when all one’s prospect
landscapes, portraits, flowers, are
nothing but a line
If my Readers have followed me with any attention up to this point, they will not be surprised to hear that life is somewhat dull in Flatland.
I do not, of course, mean that there are not battles, conspiracies, tumults, factions, and all those other phenomena which are supposed to make History interesting; nor would I deny that the strange mixture of the problems of life and the problems of Mathematics, continually inducing conjecture and giving the opportunity of immediate verification, imparts to our existence a zest which you in Spaceland can hardly comprehend.
I speak now from the æsthetic and artistic point of view when I say that life with us is dull; æsthetically and artistically, very dull indeed.
How can it be otherwise, when all one’s prospect, all one’s landscapes, historical pieces, portraits, flowers, still life, are nothing but a single line, with no varieties except degrees of brightness and obscurity?
From the book, Flatland — A Romance of Many Dimensions (1884) by Edwin Abbott Abbott (1838-1926).
I am struck by the line … when all one’s prospect, all one’s landscapes, historical pieces, portraits, flowers, still life, are nothing but a single line, with no varieties except degrees of brightness and obscurity?
I feel had Mr. Abbott been writing today he would be thinking of … Florida.
Something dull, æsthetically and artistically, very dull indeed.
How can it be otherwise?
I am also reminded of James Thurber’s long short story, The Wonderful O, about an island community where everything with the letter O in it is banned.
Geese are okay as long there are geese, but if there was just one bird, it’s goose was cooked.
Words with the letter O are banned.
When Father storms out the door and is asked, “Where are going?”
“UT!” he replies, and “UT he went”, writes Mr. Thurber.
For so long, if ever I was asked where I was going I would reply, “UT and UT HE WENT!”.
So much so did I say that, that when I saw a University of Toronto sweatshirt in a Toronto store that was emblazoned with a bold UT, my friends told me, “Hoffman You HAVE TO GET THAT!”
And I did.
And I wore it for years.
And I explained why as well, when ever I could.
The people of the Island put up with this O business for a while until they figure out that without the letter O you lose the word FREEDOM.
As Thurber writes:
Then they heard the ringing of a distant bell, sounding near and sounding nearer, ringing clear and ringing clearer, till all the sky was filled with music as by magic.
“Freedom!” Andrea echoed after him, and the sound of the greatest word turned the vandals pale and made them tremble.
Take away that word.
Take away that letter O.
And what do you have but a place where all one’s prospect, all one’s landscapes, historical pieces, portraits, flowers, still life, are nothing but a single line, with no varieties except degrees of brightness and obscurity?
… Flrida.
No Haiku For You 