Resentment

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 Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years (2009)

  settled like so many freed Yoruba in Sierra Leone; he was eventually consecrated bishop in Canterbury Cathedral in 1864. His career, so promising and so prophetic of eventual indigenous leadership, was crippled through no fault of his own. Crowther’s restrained dignity clothed a passionate hatred of slavery and ignorance. He could be unsparing in his criticism of African people, precisely because he wanted to arouse them out of the poverty and deprivation which he saw as caused by false religion as much as by slavers.53 Although as a member of the 1888 Lambeth Conference’s committee on polygamy he concurred in the committee’s denunciation of the institution, his hostility anticipated modern feminist critiques of polygamy’s male-centredness. He couched his critique in terms of women’s rights: women had not chosen polygamy, and although they usually worked harder than men, a polygamous husband was unlikely to satisfy all their needs (in one of his memoranda to the CMS, he told a cheerfully risqué tall story to illustrate his point).54 After the initial visionary decision to consecrate Crowther, he was ill-served by an episcopal appointment which in reality did not at all exemplify Venn’s ‘three-self’ principle. Allotted the diocese of the Niger rather than his own Yorubaland because of jealousy from European missionaries working among the Yoruba, Crowther did his considerable best amid an unfamiliar culture with a language not his own, but eventually he found himself facing a peculiarly ruthless trading corporation, the Royal Niger Company. His efforts to remain independent of them attracted much ill-will and resentment that an African should stand in the way of Crown and commerce. Eventually a younger generation of missionaries appeared in Crowther’s territories, endowed with all the self-confidence of English public schoolboys and the brisk austerity of late Victorian Evangelicalism, plus a dose of plain racism. They were unsympathetic to Crowther’s gentle style – ‘a charming old man, really guileless and humble … but he certainly does not seem called of God to be an overseer’ was the magisterial judgement of the twenty-four-year-old Graham Wilmot Brooke on the bishop more than half a century his senior. Crowther was induced to resign in 1890, and died a couple of years later.55 He was remarkably gracious about his treatment, and some of those involved later realized how foolish they had been. But no other black African was made a diocesan bishop until 1939, and then it was the Roman Catholic Church which had taken up the challenge of African leadership.56 In 2009, as this book goes to press, the Church of England is adorned by an Archbishop of York born and raised in Uganda, John Sentamu. It was of course possible for indigenous rulers to make decisions about Christianity and provide leadership, just as in the Pacific. Many monarchs throughout the new British territorial empire chose Anglicanism. Perhaps the

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  President Johnson considered several hard-line responses but opted to try diplomacy first. His advisers fashioned fallback plans in case the United States needed to take military action. One of those plans, code- named Freedom Drop, called for the use of nuclear weapons to obliterate Communist troops that might storm into South Korea during an American attack. Negotiations for the release of the crew stretched on for months. Held in miserable conditions, many of the Americans were interrogated, beaten, tortured, and threatened with execution. Commander Lloyd M. Bucher was put before a mock firing squad in order to obtain his confession, which he refused to make. He was then told his crew would be executed, one by one, until he acknowledged American guilt—which he finally did. After American officials signed a confession and apology, the North Koreans agreed to release the crew. “The big news right now,” Carr radioed to the spacecraft, “...is that all eighty-two crewmen of the Pueblo have been returned. They walked across the Bridge of Freedom Monday night.” “Wonderful!” Borman replied. Anders had a different reaction. He was happy for the Americans who’d been released, but he couldn’t help but compare the incident to the one his father had endured. Arthur Anders had defended the USS Panay from an unprovoked Japanese air attack in 1937, refusing to give up his ship, manning guns and returning fire even as he was gravely wounded. By contrast, the Pueblo hadn’t even fought back. There were good reasons for that—the crew hadn’t been trained well for combat, were not well armed, had been taken by surprise, and were outnumbered. But all that had been true of the Panay, too. It was hard for Anders not to wonder whether the crew of the Pueblo might have tried a little harder, as his father had. Out his window, Anders looked toward Earth, now 165,000 miles away. From here, it was hard to pick out North Korea, or South Korea, or any countries at all. — The astronauts continued to sleep in fits and starts as the flight neared its

• From Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years (2009)

  conquest of Egypt with its Abbasid caliphate, Ottoman sultans had asserted their claim to be caliph, but it was only in the reign of Abdul Hamid II at the end of the nineteenth century that a sultan (in turns reformist and arbitrarily violent) chose to emphasize his role as protector of all Muslims. This was a desperate grab for enhanced spiritual authority by a monarchy losing control, rather like the pope’s claim of infallibility at the moment of the loss of the Papal States.87 By the end of the nineteenth century, the sultan presided over an empire still multinational and multi-confessional, but in which the traditional mesh of understandings between faith groups was being much eroded, and much more was being said about the Islamic character of Ottoman rule. Earlier in the century, the Ottoman rulers’ pursuit of Tanzimat (‘reorganization’) brought modernizing reforms in edicts of 1839 and 1856 which dismantled the millet system of separate religious communities. This provoked a good deal of resentment from Muslims, who now saw former second-class status groups claim equality with themselves – and more than that, gain favour and economic preference from a variety of Christian European powers who were interesting themselves in the affairs of the Middle East. These were developments fraught with danger for Christian minorities. There was little inter-communal trouble in the Arab portions of the empire, where after one bad outburst of violence in 1860 in Lebanon and Syria, Muslims, Christians and Jews tended to develop a sense of common Arab identity under Ottoman auspices. The problem was further north, where Russian imperial religious intolerance sent hundreds of thousands of Muslims fleeing for refuge over the Russo-Ottoman border into Ottoman territories, decade on decade. There seemed good reason to distrust and envy Christians.88 In 1843 came a grim precedent: a series of massacres of Dyophysite Christian mountain communities by Kurds in what is now Iranian Azerbaijan, provoked by anger at Western missionary activity and Russian military advances. Equally ghastly were a series of massacres of Armenians in the Caucasus and further south during the 1890s, which included the burning alive in 1895 of several thousand Armenians in their cathedral in Urfa – once that venerable Christian centre, Edessa.89 All this heralded even worse times to come, whose lasting effects threaten Christianity’s ability to survive in the lands of its origin. MASTERS OF SUSPICION: GEOLOGY, BIBLICAL CRITICISM AND ATHEISM While in Ottoman lands Christianity found itself under one form of attack,

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  His fingertips moved over her back in a rhythmic caress. “I gave my ship to Will and settled my accounts with the crew. It was my intention to cast off immediately and return to you.” “But you didn’t.” “No,” he agreed. “For good reason. There are twin brothers—pirates, I’m ashamed to say I associated with. I’ve angered them, and they are not men to forgive a perceived slight. The night we left Barbados they demanded you in payment of my debt.” “Me?” “Yes, you. Will informed me that the serving maid at the inn where you stayed was approached by one of the brothers. He asked questions about you, Olivia. He learned your identity. I could not allow the situation to progress any further. You were in danger because of me.” She spun to face him. “What did you do?” Sebastian reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers. “I waited for the pirates to return to the island, and when they did, I fought with the more vicious of the two and killed him. The other managed to escape. I hunted him, but he’s hidden himself away. I have every reason to believe he’ll stay hidden. Pierre was never much of a threat without Dominique.” Olivia traced the swirling pattern in the Aubusson rug with her toe. “You could have told me of your plans.” “You were asleep,” he explained defensively. “I’d kept you awake the whole of the night and thought it best to leave quietly. I wrote you a letter.” She stood and paced the length of the bed. “That was no letter, my lord. That was a few lines of hastily scrawled words.” “I was reluctant to write more,” he admitted. She paused. “Why?” He met her gaze with such earnestness that her barely mending heart broke all over again. “If I’d delayed too long—if I’d attempted to say good-bye—I never would have been able to leave you, especially if you’d begged to come with me, which I suspected you might. Denying you would have been impossible, and it was too dangerous for you to accompany me.” Sitting up, he crossed his long legs. “Olivia. My wife. My love. Can you understand?” He held his hands out to her, pleading. “No, Sebastian.” She shook her head. “You left for yourself. Not for me. You—” “That’s not true, damn it!” “It is! You ran because that is what you do. You’ve been running your whole life—from your family, your responsibilities, everything. This time you were running from me.” She growled with frustration and clenched her fists. “Beautiful, damaged man that you are. I thought I could fix you, heal you, but I cannot.” He leapt from the bed and caught her by the shoulders. “Listen to me.” “No, you listen to me!” She stomped her bare foot. “You broke my heart, Sebastian Blake. Left me to the wolves while you regrouped and gathered your defenses—against me! I was getting too close, becoming too important, you—”

• From Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years (2009)

  nineteenth-century uprising against any Western colonial power, it was partly triggered by efforts to promote Christianity in India, bringing Muslims and Hindus into alliance – famously, one other flashpoint for rebellion which promoted this cooperation was the rumour that bullets issued to Indian soldiers were greased with pig or cow fat, insulting both Hindus and Muslims. The figurehead for independence, the aged Bahadur Shah Zafar II, last member of the Muslim Mughal dynasty to reign in Delhi, proved a reluctant leader, but he did his best to discourage strict Muslims from alienating Hindus in the insurrection by demonstrations of their own intolerance like cow-killing.76 Even so, the British Indian Army overcame the rebellion partly because significant sections of Hindu and Muslim elites remained neutral in the conflict, despite having been leading voices in the hostility to Christian missions. That was a powerful incentive for the new British government of India abruptly to turn from the trajectory of supporting Christian expansion. Queen Victoria’s proclamation ending Company rule in 1858 emphasized that the new government was under instruction to ‘abstain from any interference with the religious belief or worship of any of our subjects’, an important statement of policy on the part of a deeply serious Christian monarch whose personal feelings led in the other direction: it ran parallel to the legislation ending virtually all legal discrimination among Christians in Great Britain itself. Subject to the untidiness always associated with local implementation of policy at long distances from its origin, Christian missionaries were now stripped of official support in the largest colonial possession of the world’s greatest power.77 By the end of the century more perceptive missionaries were realizing that Christian missionary work had not achieved the critical mass necessary to success in India. Like Catholics before them in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Protestants found that the Indian caste system was a formidable barrier to promoting a religion whose rhetoric emphasized the breakdown of barriers among all those who followed Christ. British-run schools continued to flourish, but they did not deliver many converts or enough native Christian leadership to stimulate mass conversion. Indians took what they wanted from European education; Christian schools enjoyed a great success, but it was of a different order from that in similar Evangelical schools founded by the Church Missionary Societies in Egypt (see p. 890). There the intake had also been from an elite, but an elite already Christian. In India, few pupils were from Christian families, and few decided that they would take on a new faith, even while they benefited from Western culture. In fact the challenge to faith and intellect posed by the Christian onslaught had prompted Hindus to self-examination and eventually to self-confidence and pride in their heritage. They were aware and

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  Claudius's wife, Valeria Messalina, was one of the most beautiful company \ Don't dab stuff women in Rome. Although he seemed fond of her, Claudius paid her no on your pimples, don't start attention, and she started to have affairs. At first she was discreet, but over cleaning your teeth: \ The result may be attractive, but the years, provoked by her husband's neglect, she became more and more the process is debauched. She had a room built for her in the palace where she enter-sickening. . . . tained scores of men, doing her best to imitate the most notorious prosti- — O V I D , THE ART OF LOVE, tute in Rome, whose name was written on the door. Any man who refused TRANSLATED BY PETER GREEN her advances was put to death. Almost everyone in Rome knew about these frolics, but Claudius said nothing; he seemed oblivious. So great was Messalina's passion for her favorite lover, Gaius Silius, that she decided to marry him, although both of them were married already. While Claudius was away, they held a wedding ceremony, authorized by a marriage contract that Claudius himself had been tricked into signing. After the ceremony, Gaius moved into the palace. Now the shock and disgust of the whole city finally forced Claudius into action, and he ordered the execution of Gaius and of Messalina's other lovers—but not of Messalina herself. Nevertheless, a gang of soldiers, inflamed by the scandal, hunted her down and stabbed her to death. When this was reported to the emperor, he merely ordered more wine and continued his meal. Several nights The Anti-Seducer • 137 later, to the amazement of his slaves, he asked why the empress was not But if, like the winter cat joining him for dinner. upon the hearth, the lover clings when he is dismissed, and cannot bear Nothing is more infuriating than being paid no attention. In the process of to go, certain means must seduction, you may have to pull back at times, subjecting your target to be taken to make him moments of doubt. But prolonged inattention will not only break the se- understand; and these should be progressively ductive spell, it can create hatred. Claudius was an extreme of this behavior. ruder and ruder, until they His insensitivity was created by necessity: in acting like an imbecile, he hid touch him to the quick of his ambition and protected himself among dangerous competitors. But the his flesh. • She should refuse him the bed, and insensitivity became second nature. Claudius grew slovenly, and no longer jeer at him, and make him noticed what was going on around him. His inattentiveness had a profound angry; she should stir up effect on his wife: How, she wondered, can a man, especially a physically her mother's enmity against him; she should treat him

• From Bright Lights, Big City (1984)

  Something happened in Collating; your proofs were sent to Donlevy in place of the editor’s proofs. The editor, a youngish woman fresh from the Yale alumni magazine, was in awe of her sudden proximity to Donlevy, and was horrified when she learned what had happened and looked over your proofs. You were summoned to her office and upbraided for your unprecedented presumption. To tamper with the prose of John Donlevy! Horrible. Unthinkable. You, a mere stripling of a verificationist. If you had gone to Yale, you might have learned some manners. She was trying to decide how best to explain the outrage to Donlevy when he called to say that he appreciated the suggestions and that he was taking several of the changes. You got that part of the story from the switchboard operator, who listened in on the conversation. The editor never spoke to you again. After Clara returned, there was another lecture, much the same, with the addition of the idea that you had embarrassed her and the entire department. When the issue came out, you noted with some satisfaction that your best stuff was incorporated in the review. But it was the end of Clara’s warm maternal act. To give Clara her due, lately you have not been impeccable in the performance of your duties. It’s a matter of temperaments. You try and you try, but you can’t see this as God’s work, or even Man’s work. Aren’t computers supposed to free us from this kind of drudgery? In fact, you don’t want to be in Fact. You’d much rather be in Fiction. You have cautiously expressed this preference several times, but there hasn’t been an opening in Fiction in years. The people in the Verification Department tend to look down on fiction, in which words masquerade as flesh without the backbone of fact. There is a general sense that if fiction isn’t dead, it is at least beside the point. But you’ll take a new story by Bellow over a six-pan article on the Republican convention at the drop of a hat. All the magazine fiction passes through the department, and since no one else wants it you take it upon yourself to do the routine checking—make sure that if a story set in San Francisco contains a psycho named Phil Doaks, there is no Phil Doaks in the San Francisco phone book who might turn around and sue. It’s the opposite of verifying a factual piece. To confirm that the story doesn’t unintentionally coincide at any point with real people and events. A cursory process, it does give you a shot at some decent reading. At first Clingfast seemed pleased that you were taking on a job no one else wanted, but now she accuses you of spending too much time on the fiction. You are an idler in the kingdom of facts.

• From Bright Lights, Big City (1984)

  a type not usually seen in the city. You leave the door open and walk back to the living room. He doesn’t follow immediately. Presently he enters and slams the door. You stretch out on the couch. “Take a seat,” you say. He remains standing in front of you. This is not really fair, you think, aggravating, as it does, his advantage in height. “What the hell is going on with you?” he says. He is growing larger by the minute. You shrug. “I’ve been trying to track you down for over a week. I called your office, called here.” “When did you get to the city,” you ask. “And then when I take the goddamn bus down to the city and stake out your doorstep, you bolt when you see me.” “I thought you were somebody else.” “Don’t give me that shit. I left about a hundred and fifty messages at your office. And then yesterday I go to your office and they tell me you are no longer employed as of Wednesday. What the fuck is going on?” His fists are clenched. You would think it was his job you had lost. “What did you want to see me about?” “I don’t want to see you. I’d just as soon leave you here to drown in coke or whatever it is you’re doing. But Dad’s worried about you and I’m worried about Dad.” “How is Dad?” “Do you care?” You have always thought that Michael would make a great prosecuting attorney. He has an acute sense of universal guilt and a keen nose for circumstantial evidence. Although he is a year younger than you, he has appropriated the role of elder. He takes your foibles and lapses from good citizenship as personal affronts. “Dad’s in California on business. At least he was until last night. He asked me to call and make sure you got home for the weekend. Since you never answer or call back, well, here I am. You’re coming home

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

  62 Lecture 11: Aeschylus, Oresteia pursued by the Furies. These Furies are ancient divinities, whose task is to punish those who shed the blood of their kin. Orestes has committed hybris, outrageous arrogance, by thinking that he was wise when he was not and assuming that what Apollo said was right. At the end of Libation Bearers, Argos and Mycenae are again in turmoil; Electra is alone; and Orestes, who has been driven insane, is wandering through Greece. This work is called Libation Bearers because Clytemnestra and her lover are the funeral offering, offered up to the ghost of Agamemnon. The third work in the trilogy is Eumenides, or “the blessed ones.” At the play’s beginning, Orestes is asleep at the temple of the god Apollo at Delphi. The Furies lie outside the temple boundaries. Orestes awakens and asks Apollo for an end to his suffering. Apollo says that Orestes must go to Athens and stand trial before an Athenian jury. If the jury clears him, the Furies will leave him alone. Apollo will serve as his attorney. At his trial, Orestes says that he executed his mother because Apollo told him to do so. The Furies, as his prosecutors, say that killing his mother was still a wrong act. Everyone had been caught in a web of duty. Agamemnon was duty-bound to offer Iphigenia as a sacri fi ce; Clytemnestra was bound by duty to avenge the death of her daughter; Orestes was bound by duty to avenge the death of his father; and the Furies were duty-bound to avenge the death of Clytemnestra. Apollo, as the attorney of Orestes, says that Orestes did not actually murder his parent, because only the father is a parent. A father is fully responsible for the seed, and the mother merely provides a house for it until birth. Athena, who sprang from the head of her father, indicates that she will always be on the side of the men against women and that Orestes is free of blood-guilt. The troubles of Orestes are over, and he is liberated. Because the Furies are outraged, Athena suggests that they now be called Eumenides, or “blessed ones,” and that they will be revered and honored by the Athenians. The Oresteia explores several questions. Can public and private morality be separated? Is Agamemnon’s murder of his daughter a private act or a public act? Part of Agamemnon’s policy had been to sail to Troy, a public act, but to do so, he sacrifi ced his daughter, a private act. Aeschylus indicates that public and private morality cannot be separated. What a leader does in private is part of the same character in public. Is murder ever justi fi ed? After all, war is murder on a large scale. Do absolute good and absolute evil

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

  34 Lecture 6: Gospel of Mark traveled on a teaching mission that lasted not more than a year, spreading this simple doctrine and performing miracles. Scholars of the 19 th and 20 th centuries spent much time rationalizing and attempting to explain the miracles of Jesus. These miracles cannot be removed or explained away. They are fundamental to the message as perceived by the audience of Jesus. As people of the 21 st century believe in science, people then believed in magic. Although contemporary people may not accept that such miracles occurred, the age in which Jesus lived believed in miracles. The miracles have a progressive character, from curing Peter’s mother-in-law of a fever to bringing a girl back from the dead. The miracles prompted people to deal with the question of God and whether he was speaking through this prophet or whether Jesus was a false prophet. In the narrative of the Gospel of Mark, these miracles are essential to authenticate the message of Jesus. At the time of Jesus, many false prophets had appeared who were seeking to drive out the Romans. It was a time of much social unrest. The people of Judaea resented Roman taxation and the fact that the Romans sent garrisons to Jerusalem at Passover. The Jews felt a sense of national degradation at the hands of the Romans. Jesus, an unknown man who lacked academic credentials as a Pharisee, appeared and was able to cure people. The Pharisees began to keep an eye on Jesus; he was perceived to be a dangerous troublemaker who claimed to be a prophet. Jesus did not try to conciliate the Pharisees and, in fact, went out of his way to antagonize them. The disciples of Jesus did not perform the ritual ablutions prescribed by the Pharisees before eating. Jesus told the Pharisees that what de fi les a person is not what goes into them but what comes out of them, specifi cally, lies and hypocrisy. He told the Pharisees that they were rotten inside. The message of Jesus was easy to misinterpret, which the Pharisees did. They thought that Jesus was preaching social revolution, that riches should be taken from wealthy people and given to the poor. When Jesus stated, “The critical moment is at hand,” the Pharisees interpreted it to Jesus did not try to conciliate the Pharisees and, in fact, went out of his way to antagonize them.

• From What Are Biblical Values? (2019)

  The verse should probably be translated: “For one divorces and sends away and covers his garment with violence.”35 Even so, it is clear that Malachi disapproves of divorce, which no doubt imposed hardship on the women who were sent away. Malachi’s protest against divorce was exceptional in the Hebrew Bible. Some of the Greek translators read the line this way: “But if you hate, send away!” This reading conforms to the general acceptance of divorce but makes little sense in the context.36 Probably the translator could not believe that a prophet would condemn divorce. Malachi’s objection to divorce may have been based on Genesis 2:24, where man and wife are said to become one flesh. (Malachi 2:15 says elliptically: “Did he not make one, flesh and spirit in it?” [My translation].) If so, this was the first instance in the biblical tradition where Genesis was invoked against the practice of divorce. Another example of criticism of divorce is found in the Dead Sea Scrolls, in the Damascus Document (CD), a sectarian rule book from the first century BCE. The text denounces those who are “caught in fornication by taking two wives in their lifetime, whereas the principle of creation is, male and female he created them” (CD 4.20–5.2). Here, the objection is not to divorce, which was accepted in the Damascus Document , but to remarriage. Such an objection was highly unusual in Jewish tradition, since remarriage was often thought to be the whole reason for divorce, but it reflects the unusually strict interpretation of the Law characteristic of the sectarians of the Dead Sea Scrolls. AN ANDROCENTRIC PERSPECTIVE Even if the Hebrew Bible is not consistently patriarchal in a technical sense, it is consistently androcentric. Women are sometimes viewed positively. There are a few female leaders, such as Deborah in the Book of Judges, but they are exceptions. Proverbs 31 contains a remarkable paean to the “capable wife.” But even there, the woman is praised because of the honor she brings to her husband while he sits in the city gate. Women had their place in Israelite and Judean society, but it was a place tightly circumscribed by the men in their lives. Ben Sira, whose book is in the Roman Catholic Old Testament and the Protestant Apocrypha, although it is not found in the Hebrew Bible, sums up the obstacles that confronted young women, at least from a father’s perspective: A daughter is a secret anxiety to her father, and worry over her robs him of sleep; when she is young, for fear she may not marry, or if married, for fear she may be disliked; while a virgin, for fear she may be seduced and become pregnant in her father’s house; or having a husband, for fear she may go astray, or, though married, for fear she may be barren.

• From Middlesex (2002)

  Which, in fact, was pretty much the case. Bithynios had never been a big village, but in 1922 it was smaller than ever. People had begun leaving in 1913, when the phylloxera blight ruined the cur- rants. They had continued to leave during the Balkan Wars. Lefty and Desdemona's cousin, Sourmelina, had gone to America and was liv- ing now in a place called Detroit. Built along a gentie slope of the mountain, Bithynios wasn't a precarious, cliffside sort of place. It was an elegant, or at least harmonious, cluster of yellow stucco houses with red roofs. The grandest houses, of which there were two, had gikma, enclosed bay windows that hung out over the street. The poorest houses, of which there were many, were essentially one-room kitchens. And then there were houses like Desdemona and Lefty's, with an overstuffed parlor, two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a backyard privy with a European toilet. There were no shops in Bithynios, no post office or bank, only a church and one taverna. For shopping you had to go into Bursa, walking first and then taking the horse-drawn streetcar. In 1922 there were barely a hundred people living in the village. Fewer than half of those were women. Of forty-seven women, twenty-one were old ladies. Another twenty were middle-aged wives. Three were young mothers, each with a daughter in diapers. One was his sister. That left two marriageable girls. Whom Desdemona now rushed to nominate. 28 "What do you mean mere aren't any girls? What about Lucille Kafkalis? She's a nice girl. Or Victoria Pappas?" "Lucille smells," Lefty answered reasonably. "She bathes maybe once a year. On her name day. And Victoria?" He ran a finger over his ccVictoria has a mustache bigger than mine. I don't want to upper lip. share a razor with my wife." With that, he put down his clothing brush and put on his jacket. "Don't wait up," he said, and left: the bedroom. "Go!" Desdemona called after him. "See what I care. Just remem- ber. When your Turkish wife takes off her mask, don't come running back to the village!" But Lefty was gone. His footsteps faded away. Desdemona felt the mysterious poison rising in her blood again. She paid no atten- tion. "I don't like eating alone!" she shouted, to no one. The wind from the valley had picked up, as it did every afternoon. It blew through the open windows of the house. It rattled the latch on her hope chest and her father's old worry beads lying on top. Des- demona picked the beads up. She began to slip them one by one through her fingers, exactiy as her father had done, and her grandfa-

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

  131  The narratives of the book of Acts provide numerous accounts of Christians being persecuted, principally through the synagogues. Christian proclamations about Jesus as the messiah caused irritation among non-Christian Jews, who eventually drove out the Christians and sometimes in fl icted punishments on them. Eventually, Christianity became less of a Jewish religion and more of a religion that was intent on converting Gentiles, leading to greater persecution.  One of the most important books of the New Testament with respect to persecution is the letter of 1 Peter. The author of this letter is principally concerned about the suffering that Christians are experiencing. o In this letter, we learn that Christians accused the pagans of “living in licentiousness, passions, drunkenness, rebels carousing, and lawless idolatry.” Pagans responded by accusing the Christians of engaging in these same activities. o From the Christian point of view, their friends and neighbors were not happy about the fact that they had converted away from a licentious lifestyle. As a result, the Christians were persecuted. o The author of 1 Peter assures his readers that it is better to suffer for doing good, if suffering should be God’s will, than to suffer for doing evil.  Most of the early persecution of Christians, then, came at the grassroots level, as friends or family members of Christians decided that the Christians were out of bounds and needed to be punished. The only time administrators got involved is when there was some kind of crowd or mob attack on Christians. Imperial Opposition to Christians  The fi rst episode of imperial opposition to Christians came in the 60s C.E. with the emperor Nero. The episode is described by

• From Middlesex (2002)

  "Not me," said Chapter Eleven. "Why not?" "Tourism is just another form of colonialism." And so on and so forth. Before long, Chapter Eleven declared that he didn't share Milton and Tessie's values. Milton asked what was wrong with their values. Chapter Eleven said he was against ma- terialism. "All you care about is money," he told Milton. "I don't want to live like this." He gestured toward the room. Chapter Eleven was against our living room, everything we had, everything Milton had worked for. He was against Middlesex! Then shouting; and Chapter Eleven uttering two words to Milton, one beginning with /, the other with y; and more shouting, and Chapter Eleven's motorcycle roaring away, with Meg on the back. What had happened to Chapter Eleven? Why had he changed so much? It was being away from home, Tessie said. It was the times. It was all this trouble with the war. I, however, have a different answer. I suspect that Chapter Eleven's transformation was caused in no small part by that day on his bed when his life was decided by lottery. Am I projecting? Saddling my brother with my own obsessions with chance and fate? Maybe. But as we planned a trip— a trip that had been promised when Milton was saved from another war— it ap- peared that Chapter Eleven, taking chemical trips of his own, was trying to escape what he had dimly perceived while wrapped in an afghan: the possibility that not only his draft number was decided by 317 lottery, but that everything was. Chapter Eleven was hiding from this discovery, hiding behind windowpane, hiding on the top of eleva- tors, hiding in the bed of Meg Zemka with her multiple O's and bad teeth, Meg Zemka who hissed in his ear while they made love, "For- get your family, man! They're bourgeois pigs! Tour dad's an exploiter, man! Forget 'em. They're dead, man. Dead. This is what's real. Right here. Come andget it, baby!" 318 THE OBSCURE OBJECT t occurred to me today that I'm not as far along as I thought. Writ- ing my story isn't the courageous act of liberation I had hoped it , I would be. Writing is solitary, furtive, and I know all about those things. I'm an expert in the underground life. Is it really my apolitical temperament that makes me keep my distance from the intersexual rights movement? Couldn't it also be fear? Of standing up. Of be- coming one of them. Still, you can only do what you're able. If this story is written only for myself, then so be it. But it doesn't feel that way. I feel you out there, reader. This is the only kind of intimacy I'm comfortable with. Just the two of us, here in the dark.

• From Middlesex (2002)

  competitions, soap box derbies. There was also a taxidermied pike, jaws agape. Low on kerosene, the lantern sputtered. The light was butter-colored, the ripple of smoke greasing the air. It was opium den light, which was appropriate, because already Rex had plucked a joint from his pocket and was lighting it with a safety match. Rex was on one cot, Jerome on the other. Casually the Object sat down next to Rex. I stood in the middle of the floor, hunching. I could feel Jerome watching me. I pretended to examine the shack but then turned, expecting to meet his gaze. This didn't happen, how- ever. Jerome's eyes were focused on my chest. On my falsies. He liked me already. Now here was an added attraction, like a bonus for good intentions. Maybe I should have been pleased by the trance he was in. But my revenge fantasy had already gone bust. My heart wasn't in it. Still, having no alternative, I went ahead and sat beside Jerome. Across the shack Rex Reese had the joint in his mouth. Rex was wearing shorts and a monogrammed shirt, ripped at the shoulder, showing tanned skin. There was a red mark on his fla- menco dancer's neck: a bug bite, a fading hickey. He closed his eyes to inhale deeply, his long eyelashes coming together. The hair on his head was as thick and oiled as an otter's pelt. Finally he opened his eyes and passed the joint to the Object. To my surprise she took it. As though it were one of her beloved Tareytons, she put it between her lips and inhaled. 370 "Won't that make you paranoid?" I said. "No." "I thought you told me pot always makes you paranoid." "Not when I'm out in nature," said the Object. She gave me a hard look. Then she took another toke. "Don't bogart it," said Jerome. He got up to take the joint from her. He smoked half-standing, and then turned and held it out to me. I looked at the joint. One end burned; the other was mashed and wet. I had an idea that this was all part of the boys' plan, the woods, the shack, the cots, the drugs, the sharing of saliva. Here's a question I still can't answer: Did I see through the male tricks because I was destined to scheme that way myself) Or do girls see through the tricks, too, and just pretend not to notice? For one second I thought of Chapter Eleven. He was living in a shack in the woods like this. I asked myself if I missed my brother. I couldn't tell if I did or not. I never know what I feel until it's too late. Chapter Eleven had smoked his first joint at college. I was four years ahead of him. "Hold it in," Rex coached me. "You have to let the THC build up in your bloodstream," said Jerome.

• From Middlesex (2002)

  Leaving these genealogical questions aside, I return to the biolog- ical facts. Like college girls sharing a dorm room, Desdemona and Lina were both synchronized in their menstrual cycles. That night was day fourteen. No thermometer verified this, but a few weeks later the symptoms of nausea and hypersensitive noses did. "Who- ever named it morning sickness was a man," Lina declared. "He was just home in the morning to notice." The nausea kept no schedule; it owned no watch. They were sick in the afternoon, in the middle of the night. Pregnancy was a boat in a storm and they couldn't get off. And so they lashed themselves to the masts of their beds and rode out the squall. Everything they came in contact with, the bedsheets, the pillows, the air itself, began to turn on them. Their husbands' breath became intolerable, and when they weren't too sick to move, they were waving their arms, gesturing to the men to keep away. Pregnancy humbled the husbands. After an initial rush of male pride, they quickly recognized the minor role that nature had as- signed them in the drama of reproduction, and quiedy withdrew into a baffled reserve, catalysts to an explosion they couldn't explain. While their wives grandly suffered in the bedrooms, Zizmo and Lefty retreated to the sala to listen to music, or drove to a coffee house in Greektown where no one would be offended by their smell. They played backgammon and talked politics, and no one spoke about women because in the coffee house everyone was a bachelor, no mat- ter how old he was or how many children he'd given a wife who pre- ferred their company to his. The talk was always the same, of the Turks and their brutality, of Venizelos and his mistakes, of King Constantine and his return, and of the unavenged crime of Smyrna burned. "And does anybody care? No!" "It's like what Berenger said to Clemenceau: cHe who owns the oil owns the world.' " 109 "Those damn Turks! Murderers and rapists!" "They desecrated the Hagia Sophia and now they destroyed Smyrna!" But here Zizmo spoke up: "Stop bellyaching. The war was the Greeks' fault." "What!" "Who invaded who?" asked Zizmo. "The Turks invaded. In 1453." "The Greeks can't even run their own country. Why do they need another!1 " At this point, men stood up, chairs were knocked over. "Who the hell are you, Zizmo? Goddamned Pontian! Turk-sympathizer!" "I sympathize with the truth," shouted Zizmo. "There's no evi- dence the Turks started that fire. The Greeks did it to blame it on the Turks."

• From Middlesex (2002)

  This guy wanted to do business? Then Milton would show him how to do business! He wanted to negotiate? How about this! (Mil- ton was climbing the steps now, loafers ringing against the metal.) Instead of leaving twenty-five thousand bucks, why not leave twelve thousand five hundred? This way Fit have some leverage. Half now, half later. Why hadn't he thought of this before? What the hell was the . No sooner had matter with him? He was under too much strain . he reached the platform, however, than my father stopped cold. Less than twenty yards away, a dark figure in a stocking cap was reaching into the trash can. Milton's blood froze. He didn't know whether to retreat or advance. The kidnapper tried to pull the briefcase out, but it wouldn't fit through the swinging door. He went behind the can and lifted up the entire metal lid. In the chemical brightness Milton saw the patriarchal beard, the pale, waxen cheeks, and— most tell- ingly—the tiny five-foot-four frame. Father Mike. . Father Mike) Father Mike was the kidnapper? Impossible. Incred- ible! But there was no doubt. Standing on the platform was the man who had once been engaged to my mother and who, at my father's hands, had had her stolen away. Taking the ransom was the former seminarian who had married Milton's sister, Zoe, instead, a choice that had sentenced him to a life of invidious comparisons, of Zoe al- ways asking why he hadn't invested in the stock market when Milton 504 had, or bought gold when Milton had, or stashed money away in the Cayman Islands as Milton had; a choice that had condemned Father Mike to being a poor relation, forced to endure Milton's lack of re- spect while accepting his hospitality, and compelling him to carry a dining room chair into the living room if he wanted to sit. Yes, it was a great shock for Milton to discover his brother-in-law on the train platform. But it also made sense. It was clear now why the kidnapper had wanted to haggle over the price, why he wanted to feel like a businessman for once, and, alas, how he had known about Bithynios. Explained, too, were why the telephone calls had come on Sundays, whenever Tessie was at church, and the music in the background, which Milton now identified as the priests chanting the liturgy. Long ago, my father had stolen Father's Mike's fiancee and married her himself. The child of the union, me, had poured salt in the wound by baptizing the priest in reverse. Now Father Mike was trying to get even.

• From Looking for Alaska (2005)

  “After the pre-prank, the Eagle will think the junior class has done its prank and won’t be waiting for it when it actually comes.” Every year, the junior and senior classes pulled off a prank at some point in the year—usually something lame, like Roman candles in the dorm circle at five in the morning on a Sunday. “Is there always a pre-prank?” I asked. “No, you idiot,” the Colonel said. “If there was always a pre-prank, then the Eagle would expect two pranks. The last time a pre-prank was used—hmm. Oh, right: 1987. When the pre-prank was cutting off electricity to campus, and then the actual prank was putting five hundred live crickets in the heating ducts of the classrooms. Sometimes you can still hear the chirping.” “Your rote memorization is, like, so impressive,” I said. “You guys are like an old married couple.” Alaska smiled. “In a creepy way.” “You don’t know the half of it,” the Colonel said. “You should see this kid try to crawl into bed with me at night.” “Hey!” “Let’s get on subject!” Alaska said. “Pre-prank. This weekend, since there’s a new moon. We’re staying at the barn. You, me, the Colonel, Takumi, and, as a special gift to you, Pudge, Lara Buterskaya.” “The Lara Buterskaya I puked on?” “She’s just shy. She still likes you.” Alaska laughed. “Puking made you look—vulnerable.” “Very perky boobs,” the Colonel said. “Are you bringing Takumi for me?” “You need to be single for a while.” “True enough,” the Colonel said. “Just spend a few more months playing video games,” she said. “That hand-eye coordination will come in handy when you get to third base.” “Gosh, I haven’t heard the base system in so long, I think I’ve forgotten third base,” the Colonel responded. “I would roll my eyes at you, but I can’t afford to look away from the screen.” “French, Feel, Finger, Fuck. It’s like you skipped third grade,” Alaska said. “I did skip third grade,” the Colonel answered. “So,” I said, “what’s our pre-prank?” “The Colonel and I will work that out. No need to get you into trouble—yet.” “Oh. Okay. Um, I’m gonna go for a cigarette, then.” I left. It wasn’t the first time Alaska had left me out of the loop, certainly, but after we’d been together so much over Thanksgiving, it seemed ridiculous to plan the prank with the Colonel but without me. Whose T-shirts were wet with her tears? Mine. Who’d listened to her read Vonnegut? Me. Who’d been the butt of the world’s worst knock-knock joke? Me. I walked to the Sunny Konvenience Kiosk across from school and smoked. This never happened to me in Florida, this oh-so-high-school angst about who likes whom more, and I hated myself for letting it happen now. You don’t have to care about her , I told myself. Screw her.

• From Middlesex (2002)

  It happened like this. One night, my grandfather got into bed with my grandmother to find that she wasn't alone. Milton, eight years old now, was snuggled up against her side. On her other side was Zoe, who was only four. Lefty, exhausted from work, looked down at the spectacle of this menagerie. He loved the sight of his sleeping children. Despite the problems of his marriage, he could never blame his son or daughter for them. At the same time, he rarely saw them. In order to make enough money he had to keep the speakeasy open sixteen, sometimes eighteen, hours a day. He worked seven days a week. To support his family he had to be exiled from them. In the mornings when he was around the house, his children treated him like a familiar relative, an uncle maybe, but not a father. And then there was the problem of the bar ladies. Serving drinks day and night, in a dim grotto, he had many opportunities to meet women drinking with their friends or even alone. My grandfather was thirty years old in 1932. He had filled out and become a man; he was charming, friendly, always well dressed— and still in his physical prime. Upstairs his wife was too frightened to have sex, but down in the Zebra Room women gave Lefty bold, hot looks. Now, as my grandfather gazed down at the three sleeping figures in the bed, his head contained all these things at once: love for his children, love 136 for his wife, along with frustration with his marriage, and boyish, unmarried-feeling excitement around the bar ladies. He bent his face close to Zoe's. Her hair was still wet from the bath, and richly fra- grant. He took his fatherly delights while at the same time he re- mained a man apart. Lefty knew that all the things in his head couldn't hold together. And so after gazing on the beauty of his chil- dren's faces, he lifted them out of the bed and carried them back to their own room. He returned and got into bed beside his sleeping wife. Gentiy, he began stroking her, moving his hand up under her nightgown. And suddenly Desdemona's eyes opened. "What are you doing!" "What do you think I'm doing?" "I'm sleeping." "I'm waking you up." "Shame on you." My grandmother pushed him away. And Lefty relented. He rolled angrily away from her. There was a long silence before he spoke. "I don't get anything from you. I work all the time and I get nothing." "You think I don't work? I have two children to take care of." "If you were a normal wife, it might be worth it for me to be working all the time." "If you were a normal husband, you would help witii the chil- dren."

• From Middlesex (2002)

  how evenmyown.IfeltI'd takenchargeofthings. I wasn't atthe mercy ofnatureanymore.Even better, withourtrip toBursa can- celed—as well asmyappointmentwith Dr.Bauer— Iwasfree to ac- cepttheObject'sinvitationtovisit herfamily's summer house.In preparationIboughtasun hat,sandals,and apairofrustic overalls. Iwasn'tparticularly tunedintothe politicalevents unfoldingin the nationthat summer.Butitwas impossibleto misswhatwas go- ingon.Myfather'sidentification withNixon onlygrew stronger as thePresident'stroubles mounted.Inthe long-hairedwar protesters Miltonsawhisownshaggy,condemnatory son.Now,intheWater- gate scandal, myfatherrecognizedhisown dubiousbehavior during theriots.Hethoughtthebreak-in wasamistake, but also believed thatit was no bigdeal."Youdon'tthinkthe Democratsaren't doing thesamething?"Milton askedtheSundaydebaters."The liberalsjust wanttostickit tohim.Sothey'replaying pious."Watching the evening news,Miltondelivered a running commentary to the screen. "Oh yeah?"he'dsay."Bullshit."Or:"This guy Proxmire's atotal zero." Or:"What these pointy-headed intellectualsshould beworry- ing aboutisforeignpolicy.Whattodo about the goddamnRussians andthe Red Chinese. Notpissingandmoaningabout a robbery ata lousycampaign office."Hunkereddownbehindhis TV tray, Milton scowled attheleft-wingpress, andhis growing resemblancetothe Presidentcouldn't beignored. Onweeknightshearguedwith the television, but on Sundayshe faced alive audience.UnclePete,whowasusuallyasdormant asa snake while digesting,wasnowanimatedandjovial."Evenfrom a chiropractic standpoint,Nixon isa questionablecharacter. Hehasthe skeleton of achimpanzee." Father Mike joinedtheneedling."Sowhatdoyouthinkabout yourfriend TrickyDicky now,Milt?" "Ithink it's alot ofhoo-ha." Things got worse whendieconversation turnedtoCyprus.In domesticaffairs Milton had Jimmy Fioretosonhis side. But whenit cametothe Cyprus situationtheypartedcompany.A monthafterthe invasion,justas the UNwasabouttoconcludea peacenegotiation, theTurkish Army had launchedanotherattack. ThistimetheTurks claimed a largeportion of the island.Nowbarbedwirewasgoingup. Guardtowers were being erected. Cypruswas beingcutinhalf like 362 Berlin, likeKorea, likealltheother placesintheworld thatwere no longer one thingorthe other. "Now they're showingtheirtruestripes," Jimmy Fioretossaid. "The Turkswanted toinvade allalong.Thatmalarkeyabout'protect- ingthe Constitution'wasjust apretext." "They hitus... sssss...whileourbackswereturned"croaked Gus Panos. Miltonsnorted. "Whatdoyou mean c us'.>Wherewereyouborn, Gus, Cyprus?" "Youknow.. .sssss... whatImean." "Americabetrayedthe Greeks!" Jimmy Fioretos jabbeda fingerin the air."It'sthat two-facedsonof a bitchKissinger.Shakesyourhand whilehepissesinyourpocket!" Miltonshookhis head.Heloweredhischinaggressively and madea little sound,a barkofdisapproval, deep inhisthroat. "We havetodo whatever'sinournationalinterest." AndthenMiltonliftedhischinandsaidit:"Tohellwiththe Greeks." In 1974, insteadofreclaiminghisroots by visitingBursa,myfa- therrenouncedthem.Forced tochoose betweenhisnativelandand hisancestral one,hedidn'thesitate.Meanwhile,wecouldhearitall thewayfrom thekitchen:shouting;and a coffeecupbreaking;swear wordsin bothEnglishandGreek;feetstompingoutofthehouse. "Getyourcoat,Phyllis,we'releaving," Jimmy Fioretossaid. "It'ssummer," saidPhyllis."Idon'thaveacoat." "Then getwhatever thehellitisyouhavetoget." "We're going,too ...sssss...I've lostmy ...sssss... appetite." Even UnclePete, theself-educated operabuff,drewtheline. "Maybe Gus didn'tgrow up inGreece,"hesaid,"butI'msureyoure- member thatIdid. Youaretalkingabout my nativeland, Milton. And your parents'owntruehome." The guestsleft. Theydidn'tcomeback. Jimmy andPhyllisFiore- tos. Gusand Helen Panos. PeterTatakis. TheBuickspulledaway from Middlesex, leavingbehindanegativespaceinourliving room. After that, therewerenomoreSundaydinners. No more large-nosed men blowing theirnoseslikemutedtrumpets. No more cheek- pinching women whoresembledMelinaMercouriin herlateryears. Most ofall, nomorelivingroom debates.Nomorearguing andcit- 363 ing examples andquotingthefamous deadandcastigating theinfa- mous living. Nomorerunning thegovernmentfrom ourlove seats. No morerevampingofthetaxcodeorphilosophical fights aboutthe role ofgovernment,thewelfarestate,the Swedishhealth system (de- signedbya Dr.Fioretos,norelation). The endofanera.Never again. Never onSunday. Theonlypeoplewho stayedwereAuntZo,FatherMike, andour cousins,becausetheywererelatedto us.TessiewasangrywithMil- tonforcausingafight.Shetoldhim so,heexplodedather, andshe gavehimthesilenttreatmentfortherest oftheday.FatherMike took advantageofthistoleadTessie uptothesundeck.Milton got inhiscaranddroveoff.IwaswithAuntZowhen we later brought refreshments upto the deck. Ihad juststeppedoutontothegravel betweenthethickredwoodrailingswhen IsawTessieandFather Mike sitting ontheblackironpatiofurniture.FatherMikewashold- ingmymother'shand,leaninghisbeardedface closeto her andlook- ingintohereyesashespokesoftly.Mymotherhadbeencrying, apparently.Shehad atissue balledin onehand."Caliie'sgot iced tea," AuntZoannounced as shecameout,"and I'vegot thebooze."But then shesawhowFatherMikewaslooking at mymotherandshe wentsilent.Mymotherstood up, blushing."I'lltakethebooze,Zo." Everyonelaughed nervously.AuntZopouredtheglasses."Don't look,Mike," shesaid."ThepresvytercfsgettingdrunkonSunday." Thefollowing FridayIdrove up with the Object'sfatherto their summerhouse near Petoskey.Itwasagrand Victorian,coveredwith gingerbread, andpaintedthecolorofpistachio saltwater taffy. Iwas dazzledbythe sightofthe houseaswe drove up. Itsatona rise aboveLittle Traverse Bay,guardedbytall pines,allitswindows blaz- ing. Iwasgoodwith parents.Parentsweremy specialty.Inthecaron the wayup Ihad carried ona livelyand wide-rangingconversation withthe Object's father.It wasfromhim thatshehad gottenhercol- oring. Mr.Object had theCeltic tints.Hewas inhis latefifties,how- ever,andhis reddish hairhad beenbleached almost colorless now, like adandelion gone toseed.Hisfreckledskin lookedblownout, too. Hewore a khakipoplin suitandbowtie. Afterhepickedmeup, we stoppedata partystorenear thehighway, whereMr. Object bought asix-pack of Smirnoff cocktails. 364