Sunday Sundries, 187

1. AOTW: Death. (Nuff said.)

2. I finished one book this week--Frankenstein in Baghdad (2018), a novel by Ahmed Saadawi (and translated from Arabic), a writer who was born in Baghdad in 1973--and still lives there. I'd read a strong review of the book somewhere (probably the New York Times--here's a link to it; I was surprised to see the review appeared last January), and, of course, I try to read as much as possible of the new things relating to Mary Shelley and her most famous creation.

The novel takes place in Baghdad during the American occupation in the 1990s. Chaos reigns. Explosions going off all the time. And ... a man finds another man killed by a bomb, sews him up, adds some parts from other victims--not to make a creature a la Victor Frankenstein but to make him ... more presentable. He then runs an errand, butwhen he returns to his place (where he's done the work), the corpse is gone.

And, of course, It's alive! (Words from the 1931 film, not from the novel.) The creature (whose main body parts came from a guy named ... Daniel!) goes around Baghdad exacting revenge on those who are bringing so much death to the city (no irony there, right?!!?), and, of course, eventually discovers that you really can't kill everyone who deserves it, for, soon, that must lead to suicide.

Saadawi tells the story artfully--from multiple points of view--and I love how, at times, he sort of "rewinds" his narrative film and shows us the scene we have just witnessed--but through a different set of eyes, sifted through a different consciousness. (Reminds me at times of a Tarantino film!)

Oh, and one of the characters--who has a late chapter of his own--is "the Writer." Who's telling us this very story.

Okay--one dark quotation for Mother's Day, eh?  One character, a woman, is telling another one (a journalist who's, uh, "interested" in her) what another character has told her (confused yet)--and the journalist summarizes for us what the other guy has told her about a film he wants to make (whew!):

"He told her it would be about the evil we all have inside us, how it resides deep within us, even when we want to put an end to it in the outside world, because we are all criminals to some extent. He said we have all been helping to create the evil creature that is now killing us off" (227).

The story does not directly parallel Mary Shelley's. Yes, there are similarities--but Saadawi has a different agenda. Violence, corruption, selfishness, greed--these and other endearing (and enduring) human traits are his focus.

3. My first Mother's Day without a mother.

4. I was a Good Boy this week, actually going out to the health club six of the seven days that this week provided (!). I always take Sundays off (Bread-Baking Day!), so I conquered my own Nap Addiction all of the other six days. Nobel Prize?

As I've written here before, I hate going to work out now. The meds I'm on (permanently--for my c****r) sap my strength and doing the mildest things wears me out--and quickly so. But I gotta do it, I know (prostate c****r loves fat cells!), and so I drag myself out there, most days. Ride a stationary bike, walk laps, rowing machine, some curls with weights ... muttering curses the while.

5. Didn't go to any films this week ... but still stream little ten-minute chunks of several things each night. I'm thinking of getting rid of cable TV altogether: We never watch it nowadays.

6. Last word--a word I liked this week from one of my online word-of-the-day providers ...

     - from dictionary.com

hypocorism [hahy-pok-uh-riz-uhm, hi-]

noun

1. a pet name.

2. the practice of using a pet name.

QUOTES: Powsoddy, a now obsolete name for a pudding, was also used as a hypocorism in the late sixteenth century, paralleling the affectionate use of the word pudding itself in our own century, though lovers usually alter the pronunciation to puddin.

— Mark Morton, The Lover's Tongue, 2003

ORIGIN: The very rare English noun hypocorism comes from the equally rare Latin noun hypocorisma “a diminutive (word),” a direct borrowing of Greek hypokórisma “pet name, endearing name; diminutive (word),” a derivative of the verb hypokorízesthai “to play the child, call by an endearing name.” Hypokorízesthai is a compound formed from the prefix hypo-, here meaning “slightly, somewhat,” and korízesthai “to caress, fondle.” The root of korízesthai is the noun kórē “girl, maiden” or kóros “boy, youth.” The Greek nouns are from the same Proto-Indo-European root ker- “to grow” as the Latin Ceres, the goddess of agriculture, and its derivative adjective cereālis “pertaining to Ceres,” the source of English cereal. Hypocorism entered English in the 19th century.