From Guardian:

Ted Hughes’s wife, Sylvia Plath, famously killed herself. But what of his mistress, who four years later did the same? For the first time, Yehuda Koren and Eilat Negev tell the story of the woman that the poet tried to hide. In May 1962, Assia and her third husband, the Canadian poet David Wevill, were invited to spend a weekend with Plath and Hughes, who were then living in the village of North Tawton in Devon. It was on that weekend, as Hughes later wrote in a poem, that “The dreamer in me fell in love with her”. Six weeks passed before he and Wevill met alone for the first time, when he came to London for a meeting at the BBC.

But Plath was quick to discover the budding affair. She ordered him out, and he was happy to comply. The following day he knocked on the Wevill’s door carrying four bottles of champagne. Wevill made no secret of Hughes’ ferocious lovemaking among her office friends. Equally repelled and fascinated, she told Edward Lucie-Smith, “You know, in bed he smells like a butcher.” In the next two months he shuttled between the two women.

In mid-September he and Plath took a holiday in Ireland. On the fourth day he disappeared. His whereabouts have remained a mystery not only to Plath but to subsequent biographers and scholars. However, in our research we discovered that when Hughes embarked on the Irish trip, he already had a ticket to another destination. Ditching Plath in Ireland, he hurried to London to meet Wevill, and the two of them headed south for a 10-day fiesta in Spain. He and Plath had spent their honeymoon there, and she hated the country. For him and Wevill, the trip was a delight, providing them with a creative boost: a film script that they had started writing together.

When he returned home, Hughes had a terrible row with Plath; he refused to give up his mistress and left for London permanently. Two months later, Plath moved to London as well. Hughes and Wevill were no longer making a secret of their affair. They were seen everywhere, so much so that many people mistakenly thought that they were actually living together.

On February 11 1963, Plath ended her life. Two days later, Myers came for a condolence visit and found Wevill resting in Plath’s bed. A month later Hughes and Wevill decided to abort the child that Wevill was carrying.

More here.

From Science:

Neuroscientist Matthew Walker of Harvard University and his colleagues paid 10 undergraduate students to forgo a night’s sleep. The next day, the students viewed a series of 30 words, and two days later–after having two nights to catch up on their sleep–the students returned to the lab and took a test to see how well they remembered the words they’d seen.

The students recalled about 40% fewer words overall than a group of 10 students who had slept normally, Walker reported here yesterday at the annual meeting of the Society for Neuroscience. But the researchers also found that the emotional content of the words made a big difference in what people remembered. Previous studies have found that both positive and negative emotions bolster memory, but in the current study, negatively charged words (such as cancer or jail) seemed to penetrate the sleep-deprived brain more deeply than positive ones (such as happy or sunshine). Indeed, sleep-deprived students were only 19% worse than their well-rested counterparts at remembering negative words, but 59% worse for positive words. Walker suspects the difference may reflect an evolutionary safeguard against forgetting potential threats.

More here.

However desirable it is to have neat definitions of important ideas, the fact is that most of them are too internally complex to be caught in a formula. “Friendship” is one such. There are many kinds of friendship, achieved by many different routes, and the most they have in common is that – somewhere in the ideal version of them – loyalty, sympathy and affection standardly figure.

Not everyone agrees that friendship is the summit of human relationship. Literature and the movies conspire to give this place to romantic love, while another convention yields the distinction to parent-child relationships. But each of these is successful only if it matures into friendship at last, which is why sages of quite different traditions extol friendship as the highest, the most central, the most necessary link in the social web. Given that humans are essentially social beings, friendship thus turns out to be a defining component of life worth living.

It is an interesting coincidence, and perhaps more, that both Mencius in ancient China and Aristotle in Greece taught that a friend is “another self”. If one cares fully about another person, they said, his good matters as much to oneself as one’s own: so a pair of true friends are “one mind in two bodies”.

more from AC Grayling at the Financial Times here.

If the international situation has you fretting about Armaggedon, cheer up: It turns out the apocalypse is going to be great fun, after all. At least that’s the vision according to art installations current in Chelsea. With shows that inaugurate their respective dealers’ new or expanded galleries, Matthew Ritchie’s takes its title, “The Universal Adversary,” from our government’s collective term for worst case scenario crisis prediction, while Barnaby Furnas explodes his trademark motif of shed blood to biblically epic proportions.

Their art is as photogenic as the glossies frequently prove the young art stars themselves to be—for all the portentuousness of their subject matter, neither prophet is a grizzly old man with a beard. Cheerful palette, spritely markmaking, sumptuous overload and dexterous skill are the pervasive qualities of both exhibitions. These are the masters of doomsday décor.

more from Artcritical here.

“He’s a brilliant man,” one of my colleagues once said of Richard Dawkins, “but so impolite.” I agree, but think he chose the wrong conjunction: If I had to identify Dawkins’ cardinal virtues, I would say that he is brilliant, articulate, impassioned and impolite. As Emerson famously said, “Your goodness must have some edge to it — else it is none.” “The God Delusion” is a fine and significant book, and this is largely due to Dawkins’ willingness to employ the sharp edges of his intellect to cut through a paralyzing propriety whose main effect is to stifle conversations — about religion, about intellectual responsibility, about politics — that we very much need, at this particular moment in our history, to be having.

Some will accuse Dawkins of being not just impolite but also intolerant. He is indeed a kind of crusading atheist, and makes no bones about his opposition not just to religious extremism but also to all species of religious faith — a phenomenon he regards as fundamentally irrational and deeply dangerous.

more from SF Chroncile Review here.

Via Belle Waring over at Crooked Timber, a new study by Joni Hersch at Vanderbilt Law School suggests that a very classic and vulgar racism is alive. In the Washington Post:

Vanderbilt University economist Joni Hersch found that legal immigrants to the United States who had darker complexions or were shorter earned less money than their fair-skinned or taller counterparts with similar jobs, training and backgrounds. Even swarthy whites from abroad earned less than those with lighter skin.

Immigrants with the lightest complexions earned, on average, about 8 to 15 percent more than those with the darkest skin tone after controlling for race and country of origin as well as for other factors related to earnings, including occupation, education, language skills, work history, type of visa and whether they were married to a U.S. citizen.

In fact, Hersch estimated that the negative impact of skin tone on earnings was equal to the benefit of education, with a particularly dark complexion virtually wiping out the advantage of education on earnings.

Hersch’s paper can be found here.

In Scientific American, Stuart Kauffman on why economics should be inspired more by biology than by physics.

As economics attempts to model increasingly complicated phenomena, however, it would do well to shift its attention from physics to biology, because the biosphere and the living things in it represent the most complex systems known in nature. In particular, a deeper understanding of how species adapt and evolve may bring profound–even revolutionary–insights into business adaptability and the engines of economic growth.

One of the key ideas in modern evolutionary theory is that of preadaptation. The term may sound oxymoronic but its significance is perfectly logical: every feature of an organism, in addition to its obvious functional characteristics, has others that could become useful in totally novel ways under the right circumstances. The forerunners of air-breathing lungs, for example, were swim bladders with which fish maintained their equilibrium; as some fish began to move onto the margins of land, those bladders acquired a new utility as reservoirs of oxygen. Biologists say that those bladders were preadapted to become lungs. Evolution can innovate in ways that cannot be prestated and is nonalgorithmic by drafting and recombining existing entities for new purposes–shifting them from their existing function to some adjacent novel function–rather than inventing features from scratch.

In the New Left Review, Al Giordano on the Mexican Presidential elections.

For Mexicans, the events of this summer inevitably recalled another stolen election, eighteen years ago. In July 1988, Cuauhtémoc Cárdenas—son of the populist president Lázaro Cárdenas (1934–40), who had instituted land reforms and nationalized oil—ran for the presidency against the pri’s Carlos Salinas de Gortari. Cárdenas and his left-reformist supporters within the party had broken from the pri in 1987, having despaired of reforming the priísta machine from within. Together with former pri chairman Porfirio Muñoz Ledo and a range of small left parties, he founded the National Democratic Front (FDN) early in 1988 to contest that year’s election. When the returns came in on July 6th, Cárdenas was in the lead: the 55 per cent of tally sheets in the possession of FDN poll workers showed Cárdenas with 40 per cent to Salinas’s 36; government tabulations showed similar results. But then came the moment that has defined public responses to the current electoral crisis: the pri interior minister announced on national tv that the vote-counting computer had crashed. When the system was back up again later that night, suddenly Salinas was ahead.

Millions took to the streets to protest the fraud. The PRI regime flatly refused to make the remaining precinct tally sheets public, but when 30,000 ballots marked for Cárdenas were found dumped in rivers and forests in the southern state of Guerrero, popular anger erupted. During a demonstration in the Zócalo attended by upwards of three million people, some of Cárdenas’s aides pressed him to seize the National Palace. But he recoiled from such a radical course, opting to negotiate with Salinas in private. In exchange for some concessions, including the formation in 1990 of the Federal Electoral Institute, Cárdenas dropped his challenge, prompting bitter divisions within the fdn that continue to haunt the party formed from its demoralized components in 1989, the PRD.

The Economist suggests that the Nobel Peace Prize might want to take a hiatus.

Withholding the prize for a year, or possibly five, might seem rather callous. But the institute would not be suggesting that the world has become sufficiently peaceful now. Some do argue that wars are generally in decline. Last year a think-tank in Canada released a “Human Security Report” which noted that 100-odd wars have expired since 1988. Their study found that wars and genocides have become less frequent since 1991, that the value of the international arms trade has slumped by a third (between 1990 and 2003), and that refugee numbers have roughly halved (between 1992 and 2003). Yet, despite all that, there are clearly enough problems today—Darfur, Sri Lanka, Somalia, Afghanistan, Iraq, international terrorism—to keep the hardest-working peace promoters busy.

The reason for the institute to withhold the prize, instead, would be to preserve its value. There is a risk that its worth is being eroded as the institute scrambles to find an eye-catching recipient every year. There is the problem of Buggins’s turn, an expectation (as with some other prizes) that the award should rotate between regions of the world. This year it is Asia, last year the recipient was from the Middle East, the year before from Africa.

In Salmagundi, excerpts from Benjamin Barber, Martha Nussbaum, Peter Singer, Breyten Bretyenbach, Orlando Paterson, Guity Nashat, Akeel Bilgram, James Miller, Vladimir Tismaneanu, and Carlyn Forche’s discussion on “Jihad, McWorld, Modernity“, a symposium about the “Clash of Civilizations”.

Benjamin Barber:

Though we framed this debate to some degree in terms of the clash of civilizations, and that is certainly a provocative term which the events of 9/11 would seem to inspire, I take that phrase, the “clash of civilizations,” to be little more than an expression of parochial bigotry. It speaks in no way to the world we live in and is, frankly, hardly even worth discussing, although some people here may strongly disagree. It’s the kind of language that is redolent of a world of 18th century imperialism, a world of “us and them,” and it clarifies nothing. I would just remind those of you who are enamored of Sam Huntington’s phraseology that, in the book that gave us this expression, he argues not only that there is a clash of civilizations, but that the clash is aided and abetted by a fifth column in the United States made up of African Americans, who are undermining the West and its ideals. So if you’ve taken that book seriously, I suggest you read it again more carefully and revise your estimation.

The more serious charge, though, is that there is a special problem called Islam, and that Islam has created a world in which fundamentalists regard not just the West, but democracy, pluralism, freedom, and global markets as the enemy of an ancient, militant, intolerant doxology and that the West’s destruction is necessary to the survival of that doxology. That is an argument that’s been put in somewhat more civil and polite terms by a variety of thinkers, including Bernard Lewis, but there are others as well. Paul Berman, for one, has made a rather peculiar argument that Islamic fundamentalism is a new form of totalitarianism not entirely unlike the Soviet and fascist variants. I reject that charge in its entirety, and note that all religions stand in a tension with secular society and that every civilization the world has known has had the task of working out that tension, adjudicating the relevant differences and stresses. That is the essence of what a civilization is about—and though some cultures have been more successful than others in maintaining a healthy balance between religious and secular demands, there is an essential pattern we can see at work in contemporary Islamic societies.

From Guardian:

The “disappearing act” by Agatha Christie over 11 days in 1926 has always been a subject of huge curiosity and mystery. Why did a famous and successful woman cut and run, leaving her car abandoned in a way that suggested self-injury, to fetch up in a genteel hotel in Harrogate – where she remained oblivious to newspaper headlines and a national hunt to find her while acting perfectly normally as a guest? There may well have been another ingredient in the mystery, namely envy. Agatha Christie was already famous, so it followed that what she did was simply for publicity. She must be seeking higher sales figures and pity.

I have to say that her driving off into the night seems to me the most natural thing in the world. She had recently lost a beloved mother, and all bereaved daughters know that this is worse than anything a blunt instrument can inflict. Then comes the stab wound, when her adored husband says he’s leaving her for someone else and never loved her anyway. Suddenly she’s on the edge of an abyss of loneliness and self-loathing; nothing she has done is worth a damn. It would be the action of a thoroughly ordered mind to shut down and hide, like a wounded animal seeking oblivion.

More here.

From MSNBC:

For years, scientists have studied how leaves prepare for the annual show of fall color. The molecules behind bright yellows and oranges are well understood, but brilliant reds remain a bit of a mystery. In response to chilly temperatures and fewer daylight hours, leaves stop producing their green-tinted chlorophyll, which allows them to capture sunlight and make energy. Because chlorophyll is sensitive to the cold, certain weather conditions like early frosts will turn off production more quickly.

Meanwhile, orange and yellow pigments called carotenoids—also found in orange carrots—shine through the leaves’ washed out green. “The yellow color has been there all summer, but you don’t see it until the green fades away,” said Paul Schaberg, U.S. Forest Service plant physiologist. “In trees likes aspens and beech, that’s the dominant color change.”

Scientists know less about the radiant red hues that pepper northern maple and ash forests in the fall. The red color comes from anthocyanins, which unlike carotenoids, are only produced in the fall. They also give color to strawberries, red apples, and plums. On a tree, these red pigments beneficially act as sunscreen, by blocking out harmful radiation and shading the leaf from excess light. They also serve as antifreeze, protecting cells from easily freezing. And they are beneficial as antioxidants.

More here.

From Respectful Insolence:

Alright, I’ll come right out and admit it up front. There was no part one to this piece. Well, there was, but it wasn’t on this blog, and I didn’t write it. PZ did in response to some really idiotic arguments from ignorance that Deepak Chopra displayed as part of an “argument” (and I use the term loosely) that there is some mystical other quality that explains life other than genes. He paraded a litany of arguments that so conclusively demonstrated that he had no clue about even the basics of molecular biology that I as a physician cringed and hid my head in shame when I read it, given that Dr. Chopra is, at least nominally, a medical doctor. PZ did a fine job of fisking Chopra’s nonsense (with one minor quibble that I mentioned in the comments). Even the people leaving comments on Chopra’s article were in general pretty hostile to his drivel and pointed out the large number of misstatements of our understanding of genetics, logical fallacies, and credulous arguments from ignorance that flew hither and yon from Chopra’s keyboard. I thought that, having thoroughly embarrassed himself once, Chopra would slink away for a while before dropping another woo-bomb onto an unsuspecting blogosphere. I even thought that Chopra had a shred of self-respect that would prevent him from embarrassing himself again that soon.

I was mistaken.

He’s back, with The Trouble With Genes, Part II (also found here).

More here.

Jeffrey J. Williams in the Chronicle of Higher Education:

Literary theorists, and probably other scholars, might be divided into two types: settlers and wanderers. The settlers stay put, “hovering one inch” over a set of issues or topics, as Paul de Man, the most influential theorist of the 1970s, remarked in an interview. Their work, through the course of their careers, claims ownership of a specific intellectual turf. The wanderers are more restless, starting with one approach or field but leaving it behind for the next foray. Their work takes the shape of serial engagements, more oriented toward climatic currents. The distinction is not between expert and generalist, or, in Isaiah Berlin’s distinction, between knowing one thing like a hedgehog and knowing many things like a fox; it is a different application of expertise.

Stanley Fish, for instance, might seem a protean public commentator, but he has actually “hawked the same wares,” as he once put it, returning to certain issues of interpretation as well as to the texts of John Milton over the course of his career. J. Hillis Miller, on the other hand, has morphed over a long career from a traditional commentator on Dickens and 19th-century British literature to phenomenological readings of modernist poets and novelists, then shifted again to become the primary American proponent of deconstruction, and more recently has taken on the role of defender of the humanities, ethics, and the future of literary studies.

While the difference between the two types might seem a conscious choice, it is probably more an expression of disposition. Settlers gravitate toward consistency, stability, and depth, looking for different facets of the same terrain, whereas wanderers are pulled toward the new and the next, finding the facets that motivate them in different terrain. It is perhaps a relation to time: Settlers are drawn to Parmenidean sameness, wanderers to the Heraclitean flux.

Terry Eagleton has been a quintessential wanderer.

More here.

William K. Purvez in Scientific American:

Spider silk is not a single, unique material–different species produce various kinds of silk. Some possess as many as seven distinct kinds of glands, each of which produces a different silk.

Why so many kinds of silk? Each kind plays particular roles. All spiders make so-called dragline silk that functions in part as a lifeline, enabling the creatures to hang from ceilings. And it serves as a constant connection to the web, facilitating quick escapes from danger. Dragline silk also forms the radial spokes of the web; bridgeline silk is the first strand, by which the web hangs from its support; yet another silk forms the great spiral.

The different silks have unique physical properties such as strength, toughness and elasticity, but all are very strong compared to other natural and synthetic materials. Dragline silk combines toughness and strength to an extraordinary degree. A dragline strand is several times stronger than steel, on a weight-for-weight basis, but a spider’s dragline is only about one-tenth the diameter of a human hair. The movie Spider-Man drastically underestimates the strength of silk—real dragline silk would not need to be nearly as thick as the strands deployed by our web-swinging hero in the movie.

More here.

Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez was “the painter of the painters”, declared Édouard Manet – but he was much more than that. The days when artists played a leading role in national or international politics are long gone (what does this say about the cliquey introspection of today’s art world?), but while Velázquez’s work is justly celebrated for its aesthetic achievements, far less well known is the role he played in articulating the political imperatives of his masters.

The work has become divorced from its poli tical context largely because it is so seductive as art. The breathtaking ease of the brushwork, the huge but seemingly effortless restraint with which Velázquez controlled his colour palette and pictorial composition, the sheer facility of draughtsmanship: all are amply demonstrated at a forthcoming exhibition at the National Gallery in London – amazingly, the first ever monograph show in the UK of Velázquez’s work.

more from The New Statesman here.

Trevelyan, like Michelet and like Hume, was not afraid to display and manipulate feeling, to conjure and to care. Today’s popular historians must write self-consciously, carefully and with respect for the sensibilities of their subjects; but they can be confident about writing within this tradition, writing with feeling, and about it. There are dangers in too great an identification between author and subject, which can lead to a mapping of modern sensibilities and narratives of life onto the past. But in the best hands, what I’d like to call “emotional history” can combine an original authorial voice, literary awareness and an unashamed quality of love to produce modern popular classics which will last as long as readers find in them something which moves as well as instructs. Emotional history is no less scholarly and no less sophisticated about sources than any other kind. Deducing what someone feels from documentary evidence uses exactly the same techniques as coming to any other sort of conclusion, and since all historical judgements are necessarily partial and subjective, it is equally valid.

more from the TLS here.

If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Old Master paintings don’t go anywhere. They stay flat against the wall in their black and gold frames, or pinned like butterflies as reproductions in books. Yet here I am in the National Gallery, watching some of the greatest works of art in the world bounce up and down, dance from one room to the next, shift this way and that, as couriers, handlers, registrars and curators remove gods and monarchs from their packing cases.

Nearly four centuries ago, Diego Velázquez painted the gods of the classical world as if they were real people. He portrayed Mars, god of war, Venus, the goddess who loved him, and Vulcan, her cuckolded husband, as if they were characters in a tragicomic novel, with compassion for their foibles. Perhaps his ability to imagine so acutely the failures of divinities came about because, as painter to the king of Spain, he lived close to the melancholy and ironies of royal existence. His portraits of Philip IV and his minister Olivares, of infantas and dwarves, see a weakness in royal and humble faces alike, a humanity and a pathos that have rightly made Velázquez one of the most honoured of all artists.

more from The Guardian here.

From BBC News:

Scientists working with the conservation group WWF have discovered stunning orchid species in the forests of Papua New Guinea. They say eight are definitely new species, and a further 20-odd may prove to be new to science as well.

The discoveries include the succulent bloom of Cadetia kutubu, named after Lake Kutubu in its home region.

Papua New Guinea is incredibly rich in orchids. Of some 25,000 species known worldwide, 3,000 come from PNG.

More here.

From Nature:

Has anyone ever told you that you have the same expressions as your siblings or parents? You might think you picked that up by hanging around with your family too long. But scientists now say that such family ‘signatures’ may be genetic.

To separate the impact of mimicry from genetic inheritance, scientists at the University of Haifa, Israel, looked at people who were born blind.

The authors note that their blind subjects considered it to be a common public misconception that they can learn expressions by touch. The participants said that without a mental model of what a face looks like, it is hard to translate expressions felt through the hands to expressions on their own face.

Picture: expressions are similar between blind participants (left) and their relatives (right).

More here.