Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes
PROGRIS RIPORT 17
I finishd my book today. It wasnt what I expectd. 
I rely wantd it to be a hapy ending like it is in the moovis when the boy and the gurl get together and evryone is laffing. It was abowt a boy who isnt smart like me and has an operayshun to get smarter than evrywun else. But he gets sad becos he relises that he is just as far remoovd from sosiety wen he has an IQ over 200 as he was wen he had a IQ like mine.
So this is the way the book is written for the first 30 pages and I’m not going to lie, it’s tough. I actually wanted to give up on page twenty but I was prompted by a few people to push through. So I did. And sure enough, after page thirty Charlie Gordon begins to show signs of improved intelligence. He starts looking up how to spell words, trying to understand grammar and the like.
This is where the book takes a turn. Not necessarily for the worse - in fact definitely not for the worse - but certainly for the sadder. He begins to realise that he was “retarded” and what’s more tear jerking is that he realises how everybody teases him for being that way. The book proceeds down a melancholic trajectory of self realisation on Charlie’s part. He starts recalling memories that are at best humiliating and at worst heartbreaking.
Charlie has one friend who always understands him. Algernon, a mouse who underwent the same operation to provide a canary in the dark for Charlie. It is the most meaningful relationship Charlie has in the book and it is a special one.
I feel if I give any more away I might put you off or ruin the book. The truth is that it is a brilliantly thought out idea, executed perfectly with a truly lovely ending to boot. I am just not a fan of books that make me sad! I like to really lose myself in the world the author creates and in a book like Flowers for Algernon that is a dangerous game! SO if you haven’t read it and can handle the emotional distress I seriously recommend Daniel Keyes’ masterpiece.
How many faces can you see?
Qualia at their greatest. How many faces can you see in this picture?
Keep searching. Don’t be satisfied with fewer than 3.
I’ve talked about qualia in a previous blog post which is worth reading to appreciate this picture fully. If you can’t be bothered or don’t have the time, the essence is that once you have seen these faces you will never “unsee” them.
Thanks to Richard Wiseman for finding this one.
: It’s a while ago now that I saw Duncan Jones’s second film Source...
It’s a while ago now that I saw Duncan Jones’s second film Source Code. I hugely enjoyed Moon (2009), as I’ve mentioned elsewhere, and didn’t miss the thematic parallels (an implicit comment on emplolyment ethics and a more explicit statement about underhand dehumanization) and Jones’s…
Source: gdotlewis
A pigeon in the park
Here I go. Three stationary pumps to gain altitude. Beak-point at final destination. Four seconds of glide, one of “winged-in” free-fall. Hop, hop, flap to brake. Nice.
“Did you see that, Jerry”, I yell up. Knowing the answer. I hope that didn’t come across as arrogant to this guy reading. No, it couldn’t have; he saw me land. He pretends he didn’t but I saw him glance up as I swept in. He saw.
Right, now onto phase two of the operation. Collection. Aha! There it is. Bread; standard. Let’s see. What else is in there? Okay, lettu—
Whoops. Damn it! Note to self: one day figure out a better technique than the “grab-and-toss”. We’ve been doing it for generations and no one has blinked an eye. Not that we can blink, but it’s fun to turn a phrase. Not only does it slightly disorient you, the darn sandwich can end up on the other side of the street. Or worse, IN the street! Off the top of my head, the “clasp-hover-drop-inspect”. It’s not as catchy, and I may have to change the name before submitting it to my peers. In fact, I’ll try it now.
Well, great. Now I look ridiculous. This guy must think I’m an idiot. Did I really expect that to work? Really? Idiot. And after a great first impression. Damn it. I should call Jerry down here just to f**k up the landing so this guy can see how hard it really is. “Jerry! Hey, Jerry! Come here!”
I’ll let him stew in his own thoughts for a while. Wuss. I’ll just get back to the “grab-and-toss”. I’ve just thought of another benefit of this method over mine. At least this way, you get a bit of…Whoah! Okay, okay! I’ll move back! I get it, I encroached on your territory! Relax, I’m back, okay. I’m just trying to enjoy my lunch, same as you. Jeez, some people. I’m here everyday. My grandmother made her nest in that tree. Been here for generations. I’ve never seen you before. Punk. Anyway, with the “grab-and-toss”, you actually get a mouthful as well. Can’t put a price on that.
Whoah! Okay, what’s going on now? More and more people are trying to leave. Something big has happened. Problem: I’d have to be some sort of helicopter-pigeon to pull off the vertical take-off required to avoid these people. But I’ll get trampled if I don’t do something. Think Giles, think! GAP! I’ll go for it. It’ll probably ruin everything I’ve done to garner respect from this “jean roller-upper” but some things aren’t worth dying for. I’m off and….clear. Close, sure… but clear. Wow! I’m better than I thought. Ouch, but he’s not. Did he fall over in fear?…whilst seated?! Ha. Not sure I’d want to be friends with a guy like that. Funny how things work out.
Quale’s Eggs and Consciousness
- Quale [kwah-lee] - plural - li·a
- an essential property, sense-datum or feeling having a distinct quality or character
This post is based on the work of V.S. Ramachandran and William Hirstein entitled “Three Laws of Qualia”. I’m going to clarify exactly what qualia are so that we are all on the same page.
They are the subjective sensations which seem to require a first person account. If you think of a red square, there are two qualia involved in that particular experience of consciousness: a colour quale - responsible for the “redness” sensation - and a shape quale - dedicated to the emoting of “squareness”.
They are “raw feels” responsible for creating the sentiments that allow for consciousness: the painfulness of pain, the doggyness of dogs. Most philosophical objections to explanations of the “human experience” from scientists relate to qualia. No scientist can explain fully why electrical currents firing through certain neurons at certain times in the brain creates the perception of sensation and of the self. Essentially, qualia are private.
Not according to Ramachandran and Hirstein. They developed three laws for qualia and simply put, to qualify as qualia the sensation must:
- Be irrevocable and automatic on the input side - you can’t say “this square is red, but I can visualise it as blue if I want.” An explicit neural representation of red is created that “reports” this to higher brain centers;
- Be flexible on the output side - once the representation of an apple is created you have the luxury of choice. You can use it to tempt Adam, bake a pie or to keep the doctor away otherwise it is just a reflex arc;
- And finally the representation must remain long enough in the short term memory to allow a decision to be made - otherwise, again, it would be simply a reflex arc.
It’s important to understand these laws to understand this blog but I think Daniel Dennett put it best by saying that qualia is an “unfamiliar term for something that could not be more familiar to each of us.” Put pictorially:
Once you’ve seen both things in this picture, it is IMPOSSIBLE to “unsee” them. That is how powerful the combination of qualia and your brain can be.
Armed with that knowledge: Onwards! Ramachandran and Hirstein’s paper concerns itself with proving that there is a scientific way to prove qualia are not private. That is, it is possible to experience the world through another creatures “eyes”. They posit the results of connecting two people’s brains with a bridge of neurons from one area in a normal sighted person (Bob) and to the corresponding area in someone who is colour blind (a rod monochromat - James). Within James’ brain, the central processing mechanisms for colour are undamaged - he just doesn’t have the cone receptors to delineate the different colours.
They state that if this were to happen, then James could finally perceive “redness” in an identical way to Bob, bridging this gap and hurdling the hypothesis that qualia will remain forever private.
Ramachandran and Hirstein have turned the philosophical barrier problem of qualia into one of translation. They say this barrier arises when there is any “translation” involved. This is more daunting than at first glance. When Bob says “red”, it means nothing to James, because he has neither the physiology nor the fluency of colour language. Nerve impulses (the language of neurons) are translated into a different, spoken language (English). Bob can tell James that he sees “red”, but the sentiment is literally lost in translation. Using any intermediary language, whether it be English or monitoring which neruons are firing on a computer screen (The instrument’s output is a translation of what it is detecting), the barrier is formed.
Imagine the wonders of seeing the world through someone else’s eyes. Or taken a step further, imagine seeing the world as a shark perceives it: sensing electrical impulses in the water. This “bridge of neurons” is obviously still at the “Sci-Fi” end (possibly Hardcore SF end) of the Scientific spectrum but it is brilliant to think that there are people like V. S. Ramachandran and William Hirstein pushing these barriers to their limits.
Here is a link to a PDF of “Three Laws of Qualia”
An Uplifting Storey
I recently went for a drinks party in a 10 storey block of flats. As my group of four arrived and waited to be “buzzed in”, another slightly larger group turned the corner to see our friendly faces. We all knew the score: we were headed to the same place. We wouldn’t acknowledge this however, until a few moments later.
A tall, slightly ‘stylishly’ bearded man used a flawlessly efficient but somewhat frowneduponable method to gain access to the building. He pressed all 27 buttons, alerting all 27 flats of our arrival. Once an unsuspecting pensioner (almost certainly from the wrong flat) granted us entry, we were faced with a dilemma. We needed to go up 6 floors to get to our destination. There were 11 of us. The lift held only 8. Simple logic would tell us that the three strongest should take the stairs. (I was about to venture this idea when I caught my tongue. I didn’t want to alienate myself as the logician this early on. One of these alpha males could well have felt threatened and plotted my assassination.) Nope, instead it was reasoned that a lift that said it could hold 8 could probably hold 10. And as we were then only breaking the rules by one person we’d probably be fine. So, due to this highly flawed argument…(Here I’m going to switch to the present tense to make it seem more urgent and exciting. I think it’ll make a more compelling read) we all pile in. The lift groans into life. Phew! Clearly the lift was just lacking in self-confidence.
Exactly halfway between floor two and three, someone jumps up and down for a laugh. A few people worry. Most aren’t phased. I glance over at the warning sign that reads:
“No more than 8 persons in the lift”
The jumping oaf continues. Just what he is trying to gain from this, I’ll never understand. My worst fear is realised as I look up at the floor level indicator; the metal coffin flirts with the boundary between Floor 2 and 3 before the screen goes blank. ‘Come on’ I plead. Clunk. Lights out. Dimmer emergency lighting replaces them after an unnerving half second blackout. I can see the terror sweep over everyone’s faces. I was fortunate enough to have foreseen this scenario seconds earlier and my cool exterior seemed to comfort my friends.
Have you ever been in a small space full of people that know they are about to die. I’m not joking when I tell you that true characteristics shone through in that moment. We were able to catch glimpses of each individual’s true sheep or shepherd, fight or flight mentality.
Dale: “Well at least we still have the booze!”
Nick: “Who was that jumping?”
Ellie and Al: “Bodger!”
Tony: “For fuck’s sake. Are you happy now?” - not angry, not scared, just wanting to teach a lesson before we die.
Alpha Male: “Is anyone claustrophobic?”
Ian: “Err, I am slightly” - absolutely rigid. Right then, I knew he had a career as a ventriloquist ahead. I didn’t mention that.
Al: “Okay guys. Give Ian some more space”
At this, everyone shifted to the opposite corner to Ian. Clunk. Clunk.
Alpha Male: “Okay guys. Nobody move. Can someone press the help button? Good job no one is claustrophobic.” - Was that sarcasm? I thought.
The button was pressed by someone. It didn’t matter who. Silence befell the lift. Except for that dull hum of the unanswered phone ringing and ringing. Why wouldn’t they pick up? Someone had to be there? Didn’t they? We tried again. And again. No good. We all knew what was coming. After we all came to accept that this was how it was going to end, it became peaceful in there. I started to think of the people I’d like to have laughed with one more time if I could. Luckily, a lot of those people were crammed into that lift with me. And those that weren’t…well I guess they’d know that we thought about them.
Unnamed Girl: “WAIT! What about our phones? Why don’t we use our phones?!”
I almost envy those that believed this would work. To see them truly think they were getting out. That hope lasted a lifetime, until one by one, they all came to realise what some of us already knew. Phones slowly went back into pockets as eyes met with other members of the lift. An eternity passed.
Alpha Male 2: ”Man, we’ve been here literally weeks!” - “Literally”, “Literally weeks?” I let that slide due to our impending doom.
Some cried (can’t say for certain that it wasn’t for the “literally” comment), some held hands and some laughed. Me? I just stood there. Getting bored. Words sprung into my head: ‘Boredom is a mask that frustration wears’; I knew what would happen when frustration kicked in. Cannibalism. And that thought…that thought alone was enough to spur me on. No! Not like this. Not tonight!
I looked up and down to find the hatch that always seems to appear in films. Nothing. I turned before I had fully made a plan. I swivelled some more and was faced with the door. The iron clad bolted door. I stuck my fingers into the gap and heaved just enough to get a decent grip, knowing the hardest part was yet to come. I took a deep breath. I can’t tell you what I thought about in that instant because I simply don’t remember. Using all my might, I wrenched the door apart. I could only open it two inches or so but that was enough to see the never ending darkness. So still and quiet that a frost breathed up my spine and gave me a shudder.
But wait! What was that? There in the distance…it’s a…it can’t be…can it? It…it is! It is! We’re…
In the distance I saw the most beautiful thing in the world: red… cylindrical… wonderfully familiar… fire extinguisher! We’ve stopped on a floor! That was all I needed to break the bolts that stood between us and survival. ARRRGHH! I turned and saw Wallace’s face light up and sing with joy! The next thing I know I’m being carried up flights of stairs, head banging on the ceiling but I didn’t care. We had survived!
Am I a hero? I don’t know. I suppose, to those few people in that lift that night, to less than 0.00000000016% of the population… maybe. All I know for sure is that those four minutes we spent trapped in that lift, some unbreakable bonds were formed.
Review of The Time Machine, H.G. Wells
Well, this book is studied across the nation in schools, so I thought I’d better read it. It’s been consistently well recieved by all readers and I feel that because of this, when someone reads it they feel pressured to say how good it was.
When I saw it was a mere 120 page novella, I scoffed, looked up to one side and laughed a small derisive laugh. I could punch that out in a weekend! Looking back now, I can’t help but chuckle at the assured naivity of my scheme.
The fact is, this book is very hard to read. The entire book has an excessively labyrinthine feel to it. Wells has for some reason chosen to structure his sentences in an exquisitely muddled way. Another thing about the book - which I’m still surprised no one else has picked up on - is his extraordinary use of the word ‘presently’. Now, I don’t want to be ‘that guy’ but suffice it to say that he uses presently 20 times in a 120 page book. That means ‘presently’ occurs every 6 pages! (In the linked edition at the bottom it appears on the following pages: 9, 17, 24, 24, 25, 26, 34, 38, 48, 54, 55, 63, 72, 89, 91, 98, 104, 108, 114).
I fully supported a new hypothesis: this book has been wildly over examined and I don’t think it deserves the credit that it has accrued over the last 100 years. And, ironically, it wasn’t until I said this to myself that I realised how foolish I had been. ‘100 years’. Of course! Wells wrote this book in 1895. 115 years ago! Of course the language will be different. He didn’t choose to write with convolution, that was just the way things were. I don’t give Shakespeare any trouble for adding th’s where they don’t belong, why should I treat H.G. Wells any differently? It took me two weeks of reading to establish this idea, but once I had it was as if a light had been switched on.
I turned the page, inspired by my epiphany and began Chapter 3. By page 38 I was fluent in Hegwellian (This is the adjectival form of H.G. Wells’ syntax). Soon enough, the epiphanies were hard to control. I realised that the use of presently wasn’t at the random whims of a mad man but one of the protagonist’s carefully constructed character traits. Only ‘The Time Traveller’ uses it. I like to think it is a subtle reference to the fact that although always in his present, he is never in any of those listening to / reading the story. I also began to realise the reason behind peoples’ fascination with this book. H.G. Wells was so far ahead of his time that even if released today the ideas hidden within this masterpiece would be as valid as they were in 1895.
The major theme throughout the book is the eventual societal split between beauty and pragmatism. It is an extension that many futurists still take today; they predict a sub species of humanity to tangent off from normal society within the next 10,000 years. This idea has been propelled forward by Wells as he asks the question: ‘Given this axiom, what will happen 900,000 years in the future?’. But it is not just the validity of his conclusions that make this work unique. It is his unparalleled ability to place a picture into your mind just by the arrangment of words. He creates a wonderous eutopia in front of you and tears it down by praying on mankind’s greatest phobia: a fear of the dark.
There is always a chance that I have fallen victim to the GCSE trap of reading between lines that don’t exist. However, if a book has made me think about all this then, whether intentional or not, the author has done his job. If you haven’t read this book it comes highly recommended and - if you have a spare weekend - it’s only 120 pages.
Enjoyment of being Human
A chill washed over the squeezed figure of a man as he sipped his tea and took a long drag on a cigarette in the moonlit garden. No man-made sounds could be heard at this time of night; just the creaks of complaint as the trees gently swayed in the darkness. He gazed up at the stars and thought about how many other sentient beings in the Universe were doing the same - realising how small they really were. His race had conquered this planet by mastering the game of evolution. Genetically shifting and drifting towards perfection. As he made a mental checklist of the constellations he recognised, he saw something moving across the sky. It couldn’t be a shooting star, far too lazy. It was more of a walking star. A spaceship perhaps? It was tracking the night sky at a slow and constant speed from East to West.
After a little research and a few emails to the Edinburgh Royal Observatory, I discovered that what I saw that night was in fact a spaceship. It was the International Space Station. The ISS contains a rotating crew of scientists from 16 nations, maintaining a permanent human presence in space. I’m not going to go into everything they do up there 240 miles above our heads because that’s not the point I’m making. (I have, however, put some links at the bottom which give you all the info you need and also tell you when it is next visible to you wherever you may be in the world).
You have to agree that this is an incredible achievement for humankind. We have a community in space! Why aren’t we more proud of this? At the moment, it is very fashionable to hate mankind; hate what we have done to destroy our planet, and hate what we have done to each other. It is so rare that we pat ourselves on the back and say, “Well done us!”.
We have seen to the farthest edge of the Universe, and mapped it out as well. We have walked on a world 240,000 miles away from the one we call home and driven a remote control car on one that is 35 million miles away! But I’m not just talking about space exploration though. We have connected the entire world by laying cables across the sea bed. We have the ability to jump on a plane and be anywhere else in the world in under 24 hours. We have scaled the world’s highest mountains and plummeted deep into the oceans. We don’t even need wires to listen to any global radio station or to charge our phones
These are just the first ones that come to mind. I haven’t even touched on the societies we have created or the thousands upon thousands of incredible inventions and discoveries we have come to take for granted. All I’m saying is that occasionally, it is really nice to take a step back from hating ourselves and appreciate all that we have accomplished. We should start celebrating all the things we’ve created rather than resenting them. We should start enjoying being human. I love living in this time, and I think we should all say it more!
Get backseat livin’, or get backseat dying’!
Three weeks ago, I was on my way from my house in Canonmills to the centre of Edinburgh with my friend. As we were crossing the road, I used the ‘half-step technique’ to let the approaching Volvo know my intentions. Before I knew it I felt something alien seatbelt across my chest. What the hell was that? I looked to my left to discover the source of this phenomenon was my friend’s arm. Now, I’ve been walking for 20 years and crossing roads for fifteen of them. I would never have walked in front of a car: let alone a Volvo. If I had to die on the road it would be either in a Bugatti or because of one. But my problem didn’t solely lie with this lack of trust. He had completely ruined my credibility with the Volvo. The beige monstrosity may well have stopped, but he realised quickly that the alpha male next to me had removed any reason for him to slow.
I proceeded in the same way any sane man would. I experimented. I wanted to see just how little I could do when it came to walking. We came to the next set of crossroads and I did the same. This time stepping slightly further into the road. Sure enough, a hand grabbed my forearm and a slight “Woah!” crept out of his mouth. But he didn’t let that phase him. He continued with his story. After a few more of these incidents I got a little braver. I found that I could flick a switch in my head that turned me onto autopilot. I simply had to navigate corners, old ladies, and phone boxes; he did the rest for me. I imagine he didn’t even realise he was doing it. Nevertheless, I could sink into a danger-less bliss, knowing he would protect me from harm.
This weird oddity in my friend is reminiscent of a backseat driver, only less selfish. A backseat driver is ultimately worried about themselves. This, however, is purely selfless. He doesn’t expect credit - in fact, thanks to the thousands who’ll read this blog, I expect him to get ridiculed. But I doubt (and hope) that he will not stop. I fear I have become too dependant on his guidance. I no longer trust myself. I worry that the voluntary switch I created in my mind has become involuntary - that as soon as I begin walking, I can’t think about the dangers. It seems that my independence has been compromised and I’m not sure I want to leave the house without him.
So here is the point, if you are lucky enough to have a friend who does this for you. Don’t abuse this privilege. Treat it for what it is - a treat. Don’t become dependent on something you can’t control. Get out there and walk until your feet bleed. As for me, I have decided to enrol in an adult walking course. Wish me luck.
Mankind’s Greatest Mark
It is a cold December night. There is a sharp chill in the air. A man, six foot tall, lumbers down the icy stairs to his basement home struggling with an ominous wooden box. After fumbling about the keyhole he enters the dark underground flat, and turns on the light. He puts down the wooden compartment and takes a look inside. Good. They are still alive.
By this point, I imagine it is fairly evident to you all that I am referring to two baby rabbits inside a hutch as I carry them to my door. My house mates and I were tasked with naming these then personality-less creatures.
The first was an obvious choice: Ampersand - named after the Capuchin monkey, one of only two mammals immune to the “plague” in DC Comic’s “Y: The Last Man”. The second seemed to cause some real problems for us all. I was pushing for Yorick (the other character from “Y” but alas, he was male and I was outvoted) But that didn’t get me down. I wanted to stick with the theme of punctuation but we just couldn’t seem agree on which mark. Some that we came up with but quickly dismissed were:
Tilde - too old;
Slash - too violent;
Stroke - too fate-tempting;
Asterisk - too much like a dyslexic Frenchman resisting the Roman onslaught;
Colon - hopefully needs no explanation.
We eventually settled on Harmony for some ridiculous reason - why we didn’t go for ellipses I’ll never know. It’s feminine, relatively neutral, and a punctuation mark…ticks all the boxes.
But believe it or not, rabbit naming was not supposed to be the subject matter of this blog, so for that, I apologise. It was supposed to be about a little known punctuation mark that I came across in my research. Not only is this mark used by everyone everyday, it has a fantastic name and takes less effort (with practice!) to write! It is called…the INTERROBANG! It uses the force of an exclamation mark combined with the interrogation of the question mark. No longer must we rely on the unglamorous assembly of both these symbols. We can do away with the inelegance of alternating between the two to express curious excitement or incensed questioning. I can’t help but feel that Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix would have been 200 pages shorter had JK known about this glorious sign sooner. By now I can tell that you are all on the edge of your seats, possibly even knowingly using your first interrobang, shrieking:
“But what does it look like?!”
Well, my new friends, this is what it looks like…
