Emmy Awards

I remember the Emmy awards 40 years ago.  All of America watched the same shows and we rooted for our favorites.  If our faves won we were happy, if not we groaned but we understood. We had seen the other shows and we had at least some scornful respect.

Now we watch what we want when we want.  I've recently seen all three seasons of Downton Abbey and the first season of House of Cards.  That's just about all of the current TV I've watched, which puts me pretty much on my own island. Not unlike others, I guess.  But what does that say about the Emmy's? Without a common viewing experience how can such awards be meaningful?  Most of the awards went to shows I'd never seen, and many went to shows I'd never heard of.

But let's not romanticize the past.  Most of what was broadcast was just plain awful, and it all lived within a very narrow mainstream creative range. Now there's still lots of crap to watch, but there's much much more of everything, including the good stuff. And thanks to almost unlimited bandwidth the range is enormous.  There truly is something for everyone.

Nonetheless there was a stronger sense of community back then. Common experience that encouraged a sense of belonging to something larger then ourselves. Shared sacrifice for a larger good was more accepted. Today's fragmentation and focus on the individual does have political, economic, and sociological consequences. I guess we have to look elsewhere for shared experience. Online social networks certainly help to bring people together. Sports still connect us, both as participants and viewers. I hope we continue to find new ways to connect, on almost any terms.

Meanwhile the Emmy Award Show is at least a way to find out what I should perhaps be watching. And unlike the past, I can watch it as I please.

Space

When we have open time before us, what do we do?  3:00am and can't sleep? Lull in the work day? Free eve? Immediates away?  Alone unexpectedly? It's easy to fill the time with a crossword, sudoku, something easy from the to-do list, a quick errand, an overdue email, etc.  Then there are heavier options: read something serious, practice the piano, write something serious, cook something creative.

For me a good answer lately is to do nothing. Constant motion can keep me from attending to myself. Instead, be still.  Be comfortable with nothing. During the nothing something meaningful will emerge.  It always does, but it requires courage to keep listening to the nothing.

Upstairs, Upstairs

Anthony Trollope, contemporary of Dickens, famous in his day.  47 novels published, and by his late years already considered old-fashioned. Nobody reads him today, or at least so it seems.  I love his books, though I am aware of his limitations.  Every so often I return to Trollope for another sanity dose, be it an installment from the Chronicles of Barsetshire or the Palliser novels.  Always does me good.

Uncle Anthony

The Eustace Diamonds is one of the Palliser novels, and it’s vintage Trollope: a microscopic discerning account of a very thin slice of upper crust London society in the mid 19^th-century.  This is truly all upstairs.  No downstairs.  That would be is beneath his notice.  We have a set of characters that represents a very narrow range of London society, but nonetheless we can enjoy very finely etched distinctions.  And we also have a kaleidoscope of character juxtapositions. Just about every conceivable combination occurs, and the results are fascinating indeed.  We have plenty of social and political commentary, but again within an extremely narrow range.  Lawyers will be lawyers, be it 1870 or 2013.  The game is still the same.  Politics and money still have a stranglehold on government.  Not much has changed, and probably not much will.

The extraordinary moral vision of Dickens is completely absent.  Trollope takes a relatively objective observer’s point of view, and the lack of moral imperative can be tedious.  We almost feel like we’re reading a train schedule, just a record of what is, with little explicit indication of what might be, what needs to be, or what must be.  Also, the influence of Wilkie Collins is clear.  (The Woman in White remains one of my all-time favs.) The Eustace Diamonds came out only a few years after the fabulously successful The Moonstone, and the effort to get on the new bandwagon is evident, understandable, and forgivable.

It’s a long book, about 800 pages.  It’s divided into tightly structured short chapters, and was initially published as a serial.  Hence it doesn’t read quickly.  Like a telegram, it has many ‘stops’, but I’m happy to devote a month to this book.  The subtle and gradual revelation of character is very rewarding, and the plot is well crafted.  And even at 800 pages, the book is clearly part of the larger picture, the Trollope universe of characters and context, one that I take great pleasure in visiting and revisiting every so often.  The writing is effective but limited.  Little of the extraordinary range of Dickens is in evidence.  Listen to Uncle Anthony tell his story.  He’s a bit of a bore, but if you have the patience to hear him out, you won’t be disappointed.

I will never forget some of the characters in The Eustace Diamonds.  Trollope was a master, and it’s our loss if we toss him aside in favor of our latest fads.