Friday, 21 December 2007

British Medical Journal: Origins of Magic




BMJ 2007;335:1299-1301 (22 December), doi:10.1136/bmj.39414.582639.BE

Origins of magic: review of genetic and epigenetic effects.

Sreeram V Ramagopalan, DPhil candidate(1,2),
Marian Knight, senior clinical research fellow(3),
George C Ebers, professor of clinical neurology(1,2),
Julian C Knight, senior research fellow(1)

1 Wellcome Trust Centre for Human Genetics, University of Oxford, Oxford OX3 7BN,
2 Department of Clinical Neurology, University of Oxford,
3 National Perinatal Epidemiology Unit, University of Oxford

Correspondence to: J C Knight julian@well.ox.ac.uk

Objective: To assess the evidence for a genetic basis to magic.

Design: Literature review.

Setting: Harry Potter novels of J K Rowling.

Participants: Muggles, witches, wizards, and squibs.

Interventions: Limited.

Main outcome measures: Family and twin studies, magical ability, and specific magical skills.

Results: Magic shows strong evidence of heritability, with familial aggregation and concordance in twins. Evidence suggests magical ability to be a quantitative trait. Specific magical skills, notably being able to speak to snakes, predict the future, and change hair colour, all seem heritable.

Conclusions: A multilocus model with a dominant gene for magic might exist, controlled epistatically by one or more loci, possibly recessive in nature. Magical enhancers regulating gene expressionmay be involved, combined with mutations at specific genes implicated in speech and hair colour such as FOXP2 and MCR1.

Sunday, 9 December 2007

In which Mme Nicholas offers Addt'l Random Facts.

 

I will admit that I have a hard time saying "no" to friends. Thus, when recently presented with the "tag" meme from Duchess Loch Avie, I stepped forward and laid forth eight tidbits from Real Life. And when even more recently Miss Hypatia tagged me yet again, I felt honour-bound to offer up an additional series of potentially-entertaining facts about my human.

I. I have never been able to answer the small-talk question, "what is your favourite movie?" Perhaps it is because any favourite is subject to change over time, and labelling a single film as the top of the list chances adding more gravity to that work than is intended, or deserving.

II. However, my current favourite book is Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose (or rather, the English translation by William Weaver). That has been at that position for, what, ten years or so.

III. Among other detritus, on my desk at work is a vintage glass pen (something like these) and inkwell; these sit next to my modern drafting pens, fountain pens, and an absolutely huge Staedtler plastic eraser that has been a companion since 1988. It gets the special erasing jobs.

IV. I have co-authored a chapter in a book.

V. I am not a coder or programmer by any stretch, but at one point I was made to write code in this language called "IDL", a bastard child of FORTRAN with COBOL-like verbosity. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, playing with SGI computers for one purpose (using Photoshop version 3!) and ended up doing mathematical visualisation.

VI. Were I the Imperatrix Mundi, I would make Edward Tufte's book "The
Visual Display of Quantitative Information
" required reading, under penalty of flogging. Unless, of course, the accused liked flogging, in which case the penalty would be suitably disagreeable.

VII. My Myers-Briggs type is INFJ.

VIII. On my nightstand currently, in no particular order:
Vania Zouravliov, Marie Findley: The Mediæval Bæbes: Songs of the Flesh ISBN 1898998248
John Plummer: The Hours of Catherine of Cleves ISBN 0807614920
John McWhorter: The Power of Babel: A Natural History of Language ISBN 006052085X
Denise Tyler: Practical Poser 7 ISBN 1584504781


With that, I will conclude my last 8-point exposition, and will look forward to a new passtime amongst the gentry, beyond the current tagging craze.

Ite, missa est. Go; this is the dismissal.

Wednesday, 5 December 2007

Anthropology Update: A Visage of Saint Nicholas

(with apologies to Clement Moore)

Today, 6 December, is Saint Nicholas' Day, and in honor of that occasion, I shall pass on a bit of research regarding Old Saint Nick himself.

As my readership may know, Nicholas was born about 270 AD in Myra, Anatolia (now Turkey), and died on 6 December in 343, in Myra. He was known to be a bishop of the province, and came to be known for charity, intervention for the falsely-accused, and staunch defender of the orthodox (little-o) faith. Born into a relatively well-to-do patrician household, he likely had access to the funds which fuel much of his charitable exploits.

Perhaps his most famous act was to secretly give gold coins to a man whose three daughters did not have a proper dowry. This, along with other stories of anonymous gift-giving to the poor of Myra, led to the associations between Nicholas and the giving of presents.

Also, he is said to have discovered a butcher that had abducted three children, killed them, and pickled them for later sale as ham. Foiling the plot, he exposed the crime, and also resurrected the children. A thousand years hence, this story having traveled to England may have been the basis for none other than Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street.

In time, Nicholas' patronage was claimed by sailors, travelers, children, the poor, the falsely-accused, and any number of cities, from Myra to New Amsterdam, and countries, most familiarly, Russia. His gift-giving was probably responsible, at least in part, for the modern celebration of Christmas, though some cultures separate the two. (For completeness, I should also mention the parallel gift-giving theme from the Magi.)

Enough history; on with the science.

In May 1087 (21 years after the Norman Conquest of England, and 33 years after the schism between Constantinople and Rome), Italian mercenaries and sailors entered Myra on the South coast of Turkey to retrieve the relics of Saint Nicholas. The stolen remains were then taken to the Basilica di San Nicola, Bari, Italy, where they remain to this day. (N.b.: please see the references below for the resting places of other parts of Nicholas. Also please note that the Royal Society does not have any portion of Old St Nick in its attic.)

A certain Professor Francesco Introna (coincidentally from Bari, Italy) has studied the relics in the modern day, and comissioned Dr Caroline Wilkinson of Manchester University to reconstruct the face of the bishop, using tools now familiar through forensic police work, which have also shed light on the faces of Tutankhamun and Copernicus through similar reconstruction.

Essentially, the skull was subjected to a number of measurements based on both photographic and Roentgenographic images. With these data, Dr Wilkinson was able to infer the size, shape, and thickness of some 26 facial muscles. With the musculature laid over the skull, a layer of (digital) skin may be applied over the muscles, thus completing the facial features. Hair, skin, and eye colour would be chosen based on ethnologic traits of the population in IV century Myra, producing perhaps the closest facsimile possible of a person dead some 1600-odd years.

Interestingly, analysis of the skull pointed towards a broken nose, which would have likely caused a visible (though perhaps not distracting) deformity, one that the modern world may associate more with a rugby player, or boxer.

From the Guardian (UK):
Certain features of the skull can say a lot about a face. Long teeth suggest full lips, while small protrusions called mastoid processes on each side of the head point one way if the person has earlobes, and the other if not.

Taking tangents from different parts of the nasal cavity reveals how long the nose was. In Santa's case, this was particularly tough because his nose was badly broken. "It must have been a very hefty blow because it's the nasal bones between the eyes that are broken," says Wilkinson.

Quite how St Nicholas got his injury is a mystery, but Wilkinson says tales abound of Santa being something of a rebel. "I heard he once punched a bishop," she says.

The reconstructed St Nicholas is olive-skinned and white-haired, with a beard shaped in a style popular in the fourth century. "It's only really the broken nose people are surprised about, but the more I hear about his character, the more it all fits."
A possible source for the broken nose may have been the altercation between him and Arius at the First Council of Nicaea, over what later was deemed the heresy of Arianism.

Fair enough. Can I see St Nick now?


Here is the reconstructed face of Saint Nicholas, Bishop of Myra.




And for comparison, I present an eerily-similar icon of St Nicholas from ca. 1000 AD, from the Byzantine empire, perhaps Constantinople.





References:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/science/2004/dec/16/thisweekssciencequestions1
http://www.thewalters.org/works_of_art/itemdetails.aspx?aid=143
http://www.inquiringminds.org/newsletter/0503/calendar-lore.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Nicholas

Tuesday, 4 December 2007

Balise et contre-balise.

Tag and counter-tag.

In keeping with the jeu du jour, I shall respond to Duchess Loch Avie's notice that I have been selected to provide eight random facts about my typist. Here are those facts, in no particular order:

1. Like Loch Avie, I have a Bacon number, but I can claim one less degree of separation: I was filmed during the U2 tour during which Rattle and Hum was created (one of many in the crowd, to be blunt). Bono in turn was in some nearly-unknown project called 'Joe Strummer: The Future is Unwritten' with Matt Dillon. Matt Dillon was in Loverboy with Mr Bacon himself. Thus, my Bacon number is 3. If one were to count non-film connexions, then I have a Bob Hope number of 1, a Gillian Anderson number of 2 ... and an Eva Bellambi number of 5 (via Bono, Hector Elizondo, Julie Andrews, and then the opera star in Eva's post).

2. My avatar's name is based on those of Saint Nicholas, and my daughter. For a brief time early on, I tried to model Kate after my other favourite Kate, Ms Winslet, but the effect was not ideal.

3. My secret vice is vanilla ice cream. Don't tell a soul.

4. Quite unintentionally, I have seen a walrus with an erect member.

5. I am fascinated by language. I studied French in college (not as a major, just a sideline). French, however, is not terribly useful in day-to-day life in the Colonies, and my skills have waned. I have taught myself some roughly-useful Spanish, can make sense of some Italian, and forgot quite a bit of German. I have studied Latin (mainly mediæval/ecclesiastical, versus classical) and have read "The Cat in the Hat" in that august tongue. I belong to an on-line group of Anglo-Saxon scholars (professional and amateur). I can read Russian, Greek, and at one point, Hebrew ... though by read I mean make the noises, without knowing terribly much of what I'm saying. I have several historical linguistic texts on my bookshelf which have been read for fun and not necessity, or grades.

6. I was in high-school band, and went to band camp ... but did not have any un-natural congress with any instrument.

7. Confessio: While I understand that a particular web-based comic, Girl Genius, is nearly required reading for us steampunk Caledonian types, I have not been able to enjoy it. It had so much potential, I thought, but the anime-style visuals and faux German accents are distracting, there are more non-sequiturs per unit time than Douglas Adams (RIP) could have written, and then my top complaint: the protagonist, a Mad Scientist (again, with so much fantasy role-model potential) is drawn as quite the Amazon, with a preternaturally-small waist against an improbably-sized bosom, with androgenised musculature to boot.

8. While being given to methods of Logic, Science, and Reason, I have experienced one ... event ... which can not be properly explained by those disciplines, and must remain in the mystical or spiritual realm. I shan't go into further detail.

Now then: I have discovered that nearly anyone that I could name to bring into this game has already received a tag, I shall stop here, and hope that the reader has garnered some enjoyment from this exercise.

Be reassured that with the next issue of the Proceedings we will move out of this area of 'soft' social-science discussion, and back to Actual Scientific Content, not that there is anything wrong with the former.

I remain, &c,

Kate Nicholas, FRS

Saturday, 24 November 2007

Beowulf wæs bealu: Editorial comments upon the new film.

 

Bealu
(strong neuter noun)
Bale, harm, injury, destruction, ruin, evil, mischief, wickedness, malice, a noxious thing.

(strong adjective)
Baleful, deadly, dangerous, wicked, evil.



Beowulf in name only.

This author supposes that, were the film to be titled
"Thanes and Heroes",
"Beo the Arm-Ripper",
"The Curse of Hroðgar", or
"Beware the Watery Tart",
the film would have seemed more appropriate. The screenplay is like looking at the original poem through a glass darkly -- very darkly.



The screenwriters have added several features arguably to increase appeal to (apparently) young male audiences:

-- bosoms; some heaving
-- shapely water-demons
-- love interests for Beowulf
-- unnecessary character flaws in major characters which add to the drama



Features added for (apparently) young females in the audiences include:
-- computer-generated abs, glutes, &c
-- love interests for Beowulf.

And while any or all of these additions would be fine in their own right, putting them in to the venerable story is akin to, say, putting up a Picasso on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel: the original was fine the way it was.

 

The Uncanny Valley.

As the reader has likely heard, the film was "shot" with motion-capture techniques, using actors against a green screen, and all visuals rendered via software. This film likely represents the state of the art in computer-generated film-making. However, even the best this age has to offer comes up short.

A psychological phenomenon called the "uncanny valley"
describes how the human mind perceives representations of our own kind. As the realism of the human figure and motion increases, from stick-figures on a cave wall, though XVIII century realism, to the CGI cartoon era, the viewer's acceptance of the images increases. However, viewer reactions change when the rendering is nearly-but-not-quite perfect. Words such as "creepy", "eerie", and "repulsive" are used to describe that which is almost human, but with something not quite right.

Progress has been made since the recent film adaptation of "The Polar Express", which required a fair amount of suspension of disbelief to view, as it appeared to be not quite live action, but not animated either. "The eyes," one critic noted, "were the giveaway. The eyes weren't natural."

In Beowulf, the lack of realism in the extras is most apparent. One reviewer noted that the extras were on-par with "Shrek" characters. To this author's eyes, the extras look like stock Poser characters. The main characters naturally received more fine-tuning attention, but there are times when motions, faces, and, yes, the eyes, provide clues that something is rotten in Denmark, literally.

 

Rewriting the Motives of Grendel.

The screenwriters used the film to advance their ideas of Grendel's motivation for attacking Hereot. Based on (1) the thesis that Beowulf is an unreliable narrator, self-aggrandising, and (2) that the poet does not provide any explanation for Grendel's singling-out of Hroðgar's people and hall, they concocted the following:

-- Grendel is the son of Hroðgar by a water-demon; the king had no sons by Queen Wealhþeow
-- the illicit coupling of man and demon cursed Hroðgar
-- Grendel acted out of scorn, against the father who in his mind abandonded the son


In the poem, the only motive Grendel has is his own curse; he bore the 'mark of Cain' as the descendant of the Biblical character. The reader is left to supply any further subtext, though this author does not see any reason to look into the motives of the beast. Grendel serves as a manifestation of evil and the unknown, against which (even in the relatively 'civilised' VI century) still persist. Things still walk outside the circle of the campfires at night, and the civilised world looks for heroes to rid that dark of demons.

The concept of a king cursed by his own weakess for the flesh, and a hero who also has congress with the same succubus, makes for a good story. The hero who interally is haunted by the flaws no one else sees, also good. Likewise with the propogation of the Curse of Cain via mankind's flaws. They are just not meet and right to paste into the epic poem. (One may also say the same about the probable insertion of the well-known Christianised portions of the poem into an earlier pagan Germanic story. But that's a whole other topic, best left for scholars other than your writer today.)


The Victories of the "styrigendlica onlícnessa of Beowulf".

"Tonight, we dine with ... Beowulf!"
The Beowulf film (moving pictures of Beowulf, poorly translated above) does have some valuable content and redeeming qualities. Some actual Anglo-Saxon dialogue appears, mainly between Grendel and his mother. The words are accessable to the modern listener: "min cild" (meen child) my child; "modor" (modther) mother; and so forth. The reader may be aware that there is a core of words that have remained little-changed in Modern English from Old English. This author was able to pick up that dialogue fairly well; more so than, say, English via a strong Welsh or Scots accent.

What appears to be a snippet of the original poem in Old English is heard during a celebration of the older King Beowulf's earlier exploits with Grendel. Your author was not immediately able to tell which lines were used, but it sounded authentic enough. A scop was narrarating a staged demonstration of Beowulf (played by a midget) attacking a Grendel complete with break-away arm.

While the digital actors were unsatisfying, other visual effects were top-notch. The glint of torch-light from snow, rapid flight through a winter forest, the blue glamour of an cavernous pool -- all very well-done.

This viewer was able to screen the film in digital 3D, with RayBan-esque glasses. While probably not as good as IMAX 3D, the effects were nonetheless acceptable, and only briefly descended to cliche (Oh no! Look at the spear's tip at my nose!). Fortunately (for this commentor anyway; the reader's opinion may vary) Ms Jolie's anatomy was not rendered in 3D, lest it drive the Average Woman to fits of dispair and inadequacy.



Hwæt: se endestæf.

So, in conclusion: This adaptation of Beowulf is an effective demonstration of the state of the art in motion-capture filmmaking. Despite all the advances, though, the images still ring un-true in distracting ways. It is unfortunate that the filmmakers chose to play with these new cinematic toys whilst trampling over the most important epic in the English language. Had they divorced the story from any connections with the poem, the movie might have gained this Anglo-Saxon-enthusiast's admiration. But as it stands, the experience sullies the good name of Beowulf, and its anonymous scribe. To remove the aftertaste, yours truly will re-visit the original tale this afternooon.

Be well; Beoð ge gesunde, mine hlafordas ond hlæfdigan!

Monday, 19 November 2007

Mediæval performance: An Updated Beowulf

 

There has been much talk in the popular press of late regarding the venerable Beowulf, the thousand-some-year-old epic that underpins all English poetry and literature. In particular, I am told there is a new dramatic adaptation of the story for the cinema.

Not having yet seen this new production, I can say that I have been told that there have been some liberties taken with the plot, characters, and the relationship between Beowulf, Grendel, and Grendel's Mother (interestingly, played by the ubiquitous and bi-accessible Angelina Jolie).

For the scholars of mediæval performance, Anglo-Saxon, oral tradition, and folk instruments, I offer this report of a modern performance of the ancient poem.

The original manuscript is un-named, but known for its protagonist. One manuscript is extant (Cotton Vitellus A. XV, British library). It is dated to somewhere between the VIII and XI centuries, and written in Anglo-Saxon ("Old English", not to be confused with the faux ren-faire stylings properly belonging to Early Modern English). While written in England, the content covers a period of Danish and Swedish history, somewhere in the VI century. In what is thought to be a common feature of epics of the era, truth and fable are inexorably intertwined.

The scop, a minstrel, would have performed the poem, likely set to some accompaniment. At 3183 lines long, a performance of Beowulf would have been epic just for the effort needed. Anglo-Saxon poetry relied not on rhyme, but on alliteration:

Hƿæt! ƿē Gār‐Dena / in geār‐dagum
þēod‐cyninga / þrym gefrūnon,
hū þā æðelingas / ellen fremedon.

ƿ = "w"; þ = "th" as in thick; ð = "th" as in the

Note the repetition of sounds across the caesura: Gār‐Dena, geār‐dagum, and so on.

So, while Beowulf is a staple of the student of English, the poem doesn't see much of the light of the modern day. One recent exception to that was in Professor Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, where Anglo-Saxon is used as the language of the Rohirrim. The Peter Jackson film version contains a dirge sung by Éowyn:
Bealocwealm hafað fréone frecan forth onsended
giedd sculon singan gléomenn sorgiende
on Meduselde þæt he ma no wære
his dryhtne dyrest and mæga deorost.
Bealo...

'An evil death has sent forth the noble warrior
Sorrowing minstrels shall sing a song
in Meduseld that he is no more,
to his dearest lord and kinsmen most beloved.
An evil death...'

The beginning of this newly-written piece recalls line 2265 in Beowulf:
Bealocwelm hafað fela feorhcynna forð onsended...
'Baleful death has many of my living kin sent forth...'


Whilst catching up on my reading today, a particular conversation in an Anglo-Saxon scholar's forum on the æthernet caught my attention. Added to a lively discussion of the film adaptation, was a link to a video performance of one man performing the poem with a reconstructed period harp.

This modern-day scop has memorised(!) the entire poem, and set it to appropriate period music on a harp. The six-stringed instrument was built by a German firm, based on artefacts found in a 7th century Alemannic nobleman's grave in Oberflacht (south of Stuttgart), and corroborated by Sutton Hoo findings.


The instrument is tuned to six tones across an octave which make up three perfect fifths, and two perfect fourths, which gives the scop a useful modal palette with which to work. The sound is rustic, pentatonic, ancient, and haunting.

The effect is astounding, and I am given to imagine that this was what one would have heard a thousand years ago, around a campfire in West Saxony.


References, other than noted above:

(my current favourite translation) Seamus Heaney, Beowulf: A New Verse Translation (Bilingual Edition) W. W. Norton & Company, 2001. ISBN 0393320979.

History of the English Language at Virginia Tech: http://ebbs.english.vt.edu/hel/hel.html

Old English at the University of Virginia: http://faculty.virginia.edu/OldEnglish/

Beowulf Translations: http://www.beowulftranslations.net/

Soundtrack analysis of languages used in the Lord of the Rings film: http://www.elvish.org/gwaith/movie_soundtrack_ttt.htm#e_dirge

Peter S Baker, Introduction to Old English. Oxford: Blackwell, 2003. ISBN 0631234543. Electronic edition at http://www.wmich.edu/medieval/resources/IOE/index.html

Englisc composition listserv: http://www.rochester.edu/englisc/


Beoð ge gesunde!

 

Thursday, 25 October 2007

St Crispin, St George, and Harry the King

 

Apropos of a recent story told at the Anvil regarding St George's defence of Englishmen during the Great War, we should pause to recall St Crispin's Day.

It was on 25 October 1415 when Henry V met the Constable of France, Charles d'Albret on the fields near Agincourt in the North of France. An English victory to be sure, but probably better immortalised by the Bard in the eponymous play where King Harry rouses his troops thus:

What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmorland. No, my fair cousin:
If we are marked to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will, I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It ernes me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
God's peace, I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more, methinks, would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more.
Rather proclaim it presently through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart. His passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the Feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a-tiptoe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall see this day and live t'old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say "To-morrow is Saint Crispian":
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars
And say "These wounds I had on Crispin's day."
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now abed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

Henry V, IV, iii.


 

A splendid speech this, nearly making Your Fair Editrix go berate the nearest Frenchman just on principle, but I digress.

 
 
Thus the memory of Harry and his happy few lives on to the modern day, and rightly so. Unfortunately the Saint(s) involved in the day-naming here have not been so well-spoke of late.

 
 
My sources (E.B.) expert in Celtic mythos tell me that Crispin and his twin brother Crispinian may have been syncretisations of Lugh (Mercury from Caesar's description from his Gallic histories). Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course, but by the modern era, the Bishop of Rome had these two fellows demoted a bit, so there are not many recent St Crispin's Day festivals, nor greeting cards.

Fortunately in the East, Crispin and Crispinian are still honoured as Saint-Martyrs, and in the Anglican West they still rate a commemorative day.

So, on this day, this happy day, let us who were not there raise a glass to King Harry and his Brothers, and while we're at it, toss back a wee bit for old Crispin and Crispinian.