17 May 2006
So I’m back to building stylesheets. Feels good. Gets the blood pumping.
Makes me want to strap a bomb to my body and go into Microsoft’s offices ;-)
IE is fun, but PNG support is seriously painful sometimes. Do anything slightly adventurous and it all blows up in your face (no pun intended). I’ve decided IE needs a mascot like Firefox (a cute fox) so that I can get a voodoo doll stuffed toy that can sit in the corner of the office to be pummelled as required.
17 May 2006
So I’d accidentally replaced-from-HEAD a project in CVS here, having not worked on it for a week or two and having forgotten I had, in fact, made changes. Oops.
Fortunately, Opera will save your tabs of everything forever in a tab-cache (as well as a file-cache, but rendered), so as soon as I fired that up I knew I was saved! Such a liberating feeling. I love Opera. *saves images, markup + CSS and hurriedly checks in*
16 May 2006
No pretty PDFs of this one. I wrote it in a normal word-processor (because jaggy, unjustified lines are easier to read) so there were no LaTeX sources to make documents from. OpenOffice does PDF export but there’s not much point. Shrug. Speech follows, ~5mins (probably over, closer to 6). ~950 words.
Scene 4 in Act 2 of Shakespeare’s Cymbeline affords us a great deal that is of interest when examining the development of romance narrative throughout time.
This portion of the play is a scene — just in case, you know, everyone doesn’t, ah, remember what the reading was — a scene in which Posthumus is in the house of Philario, discussing the present political situation that exists between Rome and England. As Penny Gay mentioned in her second lecture on Cymbeline, there’s a certain departure from history at this point. We are made aware that there is trouble brewing over the cessation of the payment of tributes to Rome, and, in Posthumus’ words, “this will prove a war”.
It’s unabashed nationalism, completely shameless, and written in such a way that a contemporary audience would thoroughly approve: “You shall hear/ The legions now in Gallia sooner landed/In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings/Of any penny tribute paid.” O’Neill would, however, have us call this something other than the re-writing of History.
It is the construction of a fictional world — a fictional world that, it should be said, bears some mark of reality… but a fictional one nonetheless. In fiction, as O’Neill explains, everything is contingent upon nothing aside from the whim of the author; that term, of course, extending to include “playwright”, “poet”, and all other manner of narrative-creator.
So in this fictional world, against this backdrop of political turmoil, Iachimo enters. He enters amidst Posthumus’ nationalistic outbursts, and it almost appears as though Posthumus doesn’t realise the issue at hand has altered, so unfaltering is his courage in his spouse, as with his nation.
“I hope the briefness of your answer made/The speediness of your return.” — he could well be speaking of an emissary’s rebuttal at the hands of a foreign power demanding tribute. There is something diaphanous about the edges of these themes, as though Shakespeare has feathered them together intentionally. Our conception of “state” is quite different from that of marriage, but perhaps there is something to be made of the way in which they are together, here. I think it possible that we are being invited to examine Posthumus against expectations of what befits a “good” husband, specifically with regards to his leadership qualities. As a potential statesman, Posthumus has not yet been thoroughly disqualified. That comes in the scene following this, wherein he throws a hysterical, misogynistic, tempter tantrum.
I consider this juxtaposition of political and relational discussion something that is meant to connect the two in our minds: Posthumus is, afterall, being evaluated not only as the condemning husband of Imogen, but also as a potential ruler of the state. His aptitude for both roles is seriously brought into question throughout this play: and often through the same events.
In an environment of ironic crudity, the supposed elite of Renaissance Europe gather in Philario’s house, jesting about the constancy of, in particular, Posthumus’ wife Imogen. Posthumus is agreeably confident in his wife’s fidelity, but, somewhat less agreeably, willing to subject her to the approaches of one Iachimo. In concluding their wager, Posthumus declares:
Only, thus far you shall answer: if you make your voyage upon her, and give me directly to understand you have prevail’d, I am no further your enemy; she is not worth our debate : if she remain unseduc’d, you not making it appear otherwise, for your ill opinion, and the assault you have made to her chastity, you shall answer me with your sword.
This doesn’t take too much unpacking. In the case that Iachimo succeeds, Posthumus explicitly says “I am no further your enemy”. Back in Act II Scene IV, Iachimo is speaking of the particulars of Imogen’s chamber, and says he must speak in greater detail to justify his knowledge. Posthumus agrees, stating: “So they must,/Or do your honour injury”. There is a concern here for Iachimo’s honour even amidst his defamation of Posthumus’ wife. Again, on line 124, Posthumus responds to Philario’s rational suggestion that a corrupt servant may have taken a token on Iachimo’s behalf, saying “I am sure/ She would not lose it : her attendants are/ All sworn and honourable”.
Sworn and honourable, in fact, beyond the honour of his wife? Apparently, in Posthumus’ mind, this is true.
All this has a fantastic irony about it, as it serves both to critique Posthumus as leader, and as husband. The two are inseparable; Posthumus has failed in ways a Renaissance man is not permitted to fail, demonstrating his crudity, his lack of faith, his inability to lead responsibly even his wife — in the eyes of the audience, he has failed.
This is realised through a narrative that is calculating in its gradual revelation and construction of the character Posthumus: we see this in the establishment of the wager, Act 1 Scene 4; its continuation as Iachimo slowly unveils his deceit in Act 2 Scene 4, and Posthumus’ propensity to doubt his wife jealously; his tantrum in Act 2 Scene 5; and, later, his ordering her murder; and, later still, his groveling repentance rather unlike Iachimo’s stoic admission of guilt. Iachimo is, in some respects, an anti-Posthumus. He is calculating, not impulsive; cunning, not deceived; and orchestrator of much action with regards to Posthumus’ relationship with Imogen: he leads their relationship, whilst Posthumus is (falsely) led.
This should not be taken to mean that Iachimo is a paragon of great leadership — this is, afterall, a comedy in a world suspended between historical fact and Renaissance discourse. There is scope for some degree of reflexivity within this play, as Shakespeare pokes fun at his own characters, using others to delineate their foibles and propel the narrative towards its inevitable, genre-defined, close: poetic justice.
16 May 2006
In my copious amounts of spare time, I’ve been contemplating redesigning this site. And disliking the fact that screens are different sizes.
Maybe it’s just that the sites I’ve spent the most time building with CSS at Raw Ideas have been sufficiently indifferent to anything less than 1024×768. Or that the content of these sites is so disposable that sustainability isn’t really a great concern. Either way, I know what I should be doing in terms of design, then I’m aware of what is being done for various reasons, and they’re not matching up.
For this site, I’ve got a design concept lined up… my only concern is execution of that.
Felix Miata is an absolute legend by whom I find myself constantly pursuaded (though not always, for various reasons–mostly professional/design inhibition/the culture of superficiality-over-function so prevalent in web design–, able to follow), and he’s built this really compelling example of why not to use fixed-width/px-based layouts. I don’t think he particularly cares about design, and comes across somewhat like RMS does in his fanatical advocacy of a particular approach to styling web pages.
Only, unlike Stallman, his agenda is not some arbitrary and often unrealistically-founded ideology (yeah, I’m trolling. Go on, rant. Stallman can’t see past his own version of open-source, and his attitudes provide no realistic migratory path from closed- to open-source solutions; such zero-tolerance rejects the pattern that has become established in IT, so there’s no point in moronic reminscences of a time when there were only twenty people in the world using computers and they all shared, yada yada yada. No one cares.) but a practical NEED and independently corrolated evidence regarding people’s desires for larger text on websites.
So the text is staying big here. But that’s a given (well, at least on this site… I’m trying to sway other places, and the best I’ve got thus far is text-resizing styleswitcher controls on a design I got handed last week. Usability will prevail! Gosh that sounded like the government propaganda guy from V for Vendetta. Ah well. This post is now officially very digressive!), not my main concern.
No, my main concern is this site winding up looking like the BBC’s does on enormous screens (see Felix’s page linked to above). I’m a fan of whitespace as much as the next guy, but 800×600-wide on a 2000-pixel wide screen just doesn’t do it for me.
And, going the other direction, I just bought a mobile/PDA which means I’m now going to be designing mobile stylesheets as well (at least I have that option!) for a 320-pixel wide screen. All new challenges.
Fluid layouts are all dandy until you introduce graphics.
Here, I’ve got a policy of editorial graphics (i.e. pretty much everything except photos that exist outside of blog context/are linked to as files denoted as full resolution) not exceeding an inviolable maximum of 700 pixels. This is, in my thinking, not negotiable. I’m building for an 800px wide minimum, which means a main-content column width of 760px tops.
Plus I can get away with lots more in terms of editing photos from my excellent-except-for-in-low-light-as-most-consumer-digital-cameras-are camera when the publication requirement is kept low. I like to fill the column with colour as much as possible in a vain attempt to balance out the (comparatively voluminous) amounts I write… I’ve started to use the “Read more” functionality again for publishing essays and other not-originally-designed/written-for-web material (where PDF equivalents are available), in order to hide fulltext from the front page. You’ll note that on the second of today’s Cymbeline posts.
So, I’m torn between keeping everything narrow and keeping control, or, well, not.
Centred layouts, when done properly, cater even for people with StupidlyLargeScreensâ„¢. They’ll probably be using 120dpi fonts to start with, which makes things reasonable even at “Normal” font size. IE will go up two more steps… every other browser well beyond that. That’s probably reasonable. The “challenge” to me there is simply to size the centred layout in em’s, so that scales as well. My greatest concern is that I cannot style images to fill a set percentage of their parent element (scaling appearances don’t, for the most part, concern me… this is mostly pulled off without too much damage if the difference is slight), because of vast amounts of legacy content. I think specifically of instances where I’ve floated images that exist purely to support the article, not providing any great amount of content in their own right… these images are usually from 200 to 400 pixels in width, and often sit adjacent to text. Refer to Cymbeline example again for an instance in which images are helpful and effective, but it would be foolish to style them globally.
Legacy content is the reason this can’t be achieved… I could conceivably go throughout every one of the just-shy-of-1000 posts on this blog (in other milestones, we had a second birthday three days ago) and add classes as appropriate. But I won’t.
My (final, because I need sleep) concern with scaling layouts is using background images in CSS, which don’t scale, and can’t be sized in percentages unless you do stupid things with redundant markup (non-semantic IMG tags) and abuse z-indexes to the more worn edges of sanity.
It all comes down to loss of artistic control. I embraced that with the present design, which I’m well aware people say looks like crap. You know, I don’t mind hearing that. The fact remains, it’s probably the most functional design I’ve ever built.
That said, I’m off to get my hands dirty with some ink.
16 May 2006
Essay, ENGL1002.
Fulltext follows, incorrect formatting. PDF version also available (proper formatting, footnotes, etc.).
Your daughter’s chastity—there it begins.
He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams
And she alone were cold; whereat I, wretch,
Made scruple of his praise, and wager’d with him
Pieces of gold ‘gainst this which then he wore
Upon his honour’d finger, to attain
In suit the place of’s bed, and win this ring
By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight,
No lesser of her honour confident
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring;
And would so, had it been a carbuncle
Of Phoebus’ wheel; and might so safely, had it
Been all the worth of’s car. Away to Britain
Post I in this design. Well may you, sir,
Remember me at court, where I was taught
Of your chaste daughter the wide difference
‘Twixt amorous and villainous.
V. iv. 179-95.
Iachimo’s exposition of his past actions in this, the closing scene of Cymbeline, is a crucial component of the play: we observe a complex narrative approach its closure, a dénouement of which Imogen is (perhaps not insignificantly) catalyst. It is the idea of wronged Imogen that drives this earlier part of Iachimo’s confession — it should be observed, however, that it is not only he who should bear responsibility for wronging her.
Outside of this passage, Iachimo asserts the propriety and nobility of Posthumus, declaring from line 158: ” What should I say? he was too good to be/Where ill men were, and was the best of all/Amongst the rar’st of good ones—sitting sadly,/Hearing us praise our loves of Italy/For beauty, that made barren the swell’d boast/Of him that best could speak.”
His praise of the man whom he had earlier proven hasty, jealous, and in many other ways imprudent (cf. Posthumus’ hysterical, misogynistic tirade in II. v.) feels, without doubt, ironic. In the context of this play such irony should appear humorous — it is, afterall, categorised as comedy — yet one must surely (at the least) consider this as a deeper expression of Iachimo’s repentance. His own assertions of the chastity of Imogen against even that of mythological paragon of virtue, DianaOne must presume this is what Shakespeare means by “Dian” , the contraction being purely for metrical purposes. Ambiguity at this point is introduced, as in Celtic Mythology there is, in fact, a figure known as Dian Cecht. He is, however, associated with craftsmanship and healing: Roman Diana/Greek Artemis’ perpetual virginity is clearly a better (more logical) fit. , serve to exacerbate his own deeds; perhaps in a manner considered humourous.
There appear to be recurrent congruencies between the perceived competency of Posthumus as lover and as leader throughout the playIn line with both Judeo-Christian conceptions of the role of a husband as leader of his wife, as valued by the society of that time; but also in the renewed ideals identified as essential for the “Renaissance man”. , and Iachimo’s speech here serves to further this conception. It is his lovers’ praise, for which Iachimo professes himself “wretch” having held scorn towards, that (at least in part) plays towards Iachimo’s address of Posthumus as “He, true knight”.
Thus, the two principle concerns of this work are found combined, inextricable from one another. From the beginning, Iachimo is a trickster, debased: his scandalous nature defined by his role as seducer and accuser. Such it is that themes of relationship (not romance) and jealousy — not confined to a marital context — are first drawn out. The folk-tale figure of an evil step-mother is the first jealous character met; though, perhaps, one may identify her jealousy as coming after the jealous love of a father towards her daughter. However, one is not necessarily disposed to considering Cymbeline a particularly great ruler; his own absent children are a possible reflectionI. i. 64-65 of uncertain continuity of the royal line, surely a poor way to be in the eyes of an audience aware of the need for stability in terms of monarchical successors.
Irrespective as to who was first jealous chronologically, it seems clear that there are two types of jealousy in this play; the first, it appears, is political. Jealousy, even in the political sense, is intrinsically bound up with children and the notion of inheritance: such is the nature of monarchy. The audience witness an evil step-mother, fighting to place her own successor to the throne in first position. Betwixt her poisoning, scheming and subversion, Posthumus and Imogen are wed; Posthumus is banished by a father jealous not so much of his love, but of his nobility and presumption such that a man could be worthy of the King’s natural daughter. Cloten, though an ignorant fool, similarly exhibits jealous qualities; they are his end.
Iachimo, then, is driven by what? His own jealousy is one of the few not tied up in relationship; he desires not “hers and mine adultery” — but to win the ring! Yet, despite this, his story beings with “Your daughter’s chastity”. The idea of unfounded jealousy pervades even Iachimo’s comic greed; his devices cunning, his manner crafty, his influence deceptive. This is no Midsummer Night’s Dream, and Iachimo is no Puck. It is striking that, though this be called comedy, it is oft closer to a rapidly-executed tragedy with a great deal less introspection, and a fair number of additional subplots.
As Posthumus’ cooler-than-Dian wife, Imogen, was catalyst for a large portion of this work’s plot (with the exception of the “pure” politics regarding Rome… and even that is used to bring Belarius, Polydore, Cadwal, and numerous others — including Posthumus — back into the flow of the text such that all may be bound together in conclusion), she is also catalyst for its dénouement. Imogen chooses to question Iachimo, bringing his story to light. He speaks favourably of Posthumus in the earlier parts of his story; and is interrupted by Posthumus himself before his discourse progresses to Posthumus’ inflamed response.
As it stands, this is the pivotal point upon which all the story’s threads are brought to closure. Imogen’s apparently didactic influence upon Iachimo (“where I was taught/Of your chaste daughter the wide difference/’Twixt amorous and villanous.”) may have had little impact upon his actions of the time — indeed, it feels as though such a declaration even at this point of the play may be to appease a king who may attribute the loss of his daughter to such actions, were Iachimo to get to the conclusion of his story before Posthumus’ arrival.
Such it is that the narrative is rapidly sketched, and the King appears utterly perplexed. This fantastical series of events that so befits a romance defuses anger, delays judgement, and results in reconciliation of all concerned — with the obvious exception of villains slain in valorous manner by undiscovered sons.
Valour, too, is key to Iachimo’s speech. As alluded to earlier, Posthumus is addressed as “true knight”. The audience is not under any illusions as to the character of Posthumus, having witnessed his outburst of II. v. and observed his somewhat-sulky behaviour for the following two (nearly three) acts. It hardly appears as though he is particularly true — that is, having faith in his wife’s chastity in his absence — or valorous, having spent most of the play lamenting (some would say wallowing) in his own stupidity: first at having married and been deceived, fallen for one of those who are the embodiment of every kind of vice:II. v. 20-28
For there’s no motion
That tends to vice in man but I affirm
It is the woman’s part. Be it lying, note it,
The woman’s; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
Nice longing, slanders, mutability,
All faults that man may name, nay, that hell knows,
Why, hers, in part or all; but rather all
Then, at having ordered her assassination (notably, he does not kill her himself — one is, it would seem, encouraged not consider a man of such effeminate outbursts as the histrionics of II. v. capable of such a deed), he spake thus:V. i. 7-11
Gods! if you
Should have ta’en vengeance on my faults, I never
Had liv’d to put on this; so had you saved
The noble Imogen to repent, and struck
Me, wretch more worth your vengeance.
No, Posthumus is not of a greatly valorous appearance. His character in this tragicomedy invokes both Othello’s jealous violence, and escapes Romeo and Juliet’s tragic suicide upon thinking one another dead, yet as military hero he is no Othello; as lover, no Romeo.
Yet, despite all this, Iachimo’s praise of him to the audience is pleasant, if not true. Whilst Imogen is as faultless Diana, Posthumus forms, with her, the marital relationship that directs the action of this play. It would be deeply dissatisfying for the couple to fail in this process of “untangling”.
This passage of Iachimo’s speech is clearly one from a work that is not devoted to tragedy. Iachimo presents a ” true knight” such that romantic (as in relational, distinct from “romance”) expectations may be fulfilled upon the restoration of Imogen and Posthumus as a couple. From that perspective, Iachimo’s speech is essential. The apparent falsehood of elements of his speech is entirely excusable: his story is a segway into Imogen’s own, which in turn introduces Guiderius and Arviragus — the two who are, from the outset, destined for leadership.
The audience is aware of Posthumus’ unsuitability for such a role; all Iachimo’s speech achieves is a restoration of him such that there is an inherent satisfaction at the restoration of their marriage. Iachimo’s role is as disqualifier and restorer, as he clears way for the ascension of the true heirs to the throne, whilst — through a discourse perhaps gently biased — finally uniting Posthumus and Imogen together in happy marriage.