Nine Spy-Novel Titles of the English Language

Many people consider the English language to be among the most difficult to master on the basis of its bewildering tendency to combine features (and words) from a large number of different languages. I wouldn't know, really, being a native English speaker myself. What I do know, however, is that the terms used to describe English grammar tend to be rather....more ominous than perhaps they ought to be. Like terms from a spy novel or something.

So, without further ado, I give you Nine Spy-Novel Titles of the English Language.


An Indefinite Modifier (Working Title: The Definite Modifier) -- The book starts as a Ludlumesque thriller centered around the plot of three CIA agents to manipulate geopolitics for financial gain. Yet as John Smith uncovers more of the mystery, he enters into a world of deception in which the unreal exerts an alarming influence on the commonplace, and comes to question his comforting assumptions about the nature of power and truth.

An Impersonal Pronoun -- John Smith is drawn out of retirement for a second investigation by a pair of agents claiming to work for the NSA. But who are these men, exactly? The answer to that question is far more complicated than it at first appears, and allows the author to investigate more fully the of isolation and inhumanity produced by our modern society.

Dangling Participles -- John Smith's wife has been kidnapped by person or persons unknown. John cautiously follows the ransom directions, only to find an empty park instead of the expected clandestine rendezvous. Soon John finds himself captured once again by the web of deception he thought he had left behind forever. In the course of the investigation, John begins to piece together an alternative vision of his personal history. Did his wife know of long-dead affair when it was happening? And was she herself something other than the sweet and innocent darling of his youth. The third book is considered by critics either to be the most daring or the least coherent, as the focus turns ruthlessly inward leading up to the conclusion in which all results seem equally impossible--and John is left at the mercy of the unknowable systems of modern society.


Next, we have the series considered closest to the Modifier trilogy. The Dependent Clause trilogy seems purposefully to offer a somewhat more optimistic perspective on the world even as it revisits the same themes of impersonal power-systems and pervasive corruption.

The Dependent Clause -- When up-and-coming CIA analyst James Doe was invited to meet with the Director for "a proposal over drinks," he was considered it the opportunity of a lifetime. Yet the resultant promotion brings with it a number of unexpected results. Another cloak-and-dagger thriller in which nothing is as it seems.

Correlative Conjunctions -- As an Irish Catholic raised during the Cold War, James found it hard to imagine a more diabolic character than that of a Vodka-swilling agent of the KGB. That is, until Ivan Vadislov arrived on his doorstep with documents whose veracity and import James found impossible to deny. Their budding friendship is one of the unexpected joys of this book, marking the beginning of the author's lighter period even as the novel ends on a note of tragedy.

Parallel Construction -- In the wake of the conclusion to Correlative Conjunctions, James and Ivan find their trust in each other--and in humanity--put to the test as they race against time to stop a far worse disaster. Largely considered the author's most "commercial" work, Parallel Construction nevertheless offers, in its great variety of fleshed-out characters, the author at his most human.


And finally, since the Vatican historically has not been without political intrigue, I figure a Latin-themed series might not go amiss:

The Ablative of Association

The Genitive of Posession

The Dative of Separation

But I'll leave the plot summaries for those up to you, my gentle readers!

Batman Can Still BREATHE in SPACE...Because He Can Take It

I try to never judge superhero films too definitively upon first viewing, but considering Batman is equal parts superhero adventure and crime drama, I'm going to go out on a limb: The Dark Knight is a film that can serve as a textbook for how to Do a Film Right. (Not to mention one based on an instantly recognizable character seen in three film incarnations, multiple cartoon incarnations, and a vast sea of comic books in a variety of styles.)

That isn't to say that I necessarily enjoyed it more than any of this summer's movies. The lonesome WALL-E amidst the far-future wasteland of Earth still wins as the summer's most memorable piece of cinematic poetry. Indiana Jones in front of a mushroom cloud (however contrived the conditions) is still probably my favorite freeze-frame. Iron-Man is still what it is--a slick, unpretentious blockbuster with the perfect lead and the revolutionary idea of realistically filming a comic-book-style script.

But Dark Knight is much bigger, much more of a balancing act, and therefore much more impressive when it does everything just about right. The action is spectacular, both in visual spectacle and in constant creativity, in a way only hinted at in Batman Begins. The drama is equal to the best of the comics (that I've read), balancing three main heroes, Joker, and a host of small villains while capturing the uncertain, flawed, and morally complicated heroism of The Dark Knight. Batman gets to be a hero, sure, using his almost unlimited intellect and technology to pull acceptably happy endings out of impossibly compromised situations. But not all the time, and (unlike Spider-Man and most other superheroes) a great deal of tragedy is the direct result of his courage and decisiveness under fire. Batman isn't just a normal guy stuck in an exceptionally difficult situation--he is a crusader for justice whose illegal vigilantism (as he learns early in the film) is a sword that cuts both ways.

And so, yes, Dark Knight lives up to his promise. Yes, Harvey-Dent's story (whose ending any Batman fan knows going in) strikes the perfectly expected balance between heroism and villany, with the Nolan-esque contemplations of the fine line separating the two. (This is, after all, the director whose breakthrough hit was Memento.) And yes, Heath Ledger inhabits The Joker so thoroughly that it seems unimaginable for anyone else to take over the role. But what holds the film together, as it turns out, is an equally sensitive ear for goodness and light. It may be hard to notice over the noise and violence, but Dark Knight is actually funnier than its predecessor, with a multitude of throwaway jokes that slyly slip in to pad out the constant stream of operatic drama. And when push comes to shove, it turns out that while the huddled masses may not precisely share Batman's commitment to justice, they are capable of acts of quiet heroism that offer a potential alternative to Joker's gleefully nihilistic perspective of the human race.

So is the film a crime-drama about the ability for circumstances to corrupt the most apparently noble of men? An investigation into the nature of humanity and their dangerous need for charismatic leaders? Or just an escapist fantasy of a man so smart, tough, and dedicated that he can almost single-handedly take on the burden of a sinful city pushed towards collapse by a demonic monster? Really, it's all of this and more--and on first viewing, at least, it is hard to think of a single false move in the 152 minutes between the opening explosion and the final ride into the midnight darkness.



Sidenote: The Dark Knight is rated PG-13 "for intense sequences of violence and some menace," which has to be the most hillarious sounding rationale for rating since Ice-Age ("rated PG for mild peril." Mild PERIL. Really.) But if any movie has to be rated PG-13 for menace, I suppose this would be the one--Joker's knives themselves should be nominated for study by any filmmaker interested in how to create a feeling of horrific violence without showing a single violent action. It's quite fascinating, in a way, to watch Nolan and Ledger toy with the audience, reminding the viewer that even in a summer blockbuster it's what they don't see that's always the scarier part.

**EDIT:
Also, keep your eyes open for a certain scene at the end that is specifically orchestrated to thumb its nose at Tim Burton's Batman. Now I like both Tim Burton and Batman separately, but I found the sly dig at the Burton series' shallow morality immensely satisfying nonetheless.

A Long-Delayed Rediscovery

The following reproduction of a news article is, in my estimation, almost certainly fictitious.

However, true or not, it is the funniest courtroom scene I have ever read. I saw it many years ago, read it, and attempted multiple times (in vain) to find it on the internet. Now located, I place it on my blog for the betterment of humanity.

a man named Chrysler is accused of stealing more than 40,000 coat hangers from hotels round the world. He admits his guilt, but in his defence he claims that - well, perhaps it would be simpler just to bring you a brief extract from the trial. We join the case at the point where Chrysler has just taken the stand.

Counsel: What is your name?

Chrysler: Chrysler. Arnold Chrysler.

Counsel: Is that your own name?

Chrysler: Whose name do you think it is?

Counsel: I am just asking if it is your name.

Chrysler: And I have just told you it is. Why do you doubt it?

Counsel: It is not unknown for people to give a false name in court.

Chrysler: Which court?

Counsel: This court.

Chrysler: What is the name of this court?

Counsel: This is No 5 Court.

Chrysler: No, that is the number of this court. What is the name of this court?

Counsel: It is quite immaterial what the name of this court is!

Chrysler: Then perhaps it is immaterial if Chrysler is really my name.

Counsel: No, not really, you see because--

Judge: Mr Lovelace?

Counsel: Yes, my lord?

Judge: I think Mr Chrysler is running rings round you already. I would try a new line of ttack if I were you.

Counsel: Thank you, my lord.

Chrysler: And thank you from ME, my lord. It's nice to be appreciated.

Judge: Shut up, witness.

Chrysler: Willingly, my lord. It is a pleasure to be told to shut up by you. For you, I would--

Judge: Shut up, witness. Carry on, Mr Lovelace.

Counsel: Now, Mr Chrysler - for let us assume that that is your name - you are accused of purloining in excess of 40,000 hotel coat hangers.

Chrysler: I am.

Counsel: Can you explain how this came about?

Chrysler: Yes. I had 40,000 coats which I needed to hang up.

Counsel: Is that true?

Chrysler: No.

Counsel: Then why did you say it?

Chrysler: To attempt to throw you off balance.

Counsel: Off balance?

Chrysler: Certainly. As you know, all barristers seek to undermine the confidence of any hostile witness, or defendant. Therefore it must be equally open to the witness, or defendant, to try to shake the confidence of a hostile barrister.

Counsel: On the contrary, you are not here to indulge in cut and thrust with me. You are only here to answer my questions.

Chrysler: Was that a question?

Counsel: No.

Chrysler: Then I can't answer it.

Judge: Come on, Mr Lovelace! I think you are still being given the run-around here. You can do better than that. At least, for the sake of the English bar, I hope you can.

Counsel: Yes, my lord. Now, Mr Chrysler, perhaps you will describe what reason you had to steal 40,000 coat hangers?

Chrysler: Is that a question?

Counsel: Yes.

Chrysler: It doesn't sound like one. It sounds like a proposition which doesn't believe in itself. You know -- Perhaps I will describe the reason I had to steal 40,000 coat hangers; Perhaps I won't. Perhaps I'll sing a little song instead.

Judge: In fairness to Mr Lovelace, Mr Chrysler, I should remind you that barristers have an innate reluctance to frame a question as a question. Where you and I would say, 'Where were you on Tuesday?', they are more likely to say, 'Perhaps you could now inform the court of your precise whereabouts on the day after that Monday?'. It isn't, strictly, a question, and it is not graceful English but you must pretend that it is a question and then answer it, otherwise we will be here for ever. Do you understand?

Chrysler: Yes, my lord.

Judge: Carry on, Mr Lovelace.

Counsel: Mr Chrysler, why did you steal 40,000 hotel coat hangers, knowing as you must have that hotel coat hangers are designed to be useless outside hotel wardrobes?

Chrysler: Because I build and sell wardrobes which are specially designed to take nothing but hotel coat hangers.

Sensation in court. More of this tomorrow, I hope.

There's no place like a hotel

Yesterday I brought you part of an extraordinary High Court case in which Mr Arnold Chrysler stands accused of stealing thousands of hotel clothes hangers. His defence is that he manufactures wardrobes that can only take hotel clothes hangers, and he can only get hotel hangers from hotels. As a service to any of us who have ever taken anything home from a hotel, I bring you a further extract from this trial today.

Counsel: Now, Mr Chrysler, am I right in saying that hotel clothes hangers do not have hooks on top but little studs that will only work on special racks?

Chrysler: That is correct.

Counsel: This design arose because so many hotel hangers were stolen.

Chrysler: That is correct.

Counsel: And they had no option but to change the design to stop them being stolen?

Chrysler: That is not correct.

Counsel: That is not correct?

Chrysler: No. The world of hotels had not one, but two options. They could change the design of the way they were hung, yes, but they could also cheapen the hangers. They could very easily have given guests inexpensive plastic or metal hangers they would never have missed when they were stolen. But that would have lowered the tone of the hotel. Hotels, even hotels in a chain, like to have a touch of class. They like giving guests high-class solid wood hangers. It makes them feel good about themselves. It also makes them worth stealing.

Counsel: And people come to you, do they, asking you to make special wardrobes so that they can use stolen clothes hangers?

Chrysler: It isn't so much the fact that they are stolen that makes them attractive. You have to remember that many top businessmen spend more of their time in hotels than in their own home. They become used to hotel life. They think of hotels as home. Therefore they become used to hotel hangers and think of them as normal, and on the rare occasions when they spend some time at home they can’t stand these fiddly things with hooks which you and I may think of as normal but which the business traveller thinks of as loose-fitting and badly designed. So they come to me and get me to make a hotel-style wardrobe.

Counsel: Are you seriously suggesting that there are people who prefer hotel life to home life?

Chrysler: Certainly. A lot of businessmen would never go home if they had the chance. So when they get home they like to recreate the hotel experience in their own house. Many of my clients have their own mini-bars in their bedrooms. They have TV sets at the end of the bed on a raised shelf, often with an adult sex channel on it. All their bathroom products come in wrappers and are thrown away each day. I have even known people in their own home put out 'Do Not Disturb' notices on the door of their own bedroom.

Counsel: Stolen, presumably, from some hapless hotel.

Chrysler: Never call a hotel hapless. They know what they are doing. No hotel loses money willingly. They may have things taken from them, but the stuff that guests leave behind is just as valuable.

Counsel: Are you serious when you say that clients of yours drink from their own minibars in their own bedrooms in their own homes?

Chrysler: Certainly. And just as in a hotel, they grumble about the price and size of the bottles, and the absence of ice.

Counsel: So why don't they get a proper fridge in their bedroom?

Chrysler : Because then it wouldn't be like a hotel.

Judge: Tell me, Mr Chrysler, do these businessmen of yours also have Gideon Bibles by their bedside at home?

Chrysler: Many of them, sir.

Judge: And where do you get the Gideon Bibles from?

Chrysler: Alas, they, too, have to be taken from hotels.

Judge: Then why are you not also up on a charge of Bible-stealing?

Chrysler: Because the Bibles do not belong to the hotels. They belong to the Gideon Society. And the Gideon Society has decided not to prosecute me, but to forgive me and tell me to go and sin no more.

Judge: And have you sinned no more?

Chrysler: Alas, no.

Source: http://www.ocnus.net/artman2/publish/Light_Side_14/The_Man_who_Stole_40_000_Coat_Hangers.shtml

(If I recall correctly, the original article was far longer, but I'm happy to have found this much.)