Fear

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Thinking, Fast and Slow (2011)

  American Economic Review 97 (2007): 1449–66. There may be an impasse here, where each side rejects the methods required by the other. People who are poor: In their studies of decision making under poverty, Eldar Shafir, Sendhil Mullainathan, and their colleagues have observed other instances in which poverty induces economic behavior that is in some respects more realistic and more rational than that of people who are better off. The poor are more likely to respond to real outcomes than to their description. Marianne Bertrand, Sendhil Mullainathan, and Eldar Shafir, “Behavioral Economics and Marketing in Aid of Decision Making Among the Poor,” Journal of Public Policy & Marketing 25 (2006): 8–23. in the United States and in the UK: The conclusion that money spent on purchases is not experienced as a loss is more likely to be true for people who are relatively well-off. The key may be whether you are aware when you buy one good that you will not be unable to afford another good. Novemsky and Kahneman, “The Boundaries of Loss Aversion.” Ian Bateman et al., “Testing Competing Models of Loss Aversion: An Adversarial Collaboration,” Journal of Public Economics 89 (2005): 1561–80. 28: Bad Events heartbeat accelerated: Paul J. Whalen et al., “Human Amygdala Responsivity to Masked Fearful Eye Whites,” Science 306 (2004): 2061. Individuals with focal lesions of the amygdala showed little or no loss aversion in their risky choices: Benedetto De Martino, Colin F. Camerer, and Ralph Adolphs, “Amygdala Damage Eliminates Monetary Loss Aversion,” PNAS 107 (2010): 3788–92. bypassing the visual cortex: Joseph LeDoux, The Emotional Brain: The Mysterious Underpinnings of Emotional Life (New York: Touchstone, 1996). processed faster: Elaine Fox et al., “Facial Expressions of Emotion: Are Angry Faces Detected More Efficiently?” Cognition & Emotion 14 (2000): 61–92. “pops out”: Christine Hansen and Ranald Hansen, “Finding the Face in the Crowd: An Anger Superiority Effect,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 54 (1988): 917–24. “acceptable/unacceptable”: Jos J. A. Van Berkum et al., “Right or Wrong? The Brain’s Fast Response to Morally Objectionable Statements,” Psychological Science 20 (2009): 1092–99. negativity dominance: Paul Rozin and Edward B. Royzman, “Negativity Bias, Negativity Dominance, and Contagion,” Personality and Social Psychology Review 5 (2001): 296–320. resistant to disconfirmation: Roy F. Baumeister, Ellen Bratslavsky, Catrin

• From Middlesex (2002)

  For three days no one left the attic except Tessie, who hurried downstairs to get food from our emptying cupboards. We watched the death toll rise. Day 1: Deaths— 15. Fires -800. Injuries— 500. Stores looted— 1,000. Day 2: Deaths -27. Injuries-700. Stores looted- 1,500. Fires- 1,000. Day 3: Deaths -36. Injuries- 1,000. Stores looted- 1,700. Fires— 1,163. For three days we studied the photographs of the victims as they appeared on TV. Mrs. Sharon Stone, struck by a sniper's bullet as her car was stopped at a traffic light. Carl E. Smith, a fireman, killed by a sniper as he battled a blaze. For three days we watched the politicians hesitate and argue: the Republican governor, George Romney, asking President Johnson to send in federal troops; and Johnson, a Democrat, saying he had an "inability" to do such a thing. (There was an election coming up in the fall. The worse the riots got, the worse Romney was going to do. And so before he sent in the paratroopers, President Johnson sent in Cyrus Vance to assess the situation. Nearly twenty-four hours passed before federal troops arrived. In the meantime the inexperienced Na- tional Guard was shooting up the town.) For three days we didn't bathe or brush our teeth. For three days all the normal rituals of our life were suspended, while half-forgotten rituals, like praying, were renewed. Desdemona said the prayers in Greek as we gathered around her bed, and Tessie tried as usual to dispel her doubts and truly believe. The vigil light no longer con- tained oil but was an electric bulb. For three days we received no word from Milton. When Tessie re- 241 turned from her trips downstairs I began to detect, in addition to the traces of tears on her face, faint streaks of guilt. Death always makes people practical. So while Tessie had been on the first floor, foraging for food, she had also been searching in Milton's desk. She had read the terms of his life insurance policy. She had checked the balance in their retirement account. In the bathroom mirror she appraised her looks, wondering if she could attract another husband at her age. "I had you kids to think of," she confessed to me years later. "I was wondering what we'd do if your father didn't come back." To live in America, until recently, meant to be far from war. Wars happened in Southeast Asian jungles. They happened in Middle East- ern deserts. They happened, as the old song has it, over there. But then why, peeking out the dormer window, did I see, on the morn-

• From The Greatest Controversies of Early Christian History (2013)

  © In his book called the Apology, Tertullian complains about why Christians are persecuted: “They [the persecutors] think that Christians are the cause of every public disaster, of every affliction with which the people are visited. If the Tiber River rises as high as the city walls, if the Nile does not send its waters up, if the heavens give no rain, if there’s an earthquake, if there’s a famine or pestilence, straightaway the cry is ‘Away with the Christians to the lion!" o Jews were excepted from the need to worship the state gods because they embraced an ancient religion. Roman Perceptions of Christian Practices e The problem of not worshiping the state gods was exacerbated by the fact that Christians were seen as socially disruptive and dangerous. o In the Roman world, the major social unit was the family. Christians split up families and considered members of the church to be brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers; they encouraged people to leave their own families to join the family of the church. 129 Scanned by CamScanner © Recall the story of Thecla in the last lecture, who abandoned her fiancé to follow the apostle Paul. This story is not a historical report, but it’s entirely plausible; it made sense to Christian readers because they knew that such things happened. e Another major unit in the Roman world was the town or the city. Christians typically refused to participate in town and city festivals in honor of the gods. They were, in that sense, highly disruptive of society; more than that, they were seen as dangerous. e Christians were known to meet secretly, before dawn or after dark. They called one another brother and sister, and they greeted one another by kissing. They were known to eat the flesh and drink the blood of the Son of God. These secret societies seemed dangerous because the behavior of their members was completely inappropriate. Charges of incest and cannibalism against Christians might seem unbelievable to us today, but they were widely believed in the Roman Empire. o The tutor of Marcus Aurelius, a man named Fronto, is quoted as leveling such charges in a book by a Chnistian author, Minucius Felix. The pagan Fronto says, “Indiscriminately they call each other brother and sister and thus turn even ordinary fornication into incest by the intervention of these hallowed names.” o Fronto goes on to describe how the Chnistians provoke a dog to put out the torch that lights their meetings, allowing the “brothers and sisters” to engage in sex. Even more horrifying, Fronto indicates that Christians engaged in infanticide and cannibalism. Such accusations resulted in persecutions. Grassroots Persecution e Early on in the history of the church, persecutions were not organized by the Roman administration itself; instead, they took place at the grassroots level. We see this first in the New Testament, initially among Jews and, later, among pagans. 130 Scanned by CamScanner

• From Books That Have Made History: Books That Can Change Your Life (2005)

  86 Lecture 16: Aeschylus, Prometheus Bound given. Athenian tragedy provided a public forum for considering profound questions of politics. The Athenian tragedies dealt with contemporary events but were set in the mythical past to show that these issues were eternal and that they reverberated through history. Aristotle wrote The Poetics in the latter part of the 4 th century B.C.; however, it re fl ects his thoughts regarding the great poets of the previous century— Sophocles, Aeschylus, and Euripides. In it, Aristotle provided a de fi nition of tragedy: A tragedy is an imitation of an action that is complete, of great magnitude, and noble. The tragedy is performed, not narrated. It must be performed in verse with music, and performances must include scenic effects. Tragedy in the Greek drama happens to grand fi gures—Prometheus, Oedipus, or Agamemnon. The lesson here is that if a great fi gure can experience such a reversal of fortune, it is even more likely to happen to an ordinary person. Tragedy is about a reversal of fortune, a fall. Action, not character, causes the tragedy to occur; character is how one endures the tragedy. Tragedy is caused by an action taken of one’s own will. Neither fate nor the gods force a person to take action. The action that brings about tragedy is well-intentioned, but with disastrous results that cause the ruin of the actor and, frequently, of the innocent. Greek drama was designed to arouse feelings of fear and pity, resulting in catharsis. Prometheus Bound is about power and the abuse of power (tyranny). In the 6 th century, Athens had been ruled by tyrants. These tyrants, Pisistratus and Hippias, were overthrown; Athenians had no wish to be ruled by dictators. Winston Churchill de fi ned a tyrant as a person who believes that his own comfort, ideas, and policies are worth the sacrifi ce of millions. Prometheus Bound was produced in 458 B.C., when Athens had just undergone a tremendous political transformation. Athens had been a democracy, based on a balance of power: the supreme court of Athens could overturn decisions made by the assembly of the Athenian people. In 461 B.C., Pericles made a tremendous change to the Athenian constitution. The supreme court was stripped of its powers to review legislation, and the rule of the majority was no longer checked. Pericles was also instrumental in changing foreign policy which had been based on a coalition with Sparta; however, under Pericles, Athens sought to challenge Sparta to become the

• From Thinking, Fast and Slow (2011)

  Finkenauer, and Kathleen D. Vohs, “Bad Is Stronger Than Good,” Review of General Psychology 5 (2001): 323. biologically significant improvement: Michel Cabanac, “Pleasure: The Common Currency,” Journal of Theoretical Biology 155 (1992): 173–200. not equally powerful: Chip Heath, Richard P. Larrick, and George Wu, “Goals as Reference Points,” Cognitive Psychology 38 (1999): 79–109. rain-drenched customers: Colin Camerer, Linda Babcock, George Loewenstein, and Richard Thaler, “Labor Supply of New York City Cabdrivers: One Day at a Time,” Quarterly Journal of Economics 112 (1997): 407–41. The conclusions of this research have been questioned: Henry S. Farber, “Is Tomorrow Another Day? The Labor Supply of New York Cab Drivers,” NBER Working Paper 9706, 2003. A series of studies of bicycle messengers in Zurich provides strong evidence for the effect of goals, in accord with the original study of cabdrivers: Ernst Fehr and Lorenz Goette, “Do Workers Work More if Wages Are High? Evidence from a Randomized Field Experiment,” American Economic Review 97 (2007): 298–317. communicate a reference point: Daniel Kahneman, “Reference Points, Anchors, Norms, and Mixed Feelings,” Organizational Behavior and Human Decision Processes 51 (1992): 296–312. “wins the contest”: John Alcock, Animal Behavior: An Evolutionary Approach (Sunderland, MA: Sinauer Associates, 2009), 278–84, cited by Eyal Zamir, “Law and Psychology: The Crucial Role of Reference Points and Loss Aversion,” working paper, Hebrew University, 2011. merchants, employers, and landlords: Daniel Kahneman, Jack L. Knetsch, and Richard H. Thaler, “Fairness as a Constraint on Profit Seeking: Entitlements in the Market,” The American Economic Review 76 (1986): 728–41. fairness concerns are economically significant: Ernst Fehr, Lorenz Goette, and Christian Zehnder, “A Behavioral Account of the Labor Market: The Role of Fairness Concerns,” Annual Review of Economics 1 (2009): 355–84. Eric T. Anderson and Duncan I. Simester, “Price Stickiness and Customer Antagonism,” Quarterly Journal of Economics 125 (2010): 729–65. altruistic punishment is accompanied: Dominique de Quervain et al., “The Neural Basis of Altruistic Punishment,” Science 305 (2004): 1254–58. actual losses and foregone gains: David Cohen and Jack L. Knetsch, “Judicial Choice and Disparities Between Measures of Economic Value,” Osgoode Hall Law Review 30 (1992): 737–70. Russell Korobkin, “The Endowment Effect and Legal Analysis,” Northwestern University Law Review 97 (2003): 1227–93. asymmetrical effects on individual well-being: Zamir, “Law and Psychology.”

• From Middlesex (2002)

  undressed. It was just a body; it could have been anyone's, or Lefty liked to pretend so. "What are you doing over there?" Desdemona asked, undressing. "Why are you so quiet?" "I'm reading." "What are you reading?" "The Bible." "Oh, sure. You never read the Bible." Soon he'd found himself picturing his sister after the lights went out. She'd invaded his fantasies, but Lefty resisted. He went down to the city instead, in search of naked women he wasn't related to. But since the night of their waltz, he'd stopped resisting. Because of the messages of Desdemona's fingers, because their parents were dead and their village destroyed, because no one in Smyrna knew who they were, and because of the way Desdemona looked right now, sitting on a suitcase. And Desdemona? What did she feel? Fear foremost, and worry, punctuated by unprecedented explosions of joy. She had never rested her head in a man's lap before while riding in an oxcart. She'd never slept like spoons, encircled by a man's arms; she'd never experienced a man getting hard against her spine while trying to talk as though 48 nothing were happening. "Only fifty more miles," Lefty had said one night on the arduous journey to Smyrna. "Maybe we'll be lucky to- morrow and get a ride. And when we get to Smyrna, we'll get a boat to Athens"— his voice tight, funny- sounding, a few tones higher than normal—"and from Athens we'll get a boat to America. Sound good? Okay. I think that's good." What am I doing? Desdemona thought. He's my brother! She looked at the other refugees on the quay, expecting to see them shak- ing their fingers, saying, "Shame on you!" But they only showed her lifeless faces, empty eyes. Nobody knew. Nobody cared. Then she heard her brother's excited voice, as he lowered the bread before her face. "Behold. Manna from heaven." Desdemona glanced up at him. Her mouth filled with saliva as Lefty broke the chureki in two. But her face remained sad. "I don't see any boats coming," she said. "They're coming. Don't worry. Eat." Lefty sat down on the suit- case beside her. Their shoulders touched. Desdemona moved away. "What's the matter?" "Nothing." "Every time I sit down you move away." He looked at Desde- mona, puzzled, but then his expression softened and he put his arm around her. She stiffened. "Okay, have it your way." He stood up again. "Where are you going?" "To find more food." "Don't go," Desdemona pleaded. "I'm sorry. I don't like sitting here all alone."

• From Middlesex (2002)

  and lop off the branches. Then you chop down the trunk." I closed my eyes. I refused to return Calliope's gaze any longer. I 442 gripped the armrests and waited for the barber to do his work. But in the next second the scissors clinked onto the shelf. With a buzz, the electric clippers switched on. They circled my head like bees. Again Ed the barber lifted my hair with his comb and I heard the buzzer dive in toward my head. "Here we go" he said. My eyes were still closed. But I knew there was no going back now. The clippers raked across my scalp. I held firm. Hair fell away in strips. "I should charge you extra," said Ed. Now I did open my eyes, alarmed about the cost. "How much is it?" "Don't worry. Same price. This is my patriotic deed today. I'm making the world safe for democracy." My grandparents had fled their home because of a war. Now, some fifty-two years later, I was fleeing myself. I felt that I was saving myself just as definitively. I was fleeing without much money in my pocket and under the alias of my new gender. A ship didn't carry me across the ocean; instead, a series of cars conveyed me across a conti- nent. I was becoming a new person, too, just like Lefty and Desde- mona, and I didn't know what would happen to me in this new world to which I'd come. I was also scared. I had never been out on my own before. I didn't know how the world operated or how much things cost. From the Lochmoor Hotel I had taken a cab to the bus terminal, not knowing the way. At Port Authority I wandered past the tie shops and fast-food stalls, looking for the ticket booths. When I found them I bought a ticket for a night bus to Chicago, paying the fare as far as Scranton, Pennsylvania, which was as much as I thought I could afford. The bums and druggies occupying the scoop benches looked me over, sometimes hissing or smacking their lips. They scared me, too. I nearly gave up the idea of running away. If I hur- ried, I could make it back to the hotel before Milton and Tessie returned from seeing Carol Channing. I sat in the waiting area, con- sidering this, the edge of the Samsonite clamped between my knees as though any minute someone might try to snatch it away. I played out scenes in my head where I declared my intention of living as a boy and my parents, at first protesting but then breaking down, ac- cepted me. A policeman passed by. When he was gone I went to sit 443

• From Middlesex (2002)

  only silence. Slowly, still holding his doctor's bag, he climbed the stairs. All the lamps were on now. The living room was bright. Toukhie was sitting on the sofa, waiting for him. Her head had fallen backward as though in hilarity, the angle opening the wound so that a section of windpipe gleamed. Stepan sat slumped at the dining table, his right hand, which held the letter of protection, nailed down with a steak knife. Dr. Philobosian took a step and slipped, then no- ticed a trail of blood leading down the hallway. He followed the trail into the master bedroom, where he found his two daughters. They 60 were both naked, lying on their backs. Three of their four breasts had been cut off. Rose's hand reached out toward her sister as though to adjust the silver ribbon across her forehead. The line was long and moved slowly. Lefty had time to go over his vocabulary. He reviewed his grammar, taking quick peeks at the phrase book. He studied "Lesson 1 : Greetings," and by the time he reached the official at the table, he was ready. "Name?" "Eleutherios Stephanides." "Place of birth?" "Paris." The official looked up. "Passport." "Everything was destroyed in the fire! I lost all my papers!" Lefty puckered his lips and expelled air, as he'd seen Frenchmen do. "Look at what I'm wearing. I lost all my good suits." The official smiled wryly and stamped the papers. "Pass." "I have my wife with me." "I suppose she was born in Paris, too." "Of course." "Her name?" "Desdemona." "Desdemona Stephanides?" "That's right. Same as mine." When he returned with the visas, Desdemona wasn't alone. A man sat beside her on the suitcase. "He tried to throw himself in the water. I caught him just in time." Dazed, bloody, a shining bandage wrapping one hand, the man kept repeating, "They couldn't read. They were illiterate!" Lefty checked to see where the man was bleed- ing but couldn't find a wound. He unwrapped the man's bandage, a silver ribbon, and tossed it away. "They couldn't read my letter," the man said, looking at Lefty, who recognized his face. "You again?" the French official said. "My cousin," said Lefty, in execrable French. The man stamped a visa and handed it to him. A motor launch took them out to the ship. Lefty kept hold of Dr. Philobosian, who was still threatening to drown himself. Desdemona 61 opened her silkworm box and unwrapped the white cloth to check on her eggs. In the hideous water, bodies floated past. Some were alive, calling out. A searchlight revealed a boy halfway up the anchor chain of a battleship. Sailors dumped oil on him and he slipped back into the water.

• From The Greatest Controversies of Early Christian History (2013)

  130 Lecture 20: Was Christianity an Illegal Religion? o Recall the story of Thecla in the last lecture, who abandoned her fi ancé to follow the apostle Paul. This story is not a historical report, but it’s entirely plausible; it made sense to Christian readers because they knew that such things happened.  Another major unit in the Roman world was the town or the city. Christians typically refused to participate in town and city festivals in honor of the gods. They were, in that sense, highly disruptive of society; more than that, they were seen as dangerous.  Christians were known to meet secretly, before dawn or after dark. They called one another brother and sister, and they greeted one another by kissing. They were known to eat the fl esh and drink the blood of the Son of God. These secret societies seemed dangerous because the behavior of their members was completely inappropriate. Charges of incest and cannibalism against Christians might seem unbelievable to us today, but they were widely believed in the Roman Empire. o The tutor of Marcus Aurelius, a man named Fronto, is quoted as leveling such charges in a book by a Christian author, Minucius Felix. The pagan Fronto says, “Indiscriminately they call each other brother and sister and thus turn even ordinary fornication into incest by the intervention of these hallowed names.” o Fronto goes on to describe how the Christians provoke a dog to put out the torch that lights their meetings, allowing the “brothers and sisters” to engage in sex. Even more horrifying, Fronto indicates that Christians engaged in infanticide and cannibalism. Such accusations resulted in persecutions. Grassroots Persecution  Early on in the history of the church, persecutions were not organized by the Roman administration itself; instead, they took place at the grassroots level. We see this fi rst in the New Testament, initially among Jews and, later, among pagans.

• From Holy Ghost Girl (2012)

  Y’all go on and let her up.” The men tried to pull her to her feet but she buckled at the knees. Red grabbed her under one arm and Dockery held the other. Brother Terrell put his hand on her forehead. Her body stiffened.“Neeee neee naaaah lo si me lay lo. We speak in tongues, too, Brother Terrell.” As the girl spoke, small red marks appeared on her face and arms, a field of ripe strawberries.“Blood of Jesus. Blood of Jesus. Blood of Jesus. ”Brother Terrell dropped his hand from Doreen’s head and faced the congregation. “I need every one of you to keep your eyes closed and your hearts and minds on the Lord. Don’t let fear get a hold of you and don’t open your eyes, or next thing you know, the demon will be in you.”Laverne closed her eyes and covered Gary’s eyes with her hand. I squeezed my eyes shut, but they wouldn’t stay closed. Brother Terrell put his hands on the girl’s head. His face turned red and purple, just like when he was mad at one of us kids.“You foul spirit of death! Come out of this girl. In the name of Je-sus. Depart! I command you. Go!” His voice sounded stronger than it had in weeks.“Hallelujah. Stay with me, people. Keep your eyes closed. Doreen, can you hear me?”“I hear you. I hear you, Brother Terrell.” Doreen sounded like a normal girl and she smiled, a soft, pretty girl smile. Brother Terrell’s shoulders relaxed. Dockery and Red let go of her arms. She reached out to Brother Terrell as if to hug him, then spat in his face. A murmur of protest came from the crowd. Several men stepped toward Doreen, but Brother Terrell waved them away. He took his white handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his face. Dockery backed the girl away from Brother Terrell, but she sidestepped him and charged the preacher headfirst. Brother Cotton stepped between them and took a blow in the stomach. He doubled over, hands clutching his sides.Doreen laughed. “What will you give me if I leave this girl, preacher?”“That’s enough!” Brother Terrell walked toward Doreen with his right hand outstretched. “I’ll not bargain with you, Satan.”“You will, Brother Terrell. You will.”“Keep your heads bowed and your eyes closed. Stretch your hands in this direction and believe with me, pray with me. I need every ounce of faith I can get tonight.”I was so frightened my teeth chattered, but my eyes would not stay closed. Arms and hands all over the auditorium beamed all the belief that could be summoned toward Brother Terrell and Doreen. Lips moved in incessant prayer, voices layered and formed a dense chorus.The voice that was not the voice of the girl rose above it all: “What will you give me if I leave Doreen?”The din quieted. We waited for Brother Terrell to answer, but all we heard was silence, a sure sign that something strange was going on.

• From Middlesex (2002)

  ing after our second night in the attic, a tank rolling by our front lawn? A green army tank, all alone in the long shadows of morning, its enormous treads clanking against the asphalt. An armor-plated military vehicle encountering no greater obstacle than a lost roller skate. The tank rolled past the affluent homes, the gables and turrets, the porte cocheres. It stopped briefly at the stop sign. The gun turret looked both ways, like a driver's ed student, and then the tank went on its way. What had happened: late Monday night, President Johnson, fi- nally giving in to Governor Romney's request, had ordered in federal troops. General John L. Throckmorton set up the headquarters of the 101st Airborne at Southeastern High, where my parents had gone to school. Though the fiercest rioting was on the West Side, General Throckmorton chose to deploy his paratroopers on the East Side, calling this decision "an operational convenience." By early Tuesday morning the paratroopers were moving in to quell the dis- turbance. No one else was awake to see the tank rumble by. My grandpar- ents were dozing in bed. Tessie and Chapter Eleven were curled on air mattresses on the floor. Even the parakeets were quiet. I remem- ber looking at my brother's face peeking out of his sleeping bag. On the flannel lining, hunters shot at ducks. This masculine background served only to emphasize Chapter Eleven's lack of heroic qualities. Who was going to come to my father's aid? Who could my father rely on? Chapter Eleven with his Coke-bottle glasses? Lefty with his 242 chalkboard and sixty-plus years? What I did next had no connection, I believe, with my chromosomal status. It did not result from the high-testosterone plasma levels in my blood. I did what any loving, loyal daughter would have done who had been raised on a diet of Hercules movies. In that instant, I decided to find my father, to save him, if necessary, or at least to tell him to come home.

• From Middlesex (2002)

  biosynthesis and peripheral action of testosterone, in utero, neona- tally, and at puberty. In other words, I operate in society as a man. I use the men's room. Never the urinals, always the stalls. In the men's locker room at my gym I even shower, albeit discreedy. I possess all the secondary sex characteristics of a normal man except one: my in- ability to synthesize dihydrotestosterone has made me immune to baldness. I've lived more than half my life as a male, and by now everything comes naturally. When Calliope surfaces, she does so like a childhood speech impediment. Suddenly there she is again, doing a hair flip, or checking her nails. It's a little like being possessed. Callie 41 rises up inside me, wearing my skin like a loose robe. She sticks her little hands into the baggy sleeves of my arms. She inserts her chimp's feet through the trousers of my legs. On the sidewalk I'll feel her girl- ish walk take over, and the movement brings back a kind of emotion, a desolate and gossipy sympathy for the girls I see coming home from school. This continues for a few more steps. Calliope's hair tick- les the back of my throat. I feel her press tentatively on my chest- that old nervous habit of hers— to see if anything is happening there. The sick fluid of adolescent despair that runs through her veins over- flows again into mine. But then, just as suddenly, she is leaving, shrinking and melting away inside me, and when I turn to see my reflection in a window there's this: a forty-one-year-old man with longish, wavy hair, a thin mustache, and a goatee. A kind of modern Musketeer. But that's enough about me for now. I have to pick up where ex- plosions interrupted me yesterday. After all, neither Cal nor Calliope could have come into existence without what happened next. "I told you!" Desdemona cried at the top of her lungs. "I told you all this good luck would be bad! This is how they liberate us? Only the Greeks could be so stupid!" By the morning after the waltz, you see, Desdemona's forebod- ings had been borne out. The Megah Idea had come to an end. The Turks had captured Afyon. The Greek Army, beaten, was fleeing to- ward the sea. In retreat, it was setting fire to everything in its path. Desdemona and Lefty, in dawn's light, stood on the mountainside and surveyed the devastation. Black smoke rose for miles across the valley. Every village, every field, every tree was aflame. "We can't stay here," Lefty said. "The Turks will want revenge." "Since when did they need a reason?" "We'll go to America. We can live with Sourmelina." "It won't be nice in America," Desdemona insisted, shaking her head. "You shouldn't believe Lina's letters. She exaggerates."

• From Story of the Eye (1928)

  And all at once, something incredible happened, a strange swish of water, followed by a trickle and a stream from under the wardrobe door: poor Marcelle was pissing in her wardrobe while masturbating. But the explosion of totally drunken guffaws that ensued rapidly degenerated into a debauche of tumbling bodies, lofty legs and arses, wet skirts and come. Guffaws emerged like foolish and involuntary hiccups but scarcely managed to interrupt a brutal onslaught on cunts and cocks. And yet soon we could hear Marcelle dismally sobbing alone, louder and louder, in the makeshift pissoir that was now her prison. Half an hour later, when I was less drunk, it dawned on me that I ought to let Marcelle out of her wardrobe: the unhappy girl, naked now, was in a dreadful state. She was trembling and shivering feverishly. Upon seeing me, she displayed a sickly but violent terror. After all, I was pale, smeared with blood, my clothes askew. Behind me, in unspeakable disorder, brazenly stripped bodies were sprawled about. During the orgy, splinters of glass had left deep bleeding cuts in two of us. A young girl was throwing up, and all of us had exploded in such wild fits of laughter at some point or other that we had wet our clothes, an armchair, or the floor. The resulting stench of blood, sperm, urine, and vomit made me almost recoil in horror, but the inhuman shriek from Marcelle’s throat was far more terrifying. I must say, however, that Simone was sleeping tranquilly by now, her belly up, her hand still on her pussy, her pacified face almost smiling. Marcelle, staggering wildly across the room with shrieks and snarls, looked at me again. She flinched back as though I were a hideous ghost in a nightmare, and she collapsed in a jeremiad of howls that grew more and more inhuman. Astonishingly, this litany brought me to my senses. People were running up, it was inevitable. But I never for an instant dreamt of fleeing or lessening the scandal. On the contrary, I resolutely strode to the door and flung it open. What a spectacle, what joy! One can readily picture the cries of dismay, the desperate shrieks, the exaggerated threats of the parents entering the room! Criminal court, prison, the guillotine were evoked with fiery yells and spasmodic curses. Our friends themselves began howling and sobbing in a delirium of tearful screams; they sounded as if they had been set afire as live torches. Simone exulted with me.

• From Holy Ghost Girl (2012)

  Smoke poured from the barn and formed a tall black column against the Georgia sky. Brother Terrell was bound to see it wherever he was.Randall spoke for all of us. “Lord, I wished we’d burnt to death in the fire. Or at least been hurt.”Pam nodded. “That way he’d have to feel sorry for us.”Brother Terrell had never whipped me, but I had seen him slap after Randall with a belt. I was more terrified by the redness of his neck and the way he pinched his tongue into a hard little point between his teeth than I was of the belt. When my mother wanted my attention fast, she called out, “Don’t make me call Brother Terrell.” While none of us, kids or adults, wanted to get caught on the wrong side of Brother Terrell’s temper, it was equally true that none of us wanted to disappoint him. There was something about him, something powerful and at the same time fragile, that made us strive to please him. We wanted to be judged worthy, to be close to him, to bask in the blessing of those perfect white teeth, to be chosen by the chosen one. Every man, woman, and child worked hard to gain his approval. When we fell out of favor, it was as if we had been banished from all that we loved most. He was, as we say in the South, tenderhearted, with a soft spot for drunks, losers, animals, women, and kids. But that bucolic place often lay on the other side of treacherous terrain, not unlike the territory in which Pam, Randall, and I now found ourselves.Randall pointed toward the field that lay beyond the house and barn. A sliver, no bigger than a speck really, white on top, black on bottom, emerged from the tree line on the other side of the field and moved toward us.“Get ready. Here he comes.”I blinked and the speck moved faster. When Brother Terrell drew even with the barn, he stopped, looked toward the flames, and then at the house. He was close enough now that I could see the Bible he carried under one arm. Randall considered taking off, but Pam grabbed his shirt.“Randall, you’ll make it worse for all of us.”He tried to twist away, but by that time his daddy had reached our mothers. As they talked to him, he looked over at us, then back at the barn. Two of the farmer-firemen wandered over to where they stood. The five adults turned to look at us. Randall looked over at Pam.“What on earth are we gonna say?”“We’re telling him the truth, Randall.”“How much?”Brother Terrell walked toward us slowly, sliding his belt out of his belt loops, his neck growing redder with every step. We scattered across the yard, screaming. Without saying a word, he caught Randall by the arm and began to swing his belt. Pam and I stood by the cottonwood and watched.

• From Books That Have Made History: Books That Can Change Your Life (2005)

  100 Lecture 19: George Orwell, 1984 George Orwell, 1984 Lecture 19 It is an essential doctrine of the party that “he who controls the present controls the past, and he who controls the past, controls the future.” If you have power, then you can rewrite history. G eorge Orwell’s 1984 continues our discussion of the themes of duty and responsibility and how we live our lives with a sense of honor and a sense of conscience that require us to speak out about what we know to be our duty and to do what is honorable. In Julius Caesar, honor is seen as a mask that enables people to pursue their own ambitions, motivated by jealousy and envy. George Orwell’s 1984 is a fi ctional work of frightening reality that describes a world similar to the one that Solzhenitsyn later discussed in The Gulag Archipelago. It raises the question of whether honor, duty, and responsibility are possible in our own day for the individual who fi nds himself under the control of the modern totalitarian state. Prometheus and Brutus show us individuals who can make a stand against evil. In his novel 1984, George Orwell raises the pertinent and disturbing question of whether any individual can resist the modern power of the state. The Oceania of Big Brother is the embodiment of the idea that the individual exists to serve the state. Indeed, the individual has no meaning. The state or the party controls all aspects of human existence, all thought, all language, all action. In a brilliantly engaging and disturbing fashion, Orwell illuminates the logical consequences of a series of books that have made history: Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations, Georg Wilhelm Friedich Hegel’s Philosophy of History, Karl Marx’s Das Kapital, and Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf. All of these subordinate the individual to anonymous social and economic forces. Orwell puts the human face of evil to these doctrines of totalitarianism. His central character, Winston Smith, demonstrates the absolute helplessness of the individual in the face of the modern state. George Orwell was the pen name of Eric Blair, who was born in 1903 and educated at Eton. Orwell served brie fl y in the police force in Burma, part of the British colonial civil service. This experience left him with a

• From Middlesex (2002)

  dent in charge of salad bars." They drove to the Hercules downtown. It was busy when they ar- rived. Milton greeted the manager, Gus Zaras. "Yahsou." Gus looked up and, a second late, began to smile broadly. "Hey there, Milt. How you doing?" "Fine, fine. I brought the future boss down to see the place." He indicated Chapter Eleven. "Welcome to the family dynasty," Gus joked, spreading his arms. He laughed too loudly. Seeming to realize this, he stopped. There was an awkward silence. Then Gus asked, "So, Milt, what5 !! it be?" "Two with everything. And what do we got that's vegetarian?" "We got bean soup." "Okay. Get my kid here a bowl of bean soup." "You got it." Milton and Chapter Eleven chose stools and waited to be served. After another long silence, Milton said, "You know how many of these places your old man owns right now?" 474 "How many?" said Chapter Eleven. "Sixty-six. Got eight in Florida." That was as far as the hard sell went. Milton ate his Hercules hot dogs in silence. He knew perfectiy well why Gus was acting so over- friendly. It was because he was thinking what everyone thinks when a girl disappears. He was thinking the worst. There were moments when Milton did, too. He didn't admit it to anyone. He didn't admit it to himself. But whenever Tessie spoke about the umbilical cord, when she claimed that she could still feel me out there somewhere, Milton found himself wanting to believe her. One Sunday as Tessie left for church, Milton handed her a large bill. "Light a candle for Gallic Get a bunch." He shrugged. "Couldn't hurt." But after she was gone he shook his head. "What's the matter with me? Lighting candles! Christ!" He was furious at himself for giving in to such superstition. He vowed again that he would find me; he would get me back. Somehow or other. A chance would come his way, and when it did, Milton Stephanides wouldn't miss it. The Dead came to Berkeley. Matt and the other kids trooped off to the concert. I was given the job to look after the camp. It is midnight in the mimosa grove. I awaken, hearing noises. Lights are moving through the bushes. Voices are murmuring. The leaves over my head turn white and I can see the scaffolding of branches. Light speckles the ground, my body, my face. In the next second a flashlight comes blazing through the opening in my lair. The men are on me at once. One shines his flashlight in my face as the other jumps onto my chest, pinning my arms. "Rise and shine," says the one with die flashlight. It is two homeless guys from the dunes opposite. While the one sits on top of me, the other begins searching the camp.

• From Middlesex (2002)

  Academic to me then, the sad fate of the creature. Asterius, through no fault of his own, born a monster. The poisoned fruit of betrayal, a thing of shame hidden away; I don't understand any of that at eight. I'm just rooting for Theseus . . . ... as my grandmother, in 1923, prepares to meet the creature hidden in her womb. Holding her belly, she sits in the backseat of the taxi, while Lina, up front, tells the driver to hurry. Desdemona breathes in and out, like a runner pacing herself, and Lina says, "I'm not even mad at you for waking me up. I was going to the hospital in the morning anyway. They're letting me take the baby home." But Desdemona isn't listening. She opens her prepacked suitcase, feeling among nightgown and slippers for her worry beads. Amber like con- gealed honey, cracked by heat, they've gotten her through massacres, a refugee march, and a burning city, and she clicks them as the taxi rattles over the dark streets, trying to outrace her contractions . . . ... as Zizmo races the Packard over the ice. The speedometer nee- dle rises. The engine thunders. Tire chains rooster-tail snow. The 123 Packard hurtles into the darkness, skidding on patches, fishtailing. "Did you two have it all planned?" he shouts. "Have Lina marry an American citizen so she could sponsor you?" "What are you talking about?" my grandfather tries to reason. "When you and Lina got married, I didn't even know I was coming to America. Please slow down." "Was that the plan? Find a husband and then move into his house!" The never-failing conceit of Minotaur movies. The monster al- ways approaches from the direction you least expect. Likewise, out on Lake St. Clair, my grandfather has been looking out for the Purple Gang, when in reality the monster is right next to him, at the wheel of the car. In the wind from the open door, Zizmo's frizzy hair streams back like a mane. His head is lowered, his nostrils flared. His eyes shine with fury. "Who is it!" "Jimmy! Turn around! The ice! You're not looking at the ice." "I won't stop unless you tell me." "There's nothing to tell. Lina's a good girl. A good wife to you. I swear!" But the Packard hurtles on. My grandfather flattens himself against his seat. "What about the baby, Jimmy? Think about your daughter." "Who says it's mine?" "Of course it's yours." "I never should have married that girl."

• From Middlesex (2002)

  When we came out again, the sky was completely dark. Before leaving, Scheer opened the hatch of the Nova to get Franklin out. The old dog could no longer walk, and Scheer had to lift: him bodily out of the car. "Let's go, Franks," Scheer said, gruffly affectionate, and with a lit cigarette between his teeth, angled up in a patrician manner not unlike that of Franklin Roosevelt himself, in Gucci loafers and side-vented, gold-hued tweed jacket, his strong polo player's legs braced under the weight, he carried the aged beast into the weeds. Before going back to the highway, he stopped at a convenience store to get more beer. 456 We drove for another hour or so. Scheer consumed many beers; I worked my way through one or two. I was not at all sober and feel- ing sleepy. I leaned against my door, blearily looking out. A long white car came alongside us. The driver looked at me, smiling, but I was already falling asleep. Sometime later, Scheer shook me awake. "I'm too wrecked to drive. I'm pulling over." I said nothing to this. "I'm going to find a motel. I'll get you a room, too. On me." I didn't object. Soon I saw hazy motel lights. Scheer left the car and returned with my room key. He led me to my room, carrying my suitcase, and opened the door for me. I went to the bed and col- lapsed. My head was spinning. I managed to pull down the bedspread and get at the pillows. "You gonna sleep in your clothes?" Scheer asked as if amused. I felt his hand on my back, rubbing it. "You shouldn't sleep in your clothes," he said. He started to undress me, but I roused myself. "Just let me sleep," I said. Scheer bent closer. In a thick voice he said, "Your parents kick you out, Cal? Is that it?" He sounded suddenly very drunk, as if all the day's and night's drinking had finally hit him. "I'm going to sleep," I said. "Come on," whispered Scheer. "Let me take care of you." I curled up protectively, keeping my eyes closed. Scheer nuzzled me, but when I didn't respond, he stopped. I heard him open the door and then close it behind him. When I awoke again, it was early in the morning. Light was com- ing in the windows. And Scheer was right next to me. He was hug- ging me clumsily, his eyes squeezed shut. "Just wanna sleep here," he said, slurring. "Just wanna sleep." My shirt had been unbuttoned. Scheer was wearing only his underwear. The television was on, and there were empty beers on it. Scheer clutched me, pressing his face into mine, making sounds. I tolerated this, feeling obliged for some reason. But when his drunken attentions became more avid, more targeted, I pushed him off me. He didn't protest. He crumpled into a ball and quickly passed out.

• From Holy Ghost Girl (2012)

  Quiet, too, except for the sigh of bodies in motion and the shuffling of feet on the ground. A woman a few rows ahead of us licked her lips constantly. A few men and women caught one another’s eyes and raised their brows, as if to ask, “What now?” Everyone looked ready to leave, if only they didn’t have to pass through those white robes. Several of the devils stood behind and to the side of where we sat. I cut my eyes toward them, and noticed for the first time the pant legs and shoes, regular men’s shoes, beneath the hems of their robes.Up on the platform, Brother Terrell tried again to regain his audience. “Let’s focus our attention on the Lord. A time is coming in this country when God’s people will worship without fear. Amen?”A dry cough and the whimper of a child were his only answers.He tried again. “I said there is coming a time when the powers of this world will fade away and God’s kingdom will last forever. The lion and the lamb will lay down together. Amen?”Not a single amen floated up.“Don’t lay down and die on me tonight. I said there is coming a time when the devil will be defeated once and for all! Now, can I get a real amen?”A lone voice called out of the silence. “CERTAINLY!”The shout came from the other side of the tent. Brother Terrell put his hand to his eyes and peered through the spotlights.“Well, that’s not an amen, but bless God, I’ll take it. When the devil wins one battle you got to believe there will be another battle, one you can win with God’s help. Amen?”“CERTAINLY!”Brother Terrell paced the platform and his words picked up speed as he moved. “You got to fast and pray until you’ve put on the whole armor of God. Then you got to go back out and win the next battle. Because there will be a next one and a next one until righteousness triumphs over evil, hallelujah.”He took out his handkerchief and mopped the sweat off his brow.“Ain’t that right?”“CERTAINLY!”Brother Terrell started to laugh.“Well, Certainly, whoever you are, come on up here. I want to get a good look at a man who ain’t afraid to speak up when the devil is looking him in the face.”A small man stood up on the left side of the tent and walked toward Brother Terrell. He wore a plaid sports jacket, dark pants, and a white shirt, all of which were at least two sizes too big. His short gray hair stuck up like pinfeathers. Brother Terrell left the platform and met him in front of the prayer ramp with his hand outstretched. He grabbed the little man around the shoulders and began to drag him back and forth in front of the audience. Certainly’s jacket flapped around him as they walked.

• From Middlesex (2002)

  The Zebra Room I remember as a kid: it was full of artificial flow- ers, yellow tulips, red roses, dwarf trees bearing wax apples. Plastic daisies sprouted from teapots; daffodils erupted from ceramic cows. Photos of Artie Shaw and Bing Crosby adorned the wall, next to hand-painted signs that said enjoy a nice lime rickey! and OUR FRENCH TOAST IS THE TOAST OF THE TOWN! There were photos of Milton putting a finishing-touch cherry on a milk shake or kissing someone's baby like the mayor. There were photo- graphs of actual mayors, Miriani and Cavanaugh. The great right fielder Al Kaline, who stopped in on his way to practice at Tiger Sta- dium, had autographed his own head shot: "To my pal Milt, great eggs!" When a Greek Orthodox church in Flint burned down, Mil- ton drove up and salvaged one of the surviving stained glass win- dows. He hung it on the wall over the booths. Athena olive oil tins 202 lined the front window next to a bust of Donizetti. Everything was hodgepodge: grandmotherly lamps stood next to El Greco reproduc- tions; bull's horns hung from the neck of an Aphrodite statuette. Above the coffeemaker an assortment of figurines marched along the shelf: Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox, Mickey Mouse, Zeus, and Felix the Cat. My grandfather, trying to be of help, drove off one day and re- turned with a stack of fifty plates. "I already ordered plates," said Milton. "From a restaurant supply place. They're only charging us 10 percent down." "You don't want these?" Lefty looked disappointed. "Okay. I'll take them back." "Hey, Pop," his son called after him. "Why don't you take the day off? I can handle things here." "You don't need help?" "Go home. Have Ma make you lunch." Lefty did as he was told. But as he drove down West Grand Boulevard, feeling unneeded, he passed Rubsamen Medical Supply— a store with dirty windows and a neon sign that blinked even in the day— and felt the stirrings of old temptation. The following Monday, Milton opened the new diner. He opened it at six in the morning, with a newly hired staff of two, Eleni Pa- panikolas, in a waitress uniform purchased at her own expense, and her husband, Jimmy, as short-order cook. "Remember, Eleni, you mostiy work for tips," Milton pep-talked. "So smile." "At who?" asked Eleni. For despite the red carnations in bud vases gracing each booth, despite the zebra-striped menus, matchbooks, and napkins, the Zebra Room itself was empty. "Smart- ass," Milton said, grinning. Eleni's ribbing didn't bother him. He'd worked it all out. He'd found a need and filled it.