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text 2018-12-31 22:59
My Personal Literary Canon, Part 2 -- also: 24 Festive Tasks, Door 5, Task 3 ("Veteran" Readership)

The authors by whom I've read the most books don't coincide exactly, but substantially with those that I'd also consider part of my personal canon; i.e., the books that have most impacted my thinking and / or to which I find myself returning again and again, be it for inspiration, comfort, or whatever other reasons.  So, since I've always wanted to follow up with a post of my own on Moonlight's original "personal literary canon" post, somewhat late in the game I've decided to use this "24 Festive Tasks" entry (and Mawlid, Task 2 -- literary pilgrimages) to finally get around to it.  At the risk of some serious rambling and long lists of name-dropping:

 

The Classics

William Shakespeare: I wasn't a fan of his in high school, though I did very much like Macbeth, The Taming of the Shrew, and Romeo and Juliet (the latter, actually quite a bit better than I like it right now); but once I'd been bitten there was no stopping me.  I've seen many (though not yet all) of Shakespeare's plays performed live, some repeatedly, I own the BBC "Complete Shakespeare" set featuring all plays attributed to him at the time of production in the late 1970s / early 1908s, and no other single author (not even the much more prolific Agatha Christie; see below) is taking up as much space on my bookshelves and DVD racks.  For a few years before there was such a thing as Wordpress and Blogger, I actually owned a website called "Project Hamlet" -- chiefly dedicated to my personal take on the Prince of Denmark's story, but also featuring information on Shakespeare himself.  Hosting and renewing the domain got too expensive after a while, so I let the domain expire, but I'm still hoping to resurrect it some day as a Wordpress blog.

 

Jane Austen: I've read all seven of her completed novels, as well as some of her juvenalia (The History of England, which she wrote at [gasp] age 13, is a compete and utter hoot) and letters (well, Selected Letters in the Oxford Classics edition).  I've also read her uncompleted novels (Sanditon and The Watsons) at least once, but probably should refresh my recollection of those at some point. -- It's been said before by more authoritative voices, but unfortunately bears repeating time and again: Whoever dismisses Austen as "only a romance" or "only a chick-lit" writer probably hasn't read a syllable by her in their lives and can get stuffed.  On general principles (there's no such thing as "only romance" or "only chick-lit), but as importantly on Austen's behalf: she was a sharp-eyed social observer and a satirist of the first order, who just happened to make women's stories her focus because she was a woman herself ... and who wrote about love, marriage and the hunt for moneyed gentlemen, because these (especially marriage, and the need to marry well regardless of a love match) were the factors that literally everything in a woman's life depended on in Regency society -- as it had, for the better part of Western history until then.

 

The Brontë Sisters: I fell in love with Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre before I'd ever even heard of Jane Austen, and to this day this book, and Anne's The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (and to a somewhat lesser extent, Charlotte Brontë's Shirley) exemplify 19th century women's -- and indeed every woman's -- struggle for self-respect, independence, and the attempt to square the circle and maintain these achievements even in marriage.  Emily's Wuthering Heights is a bit to (melo)dramatically overwrought to be my kind of jam, but I love her poetry ... and the siblings' (including their brother Bramwell) juvenalia are bursts of imagination and simply a complete hoot.

 

Elizabeth von Arnim:  I have by far not yet read all of her books, but enough of them to know that every single one of those that I do read makes me want to break out in a (very uncharacteristical) radiant smile.  Elizabeth's Adventures in Rügen also was one of those books that inspired me to visit a place that a famous author had visited, and trace her steps there.

 

Thomas Mann / the Mann family: I read all of Thomas Mann's novels (yes, including all four novels of the Joseph tetralogy) and short stories eons ago when I was in university -- which is long enough ago for me to have forgotten a lot of details, especially of that part of his literature that I haven't revisited since, but I'm still partial to Buddenbrooks, The Magic Mountain, Doctor Faustus and Felix Krull, as well as some of his better known short stories (including and in particular, Death in Venice and Mario and the Magician).  The Manns -- all of them, but especially Thomas -- were held to be national treasures in my family, so it's just as well I actually did take to their books; in addition to Thomas's books also his brother Heinrich's Man of Straw and Blue Angel, as well as his son Klaus's Mephisto.

 

John Steinbeck: I came to Steinbeck via the James Dean movie adaptation of East of Eden and was an instant fan -- perhaps because I was allowed to discover his books for myself, instead of having them presented to me as "Must Read" / Important literature in school.  Few authors have such an unmatched insight into the human soul, and the ability to present complex situations and emotions precisely and down to the last nuance, with very sparing words (yes, I know East of Eden is a brick, but just take a look at The Grapes of Wrath or Of Mice and Men).  Steinbeck, along with that part of my family who used to live in the American Southwest (Texas, but still ...) on and off when I was growing up are also chiefly responsible for my interest in California, long before I'd ever actually visited the Golden State for the very first time.

 

Oscar Wilde: Much more than the master of the witty one-liner and some of the most charming and heartrending fairy tales ever written, Wilde was actually a widely-read and -educated literary and social critic, journalist, conversationalist and focal point of London society long before his plays conquered stages at home and abroad.  He may have espoused the idea of letting each literary work stand for itself and define its own merit ("l'art pour l'art" / "art for its own sake"), but it is impossible to miss the profound underlying humanity of his works -- in his plays as much as in the products of his imprisonment, such as De Profundis and The Ballad of Reading Goal.  And while there are many great biographies of Wilde in book form, for a first take you can't do any better than watching the movie Wilde starring (who else?) Stephen Fry (whom Wilde's grandson and editor Mervyn Holland has called "a wonderful Oscarian figure").

 

Robert Louis Stevenson: My first introduction to Scotland (Edinburgh and elsewhere), decades before I ever visited.  I binge-watched the  1970s' TV adaptation of Kidnapped (running under the name The Adventures of David Balfour) as a teenager and was instantly captured, but have since learned in other books, too, just how acute an observer of human nature -- and of Scottish society -- Stevenson was.  When I finally visited Scotland for the first time, even more than a century later I still felt instantly at home, not least thanks to Stevenson (and Ian Rankin -- see below).

 

Greek Mythology: Believe it or not, the heroes and gods of Greek mythology were actually the very first childhood heroes I can recall, and I never stopped regretting we hardly saw any ancient classic literature on our high school curriculum (which instead was crammed with the mandatory 1970s/80s reform agenda).  But seriously, why would have wanted to read about other kids who didn't know anything more about life than I did myself if I could read about deities like Zeus's clever daughter Athena and her equally fiendishly clever protégé Odysseus instead?  I've since revisited the Greek classics in every form I could find and they still hold a special place in my heart.

 

Mysteries

Arthur Conan Doyle / Sherlock Holmes: Still the grand master -- both the detective and his creator -- that no serious reader of mysteries can or should even try to side-step.  I've read, own, and have reread countless times all 4 novels and 56 short stories constituting the Sherlock Holmes canon, and am now making my way through some of the better-known /-reputed Holmes pastiches (only to find -- not exactly to my surprise -- that none of them can hold a candle to the original), as well as Conan Doyle's "non-Holmes" fiction.  Oh, and for the record, there is and always will be only one Sherlock Holmes on screen, and that is Jeremy Brett.

 

The Golden Age Queens of Crime

Agatha Christie: Like Sherlock Holmes, part of my personal canon from very early on.  I've read and, in many cases, reread more than once and own (largely as part of a series of anniversary omnibus editions published by HarperCollins some 10 years ago) all of Agatha Christie's novels and short stories published under this name, as well as her autobiography, with only those of her books published under other names (e.g., the Mary Westmacott romances) left to read.  As with ACD's Holmes, there is only one defining screen incarnation of both of Christie's major detectives to me: David Suchet as Poirot and Joan Hickson as Miss Marple.  (And I'm happy in the knowledge that in the latter respect, Dame Agatha and I would seem to be in agreement.)

 

Dorothy L. Sayers: My mom turned me onto Sayers when I was in my teens, and I have never looked back.  I've read all of her Lord Peter Wimsey novels and short stories, volume 1 of her collected letters (which covers her correspondence from childhood to the end of her career as a mystery writer), and some of her non-Wimsey short stories and essays.  Gaudy Night and the two addresses jointly published under the title Are Women Human? are among my all-time favorite books; not least because they address women's position in society decades before feminism even became a mass movement to be reckoned with, and with a validity vastly transcending both Sayers's own lifetime and our own. -- Next steps: The remainder of Sayers's non-Wimsey stories and of her essays, as well as her plays.

 

Ngaio Marsh: A somewhat later entry into my personal canon, but definitely a fixture now.  I've read all of her Inspector Alleyn books and short stories and reread many of them.  Still on my TBR: her autobiography (which happily is contained in the last installments of the series of 3-book-each omnibus volumes I own).

 

Patricia Wentworth: Of the Golden Age Queens of Crime, the most recent entry into my personal canon.  I'd read two books by her a few years ago and liked one a lot, the other one considerably less, but Tigus expertly steered the resident mystery fans on Booklikes to all the best entries in the Miss Silver series, which I'm now very much looking forward to completing -- along with some of Wentworth's other fiction.

 

Georgette Heyer: I'm not a romance reader, so I doubt that I'll ever go anywhere near her Regency romances.  But I'm becoming more and more of a fan of her mysteries; if for no other reason than that nobody, not even Agatha Christie, did viciously bickering families as well as her.

 

Margery Allingham: I'm actually more of a fan of Albert Campion as portrayed by Peter Davison in the TV adaptations of some of Allingham's mysteries than of her Campion books as such, but I like at least some of those well enough to eventually want to complete the series -- God knows I've read enough of them at this point for the completist in me to have kicked in long ago.  I've also got Allingham's very first novel, Blackerchief Dick (non-Campion; historical fiction involving pirates) sitting on my audio TBR.

 

Josephine Tey:  I have barely read half of Tey's books so far (if that), but her tone and topics definitely strike a chord with me.  So I have acquired every book of her Inspector Grant series and I am hoping to complete the series soon -- and also, to dive into some other books by / related to Tey.

 

Contemporary Mysteries

P.D. James

 

Ian Rankin

 

Michael Connelly

 

[Text to be supplied -- I'm being called away just when I'm finally getting ready to complete this post!]

 

Historical Mysteries

I'm a history nerd, and with that comes a love of historical fiction; yet, the only two series of historical fiction that I would well and truly consider part of my personal canon are both mystery series as well:

 

The Chronicles of Brother Cadfael: He may be a monk when we meet him, but nobody epitomizes "father figure" to me more than Ellis Peters's Brother Cadfael.  Way above and beyond Peters's unfailingly spot-on historical research and her intimate knowledge of Shrewsbury, Shropshire, and the Welsh borderland (the Marches), I love this series for Cadfael's humanity, his insight into human nature and acceptance of every person on their own terms, as well as, of course, his warmth, intelligence, and broad-mindedness.  And nobody else could have embodied Cadfael like Derek Jacobi, whom I first encountered in that series (not, like others, in I, Claudius) and became an instant fan.

 

C.J. Sansom / Matthew Shardlake: I binge-read the first three Shardlake books and consider myself an instant fan ever since.  Shardlake and his associates are engaging characters, and nobody does the Tudor court and its manifold machinations like C.J. Sansom.  Can't wait to see where he is going to take the series now that Henry VIII is dead and the reign of his children has been ushered in.

 

Fantasy

I'm not a major reader of fantasy (and even less so, science fiction), but three authors are most definitely part of my personal canon, because their books vastly transcend the boundaries of that (or any) genre:

 

J.R.R. Tolkien: I first read The Lord of the Rings when I had barely turned 13, and The Hobbit a year or two later.  Frodo and Gollum between them may have taken The Ring back to Mount Doom, but it has never lost its pull on me and never will.  The Peter Jackson movie adaptations of The Lord of the Rings are not perfect, but I've become a big fan of theirs, too, and wouldn't want to miss them from my personal movie library now, either. (The adaptations of The Hobbit are a different matter, Gandalf and Thorin Oakenshield notwithstanding.)

 

Terry Pratchett: I'm a relatively late Discworld devotee, but I'm seriously wondering what took me so long.  Pratchett's literary genius, sense of humor, and fiendish way of mixing social commentary, send-ups of iconic topics, genres, characters and other literary conventions, and clever, surprising plotlines into a creation all of its own is unmatched -- and though I have a fair way to go yet to finish the Discworld novels, I already know that I'll regret that moment when it comes at last.

 

J.K. Rowling / Harry Potter: I'm instinctively turned off by hype of any kind, so you can probably imagine my initial reaction to Harry Potter, quite probably the most hyped literary series of the past 20+ years.  But Harry and his friends won me over on their own merits ... well, and those of J.K. Rowling's writing.  I revisited the entire series earlier this year and was enchanted all over again -- so much so that I splurged and invested in the recently-published hard cover boxed set, as well as the boxed set of "Hogwarts Library" books (Phantastic Beasts, Quidditch Through the Ages, and The Tales of Beedle the Bard), as well as starting the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw "collectors' editions" series of the Harry Potter books.

 

Children's / YA Literature

Astrid Lindgren: When I was barely old enough to read, Pippi Longstocking taught me that girls don't have to be afraid of anybody and they can go everywhere they set their minds to.  I still believe that to this day. -- Some of my childhood friends and I also loved her Noisy Village (Bullerbyn, or in German, Bullerbü) series well enough to emulate the characters and stories in our games.

 

The Three Investigators: The series I blame like practically no other for turning me into a mystery fan.  For my money still one of the best-ever conceived mystery series ... and an honest-to-God crime hunt with input from Alfred Hitchcock himself; what's not to like?  (The German incarnation was called "The Three ???" [or "The Three Question Marks"], incidentally, and featured a red, white and blue question mark on each book cover.)

 

Enid Blyton: I didn't read anywhere near all of her books and series, but her Five Friends series satisfied basically the same youthful reading desires as did The Three Investigators ... and I was also a dedicated reader of her St. Clare's / O'Sullivan Twins series, even after I started attending a school that offered both full and half board in addition to "ordinary" class attendance, and from personal experience concluded that her version of a boarding school was wildly fictitious -- which didn't stop me from wishing, however, that just a few of the things from her books were actually happening in my school, too.  (We did make good on the "secret nighttime parties" thing on some school trips at least.)

 

Ellis Kaut / Pumuckl: Like Pippi Longstocking and the Bullerbyn children, Ellis Kaut's creation, the kobold / gnome Pumuckl who some day suddenly decides to take residence in a Munich master carpenter's workshop, was a very early companion of my childhood -- and I would dearly have loved to meet him and to believe that the footsteps that one day showed up on the beach where we were vacationing were really his.  Alas, they were only a Pumuckl-style prank that my cousins played on me ...

 

Max Kruse / Urmel: The last, but by no means least literary companion of my early childhood was the dinosaur baby Urmel, who hatches on an island "right under the equator" where a Dr. Dolittle-like professor is living with his merry band of tallking animals, all of which have a particular (and very funny) phonetic quirk associated with the sounds they ordinarily make as animals.  A childhood friend first turned me onto the Urmel stories as they were presented in a TV program by Germany's most famous puppet theatre company (they're still in existence and in business) -- I instantly had to have the books as well.

 

Guilty Pleasures

Karl May: Another writer whose books I swallowed hide and hair as a child -- and whose protagonists were among my very first childhood heroes -- was German Western / travel adventure writer Karl May.  Never mind that he only ever visited the places he wrote about later in life (if at all), and never mind that his writing is replete with the facile clichés of his time, his novels were / are gripping enough to have spawned an enormous fan base in Germany to this day, complete with annual productions of stage adaptations of his most famous books in several outdoor theatres dedicated entirely to his works; and the 1960s and 1970s screen adaptations of his Westerns propelled his two major heroes (the Apache chief Winnetou and his white "blood brother", a German-born trapper / mountain man known as Old Shatterhand) to even greater iconic stature.

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text 2018-10-26 18:56
The return of the classics
The Return of the Native - Thomas Hardy,Alexander Theroux

There was an interesting thread on Twitter this morning about the pros and cons of teaching "the classics" in high school (or younger grades).  Some people felt the dead white male canon was no longer relevant, others thought there should be a new "mixed" canon, and so on.  Some tweeters made comments regarding whether or not the classics should be enjoyed on their own or just as cultural icons.

 

I'm not sure exactly when we began to have assigned readings of full-length novels in school.  In eighth grade (age ~13) I remember being assigned Conrad Richter's A Light in the Forest.  I never read it.  We also had to read Robert Louis Stevenson's The Black Arrow, but I'm not sure exactly what grade that was.  I didn't read that one either.  Somewhere along the line was Esther Forbes' Johnny Tremain.  I had seen the Disney movie on TV, so I didn't read that one either.  Oh, yeah.  And we had to read The Pearl by John Steinbeck.  It got the same treatment from me.

.

In high school we had the usual: Dickens' Great Expectations in an abridged version in our literature book along with Romeo and Juliet. Nope and nope on those, too.  I think Julius Caesar came in sophomore year.  Another nope.  Junior year was American literature, with Miss Cobb, which meant Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea.  Maybe The Scarlet Letter was thrown in for good measure, but I'm not sure.  I didn't read them.  Senior year I had Miss Leonhard with her Thomas Hardy obsession, so that meant The Return of the Native.  I managed maybe 40 pages of it before I gave up.

 

This was not an issue of getting a student to read or to like reading.  I loved reading, and I devoured books like potato chips.  I read Michener's Hawaii during American history class because Miss Black's teaching was too boring.  For my senior English research paper, I read most of Tolstoy's major works -- Anna Karenina, War and Peace, The Cossacks, The Kreutzer Sonata -- and even if I didn't completely understand them, I read them.

 

Later, years later, I read The Return of the Native and found it fascinating enough that I've reread it several times.  I read an unabridged version of David Copperfield and loved it. 

 

Why is it that more than 50 years after I graduated high school, these same issues keep coming up?  Why are kids still being taught depressing "life's a bitch and then you die" crap like Steinbeck and Hemingway and Shakespeare?  Why can't the canon be expanded to include women writers and writers of color and books written in the 20th and even 21st centuries?

 

I clearly remember hating The Old Man and the Sea because there was absolutely nothing in it I could relate to.  Not the fish, not the old man, not the lions that Miss Cobb said had such immense symbolism.  I didn't get it, and I didn't like it, and I couldn't concentrate on it.  The same with Thomas Hardy.  Egdon Heath was a living, breathing entity to Miss Leonhard, so much so that she and her two equally unmarried English teacher sisters made biannual pilgrimages to England and Hardy country to collect fresh specimens of gorse and heather and other plant to show their students.

 

Johnny Tremain probably had more relevance to our teenaged selves, but The Pearl sure didn't.  Yet these stories are classics.  There's something about them that has transcended the popular culture of their time to become universal.  Why didn't the teachers then -- or the teachers now -- manage to convey that universality to their students?

 

When my daughter was in high school and her freshman English teacher handed out a list of acceptable books for book reports, there were virtually no women authors on the list.  Not even Jane Austen or Charlotte Bronte.  Just a bunch of dead white guys.  When I confronted the teacher, she looked at me like I was nuts.  These were the books that had always been on the list and no one had ever complained before.  Well, honey, I complained.

 

The following year, when my son was a freshman, the high school canon had been expanded, but not by much.

 

And the kids still didn't read it.

 

I'm not sure kids are even capable of understanding most of the themes of classic adult literature unless the teacher knows how to make it relevant to their limited experience.

 

There's a certain similarity between The Pearl and a silly horse story I read in fifth grade, Silver Saddles.  The ending is the exact opposite, of course, because the horse story ends happily and the Steinbeck classic is a monumental tragedy.  But is the tragedy the whole point of the story?  Is that what eighth graders should be taught, that life is a never ending struggle and you shouldn't hope to have anything good come of it because more than likely you'll just end up worse than you were before?

 

Romeo and Juliet is another tragedy.  Why is it still being taught to teenagers who are maybe just starting to experience romance and love and sexual desire?  I still remember that English teacher's rapt expression when I said I didn't think kids needed to see love and suicide in the same context without some kind of warning.  "Oh, but I just love Romeo and Juliet!" she exclaimed.  "It's so romantic!"

 

Yeah, suicide at 14 is so romantic.

 

We're a diverse society and we need a diverse canon.  But if we're going to impress the importance of that canon or any canon on young readers, don't we have to make it relevant to them?  If Jane Austen's universal truth is truly universal, shouldn't there be other examples from literature, from popular culture, from the news, from the kids' real lives?

 

Maybe I just see all this through the lens of 70 years, or maybe I'm just nuts. 

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review 2018-10-09 22:55
Everything you thought about how men silence women . . . and more
Man-Made Language - Dale Spender

Another of those books from my women's studies days that got buried.

 

It's so heavily highlighted that I can't even pick the most relevant passages, but if you ever wanted to know how patriarchal norms use language, this is a good place to start.

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review 2018-10-07 20:23
What's it all about? This!
Feminist Theorists: Three centuries of key women thinkers - Dale Spender

Disclosure:  I don't know Dr. Spender.  I wish I did.  Her book The Writing or the Sex, or why you don't have to read women's writing to know it's no good is one of the two books that prompted me, at almost age 50, to go back to college. . . twenty years ago.

 

Feminist Theorists was one of the reference works I used both directly for women's studies classes and indirectly for a lot of others.  There are any number of collections of biographies of individual theorists and their theories, and I have several of them, but this is my favorite.

 

I had taken a lot of notes from it and copied several pages, but it's a fat paperback and the pages didn't photocopy well.  As I'm going through this project of scanning my photocopied books and notes and papers, this was one that stood out as "I think I need to see if I can buy a copy and just transfer my notes."  Last week I did just that, and my very nice copy arrived from ThriftBooks in no time at all.

 

As I'm transferring my notes from scribbled pieces of paper and barely-legible photocopies, I'm also rereading a lot, remembering the thrill of discovery that I was not alone and that women had been thinking these same troubling thoughts for literally hundreds of years.

 

My favorite, though, has to be Matilda Joslyn Gage  (1826-1898), the least well-known of the nineteenth century American triumvirate [sic] who led the women's rights movement.  Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony are almost household names, but not so Matilda.

 

[Man] does not yet discern [woman's] equal right with himself to impress her own opinions on the world.  He still interprets governments and religions as requiring from her an unquestioning obedience to laws she had no share in making.

That's from 1893. 

 

Gage's biography in this 1983 volume is written by Lynne Spender, the editor's sister.  She describes Gage as "a grass-roots activist," who opened her upstate New York home as a station on the underground railroad to help escaping slaves reach freedom in Canada and who was active in the temperance movement, which was  of vital interest to women who were victims of alcohol-related violence and poverty.  She was also an intellectual, who researched and wrote voluminously about how what she called "the Patriarchate" oppressed women's lives.

 

It's a fun bit of trivia, I think, that Gage's daughter Julia married Lyman Frank Baum, who had not yet written The Wonderful World of Oz, with its intrepid girl hero, Dorothy Gale of Kansas, who manages to get along pretty well without swooning at the first hint of danger or needing the assistance of, ahem, men.  (Let's face it, Dorothy already had plenty of brains, heart, and courage and only showed how over-rated these were in, ahem, men.)

 

Feminist Theorists is still in print and used copies (like mine!) are readily available for modest sums.  I highly recommend this particular book to anyone wanting a historical overview of the continuing battle for the rights of women.

 

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text 2018-09-29 03:48
In answer to the oft-asked question: How can they do it?
Loving to Survive: Sexual Terror, Men's Violence, and Women's Lives (Feminist Crosscurrents) - Dee L. R. Graham,Dee L. R. Graham

I was almost literally on my way out the door to go to dinner when I posted this a while ago. 

 

"Stockholm Syndrome Writ Very Large" is indeed the topic of this book, though not the literal subtitle.  But if you're wondering how some women can support and defend the very system that denies them full personhood, allow me to recommend this book.

 

I haven't read it for almost 20 years, and I only had time this afternoon for the briefest of skims through its pages.  It's not a new book -- my edition is copyright 1994 -- and I read it in 1999.  But its premise is fairly simple: that women, as a class, are held hostage not by individual men but by the patriarchal system and that to survive in that system, they often feel they have no other choice but to defend it.

 

This is not an open, admitted, conscious decision.  Many women would deny that they are hostages.  They will claim to believe the same things the patriarchy asserts about superiority and subservience and submission and inequality.  Their sincerity is often beyond question. 

 

Knowing and understanding the reasons why they do what they do may help you in interactions with them.  It may help you just walk away from unproductive relationships.  It may just help you deal with the world.

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