopath, this is an excellent amv. Flobot's "Handlebars" is most definitely a fitting song choice...))
I'm rather impressed with it.
Don't let the animation fool you into thinking this is a kids' show. In Japan, cartoons are for adults as well. Many anime shows contain dark themes, and Death Note is certainly not an exception.
Although the show is 37 episodes long and does an excellent job of keeping the viewer's attention with multiple plot twists (not to mention the intensity of the underlying battle of Good vs. Evil), the premise is fairly simple. One day, in the midst of disgust at the sheer brokenness of the world, a student named Light Yagami stumbles upon a blank notebook. On the inside cover, a few odd but straightforward rules are found. There is a single underlying rule that all the others serve to detail:
The person whose name is written in this book shall die.
At first Light dismisses the book as an immature prank, yet he is unable to completely forget about it. Insatiable knowledge of the book skirts the edges of his consciousness, until his curiosity eventually wins the better of him. He writes in the death note, using the name of a local criminal. Sure enough, the man dies of a heart attack as predicted.
Light immediately decides that it was a mere coincidence. Yet his curiosity is stronger now, and a few days later he finds himself experimenting with it again on another local criminal. The second man also dies. This time, the death is caused by a freak automobile accident-- exactly as specified in the note.
Horrified, Light is now convinced that the note is real. Which means he has just killed two men, murdered them in cold blood just as surely as if he had held a gun to their faces. And yet, as soon as these thoughts enter his mind, more come to replace them. After all, he reasons, isn't this what he's always wanted? The ability to cleanse the world of all that is evil and ugly, to make wrongdoers suffer for their crimes, and to protect the innocence of the helpless? The death note is a blessing in his hands, not a curse. Thus begins his spiralling descent into the grip of absolute power.
Am I a little obsessed with the show's concept? Most definitely.
Regardless, the questions the protagonist wrestles with throughout the entire series are deep ones: Do some people deserve to die; and if so, who gets to make that judgement call?
Yes, I'm sure you're remembering certain lessons from Sunday School when you were a kid. Good. Now I want you to really think about it. If you were given the ability to punish criminals for their wrongdoings, would you? More importantly, if you alone decided what was worthy of death-- if moral wickedness and innocence was defined solely by you-- would your judgements be righteous? Or would you be no better than those very criminals deemed 'unfit for life'?
In the case of Light Yagami, the god-like power of the death note slowly corrodes each of his ideals one by one, until it ultimately destroys him.
"Anything obtained by killing people can never bring true happiness." -Mr. Yagami (Light's dad)
"This isn't divine judgement. It's the work of some childish killer who's playing at divine retribution. That's all." -Ryuuzaki (L)
"No matter how gifted you are, you alone can't change the world." -Ryuuzaki (L)
"Humans are so... interesting!" -Ryuk
((If anyone wants to see a condensed version of Light's transformation from idealistic schoolboy to complete psychopath, this is an excellent amv. Flobot's "Handlebars" is most definitely a fitting song choice...))
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