Fearful Symmetry

Photo by Marc Ignacio on Unsplash

Last Thursday, I was compelled to open up my copy of Watchmen to find one of my favorite panels in all of comicdom. And, no, I haven’t seen the HBO series, so that wasn’t what compelled me. It just called to me from my bookshelf.

It’s the symmetry of this particular panel that stays with me. I assume it was a magical combination of the talents of Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons that produced it. (Photo down at the end of this post. Warning: it depicts a significant amount of violence.)

After I found it, I started to dig deeper, and found myself down a pretty deep rabbit hole. Turns out, this panel is from Chapter 5: Fearful Symmetry. The symmetry of the use of symmetry led me to William Blake.

That term, “fearful symmetry,” is from William Blake’s poem “The Tyger.” Here’s the opening stanza:

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

Yes, I probably should have known the origin without having to look it up, but I’m glad I did, in any event. I found out a bunch of stuff about William Blake that I didn’t know before. And I plan to use that for next week’s post.

But this week, I’m sticking with the theme of fearful symmetry. So here are two fearfully symmetrical things that have occurred to me:

1) I watched the successful launch of the manned SpaceX Dragon capsule on television, while protests calling for justice for George Floyd and support of Black Lives Matter were occurring throughout the nation and beyond. I couldn’t help but draw comparison to the moonshot efforts of the 1960s, and the concurrent struggles of the Civil Rights movement. That’s the symmetrical part. As for the fear: has so little changed in 50 years?

2) Just about a year ago, I read “Southern Horrors: Lynch Law in all its Phases” by Ida B. Wells. For the symmetry here, I discovered Ida B. Wells was no stranger to epidemics. When she was 16, she tragically lost both her parents and a sibling to yellow fever. The fear is in the content of “Southern Horrors” — I am still struck by her clear-eyed account of lynchings as a barbaric means of repressing the economic progress of Black Americans. Ida B. Wells wrote this in the 1890s. Has so little changed in 130 years?

 

In the Past Month

Peggy Martin, my climbing rose, is one thing that has burst forth in the past month.

Writing-wise, 2018 was a blur. Here’s the best way to sum it up: my ambitions definitely overshot my capacity. I was so worked up about re-writing my second novel, and finishing a draft of my 3rd, that I put a lot of other things on hold. And that accumulation of other things continued into the first 2 months of 2019.

But on the first of March, I finally turned over a draft of number 3 to my editor. And I’ve spent the past six weeks. . .doing. . .well, I haven’t really accomplished anything, but I’ve done a lot of thinking. About how I want to write and publish moving forward. And about how I can go about balancing my day job with my writing vocation with my family and life in general, while carving out space for the pastimes I really enjoy.

For one thing, I’ve been reading a lot more. And I’m realizing just how much I missed it. The kind of reading that pulls you in for a nice, long, story and opens your eyes to the world and its history. I can’t downplay just how much I’ve relied on the Serial Reader app for my renewed reading habit. After I finished Moby-Dick, I read H.P. Lovecraft’s “The Call of Cthulhu,” “Southern Horrors: Lynch Law in All Its Phases” by Ida B. Wells, and Sun Tzu’s The Art of War.

In terms of quick reviews: I was mostly put off by H.P. Lovecraft’s writing, but liked his descriptions of Cthulhu. I’m a new fan of Ida B. Wells, and can’t fathom the courage she possessed to write so plainly about the terrifying reality she lived. And the 2,500-year-old The Art of War has really held up. Though I kept thinking Sun Tzu might have invented the listicle: “There are three ways in which a ruler can bring misfortune upon his army,” “There are five essentials for victory,” etc.

I started Alexandre Dumas’s The Count of Monte Cristo on April 1, but it’s a long one, and I’m going to be reading it for the next several months. It’s been an easier read than Moby-Dick so far, though. I’m sure there will be some future posts on the tale of Edmond Dantes.

Outside of my phone, I’ve been reading a hardcover version of The Friend by Sigrid Nunez. I’m almost halfway through, and I love it. A blurb on the back by author Cathleen Schine calls it “a novel about loss and the loneliness of writing and imagination. . .” More apt descriptions: “intense and elegant,” “gorgeously spare.”

I only read it at home, on the weekends, because it was loaned to me and I don’t want to mess it up. So I feel a bit guilty for having it so long. (I promise to return it to you soon, Mel!)

So that’s it for now, about me getting reacquainted with my pastimes. And I haven’t even touched my Netflix viewing yet. 🙂