Slicer's Slivers of Being

Watching The River Flow - a review of Yellow (the novel) by Dave Thompson

It takes a lot these days to pull me away from other activities and post a new blog. I've reviewed books in the past but only summon up the energy to do so when I'm really taken with one. This one had me hooked from the get-go, and reeled me to the finish, laughing all the way.

"People disagreeing everywhere you look
Makes you wanna stop and read a book" 
Watching The River Flow, Bob Dylan.

According to the Amazon description, " 'Yellow' is a romantic comedy about the big themes in human experience: connection and separation; risk and reward; crowd control and finding the nearest toilet." Yep, that's pretty much on target.

The book is littered with colourful characters and their interactions, with the constant and, it seems to me, novel back-drop of work as a steward at public events, unapologetically in (post-troubles) Northern Ireland. It's all very "real" - right down to Fundamentalists protesting events, often on the basis of misunderstanding - but not at all gritty. Like happens reading other good novels, I began to forget these weren't real people and I missed them at the end of the novel. I guess one reason it's so relatable is that it's likely informed by observing a river of people flowing into various entertainment venues and those policing them. Stewarded events range from line-dancing in Ballyclare (where Robbie the central character watches the actual river flow) to posh folk tasting posh food in a field near Hillsborough, to arena tours of some of the biggest rock and pop artists on the planet. It's the best of "reality TV" (can't believe I wrote that phrase) without the silicone cleavages, pouting of excessively injected lips, or male chests fresh from liberal application of depilatory cream, and too much time on a sunbed. On reflection, maybe the author will be troubled by such a comparison! At the risk of keeping digging, I'd say it's much more Gogglebox (with some of the colourful strong language) than Love Island. I hope the novel travels as well as Derry Girls. It is worthy of a much wider audience than Ulster.

Confession - I know the author personally but this review was unsolicited and, regardless of who was the book's author, simply wouldn't have appeared if I didn't love the book. The biggest problem I had reading it was seeing the central character and narrator as a fictional individual since (apart from marriage break-up in the novel) that character, Robbie, seems perilously close in personality, sense of humour, warmth, observational prowess, empathy (and experience as a steward in hi-viz) to the author I know. Robbie is a Dylan fan. If books were albums, I'd say this is Dave Thompson's Blood on the Tracks, only fuelled by encounters whilst stewarding and in other settings, rather than by personal relationship breakdown. It's like he has skipped the dubious tentative debut album, gone straight for the classic, and done it as an Indie artist to boot. Like Dylan's colourful naming of people in his songs (or Bob Mortimer's hilarious accounts on UK TV panel game Would I Lie To You), Robbie applies a variety of monikers to fellow stewards. There is a warm and astute observational humour throughout.

Of course as well as Dylan, Robbie, in his early fifties, likes lots of other musicians of long-standing, and discussions with others about music permeate the book. In places it reminds me of Nick Hornby's "High Fidelity," but it's not derivative.



Like Hornby, there are quotable observations in the context of relationships, or would-be romances. One of my favourites from Hornby is "It's no good pretending that any relationship has a future if your record collections disagree violently or if your favorite films wouldn't even speak to each other if they met at a party." I'm pretty sure Robbie would agree. In Yellow, Robbie inherits a turntable (record player) from his deceased father and fondly describes the ritual of carefully taking a vinyl record out of its sleeve, placing it on the turntable and lowering the stylus.  He describes it as "an act of remembrance" but that it's even more than that, it's like the deceased is present in the room. (Must have a good amp and speakers too, heh heh). Robbie is looking for "communion" with a particular girl who's somewhat out of reach. There are themes of relationship breakdown, separation, restoration, redemption and new beginnings.

Apart from the hi-viz jackets, a few other things that are yellow get a mention - ranging from Coldplay's song to bodily fluids. One of the characters in Dylan's "Tombstone Blues" asserts "The sun's not yellow, it's chicken." Well, when it comes to offering opinions, Robbie ain't chicken. He often regrets not taming his tongue more. Like the recent Rolling Stones world tour (where yellow was the dominant colour branding), too often he has #nofilter. However, in pursuing his girl, he often does find himself tongue-tied.




Dave Thompson deserves a contract from a publisher with all the benefits that come with that (pay and professional proof-readers and editor). This is a very fine debut despite lacking those advantages. Just. Get. It. It's available on that big river, Amazon. Once it's a best seller, I look forward to it being snapped up, High Fidelity-style, by the movie industry. It's that good.

"We sit here stranded, though we're all doin' our best to deny it..." (Part 1)

Lockdown hasn't been easy. Going to work in healthcare to face COVID-19 up close and personal has been tough for many. Death has been dangling over us like the sword of Damocles. Many of us have tried to make the best of it at home with loved ones, reading more, playing games (even inventing some), watching movies together, dressing up for "restaurant meals" at home. Some have had to don PPE, some have been sent home from work for their own physical or mental health protection.

Nevertheless, whether at home or at work, the (dark) humour of some Richard O'Brien lyrics from Rocky Horror have been what many have felt:

"The Sword of Damocles is hangin' over my head
And I've got the feelin' someone's gonna be cuttin' the thread
Oh! Woe is me! My life is a misery
Oh! And can't you see
That I'm at the start of a pretty big downer.
I woke up this mornin' with a start when I fell out of bed (that ain't no crime)
And left from my dream it was a feelin' of un-nameable dread (that ain't no crime)
My high is low, I'm dressed up with no place to go!
And all I know
Is I'm at the start of a pretty big downer."

In Cicero’s version of the classical moral fable of Damocles, Dionysius II was a king who once ruled over the city of Syracuse in Sicily during the fourth and fifth centuries B.C. Dionysius, although rich and powerful, failed to find happiness. His tyrrannical rule made him many enemies, and he was consumed by fear of being assassinated. He wouldn't trust anyone but his daughters with a razor to trim his beard. Short of meeting Sweeney Todd, who amongst us before 2020 would have thought that fear of death would prevent a trip to the barbers? Yet here we are in these days of "lockdown haircuts", some of them hilarious.

Anyway, in the fable, a courtier named Damocles commented how wonderful, luxurious and enviable Dionysius' life was. Dionysius took offence and suggested Damocles shared the royal experience. He set him on a golden couch and had him waited upon by servants. He had succulent cuts of meat set before him. Damocles was loving it until he noticed that Dionysius had hung a sharp sword over his head, held there by just a single strand of horsehair. From then on, the courtier’s fear for his life made it impossible for him to enjoy the decadent excesses of royal life, and he asked to be relieved of the experience.

For some, life under lockdown has felt a little like that; for some, sadly, the sword has fallen. The threat and fear take a toll, even if we ourselves escape having to pay one to cross the Styx. The toll may be paid in terms of mental health. We need a good and weighty tune for the times, weightier stuff than the fluff but fun Rocky Horror song -  maybe one where "The harmonicas play the skeleton keys".

What a joy it is in this context to have a new bluesy original song drop today from the Mighty Zim! (The observant among you will have spotted the Dylan source in the title of this blog post). The visual aid accompanying "False Prophet" intriguingly is a skeleton in a top hat, whose shadow is that of an executed man, and who carries a syringe, poised to give a shot of whatever it contains - some kind of reddish liquid... or is the red colour a reflection/consequence of the red "Rough and Rowdy Ways"?  The song title seems to be from the main character's assertion in it, made 3 times, that "I ain't no false prophet".

At this time there are many false prophets out there, some with seeming (if discredited) credentials - and no end of conspiracy theories ranging from "Deep State" plans, claims that Bill Gates patented SARS-CoV-2 and seeks to become rich by selling a vaccine we don't need, to it being virus deliberately manufactured by the Chinese to bring down the West (spectacular, and entirely predictable, own goal then!), to COVID-19 being due to 5G technology. It seems some are happy to believe all these mutually conflicting notions at the same time, and peddle them on the internet. When misinformation is taken down by (belatedly) responsible online agencies, these deluded folk yell "There! See?! Deep State at work!"

On this new Dylan song, the 1st person main character seems to have a struggle to get folk to trust him over competing prophetic voices.

In the absence of a set of official lyrics yet on bobdylan.com, here's a set which sounds mostly correct to me (alternative to my ear is presented in brackets), sourced from Far Out Magazine:

"Another day that don’t end
Another ship goin’ out
Another day of anger, bitterness, and doubt
I know how it happened
I saw it begin
I opened my heart to the world and the world came in

Hello Mary Lou
Hello Miss Pearl
My fleet-footed guides from the underworld
No stars in the sky shine brighter than you
You girls mean business and I do too

Well I’m the enemy of treason
Enemy of strife
Enemy of the unlived meaningless life
I ain’t no false prophet
I just know what I know
I go where only the lonely can go

I’m first among equals
Second to none
Last of the best
You can bury the rest
Bury ’em naked with their silver and gold
Put them six feet under and pray for their souls

What are you lookin’ at
There’s nothing to see
Just a cool breeze that’s encircling me
Let’s go for a walk in the garden
So far and so wide
We can sit in the shade by the fountain-side

I search the world over
For the Holy Grail
I sing songs of love
I sing songs of betrayal
Don’t care what I drink
Don’t care what I eat
I climbed the mountains of swords on my bare feet

You don’t know me darlin’
You never would guess
I’m nothing like my ghostly appearance would suggest
I ain’t no false prophet
I just said what I said
I’m just here to bring vengeance on somebody’s head

Put out your hand
There’s nothing to hold
Open your mouth
I’ll stuff it with gold
Oh you poor devil look up if you will
The city of God is there on the hill

Hello stranger
A long goodbye
You ruled the land
But so do I
You lost your mule (or You lusty old mule)
You got a poison brain
I’ll marry you to a ball and chain

You know darlin’
The kind of life that I live
When your smile meets my smile something’s got to give
I ain’t no false prophet
No I’m nobody’s bride
Can’t remember when I was born
And I forgot when I died"

Like many of Dylan's lyrics before, these will send his fans scurrying to interpret them - and, like his previous lyrics, they may well bear multiple interpretations and/or meanings. That's the nature of genius art. Yet some Dylan songs are only thinly veiled and perhaps we just need a skeleton key to unlock them - a key which unlocks many other of his songs as well. In part 2 of this blog, I'll indulge myself (and you if you let me) with my own interpretation. Feel free to drop by.

In the meantime it is natural, like Damocles, to want a return to "normal life" and have the threat of COVID-19 taken away. When lockdown is relaxed, and certainly before it is, let's behave responsibly. Let's not create a situation where it's thought or said of us, in the words of Frank N Furter at the end of the Rocky Horror song, "Well, really, that's no way to behave on your first day out!"

The Formula for a Perfect Soul Mate.

Well then. Let's move from an explanation of science to a great novel showing the limitations of systematic methods of discovery. (But you arts folk, don't skip over the earlier post to get to this one - that's cheating). My wife pushed hard to get me to read this - but she almost put me off by suggesting more than once that I had Asperger's tendencies and would identify with the main character... (She thinks all men have, so at least there are a lot of us shouldering the same accusation).

 

It's not the sort of book I'd usually be drawn to read but alongside another she got me to read many years ago - John Irving's A Prayer For Owen Meany -  it will be a lasting favourite. Don Tillman is a Genetics Prof who's very direct, more than a little socially-challenged, and demonstrates autistic traits (eg lack of social awareness, focus on detail at the expense of people/relationships, & failure to pick up social cues). He has a small number of amazingly tolerant friends, but his relationships with women have been a disaster, for reasons that are self-evident to everyone but him. He's a bloke who values evidence base and systematic approaches above pretty much all else. 

This is a funny, gentle novel, rich with dramatic irony. Don's life is highly organised and predictable (something else he values a great deal). He realises that he's missing out on a life partner, so he embarks on what is dubbed The Wife Project.  He resorts to some common solutions eg speed dating. Trouble is, he finds traditional approaches very inefficient. Feelings are, after all, untrustworthy. So, he designs a lengthy questionnaire in order to sort 'the wheat from the chaff.' In the process he completely misses when he's being chatted up. Potential spouses are dismissed on the basis that they don't fit the predefined criteria that he's after. He realises some deficiencies with the early version of his questionnaire so, like a good scientist, he adapts it to make it even better at filtering out the 'unsuitable.' 

Then Rosie storms into his life. She's full of vitality, energy and passion and isn't put off by his odd traits. She doesn't seem constrained by rules. She is, however, clearly unsuitable by pretty much all of his predefined 'spouse criteria'. Still, he ends up spending time with her using his genetic skills to try to help her identify her biological father (who may well be trying his best to remain unidentified). She REALLY screws up his life tho. His carefully crafted routines are turned upside down, he discovers things he's never noticed before, he ends up in physical fights with restaurant staff and, against his usual nature, he breaks all sorts of rules (including ethical ones relating to testing genetic samples nicked at parties). He gets in serious bother with his longsuffering (female) University Dean. All the while he finds it deeply unsettling when he's away from Rosie...

Don really is a pain. His arrival at his friends' door at awkward times of the day or night could be real 'heartsink' moments. 

"I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
And just for that one moment
I could be you

Yes, I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
You’d know what a drag it is
To see you"

 

Here's a shot I took recently in New York. (Indulge me). Spent a while exploring sites in the Village and its evocative streets. Only noticed the street sign when someone pointed it out to me after I got back to Belfast.

The Village in NYC is synonymous with shaking off conventional restraint. You really want Don to throw caution to the wind. Go on Don, don't be afraid of your feelings. Show some passion. Lighten up. Play some Tubes... Don't be afraid of the parts she might reach.

"Your body gives me a thrill
as it leans against mine
I love how it feels 
with your jeans against mine

The smell of burning leather
as we hold each other tight
As our rivets rub together
flashing sparks into the night
At this moment of surrender darling
if you really care
Don't touch me there"

 

Gradually Rosie works some magic.

 

 
Rosie turns out to be what he wants, not what he thinks he needs. When it comes to his feelings, she'd ask him what the matter was, but she knows that he don't talk..

 

 

This is a humorous and touching story of self-discovery and the misapplication of systematic ways to find stuff out. Don discovers that the questionnaire said a great deal about himself. He thought he had constructed it to find a wife that would be suitable for him, but came to learn that it was better at selecting a wife to whom he would be suitable. 
Against his nature, Don learns by being in a growing relationship with someone. What's more, the changes brought about by that relationship then give him passion to help others who have their own problems (and equally may be unaware of them even if they're not well into the autistic spectrum).

It's a great book. Get it before the film's out. 

Boffins and Balderdash - especially for arts and humanities graduates.

"Science is temporary, changeable, constantly revising itself, like a transient fad."

Is that your impression?

This summer I finally got around to reading Ben Goldacre's Bad Science. It's been out since 2008 but, since I figured I'd already come across plenty of bad science from the late 1980's onward (and before, but I likely didn't recognise it prior to that), it didn't seem a priority read for me. It should have been, not least because then I would have been strongly recommending it for the last 6 years to all my friends whose field of study was in the arts rather than in science. You know who you are... get it and read it!

It's accessible, funny and useful, and focuses particularly on health sciences. It tackles head on many misconceptions about science, and particularly its often woeful handling in the media (which reinforces general misconceptions) - alongside ruthless exposure of things masquerading as science such as homeopathy and 'nutritionism.' It equips anyone to understand the basics of the scientific approach to gaining reliable knowledge, and demolishes the notion that it can only be understood by a select few boffins with big foreheads, white coats and big egos. Particularly, it squashes the media-fostered impression that scientific findings are merely pronouncements of the opinions of experts (with one expert opinion as valid as another, instead of identifying the charlatans). Goldacre points out that, while science can be 'temporary' or 'changing' as it pushes at the limits of knowledge, "Archimedes has been right about why things float for a couple of millennia... and Newtonian physics will probably be right about the behaviour of snooker balls forever."  Yet, perhaps because of how the cutting edges get reported, the notion of changeability permeates (in the imagination of many) back to the core findings. The book has a particular focus on medical science and should increase your ability to separate dangerous fiction/fantasy on health issues from fact. If you haven't read the book, do so - seriously.

 

Contrary to the opinion of some (especially those readily embracing post-modernism), science can't be arrogant - any more than your lawnmower is - it's a tool. The irony is that the scientific method functions by actively seeking to prove its findings wrong. Sure, scientists can be arrogant (you might call some tools too but that's in a different sense entirely), and so can professional gardeners, and sportsmen, but most of us can tell whether someone's done a botched job with the lawn, or the penalty kick... if we actually look... Most of us can also recognise it's not a good idea to bring the mower indoors to hoover the carpet. So it is with science. Goldacre provides plenty of examples - some humorous, some tragic - but crucially he does not leave the reader with just a list of anecdotes; rather he gives those not versed in science a few simple tools to allow them to assess claims and recognise quackery for themselves.

Time for a musical interlude (click the arrow)
Trust yourself_New Pony

 

"Trust yourself,
Trust yourself to do the things that only you know best
Trust yourself
Trust yourself to do what's right and not be second-guessed
Don't trust me to show you beauty
When beauty may only turn to rust
If you need somebody you can trust, trust yourself.

Trust yourself
Trust yourself to know the way that will prove true in the end
Trust yourself
Trust yourself to find the path where there is no if and when
Don't trust me to show you the truth
When the truth may only be ashes and dust
If you want somebody you can trust, trust yourself.

Well, you're on your own, you always were
In a land of wolves and thieves
Don't put your hope in ungodly man
Or be a slave to what somebody else believes.

Trust yourself
And you won't be disappointed when vain people let you down
Trust yourself
And look not for answers where no answers can be found
Don't trust me to show you love
When my love may be only lust
If you want somebody you can trust, trust yourself.

You, you got to trust yourself ...."

 

I trust myself reading scientific claims, and I trusted myself reading Ben Goldacre's book too. I don't accept everything he says (of which more later) but he says so much so well that you really should read it too, if you're as slow off the mark as I've been.

 

 

A land of wolves and thieves.

One of his first targets is 'Dr' Gillian McKeith (more recently infamous from her appalling appearances on TV show I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here), who styled herself as a scientific authority on nutrition, posing amongst scientific props, and making pronouncements which schoolkids should recognise from biology lessons as being ridiculous. Just one example is her claim that we should eat spinach and darker leaved plants because "they really oxygenate your blood" as they contain more chlorophyll. Goldacre is pretty direct in pointing out the nonsense:

"Is chlorophyll high in oxygen? No. It helps to make oxygen. In sunlight. And it's pretty dark in your bowels. [Ed - maybe Dr McKeith has never heard the phrase 'stick it where the sun don't shine.'] In fact if there's any light in there at all then something's gone badly wrong. So any chlorophyll you eat will not create oxygen, and even if it did, even if Dr Gillian McKeith PhD stuck a searchlight right up your bum to prove her point, and your salad began photosynthesising, even if she insufflated your guts with carbon dioxide through a tube to give the chloroplasts something to work with [ie as fuel for photosynthesis of which oxygen is a byproduct] and by some miracle you really did start to produce oxygen in there, you still wouldn't absorb a significant amount of it through your bowel, because your bowel is adapted to absorb food, while your lungs are optimised to absorb oxygen. You do not have gills in your bowels..."

He then goes on to disclose the nature of her PhD. It's from a non-accredited correspondence course college, which sells its own range of vitamin pills through its website, although her management website had incorrectly stated it was from the American College of Nutrition - she claims this was a mistake which was someone else's fault although one of her books carried the same 'mistake'. Goldacre also highlights that she has fallen foul of the Advertising Standards Authority, and has been obliged to cease referring to herself as 'doctor' in her promotional material.

He also targets the widespread marketing of all sorts of medications on the basis of misleading data, including fish oils to improve children's academic performance, and herbal medicines to treat whole range of false 'diseases', sometimes whilst denying access to proper evidence-based medicines for diseases which are very real, including HIV/AIDS - as occurred scandalously in South Africa- or the case of MMR vaccine in the UK. He points out that Christian groups seeking to help have sometimes got in the way of effective programmes to reduce the spread of disease. But he does this whilst being sensitive toward the "Christian value system."

 

The sins of the Pharmaceutical Industry, in hiding or misrepresenting scientific data for commercial benefit, are also tackled, but he's merciless in pointing out the even graver abominations of the Homeopathists. The claims of the latter, advocating dilutions of poison for health benefit, are examined closely - as is the nonsense of water having a (selective) memory.

Goldacre points out potential problems with patient advocacy groups, or pressure groups, seeking funding of drugs of questionable benefit, and the harm this can do to society as a whole in the context of a finite healthcare budget. It can undermine appropriate priority-setting (as of course can politicians rushing to put out fires lit on various TV and radio shows, creating other catastrophes or inequalities in the process).

In my view, some of the most valuable content in the book is the exposure of just how badly the media handle scientific subjects, and how this reinforces widespread societal notions that science is impenetrable to all but a few boffins. As he puts it:

"Science is portrayed as groundless, incomprehensible didactic truth statements from scientists, who themselves are socially powerful, arbitrary, unelected authority figures. They are detached from reality; they do work that is either wacky or dangerous, but either way, everything in science is tenuous, contradictory, probably going to change soon and, most ridiculously, 'hard to understand'. Having created this parody, the commentariat then attack it, as if they were genuinely critiquing what science is all about. [Ed - sounds like Richard Dawkins' approach to Christian faith]
Science stories generally fall into one of three categories: the wacky stories, the 'breakthrough' stories, and the 'scare' stories. Each undermines and distorts science in its own idiosyncratic way."

If the above is your impression of science, you need to read this book. (Did I say that before?)

It seems that viewing figures/circulation are the altar on which proper coverage is sacrificed. Sometimes promotional activity is thinly disguised as news; sometimes the most unscientific matters are presented as if scientific (eg a finding that Jessica Alba has the perfect 'wiggle'). Personally I find it really frustrating how frequently the media report "breakthroughs" which are nothing of the sort, or at the very least have still to complete the peer review process which is crucial to determining whether something is actually significant progress.

This week they were at it again, misrepresenting scientific work on black holes, and again creating the impression that this was all just a matter of 'boffins' arguing/speculating and no way of the rest of us knowing (or caring) what the facts actually are. Science got it wrong again, and all that. Who knows what to believe of what these guys/gals tell us. You crazy science guys...

The article confuses speculative hypothesis-building (albeit using maths) and feasibility testing with areas of widely established scientific fact (like the existence of black holes, and the 'Big Bang').

Equally frustrating is the superficial attempt to achieve "balance" in reports, where the balance is just a matter of finding two experts with differing opinions, even if one is a complete maverick, or totally lacking in credibility in the discipline. Goldacre goes as far as leaving blame at the door of the media for the harm to children as a result of what he terms "The Media's MMR Hoax." Stories around mercury in your fillings also grab his attention.

 

In a chapter entitled "Why Clever People Believe Stupid Things" Goldacre shows well the reasons why we should beware of making assessments based just on intuition, when more robust and reliable methods are available to determine what is or is not the case. Let's use them when they're suitable to the task in hand.

 

OK - there are a few instances where he doesn't live up to the standard he sets for others - like lumping creationism in with Creation, and potentially forcing a false dichotomy between a belief in Creation, and scientific revelation. In Chapter 5, he throws in a rather lazy "just as the Big Bang Theory is far more interesting than the creation story in Genesis..." This is so vague as to be worthy of the same kind of (appropriate) criticism he dishes out to journalists and cosmetics or homeopathy peddlers. 'Far more interesting' in what sense? As (part) mechanism of the early universe and its subsequent development, sure. As study of the mythology of ancient cultures? No. As having something pastoral to offer people under oppression (as were the first hearers of Genesis)? No. As impacting on the existence or otherwise of God or gods? No. As providing an understanding of the development of JudeoChristian thought (whether you espouse that theology or not)? No. In fairness, he doesn't indulge in a parody of religious belief which is then up for critique, but he might be better either avoiding the subject or handling it better than your average Daily Mail journalist handles science.

 

Interestingly, Goldacre gives a favourable description of an external reference for ethics - the Declaration of Helsinki. He refers to it as "the international ethics bible." Of course, ethics is a tricky matter to subject to 'empirical testing' in the usual scientific sense. So scientists tend to go with what a bunch of us thinks best. Let's call it conscience. Not scientific at all, but highly necessary. 

 

Perhaps difficulties accessing science is not all the fault of the media. Maybe scientists could be a bit more imaginative and creative in writing and communicating. Maybe they/we could reference the world of literature or the arts, if the journal editors/peer reviewers will allow them/us. The first two references (of over 300) in my own MD research thesis from 1995 are to ancient literary texts*, but arguably you have more latitude with a thesis for a higher degree than with scientific journals. However, it's recently come to light that a bunch of Swedes have taken the concept of literary reference to a whole new level...

 

Of course, looking at the affiliation of the senior author (Weitzberg), it's no surprise to me to find such a great contribution coming from an intensivist ;-). We intensivists are frequently engaged in blowing in the wind with mechanical ventilators. Usually it's oxygen-enriched air that's delivered, but occasionally we supplement high levels of oxygen with inhaled Nitric Oxide, as I did recently to a patient with critical oxygenation. (I didn't think of adding spinach to the patient's tube feeding regimen).

It is a significant feat, tho, to get Dylan into Nature... after all, Dylan himself did write in one of his songs "Nature neither honors nor forgives"...
A report from Gawker suggests that the concept is getting competitive:

 

 My first few MD references were on the subject of blood. Why oh why didn't I think of doing what Meletis and Frisen did?:

There's also Professor Kenneth Chien's 1998 publication in Circulation, entitled "Tangled Up in Blue: Molecular Cardiology in the Postmolecular Era." And in 2010 Weitzberg followed up his earlier publication with The Biological Role of Nitrate and Nitrite: the times they are a-changin' in the Journal Nitric Oxide, and in 2011 Dietary Nitrate - A Slow Train Coming.

As journals are increasingly electronic, who'll be the first to get an audio track piggybacked on their paper?

 

I think Ben Goldacre would approve of a couple of Dylan quotes of my own.
"You got unrighteous doctors dealing drugs that'll never cure your ills
When you gonna wake up?..."

It's not individual scientists that we should be trusting, it's the scientific method which ultimately keeps them honest, or exposes them as wrong. And the method is transparent to all, not just the scientific community. The second quote is from Dylan's song on the Golden Rule:

"Don't put my faith in nobody, not even a scientist."

I guess we could add a line to the Word of Bob...
"no red-top journalist, and no way a homeopathist."

Tom Waits has a fitting tune which we could dedicate to those who continue to exploit others with homeopathy in the face of evidence that it doesn't work.

 

 "A rat always knows when he's in with weasels...

They all have ways to make you pay."

 

 

*Leviticus 17 v 11 & Deuteronomy 12 v 23.

 

... or Lonely Boy?

So the Lone Ranger was the last survivor of a bunch of Texas Rangers but he wasn't exactly Lone. He had Tonto (and Silver). Part 2 of this paired posting relates to another survivor, who definitely has lone tendencies - Jack (none) Reacher, and his latest outing. 

Although the Lone Ranger (2013) couldn't go back home openly because the risk was too high, that sort of situation is a positive draw for ex-military cop Reacher, who usually wants his adversaries to know just who he is. In Never Go Back (released last month in the US, a few days after the UK release) author Lee Child covers exactly that territory. Reacher is interested in seeking out corruption and injustice too, and does his best to fix it. He's a man who has no home in the sense of owning a piece of real estate. Foxes have foxholes, birds have nests, but the closest thing Jack can call home is his old stomping ground - the HQ of 110th MP Special Unit in Rock Creek, Virginia - a short distance from what some Americans think is the HQ of planet Earth in Washington DC. Jack may have no title deeds, but he usually does find somewhere to lay his head...

In truth, the pull back isn't an adrenaline rush generated by perceived danger; completely different hormones are involved. While in South Dakota, Jack had reason to be on the phone to the unit he used to command, and he liked the sound (literally) of its new CO, Major Susan Turner. He felt obliged to check if the rest of her matched the allure of her voice.

He arrives back in Rock Creek to discover there are charges waiting for him, along with unsympathetic defence lawyers, and that Major Turner's been relieved of her command and is facing charges against her too. He quickly takes a dislike to the temporary CO, and begins to unpick criminal activity by rogue elements in the military in Afghanistan, activity which is apparently orchestrated at a high level in the US government. He also discovers that he's apparently the father of teenage daughter he's never met.

Reacher is a bit of a pedant, tho' he would likely argue that he is accurate rather than pedantic (how pedantic). He's woken at 6am by Sullivan, his female lawyer, banging on his door.
Reacher: "Give me eleven minutes."
Sullivan: "Eleven?"
R: "That's how long it takes me to get ready in the morning."
S: "Most people would say ten."
R: "Then they're either faster than me or imprecise."

Lee Child is often, but not always, as accurate. In Never Go Back he plays fast and loose with Biblical (mis)quotation:
"Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, crimes come down to love, hate, or money, and unlike what it says in the Bible, the greatest of these is money." I've no reason to question the first half of that sentence, but the Biblical inference is definitely incorrect.* Reacher would call that sloppy...

I often learn something new from a Reacher novel - whether it's actually true or not is another matter entirely, but it doesn't really matter. I've pointed out this sort of thing before. It's usually in the context of believable detail regarding police work, weaponry, or some such thing, and Child manages to make it ring true. In this particular novel, I 'learned' that airports are a good place to carry out surveillance undetected (if your prey is there...) because there are so many solo loiterers. Doing nothing behind a rumpled newspaper might be unusual on the street, but it's almost compulsory in an airport.

He does meet the girl he's told is his daughter (but without her knowing who he is). She's tall, fair-haired, with ridiculous attention to observational detail.... and it turns out she's a pedant too. Seems a strong argument for nature over nurture.

Unsurprisingly, Reacher takes out a few baddies along the way (only when he's left with no other choice of course). The way he does it is commendable in one respect - he takes particular care to note what were their wishes regarding being organ donors, a subject I've written about at length in a previous post. He also shows his sensitive side, enquiring about the thoughts and feelings of others. Confronting one assailant, he says "What were you thinking? A bunch of warehousemen against the 110th MP?... It's like batting practice. And you're all that's left. And you're all alone now. And you're next. How does that even feel?"

It's a familiar question. Here it is asked in 1966.


Inevitable cover by Mick n Keef here...

And a stunning one below

 

Plus an interesting one here from an upstart. How does it feel to have so many cool guitars, young lady?

  

What a collection of talent. Same as in the book:

Reacher and Turner team up. She's concerned he may be a bit 'feral.' As they close in on the corrupt bosses, they have the following exchange:
Turner: "Are you going to cut their heads off with a butter knife?"
Reacher: "I didn't get one yet. Maybe I should ask room service."
T: "I want a clean arrest. I want them in the cells... I want a full-dress court martial. I want it textbook, Reacher. I want to be exonerated in public."
R: "A clean arrest needs probable cause."
T: "So should cutting their heads off with a butter knife."

I don't think it's a plot spoiler to reveal here that no butter knives get dirtied.

One thing I found a little irritating was Reacher's recurring reference to binary options as being "50:50" in terms of likelihood of alternative possibilities. He does modify this occasionally, but his starting point always seemed to be 50:50, "like flipping a coin." Despite his correction for side uppermost pre-toss, this is at odds with his usual fastidious approach to assessment of risk. Most of the time, a bit like with Pascal's wager, there was no good reason to assume the odds of the alternatives were evenly balanced, or even semi-quantifiable.

By the end of the story, I'd say there are a few questions left unanswered. Like was justice done? What's the harm in a few consenting adults doing stuff behind closed doors that doesn't seem to harm anyone else (unless they get in their way)? Why not leave them to it?

There's one question you never even ask (if you've any experience of Reacher): 'Will Jack finally settle down and put down roots?'
He seems committed to being a lone ranger, but I'd need to get to know him better to determine whether or not he's a lonely boy. So, Lee, bring on the next one! 

 

"Well I'm so above you
and it's plain to see
but I came to love you anyway...
So you pulled my heart out and I don't mind bleedin'"

Sounds like another fixer.

Reacher spends a fair bit of time in and around motels. Back in the 80s, so did Martha Davis. 

I did it before for The Rezillos so, if you want to see a more recent version by Martha, click here

 
Who goes up against Reacher? Only the Dum-Dum-Dum-Dumdy do, ah. 

  

*For those who would like to verify this themselves, the relevant portions are here and here.

And She Was

It's a funny thing, memory. It may or may not represent a balanced account of what actually happened. We may deceive ourselves with selective editing. So folk can have differing memories of the same events. That can be true for both individuals and whole communities. (Northern Ireland has at least 2 different histories depending on who you listen to/read. It's hardly alone in that respect. However, there are serious efforts afoot to address that here, and provide hope for a shared future).

 

In the last book I reviewed here, the main character lost his memory and had to relearn a great deal about himself and what had gone before. It gave him the potential to escape his past.  In this one, the central character is plagued by memories she can't forget. They continually invade the present, in great detail, dragging her back to the past. Yet, in her work as a Private Investigator, Brenna Spector's hyperthymesia does have some benefits.

Since I've enjoyed Harlan Coben novels, and am a big Lee Child fan, I was hardly going to pass up a book which carries strong recommendations by these writers on its front and rear cover.

The plot involves the disappearance of a young girl, but for a quite a while it's not clear to whom the title actually is referring. There are multiple candidates for "and she was" - Iris, Lydia, Carol, and Brenna's sister Clea.

Whilst Brenna's memories regularly interrupt her thought processes, several other people are doing their best to forget the past. The police investigation into the missing girl floundered long ago, but Brenna's steely determination starts to uncover secrets and lies. And then there are anonymous phone calls from a little girl saying she's "so sorry." Investigations by Brenna and others provoke an angry, violent response to be unleashed.

Cue a Blue Oyster Cult song on such anger - some might say anger of Biblical proportions.

 

"You scorned the love that I gave you 
You lied now nothing can save you 
Blue skies are turning to grey 
I know the games that you play 
Winds of rage they start to build 
Too much madness will lay you under 
The cards you draw don't help at all 
Hear the sound of approaching thunder 

When you see the clouds blacken 
Remember you've been warned 
No shelter from my fierce winds 
Because, I am the storm 

You'll hear my echoes of anger 
You'll fear the roar of my thunder ..."

 

Will justice be delivered? If so, what will it look like? 

 

There is, of course, a much more obvious song applicable to the book, which struck me from the moment I saw the title. It actually gets referenced in the book (p274) in a memory of Brenna's from 1985. Brenna ponders whether the song is about an acid trip, or a girl vanishing. 

 

Some have said it's about astral projection or "out-of-body experience." David Byrne has said live that it was about a girl he knew at High School in Baltimore who 'did' LSD in a field near the Yoohoo drink factory. I've discovered some research here which suggests that's at least feasible geographically.

One reason I like the song is that the recurring "And she was" is often tautologous - a bit like the Northern Irish phrase "so it is." [It's kinda Norn Irish for 'verily I say unto you'  - tho' it may not necessarily be all that verily :-)]

 

So, there you have it - 2 novels I recommend (so I do) which explore is/am/was in fiction. Given that we know now from physics that there is no such thing as a universal "now," maybe the blurring of distinction between past, present and future isn't just fictional...

"People like us, who believe in physics, know that the distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion." Einstein.

"I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now." (Guess who...)