Richard Serra, RIP

His sculptures seem like the work of natural forces while at the same time being intensely human. NYT obit.

Cats and birds

This blog post by Maximilian Auffhammer about how much people (de)value the view of a wind turbine from their house mentions another oft-heard critique of these big windmills, namely that they kill birds. Which they do: roughly 250,000 birds per year, according to an estimate from about ten years ago. More turbines today, so probably more dead birds. Sad! The same source puts the number of birds killed annually by cats in the United States at... hmm... 2.5 billion, or 10,000 times the number killed by windmills.

How is that possible... 2.5 billion?! Let's do a back-of-the-envelope calculation. There are an estimated 60 million pet cats, and perhaps 50 million feral cats in the United States. Many of the pet cats are outdoor cats, eagerly prowling the neighborhood picking off songbirds just for the fun of it. But let's stick to the feral cats. My lazy, inert indoor cats consume about 5 ounces of cat food per day each– pure meat and calories. A typical junco, the abundant, smallish sparrow that is the most common bird in my suburban neighborhood, weighs about 0.67 ounces, and some of that is feather and bone. But anyway, let's round up to a somewhat more substantial bird, 1 ounce of meat apiece. Assuming an active feral cat needs as much meat as my inert cats, that's 5 birds per day. For the U.S. feral cat population, that comes to 5 x 365 x 50 million = 91 billion songbirds per year. Of course, they will eat some mice and rats and garbage instead of birds, and some will be fed by well-intentioned human enemies of songbirds. But 2.5 billion seems utterly plausible. Out of a total bird population of... 10 billion? Busy, hungry, cruel, destructive kitties!

The N'Gustro Affair, by Jean-Patrick Manchette

I feel a little guilty confessing how much I loved this high-energy piece of toxic political cynicism, Manchette's first novel (1971). I found it un-put-downable, with its very clever narrative structure driving the action forward, and its manic, profane humor. Politically incorrect, no doubt, but Manchette is an equal-opportunity hater, and the intermittently brutal and fascistic (and ever-opportunistic) protagonist and narrator Henri Butron definitely gets what's coming to him. The novel is based loosely on a true story of post-colonial shenanigans, as explained in Gary Indiana's insightful introduction. Translated in all its gloriously hard-boiled and colorful prose stylings by Donald Nicholson-Smith. An entertainment on the level of, say, Scorcese's Goodfellas. Enjoy!

Nice and damp at Hidden Villa

Along the Long Bunny Loop Trail... Hericium coralloides (coral tooth fungus) with some other stuff; Schizophyllum commune; and Toxicodendron diversilobum (look but don't touch!).

Reading roundup

Some good ones... one not so good... 

My Ántonia
Willa Cather

Fine story-telling, beautifully written. It is simultaneously two coming-of age stories – of the main characters, and of the frontier prairie society they inhabit and build. Cather's admiration for the immigrant farm girls who move into town and grow into strong and remarkably independent American women is evident, even if the most willful of them all, Ántonia herself, is the one who through unfortunate circumstances returns to the farm, devoting her life to bearing and raising an enormous brood of future farmers.

The Ruined Map
Kobo Abe

Abe's excellent 1967 novel is a noir in full-on existential mode. Our narrator is a private detective hired to find a woman's husband, who left one day and never returned. Hubby seems to have been messed up in something criminal, possibly involving his brother-in-law, but the clues, such as they are, lead in various directions with no real resolution. All angst and atmosphere, the book features moments of humor as well, such as when the detective describes in great detail his special method for examining a photograph through binoculars to discern the inner thoughts and feelings of its subject. The translation, which reads flawlessly, is by E. Dale Saunders. 

The Jinn-Bot of Shantiport
Samit Basu

I quite enjoyed Basu's debut, The City Inside, a plausible near-future romp in post-Modi India. His follow-up, a more distant-future riff on the Aladdin story, has its moments, but bogs down trying to describe a bizarre and ultimately unconvincing mash-up of AI bots, modified humans, and mysterious aliens. Of course, be careful what you wish for! 

The Less Dead
Denise Mina

Another reliably well-written and entertaining thriller with a conscience from Mina, this time featuring a sympathetic portrayal of sex workers.  

The Selected Poems of Po Chü-I
Translated by David Hinton

Po Chü-I (Bai Juyi) was a Tang poet born in 772, not long after the deaths of the great generation of Tang masters: Du Fu, Li Bai, and Wang Wei. I have enjoyed reading Po enormously, in this exquisite translation by David Hinton. Many of the poems are contemplative, reflecting Po's interest in Taoism and Zen Buddhism. But his social commentary could really bite...

Songs of Ch’in-chou
7. Light and Sleek

Riding proud in the streets, parading 
horses that glisten, lighting the dust... 

When I ask who such figures could be, 
people say they're imperial favorites: 

vermillion sashes— they're ministers; 
and purple ribbons— maybe generals. 

On horses passing like drifting clouds 
they swagger their way to an army feast, 

to those nine wines filling cup and jar 
and eight dainties of water and land. 

After sweet Tung-t'ing Lake oranges 
and mince-fish from a lake of heaven, 

they've eaten to their hearts content, 
and happily drunk, their spirits swell. 

There's drought south of the Yangtze: 
In Ch’ü-chou, people are eating people.