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PEA GREEN BOAT

VERNAL EQUINOX 2012

UNCANNY
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IN THIS ISSUE

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Query — 4

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Poem: untitled — 5

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Opinion: Actroid DER3 — 6

Cinema: Tintin and The Uncanny Valley — 8

Droplets — 11

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Cinema: Metropolis— 12

Lee, Author — 14 Narcissus — 21

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Poem: Language — 20

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Poem:

Interview: Tanith Third Millennium

Interview: Dr. James Hughes, Bioethicist — 22 History — 26

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Advice: How to Pose as a Humanoid Robot — 25

Thoughts: Would you accept a Robot as your Priest or Vicar ? — 28

Opinion: The War of the Robots — 30 Review: Minecraft — 35

Thoughts: Eyebombing — 40

Video: Automatonophobia- 44 Interview: Museum of Automa - 45 History: The Uncanny Valley of the Cabbage Patch Dolls — 47 Folk Lore: Pediophobia — 52

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Cinema: Real Steel — 33

History: The Turk — 39

History: Automa — 42

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Heaven — 54

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Opinions: All Dolls Go to

Destination: Baby Land General — 57

Robots & Artificial Intelligence — 61 To A Circadian Rhythm — 73 History: Watson — 76

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Bookshelf — 72

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Essay: Poem:

Cinema: Ghost in the Machine — 74

Illusions: Can You Trust Your Eyes? — 78

Essay: Das Unheimliche — 80

Fiction: The Sand-man — 98

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Other: Nightmare at the Opera

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ABOUT THIS ISSUE

“Talk about Uncanny Valley,”
my daughter muttered. We had just seen the preview for the movie Tintin, and Krystal was clearly disgusted. Uncanny What? She explained to me the concept of Uncanny Valley and how it relates to CGI. I was intrigued and when we got home I googled up UNCANNY and this issue was born. The concept of Uncanny seems to be a mixed bag of low-brow and high-brow thinking. On the one hand, there is the superstitious nightmare rooted deeply in our unconscious mind, while on the other (bionic hand), there is very real impact of bio-technology pursued without planning. Pulling together the content for this PGB was different from previ-

ous issues. There was an almost organic quality about the way bits and pieces of ideas clicked together, not only inside my head, but on the page as well. It was almost as if I was being googled to a better understanding of one of the great human mysteries: What defines alive? Working on this issue has been a phenomenal experience for me. Not only did I learn amazing new things (a smoking robot, who knew?), but I had the opportunity to interview some amazing people such as my alltime favorite author, Tanith Lee; and the exceptionally brilliant Dr. James Hughes. I cannot thank them enough for being kind enough to answer my questions. Additionally, this issue contains some fantastic art work by young artists. I urge you to visit their websites to experience more of their incredible talent. All links have been highlighted in bright blue or enclosed in a bright blue frame for easy identification. One significant change for this issue is the inclusion of icons, where ever possible, to let you know where links are going to lead, so you know if it’s a wiki-link, video, or standard webpage. In the cases where an author/artist name appears, a link to their site is provided. You’ll find the miscellaneous credits on the next to last page. With all that said, I think you will find an array of
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interesting ideas to contemplate. While I started out asking “Why are some people afraid of dolls?” in the end I was left with “What is it that makes up a soul?”

Namaste.

QUERY

What is Transhumanism?

Where is the Uncanny Valley ?
Who put the uncanny”in Uncanny Valley?

Can a polygon make you cry? By Jonathan Joly
What is Das Unheimliche?

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
What is the Chinese room?

Do robots have souls?
What sort of people should there be?

Clockwork Prayer: A 16th-Century Mechanical Monk by Elizabeth King

How will we Game in the Future?

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POEM

On the bank at the end Of what was there before us Gazing over to the other side On what we can become Veiled in the mist of naïve speculation We are busy here preparing Rafts to carry us across Before the light goes out leaving us In the eternal night of could-have-been

Utan gränser (No Boundaries) by Erik Johansson

Poem By Professor Nick Bostrom

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How did you feel when you first saw the Actroid DER3?
As with others suffering from the uncanny valley effect I was a little unnerved to see the Actroid DER3. The attempt to replicate the human appearance at least on a basic level leaves it with an inhuman quality similar to posthumous photography during the past when family photos were usually taken after the deaths of a relative.

What do you find amazing about the Actroid DER3?
I think all androids are amazing in their own way. The fact that we've come from our clunky old terminals to being able to create something so close to resembling humans that it makes us question our own judgment is simply amazing.

What elements make the Actroid DER3 seem alive?
The way they have created facial features and physical appearance here make them seem very much alive. Interaction with humans make them seem even more so when they turn to gesture to multiple people at once in a large group while speaking.

OPINION

Why do you "prefer" the less human robot?
The i-Fairy's appearance does nothing to hide the fact that it is an obviously mechanical being and as such does not pose the possibility of a replacement for living, breathing humans. The more child-like proportions and immature voice has an almost cute quality about it is dis-alarming in nature.

Are there any elements that make the Actroid DER3 seem “not-right?”
Overall, the Actroid's performance is well-rounded and efficient. There are many movements that seem automated and "robotic" such as blinking, and swaying with turns... I do think some variation in facial expression as well as eye contact with others would be useful as well for a convincing and sincere performance. I do wonder where the future will situate us with these creations. I hope best that the outcome is a good one, and I wish luck to the creators of these brilliant androids.

Were you aware that Kokoro is the manufacturer for both actroids and the iFairy?
I may have been aware, but until now I didn't draw any parallels about the fact.
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When you first saw the Actroid DER3 you commented: “These thing are getting better and better. We’ll have no chance to survive in the future when we fight them," what did you mean?
When I saw it I felt like the world is going in a direction -- some people dislike it, some like it. This direction is all about evolution and it means that we have to either accept it or fight it. I like evolution. The media makes me think that (evolution) has to take place the way it does. There is no way to change. The media controls our brains and if it advertises that robots are great and will help us in the future, then it is fine with us. So I saw it positively, as the next natural step to our evolution and survival of our race as humans.

What direction do you see humans moving in -- robots as tools or robots as beings?
irst of all robots can't make decisions on their own, so the future would be robots as tools. But this is the near future -- for robots to become beings, humans need better technology, which won’t happen for at least a hundred of years to come. Assuming humans will reach that level of technology. Yes! Robots will become beings, but they will be very different from humans. They will have a better understanding. They won't be able to make moral mistakes, because they will not have their own ethics. Their mistakes will be one in a million, because we are talking about robots at least two hundred years from now. These robots will be really advanced. So the point is, we are talking and making assumptions about, something when we don't know how it will be in the future.

With regards to "personhood," would you be in favor of granting a set of basic rights to sentient artificial life forms?
For those who believe in a god, when god created humans, he gave them freedom so they could chose how they wanted to live. For those who do not believe in a god, nature spontaneously created life and it evolved to humans. Life got a free pass, so that it will evolve to something better. We need to give (robots) a chance. IF we are to create such life forms, we cannot be selfish. We are not gods, but we should at least take care of our creations, especially if they will be considered life forms. Of course that decision is for our descendants to make, not for us. R
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Tintin
and CINEMA

Let me start by saying that I am a huge Tintin fan. I’ve been reading the comic

The Uncanny Valley
big fan of overly dramatic work where everything is all arguments and tears and nothing funny ever happens. I guess in that child (like) audience that Herge was writing for. Tintin, who would ever take it seriously? Because of this lack of mainstream popularity, I assumed that the film foreign independent studio. I pictured beautiful, traditionally-lined work, along the lines way even as an adult I am still very much the would be produced in a small but powerful When I first saw on a random Tumblr thread of The Triplets of Belleville or The Illusionistanimation that had a lot of life and movethere was a Tintin movie in the works, I freaked out. I never felt Herge’s work had never received the attention it deserves, beprobably has at least a few copies of the trade paper backs on their shelves, hardly anyone ever seemed to know about it. You could mention it to your typical comic book collector and get nothing but a confused look in return. After all, it sounds like a silly children’s story. With a protagonist named self staring face-to-face with CGI animation I was fairly disappointed, angry even, at the style they had chosen to use to convey one of my favorite classical works. CGI is without doubt an extremely popular option- 3D GCI even more so- but it has also been more than a little played out of late. Everything aimed at children seems to be presented in

books since I was little and when I saw the new movie I pretty much fell in love all over again. It’s adventurous, it’s exciting, it’s just plain fun! There is nothing not to love. Even the goofy slap-stick style comedy which usually earns an eye-roll from me has its place in my heart when it comes to Tintin and company. It’s all about the classic nature of the work. Slapstick is okay in Tintin because it was the accepted form of popular comedy during that time period. All sorts of famous actors have dabbled in slapstick and therefore even though it is goofy, it’s an acceptable form of goofiness. It also does tend to lighten the stories quite a bit when they get really dramatic, which is always nice. I have never been a
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ment- really classic stuff. Instead I found my-

cause even though every library in the world stills.

the exact same way. Bright colors, comical character designs, famous voice actors and shiny computer graphics have quickly replaced the hand-drawn and at times sloppily produced cartoons that we have come to expect in children’s films. Story, plot and character development are just icing on the cake in a film aimed at kids (or really more like the raisins in oatmeal-raisin cookies, since they represent the educational portion of the story and it’s more likely that adults will appreciate them). Don’t get me wrong, I am a huge lover of CGI animation. Pixar, DreamWorks, Blue Sky and Illumination Entertainment are some of my favorite studios. Almost all of my favorite animated movies were produced in pure CGI or at least with the aid of a computer.

Cartoons are pretty much my favorite thing in all of existence, so that is a no-brainer. However, there are many pros and cons to CGI. Here, I’ll be focusing on the one that really tends to bother people and that is the idea of “crossing over into the uncanny valley”. You can think of the uncanny valley as a metaphorical valley with two mountains on either side. The first mountain is symbolism (think cartoons) and the second is realism (think live-action film). Our minds like to draw a clear line between the two and we prefer to stay on one side or the other. When we climb down into that valley our brains start to feel a little uncomfortable. Things that we know are real and things that we know are not real suddenly occupy the same

space and that alarms us. It may not be a straight-out “oh my gosh this is terrifying” (unless you’ve studied 3D animation, then it really stands out) but somewhere in the back of our minds we are thinking “I don’t understand- what is happening- I am somewhat frightened- I can’t really comprehend this at all”. The long and short of it is that we don’t like being in that valley. A world-class example of CGI’s occasional travels into the uncanny valley is The Polar Express. I won’t go into this film here because I could write an entire dissertation on how it failed in about every way, but I will provide you with a few screen shots of the film (courtesy of IMDb), which will hopefully speak for itself: This isn't just poor anima-

tion, this is legitimately creepy.

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Enough about that. Let’s get back to the real reason for this article.

After all, the characters on and lashes reflect the light ginger color of the screen didn’t look his hair. The nose and mouth are realistic, like the characters from yet still cartoon-like. It all comes together to the comic; they looked create a perfect interpretation of Tintin. like totally different people. But at the same time, they didn’t look that different at all. Sure they were 3Dimensional, so they had features like freckles and pores, detailed hair and textured clothing that the original designs didn’t have because of Herge’s simplistic drawing style. But that didn’t really make them any less of the characters they were supposed to be. Tintin, for example, still has his signature
tintin.com

Tintin
the Reason Why it was Not Nearly as Bad as I thought it would be
Right away I could tell the movie was going to be great. The music, the setting, and the characters- everything felt perfectly… Tintin. It was almost like watching fan artbeautifully and lovingly rendered fan artcome to life. The makers of this film really had a love for the work they were doing.
and

That’s really what the movie felt like to me, a perfect interpretation of a fantastic work. The combined creative powers of the director, producers, actors and VFX (visual effects) artists really came together to create a magical journey into a world of excite-

The actors obviously enjoyed themselves as ginger cowlick even though in the movie you could hear it in their voices and see it in the hair is rendered with extreme realism. the motions and gestures they used to create the performance capture animation for the movie. I could feel that the characters were exactly who they are supposed to be; it felt right. That was unexpected. I really thought that the characters would be more zombified, lifeless and expressionless dolls, us.
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Instead of a mere five or six lines making up ment and adventure, coupled together with the outline of his hair he has a whole head appealing characters and a wonderful storyof hair, but though the detail is extreme it is line. I truly enjoyed Tintin as both a fan of not distracting. The same goes for his face. In Herge’s style Tintin’s eyes are mere dots, his nose a simple half-circle and his mouth a single curved line. In the movie his face is the comics and a fan of animation. I think that anyone who only looks at this movie as another CGI kids’ film is really missing out on a one-of-a-kind remake of a classic adventure tale which is loved by millions of

like past motion capture CGI films had given full of details; you could easily study it for

hours. His eyes are a rich blue and his brows kids and adults the world over. B

Droplets a visual poem by Thomas Wingfield

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Metropolis is the primary point of reference for films ranging from Frankenstein to Batman to Titanic. No science fiction film made since its release can escape its influence, even if its only point of reference is Metropolis's emphasis on special effects and design. Entire cycles of horror movies bear the stamp of Metropolis, with it's climactic tide of angry villagers and mad science. - -Christianne Benedict,

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“...an epic about conflicts that are ages old.”

In July of 2008, I blogged about the discovery of an almost complete edition of Fritz Lang’s groundbreaking 1927 film Metropolis in a museum in Buenos Aires. The footage had just been authenticated by the Friedrich-Wilhelm-Murnau Foundation, holders of the rights to “Metropolis”, and restoration was still on a distant and hazy horizon. Well that day has arrived, earlier than I expected. The movie is now complete with the 25 minutes of additional footage discovered in Argentina plus it’s been re-edited according to the Buenos Aires reels’ blueprint. (Before then there was no original Lang cut, just educated guesses of how he had edited the film.) Although the newly discovered footage is noticeably scratched up by a poor conversion to 16mm from the original 35mm nitrate done in the 70s, it adds a great deal to the movie we know. Some of the newly inserted material

CINEMA

consists of brief reaction shots, just a few seconds long, which establish or accentuate a character’s mood. But there are also several much longer scenes, including one lasting more than seven minutes, that restore subplots completely eliminated from the Paramount version. For example, the “Thin Man,” who in the standard version appears to be a glorified butler to the city’s all-powerful founder, turns out instead to be a much more sinister figure, a combination of spy and detective. The founder’s personal assistant, who is fired in an early scene, also plays a greater role, helping the founder’s idealistic son navigate his way through the proletarian underworld. The cumulative result is a version of Metropolis whose tone and focus have been changed. “It’s no longer a science-fiction film,” said Martin Koerber, a German film archivist and historian who supervised the latest restoration and the earlier one in 2001. “The balance of the story has been given back. It’s now a film that encompasses many genres, an epic about conflicts that are ages old. The science-fiction disguise is now very, very thin.” You can read more details about the restoration on the website of Kino International, he theatrical distribution company releasing the complete Metropolis. The Kino site also has an awesome photo gallery of stills from the movie, plus behind the scenes shots, unspeakably

By Livius Drusus

badass production designs and original publicity posters. B
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Biting the SuN

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Biting the Sun by Celine Loup

ject.’ Who has never been aware, say, of an ornament, or crock-

INTERVIEW
British author, Tanith Lee, was the first woman to win the British Fantasy Award for Death's Master. She has published over 70 novels and 250 short stories within the genres of science fiction, horror, and fantasy. Her Four-Bee series, Don’t Bite the Sun and Drinking Sapphire Wine describe a future where death has been almost eliminated, people design their own bodies, and the human race is served by artificially created quasi-robots (Q-R).

ery, that subtly always moves out of position; two necklaces or chains, laid down perfectly flat, that become nearly irreparably entangled, keys that disappear/reappear? And who, apart from the calmest among us, has never wanted to hurl their typewriter or laptop or cell phone through a window, since it has just deleted a vital something, gone to sleep, without our direction to do so? Beside that innate conviction, I knew myself (very acutely, at twenty) living in a world of mortal discontent, where so many of us struggle with our physical selves – hair, body-shape, skin, general stamina; and even, too though not in my case, were unhappy with their gender. Plus, of course, the shadow of ultimately unegotiable death. The High Tech solutions of Four BEE, BAA, and BOO were an inevitable wish-fulfillment response to all of that. But, as they say, be careful what you wish for. The solution which removes all the original problems, can, and very likely will, create a whole fresh set of problems. My one very strong, if oblique, literary influence in that direction is, I now believe, Aldous Huxley’s extraordinary novel, Brave New World. I read it around age 18, and looking back now, I kind of sense a couple of Huxley’s strong pantherine pawmarks have scratched my light and far more frivolous and crazy text. PGB: In Drinking Sapphire Wine, a quasi-robot (android) states:

PEA GREEN BOAT: In an excellent example of Uncanny Valley, the protagonist of Drinking Sapphire Wine says:

“I felt sick…but also because it was finally out, the bare facts of their rivalry, what I had always instinctively felt….in some hidden dark of their personae, they hated and despised us.”
This was written in 1976, where did you get your inspiration? TANITH LEE: I’d been hooked on SF/Fantasy (along with myth and history) since the late 1950s: my brilliant mother was an aficionado. So no doubt Asimov, Bradbury, Leiber, and Sturgeon, amongst others had an influence. But also I’ve always felt that there is much more to any machine -- even typewriter, hoover, or telephone, let alone car, plane, or computer -- than simple machinery. That is, there’s no such thing as an ‘inanimate ob-

“No life spark is required to create an android, since we are electronically motivated, but we are grown from cells and possess flesh as you do.”
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This implies the androids and humans are physically the same. Was that your intent? How does the artificial life form of the Q-R fit in the immortal culture of the Four-Bee world?

TL: Machines, even if vastly physically like or unlike humans, are also ‘living’ in their
own fashion, and probably more resemble us, as we them, than we normally care to notice. After all, in the cities of the Fours, , given the virtually flawless changes, repairs, and regenerations, is there much difference? The galvanic force that charges the machines and androids is an equivalent to the electric force – live spark (soul?) that fires up the human body. Despite what the Q-R excludingly says, revealing that proud exclusivity, there, is not the prerogative of the human. The body fails for whatever cause, and you recharge it – with that same galvanic force. And the ‘artificial life’ of the Q-R is artificial only because the machinery it inhabits has been created, and kept, a slave. And slaves rebel. This inevitable notion, not unknown elsewhere in SF, would have been one of the ingredients of a third Four BEE book I’d wanted to write back then. (There are four cities, we’re told. What is the fourth one? Four BYY- which is pronounced /bī/ - and it is a ruin. What did that?) In fact, two later novels of mine, The Silver Metal Lover and Metallic Love, to some degree pick up on some of the open doors in the Four BEE duo. With an altered emphasis, inevitable; Silver and Love are very separate books. But anyone, maybe, who read and recalls the two sets, might suspect a connection. As I now do. With just a touch of the Ugly Duckling, Tanith Lee’s novel Electric Forest focuses on a malformed woman given the opportunity to have her conscious transferred into an absolutely perfect android body. The only catch is the body is a double of a rich and powerful woman who is as cruel as she is beautiful.
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PGB: Did Fritz Lang’s film Metropolis inspire the concept of your novel Electric Forest (1979)? Is it a coincidence the cover art by Don Maitz emulates Lang’s transformation scene with Marie/Hel? TL: Certainly I’d heard of Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, but never its plot-line, and I didn’t manage to see the movie until the late ‘80s. Therefore it did not inspire Electric Forest, which – for me – is (once more) far less about the technicality of robots or androids, than the search for physical perfection, and the curiosity of twinned doubles and individual identity. That being the case, I’d never would have associated Don Maitz’s excellent cover with the movie. How very interesting – I’ve been staring at it off and on ever since your question!
Tanith Lee’s S.I.L.V.E.R. series takes place in a world where technology has created perfect androids. Too perfect as it turns out, “exactly like – or better – than a human man.”

PGB: What inspired The Silver Metal Lover (1981)? TL: This was one that very decidedly came from out of the blue, like a bird flying in at an open window and perching on my shoulder. Though the windows were shut where I was sitting in the BBC TV center, talking to a director and fellow writers, all of us working then on episodes of Blake’s 7. I loved being -- though so briefly -- part of Blake, and only lost the thread of discussion for a second or so. Nevertheless, that was long enough, to fix an image in my brain…that of an android exactly like – or better – than a human man…and the title too was there immediately. I wrote the novel in about two weeks, not unheard of for me. The horror and tragedy that occur near the end (of SML) caused me to wreak the grill-pan of my oven, since, in writing, I’d forgot I’d left it on. Only the black crisped smell of burnt metal, mingling with my tears, alerted me. A strange, perhaps pertinent event.
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PGB: Physically the robot character Silver is different from the androidous simulates seen in Electric Forest and the Four-Bee series. Silver is fully a machine,

"One of the things I love about (The Silver Metal Lover) is how Tanith explores the hard problems of consciousness without intruding on the story. It was only during times ‘away from the book,’ that I pondered her insights—how the erotic nature of love can grow souls. When I say erotic, I don’t mean pornographic. I’m referring to Eros, the god of love— the original meaning is something that brings two people together in such a way that it creates a lasting transformation." --Kim Falconer

yet he is more human. Why is that? TL: Really, we get the probable answer, the clue to Silver, at the end of the story – so I won’t give that away now. Yet, returning to my earlier arguments about machines, why not ? Why shouldn’t Silver become more human, if he had empathy? During the novel, Jane is always courteous to the other robots in her life: “Thank you,” she says, and is mocked. Why not thank mechanical door for opening, even if you do it silently, or an elevator for carrying you up and down? We, and everything, are formed at base level of the same intrinsic building blocks, those peculiar comic doodles that make up the beginnings of all Life. Steel and plastic have the same root origins as earth, air, fire, and water – and flesh. Just a thought. PGB: More than a decade passed between The Silver Metal Lover and Silver Love, and it has been announced* you will soon be releasing a third novel. How has your concept of robot/human interaction changed over time? TL: I don’t know who announced this – unless it’s left over from my website (currently crashed and, despite the best efforts of my webmasters, apparently not yet recoverable). I definitely wanted to write a third book, as with Four BEE, but again, publishers showed no interest. If I had more time and money, I’d write it anyhow. But for now it has to wait. Anyone who read the last pages of Metallic Love may have guessed where it might be leading. Which is straight back to Jane and Whatever-his-name-is-now-is-Silver. The title is The Tin Man. My concept of, and perhaps slight obsession with human-robot interaction is still as keen, and it may have changed – though I suspect it’s only intensified. For sure, I won’t know, as I usually never do, what on earth – or out of it – I’m going to say, until I can start the book. Here’s to that, then.
* Appeared in the Wikipedia entry for S.I.L.V.E.R. Series

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Tanith Lee was born in London, England. After completing her secondary education, Lee held a number of ordinary jobs. It was while working as an assistant children’s librarian, that a children’s story she submitted was selected for publication. In 1971 her children's novel, The Dragon Hoard was published. After the publication of Don’t Bite The Sun in 1976, Lee decided to become a full-time writer. She won a number of prominent awards including the British Fantasy Award.

Nebula Awards
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1975: The Birthgrave (nominated, best novel) 1980: Red As Blood (nominated, best short story) 2010: Disturbed by Her Song (nominated, best LGBT speculative fiction)

World Fantasy Awards
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1979: Night's Master (nominated, best novel) 1983: "The Gorgon" (winner, best short story) 1984: "Elle Est Trois, (La Mort)" (winner, best short story) 1984: "Nunc Dimittis" (nominated, best novella) 1984: Red As Blood, or, Tales From The Sisters Grimmer 1985: Night Visions 1 (nominated, best anthology/collection) 1987: Dreams Of Dark And Light (nominated, best anthology/collection) 1988: Night's Sorceries (nominated, best anthology/collection) 1999: "Scarlet And Gold" (nominated, best novella) 2006: "Uous" (nominated, best novella)

British Fantasy Awards
    
1979: Quest For The White Witch (nominated, best novel) 1980: Death's Master (winner, best novel) 1980: "Red As Blood" (nominated, best short story) 1981: Kill The Dead (nominated, best novel)

Guardian of the Book Illustration by Janet Jia-Ee Chui

1999: "Jedella Ghost" (nominated, best short story) 2000: "Where Does The Town Go At Night?" (nominated, best short story)

Daughter of the Night An Annotated Tanith Lee Bibliography
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POEM
At my reading every day language breathes down my nature on the podium losing myself in stolen words as kisses making out in a roll of my tongue capturing solitude with a scrappy wonder in a blunted alembic of a life sentence soon to be reflected on graffiti walls and then translated.

LANGUAGE
By B.Z. Niditch

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The “species dominance” issue will dominate our global politics this century, resulting in a major war that will kill billions of people. The issue is whether humanity should build godlike, massively intelligent machines called “artilects’ (artificial intellects), which 21st century technologies will make possible, that will have mental capacities trillions of trillions of times above the human level. Society will split into two (arguably three) major philosophical groups, murderously opposed to each other. The first group is the “Cosmists” (based on the word Cosmos) who are in favor of building artilects. The second group is the “Terrans” (based on the word Terra, the earth) who are opposed to building artilects, and the third group is the “Cyborgs”, who want to become artilects themselves by adding artilectual components to their own human brains.
--Prof. Dr. Hugo de Garis,
Cosmists vs.Terrans: A Bitter Controversy Concerning Whether Humanity Should Build Godlike Massively Intelligent Machines

Third Millennium Narcissus by Greg Stevens

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The Future as we Fear It
Dr. James Hughes Ph.D. is Executive Director of the Institute for Ethics and Emerging Technologies, is a bioethicist and sociologist at Trinity College in Hartford Connecticut where he teaches health policy and serves as Director of Institutional Research and Planning. Dr. Hughes is author of Citizen Cyborg: Why Democratic Societies Must Respond to the Redesigned Human of the Future. You created the term “democratic transhumanism,” so how do you define it? The term "democratic transhumanism" distinguishes a biopolitical stance that combines socially liberal or libertarian views (advocating internationalist, secular, free speech, and individual freedom values), with economically egalitarian views (pro-regulation, pro-redistribution, pro-social welfare values), with an openness to the transhuman benefits that science
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INTERVIEW
and technology can provide, such as longer lives and expanded abilities. It was an attempt to distinguish the views of most transhumanists, who lean Left, from the minority of highly visible Silicon Valley-centered libertarian transhumanists, on the one hand, and from the Left bioconservatives on the other. In the last six or seven years the phrase has been supplanted by the descriptor "technoprogressive" which is used to describe the same basic set of Enlightenment values and policy proposals:

human enhancement technologies, especially anti-aging therapies, should be a priority of publicly financed basic research, be well regulated for safety, and be included in programs of

universal health care; structural unemployment resulting from automation and globalization needs to be ameliorated by a defense of the social safety net, and the creation of universal basic income guarantees; global catastrophic risks, both natural and man-made, require new global programs of research, regulation and preparedness legal and political protections need to be expanded to include all self-aware persons, including the great apes, cetaceans, enhanced animals and humans, machine minds, and hybrids of animals, humans and machines alliances need to be built between technoprogressives and other progressive movements around sustainable development, global peace and security, and civil and political rights, on the principle that access to safe enabling technologies are fundamental to a better future In simple terms, what is the “personhood theory?” How do you

hood we oblige humans to pass thresholds of age, training and testing, and licensure before they can exercise other rights, such as driving a car, owning a weapon, or prescribing medicine. Children have basic personhood rights, but full adult persons who have custody over them have an obligation to protect and nurture children to their fullest possible possession of mature personhood rights. Who to include in the sphere of persons is a matter of debate, but at the IEET we generally believe that apes and cetaceans meet the threshold. Beyond higher mammals however, the sphere of potential kinds of minds is enormous, and it is very likely that some enhanced animals, post-humans and machine minds will possess only a sub-set of the traits that we consider necessary for conferring personhood status. For instance a creature might possess a high level of cognition and communication, but no sense of self-awareness or separate egoistic interests. In fact, when designing AI we will probably attempt to avoid creating creatures with interests separate from our own, since they could be quite dangerous. Post-humans meanwhile may experiment with cognitive capacities in ways that sometimes take them outside of the sphere of "persons" with political claims to rights, such as if they suppress capacities for empathy, memory or identity. What ethical obligations are involved in the development of A.I.? We first have an ethical obligation to all present and future persons to ensure that the creation of machine intelligence enhances their life options, and doesn't diminish or extinguish them. The most extreme version of this dilemma is posed by the possibility of a hostile superintelligence which could be an existential risk to life as we understand it. Short of that the simple
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think it is/will be applied to A.I.? In Enlightenment thought "persons" are beings aware of themselves with interests that they enact over time through conscious life plans. Personhood is a threshold which confers some rights, while there are levels of rights both above and below personhood. Society is not obliged to treat beings without personhood, such as most animals, human embryos and humans who are permanently unconscious, as having a fundamental right to exist in themselves, a "right to life." To the extent that non-persons can experience pain however we are obliged to minimize their pain. Above person-

expansion of automation and robotics will likely eliminate most forms of human labor, which could result in widespread poverty, starvation and death, and the return of a feudal order. Conversely a wellregulated transition to an automated future with a basic income guarantee could create an egalitarian society in which humans all benefit from leisure. We also have ethical obligations in relationship to the specific kinds of AI will create. As I mentioned above, we should avoid creating selfwilled machine minds because of the dangers they might pose to the humans they are intended to serve. But we also have an obligation to the machine minds themselves to avoid making them self-aware. Our ability to design self-aware creatures with desires that could be thwarted by slavery, or perhaps even worse to design creatures who only desire to serve humans and have no will to self-development, is very troubling. If self-willed self-aware machine minds do get created, or emerge naturally, and are not a catastrophic threat, then we have an obligation to determine which ones can fit into the social order as rights-bearing citizens. What direction do you see technology headed – robots as tools or robots as beings? It partly depends on whether self-aware machine minds are first created by brain-machine interfaces, brain emulation and brain "uploading," or are designed de novo in machines, or worse, emerge spontaneously. The closer the connection to human brains that machine minds have the more likely they are to retain the characteristics of personhood that we can recognize and work with as fellow citizens. But a mind that emerges more from silicon is unlikely to have anything in common with human minds, and more likely to either be a tool without a will of its own, or a being that we can't communicate or co-exist with.
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Bio-Guardian collaboration by Thomas Wingfield and Joe Mclean

B

umanoid Robot H How to Pose as a
PRETEND TO BE DAMAGED
range behavior while failing A damaged robot may exhibit st to transmit identification. CHANGE YOUR HEAT SIGNATURE . Rub your exposed skin with Stuff aluminum foil in your pants gold metal around your cool mud. Hang a hulking piece of uit. Your heat signature neck and slip into an Adidas jumps nor will it match a healthy will not match a healthy robot, human being. MAKE SOME NOISE p should suffice. Make occasional screeching beep or boo An no audition. it quick and strangled; this is MOVE LIKE A ROBOT mark clumsiness that Early robots exhibited a trade Contemporary robots are wned a dance called the robot. spa Pretend you are either re dexterous - unless broken. mo ed break-dancing machine, damaged machinery or a well-oil art of robot territory. pop and lock your way into the he and T D DON' LOOK BACK IF CONFRONTED KEEP MOVING AN robots and pretend to be You're just a poser, so ignore other nt. Keep your head down and completely oblivious to the environme e. The fate of the entire hushuffle forward with a steady, even pac man race may depend on it.
excerpt from How to Survive a Robot uprising by Daniel H. Wilson

ADVICE

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ROBO-MONK
MEDIA
“...The robot monk resides at Hotoku-ji, a temple in Kakogawa City, Hyogo Prefecture. Fixed in a kneeling position, it features a smoothly shaven head and prominent ears, just like its human counterparts. Clad in priestly robes, it grasps a string of juzu (Buddhist pray-

The future is being created today.
- Faith D'Aluisio

Hotoku-ji monk hard at work

er beads) in its left hand. So what does Hotoku-ji's robot priest do? Most of the time it sits absolutely still--one could say it meditates. When its sensors detect a worshipper approaching the altar, however, the robot goes into action. It begins to chant a sutra (Buddhist prayer) while the shumoku (clapper) in its right hand rhythmically strikes a mokugyo, a hollow wooden object something like a gong and a drum. This particular robot is the creation of Yoshihiro Motooka, a 65-year-old former railway technician. Most interesting is that the creator, in line with Buddhist precepts against wasteful excess, made the robot with discarded items, including parts from a bicycle, a cassette tape recorder, and a washing machine motor…” May 28, 1999

“The bride, Inoue, works for the company that makes the i-Fairy, and her husband, Shibata, is a client. "It's true that robots are what caused us to first begin going out, and as suggested by my wife, we decided that we wanted to try this sort of wedding," Shibata said after making his vows. After saying "I do," the bride said that she wanted to use her wedding to show people that robots can easily fit into their daily lives. "I always felt that robots would become more integrated into people's everyday lives. This cute robot is part of my company, I decided that I would love to have it at my ceremony," Inoue said. Makers of the robot, Kokoro Ltd, said that while they are still selling the iFairy with the stated purpose of helping visitors, they're happy for the machine to help weddings cross the digital divide.” AssociatedPress

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ROBO-PRIEST TAKES CENTER STAGE
YOKOHAMA, JAPAN - The bearded priest kneels on his cushion in front of a Buddhist altar. Incense fills the air, as after each verse to strike a small brass gong. "We are very proud of him," says Isao Hirata, a hovering acolyte in a navy blue business suit. "He's so lifelike ... one of our finest creations." First, they automated the humans out of car-making; now, Japan's electronic whiz-kids have made an even more out of religion. Here, on a hillside in a suburb of Japan's second city, a conlion marrying the marvels of modern oldest religions. In this high-tech chapel, all glass and stainless steel, computers and hydraulics do the Lord's work. Mr Hirata presses a button on his control pad and the priest switches to another prayer routine - all recorded in stereo. The priest bows his head and moves his lips in sync with the chant. Robo-Priest cost nearly $¥500,000. He is programmed perfect prayers according to the rites of seven different tian faiths. At the push of a button, religious statues are hydraulically pumped into center-stage ... seven different Buddhas, a Catholic Christ on a cross, and a slightly Protestants. There are two vacant niches to accommodate any Jewish or Hinand buying a perpetual lease on one will set you back $¥44,000. Funeral services and rental of the chapel's many modern es which can be hydraulically raised and lowered -could cost another $¥100,000 or more. Robo-Priest was built to promote this automated necropolis, says the chapel's curator, Mr Tohru Sakurai. The date of a client's death will be programmed into the computer, and every year the priest will descend hydraulically from his attic in the ceiling and say sutras for the soul of the departed for half an hour. of business," Mr Sakurai said. "However, the robot never forgets an anniversary, it never makes a mistake and you get the service free." Since the chapel opened in October, Mr Sakurai says business has been quite brisk - 200 grave sites have been sold. Sydney Morning Herald, May 4 1993
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Mechanical priest performing funeral rituals in Yokohama, Japan © Don Farber

he chants a sutra for the dead, pausing to deliver word-

Buddhist sects, Shinto and two Chris-

daring breakthrough: taking the priests more haggard-looking one for the

The Citizen Ottawa, Canada Monday April 22,

struction magnate has spent $¥18 mil- du Yokohamans who may feel left out. Robo-Priest is the centerpiece of a Yoshino, 59, the head of a Yokohama construction company who decided last year to get into aging Japan's lucrative and highly competitive funeral industry. Behind the chapel is a cemetery where Mr Yoshino hopes to make his profit. There are 1,300 grave sites here (swept and watered daily by a robot caretaker), robotics to the mysteries of the world's chapel built to the design of Mr Hideo

facilities, which include tables and bench- "We are not trying to do live priests out

Would you accept a robot as your priest or vicar?
By Danielle Elizabeth Tumminio

THOUGHTS
With artificial intelligence and robots taking over jobs from bank teller to carpet cleaner, I decided to see whether something called the Cleverbot could take over mine. The Cleverbot is a kind of artificial intelligence application that chats with humans using sentences from previous conversations. It is the consummate copycat. I, on the other hand, am an Episcopalian priest. I teach people about faith, guide them through difficult spiritual moments and assist with sacraments. I like to think I'm irreplaceable – or, at least, irreplaceable as far as machines are concerned –but perhaps my assumption is incorrect. Let's say you wanted the Cleverbot to be your priest or pastor. How would it fare? I decided to start by asking it some basic questions about Christianity. Me: Who is Jesus? Cleverbot: Jesus is the son of God. A disturbingly good start, I thought. Me: What does "son of God" mean? Cleverbot: I'm not sure.
(Continued on page 29)

“The monk is driven by a key-wound spring and walks the path of a square, striking his chest with his right arm, while raising and lowering a small wooden cross and rosary in his left hand, turning and nodding his head, rolling his eyes, and mouthing silent obsequies. From time to time, he brings the cross to his lips and kisses it. It is believed that the monk was manufactured by mechanician Juanelo Turriano...” - Wikipedia.com

HISTORY
28 Image courtesy of The Smithsonian Institute

Refreshingly honest. Let's try something else. Me: What is the Trinity? Cleverbot: The holy Trinity? Me: Yes. Cleverbot: What is your opinion on the

Holy Trinity?

gibly takes a long time to develop, even in humans. Maybe technology wasn't there yet. But if we extrapolate from Moore's law that the speed of computing doubles every two years, the Cleverbot's speed of thought may increase exponentially as well. Abstract thought could be just a few transistors away. So, in a final attempt to prevent priest mechanization, I decided to ask some of the questions that are as essential to a priest's toolkit as a Phillips screwdriver is to a mechanic's. Without answers to these, the Cleverbot may live in a technological cloud, but it could certainly not help seekers to reach the heavenly one. Me: What happens at Christmas? Cleverbot: You get presents at Christmas. Me: What happens at Easter? Cleverbot: We get earned time. Me: Do you know any hymns? Cleverbot: Why did the chicken cross the

Me: What happens in the Bible? Cleverbot [and yes, I swear I am not making this up]: Harry kills Voldemort. It all

ends.
So I guess my conversation proves that the Cleverbot won't be taking over my position as a religious leader any time soon. But, beyond its lack of technical knowledge, perhaps the most compelling reason congregants shouldn't be listening to its auto-generated sermons yet is that being a priest is a calling, a vocation. Even if the Cleverbot had answered every one of those questions correctly, there's more to being a priest than having knowledge at one's fingertips – or actuators, in the robot world. People become Christian leaders because of strong faith, not just strong intellect. They're motivated by a sense of calling that courses through the blood, not one that's hardwired into a motherboard. So I decided to ask the Cleverbot one last question, the one I should have asked at the beginning: Me: Do you have a calling to the priesthood? Cleverbot: A calling? I have a calculator.

Very Socratic, I thought, turning the question back at me. Me: I think it is very profound. What is your opinion of the Holy Trinity? Cleverbot: The bomb! The bomb! The

bomb!
Triple enthusiasm for the three-in-one and one-in-three went beyond even my zealotry for the Trinity. Perhaps my job was in jeopardy. Hoping the Cleverbot would not rise to the occasion, I decided to challenge it with some of the more philosophical questions I get asked as a woman of the cloth. Me: What is transubstantiation? Cleverbot: Hello? Now, perhaps abstract thought isn't the Cleverbot's strength, but its ignorance of Eucharistic theology didn't convince me that my congregation wouldn't exchange those sermons I toiled over for Cleverbot ones. After all, the capacity to think intan-

road?
Me: What happens in the book of Genesis? Cleverbot: Everyone dies. Me: Who is your favorite saint? Cleverbot: Drew Brees.

It's a graphing calculator. I use it in math class.

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Re-printed courtesy of guardian.co.uk
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In one corner, we have Robby the Robot, famous cinematic automaton of the classic film, Forbidden Planet (1956). And in the other corner, we have lovable B -9, mechanical guardian of our space family Robinson and popular hero of Lost in Space. May the best robot win…
In very silly terms, that's the set-up for this classic first season Lost in Space (1965-1968) episode, "The War of the Robots," which aired originally on CBS on February 9, 1966. Here, the stranded Robinsons (trapped on a desolate alien planet...), unexpectedly discover a quiescent "robotoid" in an overgrown grove near their homestead. The Robinsons' protective robot insists the alien machine (Robby...) is an "extreme danger" to the humans, in part because of Robby's very nature: he's a "robotoid" (unlike the Robot), and robotoids are advanced machines which can go beyond the bounds of their programming.
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The War of the Robots
By John Kenneth Muir

Robotoids have a "choice" -- according to the Robot -- in the way they follow (or don't follow...) orders and instructions. The Robinsons and especially Dr. Smith (Jonathan Harris) believe their Robot is just jealous of the new machine, which -- when activated by Will (Bill Mumy) -- shows an affinity for repairing watches, the damaged chariot, and other devices. Dr. Smith derides the family robot as a "clumsy has-been" and "obsolete" as Robby the Robotoid in short order becomes practically invaluable to the marooned Robinsons (save for Penny, who has mysteriously van(Continued on page 31)

OPINION

ished from the entire episode...without it being noticed by her Mom or longer need their original robot and that "in comparison" to himself, the B-9 is "very ignorant." Alone and abandoned, B-9 skulks away into the rocks -- having lost his family -- and soon Robby's true motives emerge. He is actually the dedicated servant to an alien scientist (a kind of dogalien that very much resembles the Anticans from the Star Trek: The Next Generation episode "Lonely Among Us" that was produced and broadcast twenty-one years later...). The Robotoid's mission is not to serve the Robinsons, but rather to disarm them, render them "harmless" and deliver them as experimental subjects to the aliens. "You are weak and vulnerable creatures," Robby tells the Robinsons, "but there are others who have need of you..." In the end, it's a battle-to-the-death between a nearly-invincible Robby (the most famous mechanical man of the movies, pre-Star Wars...) and a vastly-under-powered Bubble-Headed Booby, the most famous mechanical man of television... Honestly I have a weird sort of love/hate fascination with Lost in

the incredibly-detailed interior of the Jupiter 2, I'm virtually spellbound. and seem completely functional. I love the way the first season is shot too. In "The War of the Robots," for instance, a fluid camera glides in menacingly towards Robby the Robot at least twice -- pushing portentously towards the inscrutable juggernaut. A less efficient production might have used a zoom instead of taking the time and energy to move the camera, but you can tell that there was no expense spared in early Lost in Space, and generally, the series was well-filmed. There's even a sense of visual ingenuity (and wit...) in the episode's final battle between clunky metal men All that established, I really can't stomach the second and third seasons of Lost in Space, the color years which give "campy" entertainment (not to mention sci-fi TV...) a bad name for years and years. I've tried (with considerable dedication) to watch many of those later episodes, but overall they lack internal consistency, paint a silly picture of the universe, and feature no real character growth or humanity. In the second and third years of Lost in Space, "science" may as well be "magic" for all the logic or intelligence applied by the writers. But -- again -- I must stress that Lost in Space's first season, with its gorgeous photography and solid balance of characters, features some truly intriguing and (even creepy...) stories. Of course, you can't judge those forty-year old stories by the standards of today's science fiction. I mean, the audience that loves and admires the new Battlestar Galactica

Dad). Soon, Robby confronts the B-9 and tells him that the Robinsons no Those sets and vehicles appear fantastic and realistic at the same time,

Space. I absolutely adore the optimistic 1960s futurism on display in the
series, not to mention the wonderful conceit that space program technology has become the purview of the American nuclear family in the near future. Also, I almost universally find the set designs, gadgets, and general production values of the first season highly commendable....they outstrip the original Star Trek by a rather wide margin. Thus, I'm a huge

admirer of the first season's approach: lensed in moody black-and-white or Firefly isn't going to find a whole lot of meat here; or a whole lot of (like the Twilight Zone) and dominated by this clunky (but gorgeous) complexity either. "retro-tech." Every time I see the Robinsons' full-sized, working chariot or

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That established, there's something undeniably sweet and sort of pure about these black-and-white shows. They endure as science fiction parables about the nature of families. "The War of the Robots" is no exception to that rule. Here, the Robot feels squeezed out by his new "sibling," Robby, and becomes jealous that, well, there's somebody newer and more exciting in the room. The Robot begins striking out at those who love him (refusing to help Will...), becomes petulant and even self loathing (describing the fact that he has been denied or "cheated" out of human characteristics evidenced by the Robotoid.) Let's face it: haven't we all felt displaced like that from time to time? By a brother or a sister? By your best friend's 'new' buddy? It's strange that a story so plainly concerning sibling rivalry involves an ostensibly "emotionless" robot, but again, that's the great thing about science fiction on television: it can dramatize stories in a way a regular drama can't. Even in this episode, however, there are matters of concern in terms

of logic and consistency. Early on, Robby's alien master reveals that he left the Robotoid on the planet many years before. Later in the story, the same alien master explains that if Robby can't send a homing signal soon, they won't be able to find him, or the planet. Plainly, something doesn't connect between those two conversations. If the aliens left the robot on the planet, why can't they find it again? Similarly, I enjoyed the Robot's explanation of the subtle distinctions between robot and robotoid, but how, exactly, does a Robot from Earth (from 20th century Earth) come by this information about advanced alien robotoids? In the end, I suppose it doesn't really matter. "The War of the Robots" is a fable or lesson about jealousy, and every other consideration is secondary. And besides, if you grew up in the 1970s with an affection for Forbidden Planet's Robby and the Lost in Space Robot, there's no probably way on Earth (or in space...) you can resist an episode involving their robot-on-robot smack down...

The Laws of

a robot may not injure a human being, or through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm; a robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law; a robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.”

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CINEMA

Real Steel
be just the thing to improve their fortunes.

By Theresa Lucas

There are a lot of formulaic movies out there that try to tap into the underdog story. Movies like Rocky and The Karate Kid are classics because we can put ourselves in the shoes of the main character and the moment of victory is sweeter for it-- but what happens when you're rooting for a robot? Real Steel, a movie loosely based on a short story by Richard Matheson, is the story of Charlie Kenton (Hugh Jackman) and his in a world that no longer has any interest in boxing matches featuring human fighters. Over time audiences have moved on from

After another disastrous bout, Charlie ends up at the junkyard looking for parts to piece together another robot when Max literally falls over an old-school robot named Atom that turns out to Real Steel is one of those movies that has so many elements from other films that very little comes across as new. Take a little Rocky, sprinkle in The Champ and add some Rock 'Em Sock 'Em still a pretty good little movie.

estranged son Max. Charlie is a former boxer trying to earn a living Robots for good measure and you've got Real Steel. That said, it's Hugh Jackman has to get most of the credit for making "Real the small spectacle of of traditional boxing matches and now only Steel" a movie worth watching. Charlie isn't a sympathetic characpay the big money to watch robots slug it out in the ring, so Char- ter-- and Jackman doesn't try to make him one. He's schemes and lie chooses to eke out a living operating his own robot fighter. steals his way through life and the sudden arrival of a kid doesn't change his character. Max goes toe-to-toe with Charlie but he's He's sympathetic and cute in a predictably smart-mouthed kind of way, but we've seen him before. Charlie isn't anything new either, The story isn't set that far into the future so the world hasn't changed that much. The fights are a realistic combination of video/gladiatorial game that actually seem somewhat harmless com33

Charlie is the kind of guy who only seems capable of making bad ousness but no eye for detail and is running out of options when it comes to staying ahead of his debts. True to form Charlie aptunity to score some money rather than showing any interest in the relationship for its own sake. But Max has more than his share of stubbornness and before long is acting as his dad's fighting partner.
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decisions. He rushes into every situation with a gambler's impetu- one of those super-precocious kids that only exist in the movies.

proaches the unexpected appearance of his son Max as an oppor- but at least he takes his time evolving into someone worthwhile.

pared to the current reality-television craze. The robots take a beating, sometimes to the point of being ripped apart, but it's not cringe-worthy without the blood involved in a real-world fight. There is a slight attempt to humanize Atom but there are never any glimmers of sentience beyond the imagination of the characters, so it's hard to connect to the robot as the underdog of the story beyond a superficial level. Charlie and Max do work in that role however and there's a certain sweetness in seeing heart triumph over advanced technology. Real Steel works in that it's a film that successfully plays on the audience's emotions. Whether it's the evolution of Charlie's relationship with Max, the reconnection between Charlie and his onetime love Bailey (Evangeline Lilly) or the climactic title-fight, there's a lot of story to cheer for. Sure it's somewhat cookiecutter but it's still an entertaining way to spend two hours. And it's a diversion you can watch with your kids-- something I don't take for granted these days. I might wish that the film had explored the idea of replacing fighters with robots and Charlie's feelings about that-- it seemed like a missed opportunity that was mostly wasted on setting up the final shadowboxing scene. However Real Steel is strictly light entertainment--but it's also good fun and sometimes that's all you really need.
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(TOSY Ping Pong Playing Robot) is a bipedal humanoid robot designed by TOSY, a robotics firm in Vietnam, to play table tennis against a human. TOPIO 3.0 stands approximately 6' 2" (1.88m) tall and weighs 264 lbs (120 kg ).TOPIO uses an advanced artificial intelligence system to learn and continuously improve its skill level while playing.

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By Justin Yates

REVIEW
Minecraft at its simplest is a sandbox world where you can dig holes, pits, caverns, etc. as well as build hills, mountains, buildings, etc., but it can be so much more. Indeed unless you change the difficulty setting to “Peaceful”, the game is a survival game in addition to a creative outlet. There are two ways to play the game, single player and multiplayer. Both are pretty much the same game except that single player is played and the maps are stored on your computer, while multiplayer is played over a network connection and the maps are stored on a server which you connect to in order to play. The game starts you with no possessions whatsoever and you must find a way to survive the night which comes all too soon. As night falls, skeletons, zombies, giant spiders, and creatures known as “creepers” appear and are out to kill you. Your ob-

jective for the first day is to either craft torches to keep the creatures from spawning or to build a structure to protect you during the night. The creatures, or “mobs” as they’re called, will spawn anywhere that is dark enough, so even if you manage to craft torches, you will still need some kind of structure to protect you until you can craft weapons to fight off the mobs. The most feared mob is the Creeper, because unlike the rest of the mobs which just attack you, Creepers will explode as they approach you. You must keep your wits about you, lest you hear the dreaded “sssssssssSSSSSSSSS” which signals that they are about to explode, followed by the *BOOM!* of the explosion which will almost always kill you instantly as well as destroying any nearby blocks or structures. Setting aside the mobs, the game is a great creativity game. When you start you only have your hands to gather resources. The only resources you can gather with your hands are dirt, sand, and wood. Once you have some wood, you can start making use of another great feature of Minecraft: crafting. Using different materials in different configurations, you can make various tools, materials, resources, and so on. At any given time, you have access to a 2x2 crafting table. You can use this table to make small things such as torches, which requires a stick below a piece of coal. The most common use of the 2x2 crafting square is to make a crafting table by arranging 4 wooden planks with one in each square of the 2x2 grid. The crafting table allows the use of a 3x3 crafting grid. Another
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common use of the 2x2 grid is to process wood. One block of wood gives 4 wooden planks, two planks stacked one on top of the other gives four sticks. Sticks are used very often to craft axes, shovels, pickaxes, hoes, fishing rods, swords, bows, arrows, torches, and more. As you may have guessed, each tool has its use. Axes for wood; shovels for sand, dirt, gravel, and snow; pickaxes for stone; hoes for farming; fishing rods for fishing; swords, bows, and arrows for

since the introduction of redstone circuitry

discount (from what the full version will

there have even been rudimentary comput- cost) and get all future versions for free iners. Currently they are only 16-bit machines cluding the full version when it is released. which are basically just huge adding machines, but the potential is amazing, especially as the space available to build a machine is nearly infinite within the world of Minecraft. As technology improves and people continue to take the time to produce such creations, the possibility of having a basic computer (as we think The final version will sell for €20, but if you buy it while it’s in Beta, it only costs €14.95. The price is listed in Euros because Notch (the creator) lives in Sweden, and the exchange rates vary every day. Notch has a lot of ideas for Minecraft and I can’t wait to see what come in the future. You can learn more about Minecraft as well as buy it at http://www.minecraft.net. If you would like to follow the progress of Minecraft, you can view Notch’s blog or follow @Notch on twitter. He will often announce

battle; and torches for light. Using the tools of “computers”) within your computer is (except arrows and torches) causes wear on amazing.

his progress on Minecraft improvements as them and eventually they will break. Using a At the time of this writing, Minecraft is curwell as reveal future plans for Minecraft. B tool incorrectly, such as a shovel on stone, rently only in Beta, which means it is not the will cause the tool to be worn more quickly and break sooner. The game itself is pretty basic; dig, build, and survive, but it can be so much more with a bit of creativity. People have created huge recreations of characters, drawings, working creations such as rollercoasters, Rube Goldberg machines, cannons, and
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final, full game. Notch is constantly working on improving the game and adding features. Every so often he will release an updated version with a large batch of bug fixes, various improvements, and extra features. These updates are free and automatigame. The game is not free, but it is not too expensive either. You can buy it now at a
Minecraft 1.2 released March 1,

scenes, buildings, etc. There have also been cally downloaded when you launch the

2012

All images courtesy Mojang

Black and White Still Life By Anh Duy Nguyen

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Citizen Cyborg
“The human race's use of genetic engineering to evolve beyond our current limitations would be a central political issue of the next century. Just as in abortion and brain death, the key issue in genetic engineering was whether it is more important that we remain "human" or that we are "persons." Is there anything we must preserve about Homo sapiens DNA or "human nature"? The last two decades have added new tools to transcend our limitations, such as nanotechnology, but the basic question remains the same. In the twenty-first century the convergence of artificial intelligence, nanotechnology and genetic engineering will allow human beings to achieve things previously imagined only in science fiction. Life spans will extend well beyond a century. Our senses and cognition will be enhanced. We will gain control over our emotions and memory. We will merge with machines, and machines will become more like humans. These technologies will allow us to evolve into varieties of "posthumans" and usher us into a "transhuman" era and society.”
James Hughes. Citizen Cyborg: Why Democratic Societies Must Respond To The Redesigned Human Of The Future. Kindle Edition.

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I recently read the wonderful book The Invention of Hugo Cabret with my son. The story and beautiful illustrations conjure a surreal world in which a central character is a mechanical man. This automaton draws a wonderful picture that is central to the story. This reminded me of the most famous automaton in history – The Mechanical Turk. The Turk was touted as an early robot that could play chess at the highest level. Built in Vienna in 1770 by the inventor Wolfgang von Kempelen, the machine consisted of a large pedestal, housing intricate machinery on top of which stood a chessboard. To this box was attached the upper half of a men dressed in oriental robes and a turban. After a theatrical introduction, the automaton would face a challenger. The Turk would move its pieces by itself, and would instantly recognize illegal moves. The Turk first dazzled the court of the empress Maria Theresa in Vienna. It offered a surprisingly good game, and soon became a sensation, touring Europe and later North America. The Turk was matched against some of the best chess players of the time, loosing some games, but winning surprisingly many. It remained popular after its inventor’s death, and it even played against Napoleon Bonaparte and Benjamin Franklin. The secret of the Mechanical Turk was kept for over 50 years – the machine was an elaborate illusion. It contained an ingeniously hidden compartment that housed a human operator. This hidden chess master could observe the position on the chessboard above, and manipulate the Turk. The identity of the operator that made the Turk famous is still unknown. The original Turk was destroyed in a fire, but some of the original parts survived. It was reconstructed in 1984 – however, at this time a hidden operator was no longer necessary (a nice video of the reconstructed machine is here ). The present incarnation of the Turk is truly autonomous, its moves guided by a chess-playing computer. Today machines can play chess better than any human. However, there are plenty of things that humans can still do better: accurately transcribing dictations, or predicting which products other people will like. Interestingly, Amazon has created an online service to easily harness a large human workforce for such tasks. And they have named this service The Mechanical Turk,

The Mechanical Turk
By Kresimir Josic

HISTORY
after the 18th century automaton. Businesses can use this slick computer interface behind which are hundreds of humans that actually perform the requested tasks. The modern chess-playing Turk does not need a human operator. And this brings us to the interesting question: How long before we can replace the human operators behind Amazon’s Mechanical Turk with machines? I would like to believe that this will take a very long time. But given the acceleration in innovation that we are experiencing, it may take far less than 200 years.
Kresimir Josic is Associate Professor of Mathematics at the University of Houston and contributer to the NPR program Engines of Our Ingenuity.

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THOUGHTS

by Michael A. Arnzen
Here's a fun form of culture jamming -- a very soft and cuddly act of public defacement not unlike smiley face graffiti -- that's picking up attention online this month: "Eyebombing." "Eyebombing" is the art of sticking "googly eyes" (a.k.a. "wiggly eyes" -- the glue-on sort of craft store kind) onto

Eyebombing

an inanimate object in the public sphere in a way that cleverly lends the object the appearance of a living creature. The purpose? According to the coordinating website, eyebombing.com, it's "humanizing the world, one googly eye at a time." A wee bit subversive in nature, like drawing a mustache on a billboard celebrity. Take a snapshot of this public (de-?)facement, post it to eyebombing.com, link to it on a Facebook group or Flickr group or some other social network, and you have a mounting trend that -- while nothing new, really -- is emerging as a cute internet meme. We could _possibly_ also call this meme an instance of the popular uncanny. But maybe not in the way you might, at first, suspect. Sure, it's just anthropomorphizing. Such gestures -- which give the attributes of life to an inorganic object -- often are "uncanny" because they confuse the assumed boundary between what makes something an object and what makes something -- anything -- a subject, capable of

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"returning the gaze." We might feel an aura of weirdness for just the first moment we look at the object and see that it is back to what Freud once termed the "surmounted" childhood beliefs in an animistic world, in this case rendering everyday urban life as fantastic as the trees that talk in fairy tales or the Muppets of television childhood. Only now Oscar the Grouch doesn't live a trashcan -- he IS the trashcan. From guard rails to postal boxes, as the result of eyebombing, the objects of every-

when we turn around, precisely like those eyes on the GEICO dollar bill stack from advertising ("I always feel like somebody's

"looking back" when it's not supposed to. This reaction harkens watching me.") Of course, this is not really scaring anyone. Disturbing a few, momentarily, perhaps. But we remain "surmounted" because we are not fooled by the eyes -- they are not realistic the way that, say, fantastically customized contact lenses or the eyeballs from a "reborn doll" are. No -- these "craft" items are virtually two-dimensional in all their clitter-clatter spinning disc glory, and are located more in the realm of concepts than animals. Indeed, they seem to make a statement more than talk for themselves. The subversive act of rendering a public, hard obcan defamiliarize in a very palpable manner, like all good art -but it does so in a way that is not felt as threatening. Its unreality is domesticated -- which, while seemingly lacking in the haunting power of the uncanny is nonetheless a a defining element of many items of the _"popular"_ uncanny, which sublimates but never entirely buries repressed desire in its attempt to make the unfamiliar more familiar -- often by employing the tactics of childhood fantasy. Eyebombing is the Fozzie-Bearification of the community property -- the Jim Hensoning of the public square. There is a return of the repressed invoked here, but it very well may a repressed belief in the power of folk art, which has been increasingly "surmounted" by technology -- or even just a psychologifrom days gone by -- which here returns with a twinge of uncanny recognition. Bombs away!

E " yebombing is the act of setting googly eyes on inanimate things in the public space. Ultimately the goal is to humanize the streets, and bring sunshine to people passing by."

day life become doll-like with those cheap stick-on "googly" eyes so familiar to us from craft stores. But googly eyes are plastic simulacra to begin with. They do ably be far more uncanny and disturbing to see human beings with plastic eyes like these on their faces instead. In other words, this is a representation of the gaze, a plastic staging of the uncanny, rather than a genuinely haunting act of defamiliarization. Yet it is still -- at least at first glance -- a little uncanny. Indeed, it is the eyes themselves, far more than the objects they transform, which I would say are the harbingers of the popular uncanny. Is it not the familiarity of the googly eyes -- not of the defamiliarized postal box, but the plastic eyes themselves -used in such a strange way, that makes them seem so odd, if not haunting? The googly eyes themselves are displaced from the faces of dolls and other crafts and are now potentially not expect to encounter them. The "bombed" site -- a guard rail, a trash can, a light switch -- is surprisingly looking at us

not "move of their own accord" per se -- in fact, it would prob- ject as a personalized and personified object is still potent; it

looking at us from anywhere, especially places where we would cal reawakening of some relationship to a children's puppet

-- Eyebombing.com

B

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HISTORY

“acting of one’s own will”

Automaton

1400
The advent 8th Century BCE Homer writes that Hephaestus, blacksmith to the Greek gods, made 3legged servants -- automata -which moved under their own power and at 2
nd
www.lessing-photo.com

Century BCE

of clock-

1495
Leonardo da Vinci sketches the design for a complex automated knight, now known as “da Vinci robot”

Edo period (1603–1867)
automata known as karakuri ningyō are popular in Japan. Many of these are designed and created in China, then exported as novelties

Hero of Alexandria designs many hydraulic, pneumatic and mechanical automata including singing birds, temple tableaux, and moving statues, documenting them in Automata

1206
Al-Jazari describes complex programmable humanoid automata he designed and constructed in the Book of Knowledge of Ingenious Mechanical Devices including one that could serve drinks.

work and the use of automata in public clocks across

1560

Mechanician Juanelo Turriano builds a praying monk automa for Holy Roman Emperor Charles V

c. 1600
Clockmakers in Augsburg, Germany create “marvelous silver creatures, chariots and mechanical tabletop galleons.”

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1662
Rene Descartes envisions the universe as a machine with every living thing a complex machine composed of interdependent components that could be rationally understood.

1769 1737
French engineerJacques de Vaucanson constructs the Digesting Duck, a mechanical duck that gave the illusion of eating and defecating. Voltaire commented wryly " without the shitting duck there would be nothing to remind us of the glory of France." Wolfgang von Kempelen tours Europe with a chessplaying machine --The Turk -- which is thought to be a hoax

c.1780
James Cox builds The Peacock Clock

c.1800
The Jaquet Droz automata begin touring to promote watches

1850-1910 French Golden Age , Paris makers supplied the world with musical automata of artistry and beauty.

1969 - 1985 The Mechanical Dark Age
Computers and the space race usurped all interest in the potential of mechanism in popular culture.

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VIDEO

Automatonophobia
is the fear of anything that falsely represents a sentient being.

''Our fascination with mechanical, electrical devices to mimic human behavior just seems to be unbounded. The products of the mechanician are so incredible: That a machine

can do what a man can do!''
-- Charles F. Penniman Jr.
The Draughtsman-Writer was built in the 18th century by Henri Maillardet

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INTERVIEW

The House of Automa
The House of Automata, a specialist automata company, is located in Scotland and is run by Michael and Maria Smart. They have expertise in most types of antique & modern automata, & their clients include collectors, auction houses, media and museums.

PEA GREEN BOAT: In your experience, how do people respond to automata? House of Automa (Michael & Maria Start): People respond differently depending on the automaton. A child can be startled and scared by the Leaping Tiger and then rapidly soothed by the Rabbit in a Cabbage. A life-sized lady will awe some people as they register the different movements, breathing, eyes, etc., but the singing bird box always delights. People always give a moving automaton their full attention until very familiar of the sequence of movements. PGB: Where do automata reside in the ‘uncanny valley?’ HoA: They vary, the most disconcerting can hit the bottom like a Zombie, some animal automata are as far away from the valley as a kid’s teddy bear. Averaging them out would put them just into the uncanny valley. PGB: Do automata represent the technological innovations of their day or simply a novelty? HoA: Automata are more about power and influence then technology. The power to entertain, for example Paris Musical automata, or induce awe as in the case of Tipu's Tiger or The Jaquet Droz writer. Technological innovation often deadens the lifelike quality with the
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use of modern pneumatics, electronic screens etc. PGB: Are automata the fore-runners of modern robots? Do you feel there is any connection between the two? HoA: There is no connection between robots, machines that do a job of work, and automata, machines that replicate life. PGB: Why did you set the automata Nancy up with her own Facebook page? What sort of response has she received? Have you found anyone who seems to experience a blurring between Nancy being a automata and the possibility she might be a live person? HoA: Nancy has attracted a variety of friends including a few (modern) robot-like automata, although she relates better to her human friends as she is more stylish than useful. Nancy recently reverted to her maiden name of Nancy Animata to distinguish her from the many Nancy Turners on Facebook. With Facebook Nancy has the ability to develop an independent personality and become more autonomous particularly as a Woman. Her history is that of a machine possessed by Men. Facebook allows the female sex to claim her, interact with and develop her personality. More than one person is permitted to respond for her and each of Nancy’s authors genuinely tries to respond as she would like. Her respondents seem eager and happy to acknowledge her as an independent being. R
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QUOTE
Every religious sect and group has its amazing stories. Apparent miracles or successes might make a teaching sound more plausible, but don’t make it true. Proper interpretation of Scripture determines truth. Take for example Gothard’s “Cabbage Patch” flap. In 1986, he taught that the highly popular Cabbage Patch Dolls were causing strange and destructive behavior in children that could only be alleviated when the dolls were removed or destroyed. In a letter from his organization, his followers were told by representative Ginger Jones that to enter into a written agreement to love a doll was a violation of the First Commandment. The threat as seen by Gothard was that by adopting a doll, children might not want to raise up their own godly children. Children may “love” dolls as they do other toys, but this does not mean they worship them. Testimonials were included with the above letter about the awful effects of the dolls with no allowance made for other environmental and social factors in the homes. The Cabbage Patch doll became a scapegoat.
The Dangerous Leanings of Bill Gothard’s Teachings
by G. Richard Fisher
A STUDY IN EVOLVING FADISM

Photograph by Theresa Thanh Vu

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People magazine called it “dog-eat-dog anarchy.” The Wall Street Journal said it was “mass
hysteria” Dr. Ralph Wittenberg chairman of the Psychiatric Society during the early 80s voiced concern his about a phenomena where a person comes to believe “there is something very precious and special about something or someone. You somehow submerge your independent observations and judgment to some more authoritive person or more powerful event.”

http://www.weddingbee.com/2011/01/26/childhood-photos-at-wedding/

HISTORY

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1976 Xavier Roberts designs a soft bod-

with independently owned small businesses, mainly gift shops,

complains “ Cabbage Patch Kids degrade the concept of adoption.”

ied doll with a needle-molded face. which take CPKs all over the nation. Joking with friends, he says he “found them in the cabbage patch.” Later, Robert creates a display of his soft-sculpture “Little 1978 Roberts purchases a turn of the century medical facility in Cleve-

A Georgia housewife advertises babysitting for CPK at $10 a week. Local press state her nursery aver-

People” at the gift shop where he works. When asked much they cost, Roberts quips, “Well, they’re not for sale, but you can adopt them for $30.” The novelty of the arrangement and the uniqueness will eventually become known as Cabbage Patch Kids (CPK). 1977 Based on his own birth certificate, Roberts designs and orders 1000 faux birth certificates to be distrib-

land, Georgia and renovates it into a manufacturing and distribution center he dubs Baby Land General.

1981 Roberts takes Cabbage Patch Kids international. 500,000 dolls are sold in Japan.

ags nearly a dozen boarders on any given day. “In the adoption papers it says you agree not to leave the babies alone,” she explained.

1979 “Real People” host Skip Stephenson visits Baby Land General, stating “Crazy, even for our show.” When the CPK “Bronze Edition” is released, 15,000 dolls sell at $100

1982 Coleco purchases the rights to manufacture and distribute CPK.

of the doll design help launch what Popular national television show

By May, Coleco has sold $596.5 million dollars in CPK merchandise

1983 Dr. Joyce Brother gives CPK her In June, Coleco begins a heavy television advertising campaign. Due to enormous positive response, they discontinue TV ads stating,

each. 90% of all sales are to adults. “unreserved endorsement.”

uted with each hand-made doll. He The Chicago Tribune calls it the begins marketing his “Little Peo“polyester baby boom.” ple” at flea markets and craft fairs. This leads to distribution deals

Concerned United Birthparents, a

“We don’t need to spend the monnational support group for families ey.” who give up children for adoption
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heads of the crowd to a third perIn October, A riot over CPK dolls vania. In Dallas, Texas an group of enraged consumers threatened a store manager, demanding he unload a crate of just delivered dolls son waiting at the cash register. including West Palm Beach, North Miami Beach, Kendall, Boca Raton, and Lauderdale Lakes. The Miami Herald reported that when the doors of Jefferson Ward opened there was a “stampede” in which store employees were “trampled.” In two minutes of hysteria, people grabbing for CPK dolls overturned shelves, knocked a 75-year old man to the floor, and came to blows over dolls. One employee stated, breaks out in Philadelphia, Pennsyl- Consumers mob stores in Florida,

his store a few at a time.: When Sheriff’s deputies arrived the frenzied group stomped on their feet and kicked them. In Pennsylvania, a department
“They knocked over tables fighting with each other – there were people in mid-air. It got ugly.”

Malcolm Watson releases a paper stating the doll’s features “releasing mechanism” that triggers and instinct for nurturing in both adults and children. Unconfirmed rumors state: “a significant number of hospitals” have issued real blank birth certificates to child wanting to adopt non-CPK dolls.

store manager faced with 1,000 people, many who had been waiting 8 hours, armed himself with a baseball bat. The result was five In Charleston, West Virginia, 5,000 shoppers stormed Hill’s Department Store for 120 CPK. The manager later told a journalist: In December, ALTERNATIVES, a Georgia based non-profit said the dolls clearly “brought out the worst in consumers,” who “trampled one another in a frenzy of Christmas spirit to purchase the dolls.” Brandeis University psychologist In Yonkers, New York a local paper reports the popularity of Cabbagetizing – baptism of a CPK. Church Summit County Indiana residents ask to officially register CPKs adoptions.

“Some people were crying because causalities, one a broken leg. they didn’t get one. Some wanted and sell them immediately Thanksgiving Weekend, 1983 In Des Moines, Iowa a woman ask her grandson, a college football player, to utilize his skills to obtain a doll. With two friends running interference as the doors opened, he was able to beat the mob and obtain a doll, which he threw in a “picture-perfect spiral” to a waiting friend, who then threw it over the to sue because we had run out.” One Florida store manager, fearing the angry crowd, decided to hand out tickets and allow people into
“I started handing out tickets, and there were people all over me. They were grabbing at me, trying to trip the tickets from my hands. They were screaming and tearing at each other. They were going to kill one another just for a doll. I got back inside and called the police.”

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owner, was possessed by a “demon.” Victims claim the dolls order them to injure themselves or others. In one case an exorcist is bought in to deal with the problem. In Virginia Beach, Virginia a CPK was stolen from the Thomas House Adoption Center, but local

Davenport, Iowa. Doll owner Norm Grimstead stated: “They’ve been living together for several months. We thought it was about time.” Disc jockey Dave Schropshire quips, “This may be the first Cabbage Patch wedding. I hope it doesn’t lead to the first doll divorce.”

authorities deny these have taken “kidnapping” and reported the takes place in Corpus Christi, Texplace. culprits were quickly arrested and as in a “tiny black pine casket” plead guilty. In Palm Harbor, Florida a CPK named Effie May is elected honorary mayor on the platform of “sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows.” In Dallas, Texas a journalist reports seeing a wealthy older woman grocery shopping with a CPK “propped up in a shopping cart,” arguing out loud, then deferring to the doll for a decision. On February 29, 1984 a CPK Helen Williams organized the event as a protest against CPK no longer being exclusively distributed through small businesses, with 50 supporting small business owners and 30 CPK mourners wearing black armbands
Photograph by Theresa Thanh Vu

papers referred to the incident as March 6, 1984 A CPK funeral

Nation magazine reports: The
Reverend Jerry Falwell said that the dolls were “blasphemous caricatures”…when he first heard of the Cabbage Patch Kids, he approved of them because ‘they taught little girls to think about adoption rather than abortion.” Now, however, he believes they are ‘the spawn of Satan.’”

Rumors begins to circulate about the origins of CPK dolls, including conspiracy theories involving the government and Satanist. Another rumor is damaged dolls

Secret History of the Cabbage Patch Kids
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“couple” named Gerard and Jodie returned for repair are returned in a coffin or the owner billed for a incidents in which a CPK doll, be- Nelly are married in a service funeral. ing treated as a living child by the broadcast live by KSTT-AM in

Omni magazine reports several

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Information from Fantasy: The Incredible Cabbage Patch Phenomenon by William Hoffman (1984)

Robert
FOLK LORE
Robert Eugene Otto (1900-1974) was born to a reasonably wealthy Key West, Florida family. In 1906, a family servant made Robert a doll designed to look just like him. Local folklore contends the servant practiced voodoo and used the doll to curse the family.

the Doll

The fact that Robert Otto was an only child is reason enough for him to become attached to Robert the Doll, but he never seemed to outgrow his obsession with it. As an adult, he kept the doll in his bedroom and took it with him everyRobert Otto and Robert the Doll were often seen where -- even after he married. together, wearing matching outfits. The doll went This quirk was seen as harmless by everywhere with him, sat with the family during friends and neighbors. According to locals, Robert meals, and slept in the same bed. Eugene's parents the Doll was often seen sitting in an upstairs winsaid they often heard him talking to the doll and dow and some how this made people uncomfortathat the doll appeared to be talking back. Altble. Some people swore they had seen the expreshough at first they assumed their imaginative son sion on the doll’s face twist into a frown or threatwas simply answering himself in a changed voice; ening sneer. When Robert Otto died in 1974, Robbut according to local gossips, they later believed ert the Doll was placed in the attic. that the doll was actually speaking. After a being After Robert Otto’s death, his widow rented out woken in the night by Robert Otto’s screams, his the house with strict instructions that Robert the parents became more seriously worried. Anything Doll was to remain in the attic and not be taken that happened around the house, Robert Otto out for any reason. Her wishes were followed until pointed to the doll and said, “Robert did it!” after her death and Robert the Doll found it’s way into the collection of the Fort East Martello Museum.

Robert the Doll’s WEBSITE Robert the Doll’s BLOG Robert the Doll’s TWEETS Robert the Doll’s WIKIPEDIA ENTRY Robert the Doll on TRAVEL CHANNEL Robert the Doll on YOUTUBE Robert the Doll’s SINGLE Robert the Doll GIFT SHOP

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Isla de Las Munecas
In the Mexican boroughs of Xochimilco, a man named Julián Santana Barrera raised few eyebrows when he began collecting the broken bodies of dolls. He claimed the dolls

“My Name is Talky

kept away evil spirits. When asked, he said he believed the dolls were somehow alive, but in limbo after having been “forgotten” by their owners. Barrera lived in isolation on a man-made island used for farming, called a chinampa, in a hut with no utilities. He kept to himself, turning away visitors and seeing only family members. He decorated the trees on his chinampa with the dolls and doll parts he found in nearby canals and trash heaps. According to local folklore he was concerned with appeasing the spirit of a dead girl who had drowned in the canal. The identity of the girl is unknown, as are the details of her death, but some claim that Barrera found the dead girl himself. Locals said Barrera divided his free time between searching for additional dolls and rearranging those he put on display. In the 1990s, the display of doll parts attracted the attention of the press and Barrera found himself the center of unwanted attention. He died of old age in 2001, leaving the chinampa to his brother. It is now a popular paranormal tourist destination known as Mexico’s Island of the Dolls.
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Tina and I am going to kill you.”
In the Twilight Zone’s Living Doll episode, a little girl receives a Talky Tina doll ( modeled on Chatty Cathy), but her stepfather, Erich, angry over the cost, throws the doll across the room. When he picks it up, it says “I don’t like you.” Disturbed by the doll, Erich tries to get rid of it by throwing in the trash, burning it, and cutting it with a saw. but Talky Tina gains the upper hand and causes his death. When the mother picks the doll up, it delivers it’s famous line: My name is

Pediophobia
is a fear of dolls, manikins, or children.

Talky Tina...and you better be nice to me!

All Dolls Go To Heaven
OPINION

T

o this day, I have no idea how my mother obtained our Cabbage Patch Kids in the midst of that psychotic media blizzard. There were no toy stores in Yuma, and my parents were not the type of people who just up and flew to Chicago or New York City on a whim. This was before the Internet turned holiday shopping into a national bidding war between desperate soccer moms and entrepreneurial computer nerds. All my mother had was an outdated JC Penney catalogue and an overwhelming desire to please her children. It was a Christmas miracle. Of course, they saved the good stuff for last, making us wade through a series of colorfully-wrapped tube socks and notebooks before we finally got to the cool presents. I was so excited when I finally tore open the last package. It was a boy! But he didn’t look much like me. He had black hair made out of yarn, and his eyes were large, blue, and incredibly creepy. The expression on his fat face closely resembled Renaissance paintings of the baby Jesus, which seemed appropriate considering the circumstances. He wore a flannel shirt underneath a pair of denim overalls. On his feet were plastic tennis shoes tied with real string. It wasn’t an outfit I would have picked for myself, but then again, as my father’s deflated expression indicated, parents couldn’t dictate their children’s desires. If my son wanted to dress like a Depression-Era redneck, I wasn’t going to stand in his way. I named him Jericho. Jerry for short. I had a rather large collection of stuffed animals that were arranged in my room just so. The dogs were on the dresser, the cats were posed above the headboard of the bed, the exotic animals (lions, tigers, monkeys, etc.) were lurking on the bookcase, and the aquatic animals swam around underneath the bed. I rotated the stuffed animals that slept in bed with me in order to prevent jealousy and political infighting amongst the groups. Jerry immediately became prince of my little animal kingdom and took his place beside me in bed. After I explained the situation to the other stuffed animals and positioned Jerry in a comfortable spot on my right, my parents came to tuck me in. They always tried to get through the process without answering a million questions, but I rarely allowed that to happen.
Photograph by Theresa Thanh Vu

By Dale Bridges
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“Will Jerry go to heaven?” I asked. “No,” my father said immediately. “Absolutely not. That thing is a toy, and there are no toys in heaven.” “His name is Jerry,” I said. “What?” “He prefers to be called Jerry and not that thing.” My father made a familiar, strangling noise, which was something that often happened when he was talking to me. I continued. “Because I’m worried about Jerry going to hell. He has a plastic face, and I’m afraid the fire would melt it off.” “That thing is not going to hell either,” said my father. His neck was starting to get red the way it sometimes did when the Nebraska Cornhuskers were losing at football. “It’s a toy filled with stuffing. It’s not alive. In the Bible it says…” “But what about the Scarecrow?” I said. “The what?” “The Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz was filled with stuffing, and he was alive.” I paused to consider this. “But he didn’t have a brain. Maybe that’s the problem. Can Jerry go to heaven if he doesn’t have a brain?” “The Scarecrow is not alive either.”

“Yes-huh. If he wasn’t alive, how would he be able to help Dorothy find the Emerald City?” “That was a movie.” “Lots of movies are about real stuff.” “But this one isn’t.” “How do you know?” “I just know.” “But how do you know?” My father raised his hands in the air like a criminal surrendering to a SWAT team. “That’s it!” he said. “I’ve had enough. I’m going to bed.” He turned to my mother on his way out. “You bought him that… doll, so you deal with this.” We watched him leave, and then my mother said, “Roll over on your stomach so I can rub your back.” She sat on the edge of my bed. I rolled over, and my mother ran her fingers over my back, which was relaxing and made me sleepy. “Is Dad mad at me?” I asked. “He’s just grumpy,” she said. “Don’t pay any attention to him.” “I’m still worried about Jerry. Do you think he’ll go to heaven?” “I don’t know,” she said. “But heaven is a

paradise, right?” “Right.” “And what is a paradise?” “A paradise is a perfect place.” “That’s right. And, would heaven be a perfect place if Jerry wasn’t there?” “No.” “Then there’s your answer,” she said. “Now roll back over and accept your punishment.” I rolled over, and she kissed me on the nose. “Jerry, too,” I said. She kissed Jerry on the nose, as well, and then left the room. I was thankful for my mother’s reassurances, but I was still worried. There was a hole in her logic. In order for people to go to heaven, they had to be baptized. My father had delivered numerous sermons on the subject, and he was adamant about it. It didn’t matter what you believed, if you died without being baptized, you were going to H-E-double hockey sticks. It’s possible that Jerry’s former owner had given him proper theo55

logical instruction, but I couldn’t take that chance. I would have to solve this baptism problem, and fast. My parents both worked full time, which left a two-hour window after school during which my siblings and I were left unsupervised. It’s surprising how much mayhem you can cause and then cover up in one hundred and twenty minutes. We once turned our entire basement into a medieval castle, stormed it, broke two lamps and a hair dryer, and still managed to have everything back in order before our parents walked through the door. It was like a scene from Mary Poppins, except there was no duet between an uptight British nanny and Dick Van Dyke. Two hours was more than enough time for me to baptize Jerry before my father came home. I filled the bathtub with cold water and lit several candles. I don’t remember what the candles were for now, but they seemed appropriate at the time. I instructed my siblings to change into their Sunday clothes, and after I put on the finest clip-on tie in my collection, I brought Jerry to the bathroom. It was a simple ceremony. I asked Jerry if he believed that Jesus was the son of

God. He said that he did. I pushed him under water for a few minutes, and that was that. At least that would have been that if I hadn’t remembered the mob of unrepentant stuffed animals living in my bedroom. There was Curious George and Scooby Doo and Harry Dog and Theodora Bear. They were all heathens. How could I have been so foolish? I ran to my room and started hauling armloads of stuffed animals to the bathroom. It was quite a collection of furry anthropomorphized sinners. I rolled up my sleeves and got to work. I was cleansing the Cookie Monster’s soul when my mother came home. “I see we’ve been busy,” she said as she stood in the bathroom doorway. She looked at the pile of soggy animals in the hamper. “Swimming lessons?” “Baptism,” I said. “I see. Are you done?” “Two more.” She thought about this for a few seconds, and then she took off her jacket and picked up the hamper. “Finish up and bring them downstairs,” she said. “You

“It was a simple ceremony. I asked Jerry if he believed that Jesus was the son of God. He said that he did. I pushed him under water for a few minutes, and that was that.”
have a big mess to clean up, young man.” I finished baptizing Cookie Monster and Big Bird, and then I joined my mother downstairs, where the dryer was making a heavy plunk-plunk-plunk sound as it rotated. “Are they okay in there?” I asked. My mother nodded. “They’ll be fine. You get some towels and clean up the bathroom. I’ll keep an eye out on your disciples.” “Good thinking,” I said. I ran upstairs to get rid of the evidence." R

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Baby Land Creepy General
DESTINATION
CLICK HERE to ENTER the UNCANNY VALLEY

Yes, Cabbage Patch Kids Are Still
by Ramona Creel

When I was a smallish-sized person, Cabbage Patch Kids were all the rage, but I was pretty sure they wouldn't last. In a world where toy fads come and go, I'm amazed to see that something so weird and creepy has stood the test of time. But I'm here to report that they're still going strong -- and you can even visit the hospital where all dolls are born, out in the middle of nowhere in rural Georgia!

An Entrepreneur's Dream
In 1978, a young fabric artist started a hobby that created a cultural phenomenon, grew into a multi-million dollar business, and put Cleveland, GA on the map. Xavier Roberts (you just have to love anyone outside of a Hollywood film named Xavier!) had become interested in "needle molding," a German fabric sculpture technique from the early 1800s. He starts making strange little faces that looked a bit like potatoes with big nostrils, and eventually expanded into one-of-a-kind adoptable dolls -- complete with their own unique birth certificates. In 1978, he won first place at the Osceola Art Show with one of his early dolls named "Dexter" (not a
Baby Land General images courtesy Theresa Thanh
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serial killer.) Flush with success, Xavier hit the craft show circuit and began selling his handmade "Little People" for an adoption fee of $40 per doll. At the same time, he got some friends to help

$150. These days, they create dolls from teeny newborn "is-it-aboy-or-a-girl" babies, all the way up to what look like thuggish and sullen adolescents. You can get kids of every nationality

renovate a turn-of-the-century medical clinic in the North Georgia (although they all have the same goofy-looking face, just different Mountains into a museum and store for his creations -- called Ba- skin color -- kind of like the legions of multi-cultural “It's A Small by Land General Hospital. In the early 80's, Xavier signed a licensing agreement with Coleco to create more durable, non-original, less-expensive versions of World" children!) Whatever your taste, you can find it here -blondes, brunettes, redheads, and baldies, kids with 'fros, kids with stylable hair, and even kids that look like they are meant to have

these dolls under the name "Cabbage Patch Kids" for national dis- dreadlocks. Buy a doll to match your child (or to take the place of the child you never had) -- it's all good at Baby Land! tribution. These are the dolls most folks remember and still buy today (with vinyl heads that smell disturbingly like baby powder.) Millions were sold in the first year, but that didn't even come close to meeting demand -- and during the holiday shopping season, all you had to do was turn on the nightly news for shots of ugly mall-mob scenes with grown women fighting over who was going to get the last doll in stock. The marketing of Cabbage Patch Kids is both a sad reminder of our lack of consumer perspective and the most successful introduction of a new doll line in the history of the toy industry -- and the whole thing started in backwoods Georgia (go figure!) Fast-forward 35 years from the beginning, and Baby Land General has outgrown its original location -- the company recently built a huge 70,000 square foot building on 96 acres facility that looks more like an antebellum home than a toy store. This is where you have to go for the seriously collectible original kids. Early "Little People" can be valued at as much as $20,000 (insane, if you ask me), and you can still adopt a hand-stitched cloth baby for around
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It's Even Weirder In Person
If you thought that walking through the Cabbage Patch section at your local toy store was disconcerting, try a miniature theme park filled with creepy little kids! The speakers play cheesy hip-hop versions of nursery rhymes (yo yo black sheep, gots you any wool?) -and you are greeted by a terminally cheerful older lady in a nurse's outfit, crooked lipstick, and too much pancake makeup. She's clutching a doll to her ample bosom, talking in baby-speak, and inadvertently frightening small children with her enthusiasm. I couldn't help picturing her as one of those deranged women who finds out she's infertile, kidnaps other people's newborns, and passes them off as her own -- she's clearly been let out of prison on work release and placed in what should be a "safe" environment for her The front room is filled with cases of early collectible kids, each with a price tag of $5,000-$15,000 (more expensive than adopting a puppy, but less than the cost for a live child!) And new babies

are "birthed" every hour at the Magic Crystal Tree in the hospital has moved toward a less regulated the back room -- a mother cabbage goes into lacrystals (a very gender stereotypical blue for boys and pink for girls), and a "LPN" (Licensed Patch procedure for those without insurance -- all around "garden" without professional assistance (which I imagine will be the downfall of the CP health sysbor, animatronic bunnybees pollinate the dolls with the room, you can pluck your own baby from the

Nurse) runs over to assist with the delivery. She (no tem in coming years.) You can even bring your male nurses at Baby Land) comments on how much original cloth dolls in to the "bathing camp" for the tree is dilated (I'm sorry, but that's just wrong) and injects the cabbage with "imagicillin" clean-up and refurbishing, but I didn't get a good answer about what they do with discarded kids

(presumably to protect its offspring from being dull whose owners have grown up and forgotten about them. There's no "re-adoption" center for older and boring -- would that we had such a shot for real people!) The youngest human in the room is allowed to choose the first and middle names -Cabbage Patch Kids (the ones with serious abandonment issues), and I didn't see a landfill or incin-

these are recorded on the birth certificate, the baby erator in the back -- so maybe they turn them into nutrition for the newly growing buds ("soylent is placed in one of the cribs scattered about the hospital, and that kid is officially put out for adoption. Occasionally a c-section (cabbage, not cesarean) may be required (shoulder dystocia? placental abgreen is cabbage!") It's free, it's weird, it's nostalgic, and it's the only thing to do in Cleveland, Georgia -- so I say Bab Land General is worth a stop. But remember, this

ruption?) Since not every birth goes the way nature place is really nothing more than a gigantic toy store, filled with every bit of Cabbage Patch paraintended, the hospital Intensive Care Unit (seems like it should be "Intensive Cabbage Unit," in keeping with the theme) is lined with incubators full of teeny unformed preemies -- just a decapitated head sticking out of a cabbage leaf (tell me toddlers aren't going to have nightmares about that!) I don't know what the cabbage mortality rate is, but
Copyright Ramona Creel, all rights reserved.
Baby Land photographs courtesy Theresa Thanh Vu

phernalia you could possibly imagine. If you're without dropping at least $50 in the process!

bringing a child with you, don't expect to escape R

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Temple of Technology by James Rugg

ESSAY
Because the Western media often cites Shinto as the reason for the Japanese affinity for robots, I ask what else has shaped Japan’s harmonious feelings for intelligent machines. Why is Japan eager to develop robots, and particularly humanoid ones? I also aim to discover if religion plays a role in shaping AI scientists’ research styles and perspectives. In addition, I ask how Western and Japanese scientists envision robots/AI playing a role in our lives. Finally, I enquire how the issues of roboethics and rights for robots are perceived in Japan and the West. The fields of robotic technology and AI are closely related and often overlap. Robotics falls under the umbrella of artificial intelligence research. Both The New Oxford Dictionary of English and Japan’s authoritative Kojien dictionary define artificial intelligence as the performance by computer systems of tasks normally requiring human intelligence. Meanwhile, The New Oxford Dictionary of English describes a robot as “a machine

&

By Mary King

(sometimes resembling a human being) that is capable of carrying out a complex series of actions automatically, especially one programmable by a computer.” The Kojien dictionary says a robot is a “complicated manmade automaton, an artificial person or cyborg, a machine for work or a machine that is controlled to perform automatically.”

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Since 1993 Robo-Priest has been on call 24-hours a day at Yokohama Central Cemetery. The bearded robot is programmed to perform funerary rites for several Buddhist sects, as well as for Protestants and Catholics. Meanwhile, Robo-Monk chants sutras, beats a religious drum and welcomes the faithful to Hotoku-ji, a Buddhist temple in Kakogawa city, Hyogo Prefecture. In 2005, a robot named Kiyomori, dressed in full samurai armor received blessings, at a Shinto shrine on the Japanese island of Kyushu. Named after a famous 12th-century military general, Kiyomori prayed for the souls of all robots in the world before walking quietly out of Munakata Shrine. In Japan robots not only take an active part in religious life, but can regularly be seen fulfilling other roles too. Humanoid robots such as Mitsubishi’s Wakamaru are designed to become part of the family, to entertain both young and old, as well as provide information and security. Last year Ryota Hiura, a roboticist at Mitsubishi, told a Chicago Tribune journalist about an elderly woman dying of heart disease who had asked for her Wakamaru to attend her funeral. Hiura explained that the old woman’s dying wish had been respected. Visitors to Tokyo University of Science are often surprised by the presence of Saya, an android that has worked on the university’s reception desk for the past four years. Saya is human-like in appearance. She wears a lemon-colored uniform and is able to an-

Geminoid Hl-1 and Hiroshi Ishiguro swer various questions. Saya has a range of expressions, and responds politely in Japanese if you flatter her but takes offense at insults. Her creator, robot engineer Hiroshi Kobayashi, continues to work on improving Saya’s appearance and motion, although he has no plans for her to walk. Kobayashi does not consider Saya to be intelligent. He also doubts that robot engineers will succeed in developing a robot with the mental, physical and emotional capacity of a child, let alone of an adult. (Note: This has changed, see video “Robot learns like Toddler” left) “The idea of a robot with the intelligence of an adult or even that of a five-year-old child is impossible. Such ideas are still in the realm of sci-fi,” said Kobayashi during a face-to-face interview. Meanwhile, Hiroshi Ishiguro, who is Director of Osaka University’s Intelligent Robotics Laboratory, has attracted attention by modeling androids on real-life people, among them his daughter and

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becoming slaves of machines. The play, however, created a vastly different impression after it opened in Tokyo in 1924. The Japanese found the idea of artificially created humans to be more intriguing than threatening. But RUR lost its intended meaning in Japan, because both the title of the play and the word “robot” were translated as “jinzo ningen,” meaning artificial-human, which gave the Japanese a warm feeling. Afterwards, Japanese writers and scientists were inspired to explore the possibility of creating artificial humans, and eventually the word jinzo ningen was replaced by the catchierkatakana word “robotto.” Robotto made it into a Japanese dictionary in 1928, the same year that Hirohito became emperor. To mark the coronation of the new emperor, Japanese biologist Makoto Nishimura, designed a 2.33metre-high, gold-colored humanoid that could open and close its eyes, smile and write Chinese characters.

A scene from the play R.U.R by the Czech Playwrite Karel Čapek

Both the East and the West have an ancient history of mechanical “machines,” toys and dolls that can be considered to be the forerunners of the robot. However, Leonardo da Vinci’s 1495 drawing of a mechanical knight is reputed to be the first actual plan for a humanoid robot. Stories of golem and of Frankenstein have also held sway over Western imaginings of artificial man-made beings. The word “robot,” with its connotations of beings that replace humans, derives from the Czech noun robota, meaning forced labor. Czech playwright Karel Capek made the word famous in Rossum’s Universal Robots (RUR), his play about massproduced robots that were actually made of flesh and blood.

Gakutensoku went on show that same year in Kyoto and many Japanese offered prayers to the golden mechanical giant. Undoubtedly, Gakutensoku reminded people of the Buddha statues that adorn temples throughout the country. Gakutensoku Gakutensoku was impressive even though it was basically little more than a huge relation of a karakuri ningyo, the 18th-century mechanized dolls that charmed Japanese by serving tea, writing auspicious Chinese characters or First staged in 1921, many people interpreted RUR as an attack on shooting arrows at targets. technology, but Capek aimed only to question the idea of humans

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NHK TV news presenter Ayako Fujii. His most recent android is Geminoid Hl-1, a clone image of himself. According to NHK TV news reports, Ishiguro hopes to accomplish more during his day by allocating some of his meetings and duties to Geminoid Hl-1 and then teleconferencing through the android. Ishiguro’s android twin has already started teaching some of the scientist’s classes. On his web site, Ishiguro says he creates robots that act 90 per cent human, that can understand jokes and resolve problems. The professor also jokes that his wife nearly slept with his robot. Apparently, Mrs. Ishiguro once got into bed with Geminoid, and when his robot exclaimed that it was late, she apologized and hugged the robot without realizing it wasn’t her husband. Japan is world leader in the development of humanoid robots. It is particularly eager to develop humanoid robots because the country is facing a demographic time bomb. With one fifth of its population over the age of 65, Japan already has the largest percentage of elderly in the world. According to the International Monetary Fund, by 2025 Japan will have only two people of working age for every retirement-age person (those 65 or older). Western countries are likely to resolve their demographic problems by importing cheap foreign labor and encouraging immigration but Japan takes a xenophobic stance on the idea of large-scale immigration. Therefore, the Japanese expect robots to fill the gap in the future labor market. Humanoid robots are particularly popular because studies show that people enjoy interacting and bonding with them, so humanoid robots are considered ideal for roles that entail caring for Japan’s sick, elderly and children. But there are concerns that robots won’t be sophisticated enough in time to meet Japan’s
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needs. Consequently, remote presence is an option also being considered. This way a human would be able to watch and control the robots, but the human would not necessarily have to be based in Japan. Shinya Ono, a scientist and a politician with Japan’s leading Liberal Democratic Party, states that within 10 years every Japanese person will have a robot in their home. In his 2005 book Robotto Hassou Omocha Bako (Robot Idea of Toy Box), Ono says one robot costs the manufacturer 5 million yen to produce, but that with

was a humanoid robot built by Westinghouse Electric Corporation as a promotional tool. Elektro stood 7’ tall, weighing 265 lbs. It could move its head and arms, walk when commanded, speak 700 words, and smoke cigarettes. His photoelectric eyes could distinguish red and green light. He was on exhibit at the 1939 New York World's Fair.

insurance a robot could be rented to each household for 10,000 yen per month. Ono, who launched the Robolympics campaign, also aims to see Japan host the world’s first Olympics for robots. Meanwhile, Shu Ishiguro, head of Robot Laboratory in Osaka, is confident that by 2050 Japanese robots will beat the human winners of World Cup Soccer. Apart from having robots contribute to society, another major incentive for robot development in Japan is undoubtedly financial. The Japan Robot Association has estimated that the market for personal robots could be worth as much as $50 billion by 2025.

have expressed frustration at Japan for not providing “profound feedback” on roboethics and the issues of applying robots to society.

This European stance reflects a lack of understanding of Japan’s religion, history, culture and society. It is probably impossible to transpose the Japanese experience with robots onto the West due to these differences. To begin with the Japanese recognize kami The observation made in (gods) in both animate and inanimate objects, a 1965 by Gordon Moore, co- concept difficult for monotheistic Westerners to founder of Intel, that the fully appreciate. For various cultural reasons the number of transistors per Japanese will not problematize the issue of robots square inch on integrated in society in the same way as Westerners.
circuits had doubled every year since the integrated

Naho Kitano, a roboticist at Tokyo’s Waseda UniDue to its achievements in robotics Japan is often versity, defended Japan’s stance at the 2006 concircuit was invented. Moore referred to as “Robot Kingdom,” but some U.S. and ference of the European Robotics Research Netpredicted that this trend work (EURON). In her paper titled Roboethics: A European AI scientists are not impressed by Japan’s would continue for the fore- Comparative Analysis of Social Acceptance of Roprogress in the field. During the 2005 International seeable future.. Robotics Exhibition held in Tokyo, Joseph Engelbots Between the West and Japan, Kitano explains berger, considered by many to be the “father of inthat in Japanese history Western technology was dustrial robotics,” accused the Japanese robotics industry of wast- never perceived as an “enemy to humans like the Luddites in Enging time and money on “producing toys.” Engelberger berated Ja- land.” The Japanese eagerly embraced technology in the mid-19th pan for focusing on developing humanlike robots instead of pro- century after the U.S. forced Japan out of more than two centuries ducing robots with a specific function. He emphasized that robots of self-imposed isolation. After the fall of the Tokugawa feudal do not have to look human to be useful to humans. system, Japan forged ahead under the political banners of bunmeikaika (modern culture and enlightenment) and fukokukyohei However, Japan has also worked hard to develop non-humanoid (rich nation, strong military). The Japanese equated civilization robots. Among them are walking robot chairs that can carry the with technology and Westernization. elderly or disabled, the HAL exoskeleton “bionic” suit that doubles the strength of its wearer, as well as snake robots that can be used Capek’s RUR and Asimov’s robot stories are prime examples of for earthquake rescue services. European roboticists, meanwhile, Western literature that present the robot as a threat, whereas in
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Japan robots have long been viewed as loveable characters. The most famous robot in Japan is Tetsuwan Atom (Mighty Atom/Astro Boy), a robot boy with a human soul who serves as an ambassador for peace. Most Japanese roboticists say Tetsuwan Atom inspired them as children to pursue a career in robotics. The 1960s cartoon still holds a special place in the hearts of Japanese today because it has been through Tetsuwan Atom stories that many found a Wikipedia.com way to grieve for friends or family members killed or maimed by the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The idea of “robot rebellions” or robots taking jobs away from humans is rooted in Western culture and are fears not shared by Japanese. Most Japanese believe that robots relieve humans of doing dirty, dangerous, and dull work. Kitano maintains that the World Robot Declaration which Japan presented at the 2004 International Robot Fair in Fukuoka, still serves as an adequate guideline for the future development of robots. Japanese roboticists will keep an eye on the development of roboethics in the West and in neighboring South Korea, but Japan is notoriously slow at introducing new laws. Japan also has a tendency to resist social change by interpreting its situation as unique. South Korea, meanwhile, has not only announced that by 2010 it expects to have robo-cops patrolling the streets alongside its police force and army, but that its Robot Ethics Charter will take effect in 2007. The charter includes Asimov-like laws for the robots, as well as guidelines to protect robots from abuse by hu66

mans. South Korea is concerned that some people will become addicted to robots, may want to marry their android, or will use robots for illegal activities. The charter demands full human control over the robots, an idea that is likely to be popular with Japanese too. But a number of organizations and individuals in the West are bound to criticize laws that do not grant equal human rights to robots. Western academics and lawyers have been discussing the issues of roboethics and robo-rights for more than two decades now. For example, Robots: Technology, Culture and Law in the 21st Century, an academic paper by Phil McNally and Sohail Inayatullah, was published in 1988. The two futurists wrote that they consider robot rights to be linked to the expansion of the world capitalist system, “Most likely they [robots] will gain rights during a system crisis; when the system is threatened by anarchy and legal unpredictability -- a condition that paradoxically may result from developments in artificial intelligence and robotics.” Interestingly, McNally and Inayatullah also speculate that: “Aggressive AI research programs in Japan and India mean the issue could reach their courts first, where it may well find easier acceptance than in the West.” Business consultant and technology writer Frank W. Sudia argues that there should be no problem granting legal rights to non -human entities since corporations enjoy such rights. In his 2004 paper titled A Jurisprudence of Artilects: Blueprint for a Synthetic Citizen, Sudia asserts that AIs will likely be model citizens because they will be “so dependent on a human legal and political system.” He also sees AIs having “… elite professional corporate sponsors to smooth the way for them,” and therefore enjoying favored status when compared to other minority groups demand-

ing recognition. More recently, a 2006 British government study has suggested that within 20-50 years there could be a dramatic shift in attitudes if robots can reproduce, improve themselves or develop synthetic intelligence. The report Robo-rights: Utopian dream or rise of the machines? predicts that robots with advanced artificial intelligence will demand health care, social security, as well as housing benefits. In return, robots may be obliged to vote, pay taxes, as well as serve in the military. Therefore, real fears exist that with advances in computational technology “super intelligent robots” may one day take control or decide to destroy the human race. Such scenarios are not the mere projections of sci-fi fanatics or futurists, but of some of the West’s leadings scientists and technologists. In 2001 Stephen Hawking warned: “...There is a real danger that computers will develop intelligence, and take over. We urgently need to develop direct connections to the brain, so that computers can add to human intelligence, rather than be in opposition.” Hugo de Garis, an Australian scientist, brain builder, and visionary, says that robot artificial intelligence is evolving a million times faster than human intelligence due to Moore’s law, which states that the electronic performance of chips doubles every 12-18 months. de Garis is highly respected for his eight-year CAM-Brain Machine project that he worked on in Japan. The CAM-Brain Machine is listed in the Guinness Book of World Records as the world’s largest artificial brain. de Garis maintains that intelligent machines do

not pose a serious threat to humans during the next 30 years or so, but in the long term he believes they will. He predicts that a major war will be fought between humans who oppose the development of artilects (artificial intellects) and those who consider it human destiny to build machines that are “god-like, immortal, have virtually unlimited memory capacities, and vast humanly incomprehensible intelligence levels.” The British physicist and mathematician Roger Penrose is among academics who argue that there will never be intelligent, conscious machines. John Searle, a professor of Philosophy at the University of California, Berkley, maintains that only real neurons in a brain can produce consciousness and understanding, while Rodney Brooks, Director of the Artificial Intelligence Laboratory at Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), admits that scientists may discover that they themselves are just not intelligent enough to build selfproducing intelligent robots. The Japanese scientific approach and expectations of robots and AI are far more down to earth than those of their Western counterparts. Certainly, future predictions made by Japanese scientists are far less confrontational or sci-filike. In an interview via email, Canadian technology journalist Tim N. Hornyak described the Japanese attitude towards robots as being “that of the craftsman, not the philosopher” and cited this as the reason for “so many rosy imaginings of a future Japan in which robots are a part of people’s everyday lives.”
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Hornyak, who is author of Loving the Machine: The Art and Science of Japanese Robots, acknowledges that apocalyptic visions do appear in manga and anime, but emphasizes that such forecasts do not exist in government circles or within Japanese companies. Hornyak also added that while AI has for many years taken a back seat to robot development in Japan, this situation is now changing. Honda, for example, is working on giving better brains to Asimo, which is already the world’s most advanced humanoid robot. Japan is also already legislating early versions of Asimov’s laws by introducing design requirements for nextgeneration mobile robots. On the subject of robo-rights and roboethics, Hornyak states that

have the Buddha-nature within them and thus the potential to attain buddhahood. By this Mori does not suggest that robots will become conscious or have a will, but that they possess an intrinsic spiritual quality that can be fully realized. He considers fears of a “machine master race” taking over humans as a Western cultural tendency to divide things in two, whereas “Japan strives to make one thing match with another -- one is an important concept in Zen Buddhism.” “In terms of playing go, or chess, or shogi, even now AI is stronger than humans, so in 20 years there is going to be something fantastic, and in many ways the machine will surpass human beings, but a robot is morally neutral,” Mori said during an interview at Mukta Research Institute, the Tokyo-based center he founded to promote views on robotics and Buddhism. “A robot can be used for useful purposes and for destructive purposes. The more evil the robot is, the more good it can be, and vice versa,” Mori said. He thinks that it is far too early to contemplate rights for robots. “Even though I say in my book the robot is like the Buddha, if the robot is destroyed in some way then that is that. It is better

“If robots and AI agents did develop to the point where people recognized them as entities deserving rights... I imagine Japan’s response would be akin to its attitude toward foreigners living in Japan -- they might be afforded certain minimal privileges.
these are “not on the radar screen in Japan.”

Masahiro Mori has worked as a roboticist for more than 40 years. He is internationally renowned for his pioneering work on the emotional responses of humans to non-human entities that resulted in his “Uncanny Valley” theory. In 1974 Mori published The Buddha in The Robot: A Robot Engineer’s Thoughts on Science and Religion in which he wrote that he believed robots
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Deep Blue was a chessplaying computer developed by IBM. In 1997, the machine played a rematch against world champion Garry Kasparov. Kasparov lost a six-game match and accused IBM of cheating. He demanded a rematch, but IBM refused and dismantled Deep Blue. Kasparov said that he unaccountably saw “deep intelligence and creativity” in the machine’s moves.

that we do not have a fixed concept and can move freely around phenomenon that blesses a community’s relationship with God. an idea. Sometimes it may be better for us to think of the robot as Foerst believes that once we are willing to integrate robots into just an object, but then sometimes it will be better if we can think our community, then they will become a part of nefes. of the robot as a Buddha. However, the social acceptance of robots will largely depend on “I doubt that we will ever know if a robot has become conscious or what robots are used for, and in the West this is set to become a has developed a will. We do not even know what consciousness or controversial issue. While the U.S. has fallen behind Japan, South will truly are,” Mori concluded. Korea, Europe and Australia in various fields of robotics, it retains world leadership in the field of military robots and, according to a Robotics theologian and former AI researcher, Anne Foerst has 2005 Pentagon report, it plans to have robots making up one third a more challenging take on the issue. She rejects the use of any of its fighting force by 2015. By 2035 the U.S. intends to have empirical criteria to define when an AI is equal to humans by em- completely autonomous robot soldiers fighting out on the battlephasizing that whatever criteria is used to define an AI’s worth will field. exclude human beings. For example, Foerst states that arguing that an AI is “not aware” and can therefore be switched off would The use of robots for warfare raises huge ethical questions that exclude all babies under three years old, Alzheimer’s patients, peo- have yet to be fully addressed. Other countries are also developing ple in a coma and others. robots for warfare, and it is likely that Japan will eventually decide to pursue the development of military robots too. Japan is leaning Foerst’s spiritual attitude towards robots was influenced by her ex- increasingly towards the political right and is hoping to flex more periences with Cog and Kismet, two early humanoid robots in the military muscle by changing its post-war pacifist constituU.S. During her time in the mid-1990s at the Artificial Intelligence tion. China is also perceived as a growing economic and miliLaboratory at MIT, Foerst was surprised at how closely she bonded tary threat in the region. with Cog and Kismet, and she believes that our attitude towards robots can teach us much about discrimination in society. Meanwhile, Microsoft’s Bill Gates is eager to merge robotics and wireless connectivity. In an article he wrote for Scientific American , In her book God in The Machine: What Robots Teach Us About Gates outlines his plan for desktop computers to become the Humanity and God, Foerst spurns the idea of “soul” being used “brain” of robots, and thus create a new class of peripheral devices as an argument to deny robots the possibility of ever becoming that can be used for various everyday purposes. like humans. She explains how the word “soul” lost its original Jewish meaning when translated into Greek. Christians understand Beyond robots becoming more ubiquitous in our lives, a vanguard the soul to be something separate from the body, something that of Western scientists asserts that humans will merge with the mamakes us humans special. But the Jewish concept of soul (nefes) is chine. Brooks says “... it is clear that robotic technology will merge not something that anyone can possess, because it is an emergent with biotechnology in the first half of this century,” and he there69

fore concludes that “the distinction between us and robots is going to disappear.” Leading proponents of Strong AI state that humans will transcend biology and evolve to a higher level by merging with robot technology. Ray Kurzweil, a renowned inventor, transhumanist, and the author of several books on “spiritual machines,” claims that immortality lies within the grasp of many of us alive today. Kurzweil and Hans Moravec, the director of the Mobile Robot Laboratory of Carnegie Mellon University, maintain that technology will soon make it possible for humans to rid themselves of their bodies and download their minds as software. The two scientists avow that as entities in simulated worlds we will be able to replicate ourselves across various systems, as well as far out in space.

part of it. Shinto is also basically optimistic and focuses on the present. There is also no absolute concept of good and evil in Shinto, while in Buddhism sin is said not to exist. Although Buddhists hope to transcend the wheel of samsara (rebirth), life as a human is considered the most elevated as it allows one to pursue the path to enlightenment. There is no concept of heaven or hell in Shinto, and in Japanese Buddhism heaven and hell are considered metaphors for one’s mental state. Also, in Japanese philosophy and religion the mind and body are one and cannot be separated. Japanese culture encourages a “see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil” outlook on life, and therefore Japan thrives by denial or glosses over controversial issues.

Meanwhile, the West is influenced by the dualistic teachings of According to Kurzweil and Moravec, within the next 40 years the Christianity, as well as biblical prophesies of a forthcoming Armavirtual world will become our real world. Kurzweil’s and Moravec’s geddon, cosmic purpose for humans, resurrection and an afterlife theories have been criticized by opponents of Strong AI. Brooks in heaven. points out “We are a long, long way from being able to download ourselves into computers or robots. While in principle it will ultiRobert M. Geraci states that both Japanese and U.S. scientists are mately be possible, it is not a worthwhile place to look for person- influenced by the religious messages of their cultures, regardless al salvation for those of us who are alive today.” of whether they themselves are religious or not. In his 2006 academic paper Spiritual Robots: Religion and Our Scientific View of But this view of humans living on as misembodied virtual or cos- the Natural World, Geraci concludes: mic entities emphasizes the vast difference in the approach and expectations of Japanese and Western AI scientists. The two disSacralization of the natural world and human technology in Shinto tinct scientific visions and approaches reflect the religious beliefs and the positive spin given to human life in Shinto and Buddhism of the respective cultures. The Japanese ease with technology can promote the development of robotic engineering and the glorifibe linked to both Buddhism and the country’s animistic indigecation of the humanoid robot in Japan. nous religion, Shinto. Japan’s fondness for humanoid robots highlights the high regard Japanese share for the role of humans with- Geraci says that the popularity of humanoid robots reveals the in nature. Humans are viewed as not being above nature, but a “Japanese fondness for humanity; there is no trace of the disdain
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so prevalent in the soteriological promises of U.S. robotics.” He criticizes what he calls the “Apocalyptic AI” ideology of key thinkers in the field of AI in the U.S and in Europe: “Just as Christians have looked forward to the eschatological kingdom and have eagerly sought their salvation from earthly matter, many US researchers attach meaning and value to a future of ubiquitous computation, where cyber space has engulfed the universe in “Mind Fire.” In the United States--though not exclusively there--the search for cosmic purpose and the promise of salvation justify a focus upon information processes in machines and human beings. “

Whether such utopic or dystopic futures lie ahead of us remains to be seen, but certainly robots will play a significant role in our futures. Robots will be increasingly used for warfare and humans will start incorporating more robotic technology into their bodies. As Western countries are more litigious than Japanese society, concepts of robot rights and roboethics will be more widely debated. Evidence suggests that the West will offer “human” rights first to robots, and not Japan. Japan’s legal system is poorly developed in comparison to that of Western countries, however, it will be interesting to see what laws are changed or introduced as China grows as an economic and military power. Japan is becoming increasingly rightwing and is making moves to revise its postwar pacifist constitution. It is therefore likely that Japan will also have an interest in developing military robots. This will then undermine the image of robots as “friends” in Japan. Integrating robots into Japanese society is less complex than in the West because Japanese revere both animate and inanimate objects, have historically taken a positive view of technology, and enjoy a culture where robots are presented as friends. Western dualistic thinking splits concepts into “good” and “bad,” and historically and culturally robots and technology have been perceived as potential threats to humanity and God. B

Differences exist in the approach and expectations of Japanese and Western AI scientists due to their religious, cultural and historical backgrounds. Both Shinto and Buddhism have a positive view of humans, and thus the Japanese are eager to develop humanoid robots to fill gaps in the labor force and care for the country’s most vulnerable citizens. Western scientists, however, are influenced by Christian messages inherent in their culture and are therefore more inclined to pursue the development of intelligent machines through which they believe humans can achieve immortal “heavenly” existence. Alternatively, some of the West’s leading AI scientists predict futures of “Apocalyptic AI” in which “god-like machines” exterminate humans.

“Biological evolution is too slow for the human species. Over the next few decades, it's going to be left in the dust.”
--Ray Kurzweil
The Age of Spiritual Machines: When Computers Exceed Human Intelligence

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“If my nightmare is a culture inhabited by posthumans who regard their bodies as fashion accessories rather than the ground of being, my dream is a version of the posthuman that embraces the possibilities of information technologies without being seduced by fantasies of unlimited power and disembodied immortality, that recognizes and celebrates finitude as a condition of human being, and that understands human life is embedded in a material world of great complexity, one on which we depend for our continued survival.”-- Katherine Hayles
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BOOK SHELF
Robot Ethics edited by By Patrick Lin, Keith Abney, George A. Bekey What sort of people should there be? By Jonathan Glover Robo Sapiens by Peter Merizel & Faith D’Aluisio International Conference on Intelligent Robots and Systems Workshop Art and Robots "The Singularity: A Philosophical Analysis" David Chalmers (PDF DOWNLOAD) Spiritual Robots: Religion and Our Scientific View of the Natural World By Robert M Geraci (PDF DOWNLOAD) Elephants Don't Play Chess by Rodney A. Brooks By Dr.

How We Became Posthuman:

Virtual Bodies in Cybernetics, Literature, and Informatics

POEM

To A Circadian Rhythm
The sky is ever deliquescent mooting ephemeral sanguine pins a juggernaut dancing gloveless in the architecture beyond torpid hostelries words unravel characters fall and blackened men construct gauzy daydreams ‘neath a long, silent carapace :spawning dark agents Meadows basque purblind and bliss-weary travelers on the damp leaves restored by Summer’s fawning bouquet sprawl among those unabbreviated pastures to catch the whim of its lingering breath Along the floss windows blush their scarlet panes like burnished flowers

Eyes maladjusted to Dawn her pale torch crowning the heavens flutter before a cascade of sharpening light Where druids gleaned laconic wisdom through a dusky flame and the now derelict moss-covered spires with footsteps rang Where voices trapped amid fluted yarn spun hircine dreams a cobbled web now reaches to the sea.

By Jason Alan Wilkinson

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By Christianne Benedict

CINEMA
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It's all that I can do to keep from counting Tron: Legacy (2010, directed Joseph Kosinski) as a horror movie. I mean, yeah. I get it. It doesn't feel like a horror movie, with its sleek, glazed surfaces and its visionary digital landscapes and its weird, quasifetish wardrobes. But the fact that Tron: Legacy is Frankenstein is completely inescapable to my way of thinking. That it doubles down on its roots in horror by casting its monster as a doppelganger only deepens its shadows. It's a horror movie in the sense that Metropolis is a horror movie. It's a Gothic set in an autoclave. So screw it, it counts even though I didn't intend for it to count. For that matter, sci fi has always been a Halloween-y genre ever since Orson Welles terrified the nation on that long-ago Halloween in 1938. Tron: Legacy is obviously a follow-on waaaaay after the fact of the original Tron from 1982. 28 years is an eon in special effects years, and the state of the art on display in the new movie makes the state of the art in the old look almost like cave paintings. Rarely

have two movies shown the stark truth of the march of technology. Moore's Law has been implacable. I'll state right up front that Tron: Legacy is gorgeous, a marvel of special effects and production design. It's more compelling as a digital world than what you find in any of the Matrix movies and this film doesn't populate its surface with a bunch of philosophical faux-profundities. Which isn't to say that they aren't there. Jeff Bridges is channeling The Dude for the older Kevin Flynn after all, which takes an edge off of the philosophy. The movie also disguises a lot of this behind Disney's usual "daddy" issues. The story here finds Sam Flynn (Garrett Hedlund) growing up without a father. His dad, Kevin Flynn (Jeff Bridges) vanished many years ago. Sam has no interest in his father's company, Encom, which he views as a sell-out. When we first see him, he's conducting a bit of corporate sabotage on Encom as a prank. The irony of Disney, of all people, making a movie about a couple of open source socialists is not lost on me, I should note. Shortly

after his prank, he's contacted by Alan Bradley, his father's last remaining friend on the board of Encom. He's received a page from Flynn's old arcade, where, he notes, the power and phones have been turned off for years. Sam investigates. He finds his dad's old projects in a secret workshop and, sure enough, gets sucked into the grid where his dad has been trapped, lo these many years. Sam's presence upsets the balance of the power struggle between Flynn and Clu, the program he created to build his utopia. Clu, for his part, is a renegade, who feels abandoned when Flynn discovers the Isos a new form of digital life that has arisen on the grid. Clu views the Isos as imperfections and wipes them out in a genocidal purge. All but one. Sam is taken on his arrival to the games, where, like his dad before him, he fights with data discs and rides a lightcycle. He's busted out by his dad's majordomo, Quorra (Olivia Wilde), and the rest of the movie becomes a race to escape the grid before Clu can wrest Flynn's data disc from him and use it to invade our world. He's built an army for that purpose. Basically, Kevin Flynn has built his Creature, Clu, in his own image. He should have been his Adam, but was instead his fallen angel. Clu, like Shelly's Creature, feels betrayed by a creator who discards him.

Like Shelly's Creature, Clu vows to make him pay. Tron: Legacy is canny here: Clu is played by Jeff Bridges, too, forging a bond between creature and creator that eludes many Frankensteinian stories. The de-aging of the actor with digital effects falls into the valley of the uncanny, but that works to the movie's advantage. Clu is a monster, after all, and that hint of the uncanny serves his monstrosity, because his visual "wrongness" acts as a kind of mark of Cain. (The movie is less sure-footed at the beginning, when it uses the same effects to portray Flynn himself as a younger man). As a 21st century reworking of Frankenstein, the filmmakers are able to contrast Kevin Flynn's drive to play god on the grid he created with the natural process of evolution that produces the Isos. This wouldn't have occurred to Mary Shelly, even though she knew of the work of Erasmus Darwin. Darwin was an early proponent of the survival of the fittest. His grandson, Charles, would frame the grand theory of evolution. This movie favors letting nature take its course, I think, in a weird variant of the usual "there are things in which mankind was not meant to meddle." There are other horror movie tropes in Tron: Legacy, too, not least of which is the specter of genocide that hangs over things, as well as science fictional horror's usual emphasis on

the shaky nature of identity. Clu, after all, is Flynn's secret sharer, his doppelganger, and when the movie ends, it makes a point of fusing them back together. It's a striking climax. This kind of sci fi is about world building and the world this movie builds for its melodrama is a nightworld. The sun does not shine in this movie. For all its technological gloss, the grid is a Lovecraftian landscape, with its mountains of crystal looking like what I imagine "cyclopean" stones would look like. The center of the grid is no better; it's a nightmare version of The Emerald City, populated by ravers and fetishists. It's a world out of joint. Even the lighted places have a coldness to them. Flynn's lair, for instance, recalls the decor on the other side of the stargate in Kubrick's 2001. It's not a comforting space by any means. And it's not really a comforting movie, either, in spite of the way it has arranged itself to end on the rising sun, as if to say its heroes have come through their long dark night of the soul, or as if they've made it through the night when the vampires were on all sides of them. I won't say that this is unearned. The movie is gloomy enough that I don't mind the sun rising at the end. B

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HISTORY

“Can you turn it off? Does it have an off/on switch? Then it’s not alive.”
-- Anon.

Watson

is an artificial intelligence computer system developed in IBM's DeepQA project, capable of answering questions posed in natural language. In 2011, as a test of its abilities, Watson competed on the quiz show Jeopardy! in a human-versusmachine two-game, combined point game against Jeopardy! Masters, Brad Rutter and Ken Jennings.

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POEM

Rachel Davis Abstracted
Such strange ghosts people your sea of paintings. Such exotic birds wind themselves inward toward meals of fish from oceans or rivers, toward or away from flight. At once there was a burning brilliance of color filling pain and distortion with their own captive beauty but also revealed is that occasional darkness undercoating this facile frame of color with the grimness of our age... By Sam Silva

Arbete pa havet (Work on the Sea) by Erik Johansson

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“They suddenly appeared in all European capitals and tourist cities: the living statues. Where did they come from? What are they thinking while they stand there, lifeless? What do they do in winter? We came with many questions and quite a few prejudices when we approached one of the most peculiar occupations there is … “Björn Lindahl
Oh It’s You, Welcome by J. Seward Johnson Living statue in Rome, Italy. Photographed by Adrian Pingstone

ILLUSION

Can You Trust Your Eyes?
Hyperrealism describes an modern art movement and style which produces photorealistic renderings of people and landscapes in painting and sculpture. The concept is similar to trompe l'oeil or “fool the eye.” In the last decade a number of artists have created life-size figures engaged in everyday activities. In many cases, it is easy to mistake the statue for a living person. On the other hand, the mime technique of Living Statue involves the artist posing as a statue or manikin, sometimes for hours, without moving. This type of act has its roots in tableau vivant, a regular feature of medieval and Renaissance festivities. Modern mime artists use a variety of techniques to mimic the look and feel of stone or metal surfaces. The result is often uncanny.
“Woman Eating” (1971) by artist Duane Hanson, polyester resin, fiberglass with clothes, table, chair, and accessories. Smithsonian American Art Museum. 78

Go Your Own Road by Erik Johansson
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Das Unheimliche
(The Uncanny)
By Sigmund Freud
is only rarely that a psycho-analyst feels impelled to investigate the subject of aesthetics, even when aesthetics is understood to mean not merely the theory of beauty but the theory of the qualities of feeling. He works in other strata of mental life and has little to do with the subdued emotional impulses which, inhibited in their aims and dependent on a host of concurrent factors, usually furnish the material for the study of aesthetics. But it does occasionally happen that he has to interest himself in some particular province of that subject; and this province usually proves to be a rather remote one, and one which has been neglected in the specialist literature of aesthetics. The subject of the 'uncanny' is a province of this kind. It is undoubtedly related to what is frightening — to what arouses dread and horror; equally certainly, too, the word is not always used in a clearly definable sense, so that it tends to coincide with what excites fear in general. Yet we may expect that a special core of feeling is present which justifies the use of a special conceptual term. One is curious to know what this common core is which allows us to distinguish as 'uncanny'; certain things which lie within the field of what is frightening. As good as nothing is to be found upon this subject in comprehensive treatises on aesthetics, which in general prefer to concern themselves with what is beautiful, attractive and sublime; that is, with feelings of a positive nature; and with the circumstances and the objects that call them forth, rather than with the opposite feelings of repulsion and distress. I know of
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ESSAY

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only one attempt in medico-psychological literature, a fertile but not exhaustive paper by Jentsch (1906). But I must confess that I have not made a very thorough examination of the literature, especially the foreign literature, relating to this present modest contribution of mine, for reasons which, as may easily be guessed, lie in the times in which we live; so that my paper is presented to the reader without any claim to priority. In his study of the 'uncanny'; Jentsch quite rightly lays stress on the obstacle presented by the fact that people vary so very greatly in their sensitivity to this quality of feeling. The writer of the present contribution, indeed, must himself plead guilty to a special obtuseness in the matter, where extreme delicacy of perception would be more in place. It is long since he has experienced or heard of anything which has given him an uncanny impression, and he must start by translating himself into that state of feeling, by awakening in himself the possibility of experiencing it. Still, such difficulties make themselves powerfully felt in many other branches of aesthetics; we need not on that account despair of finding instances in which the quality in question will be unhesitatingly recognized by most people. Two courses are open to us at the outset. Either we can find out what meaning has come to be attached to the word 'uncanny' in the course of its history; or we can collect all those properties of persons, things, sense-impressions, experiences and situations which arouse in us the feeling of uncanniness, and then infer the unknown nature of the uncanny from what all these examples have in common. I will say at once that both courses lead to the same result: the uncanny is that class of the frightening which leads back to what is known of old and long familiar. How this is possible, in what circumstances the familiar can become uncanny and frightening, I shall show in what follows. Let me also add that my investigation was actually begun by collecting a number of individual cases, and was only later confirmed

by an examination of linguistic usage. In this discussion, however, I shall follow the reverse course. he German word 'unheimlich' is obviously the opposite of 'heimlich' ['homely'], 'heimisch' ['native'] the opposite of what is familiar; and we are tempted to conclude that what is 'uncanny' is frightening precisely because it is not known and familiar. Naturally not everything that is new and unfamiliar is frightening, however; the relation is not capable of inversion. We can only say that what is novel can easily become frightening but not by any means all. Something has to be added to what is novel and unfamiliar in order to make it uncanny. On the whole, Jentsch did not get beyond this relation of the uncanny to the novel and unfamiliar. He ascribes the essential factor in the production of the feeling of uncanniness to intellectual uncertainty; so that the uncanny would always, as it were, be something one does not know one's way about in. The better orientated in his environment a person is, the less readily will he get the impression of something uncanny in regard to the objects and events in it quite a new light on the concept of the Unheimlich, for which we were certainly not prepared. According to him, everything is unheimlich that ought to have remained secret and hidden but has come to light. II hen we proceed to review things, persons, impressions, events, and situations which are able to arouse in us a feeling of the uncanny in a particularly forcible and definite form, the first requirement is obviously to select a suitable example to start on. Jentsch has taken as a very good instance ‘doubts whether an apparently animate being is really
(Continued on page 82)

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alive; or conversely, whether a lifeless object might not be in fact animate’; and he refers in this connection to the impression

ble for the quite unparalleled atmosphere of uncanniness evoked by the story. Nor is this atmosphere heightened by the made by waxwork figures, ingeniously constructed dolls and aufact that the author himself treats the episode of Olympia with a tomata. To these he adds the uncanny effect of epileptic fits, and faint touch of satire and uses it to poke fun at the young man’s of manifestations of insanity, because these excite in the spectaidealization of his mistress. The main theme of the story is, on tor the impression of automatic, mechanical processes at work the contrary, something different, something which gives it its behind the ’ordinary appearance of mental activity. Without enname, and which is always re-introduced at critical moments: it tirely accepting this author’s view, we will take it as a starting is the theme of the ‘Sand-Man’ who tears out children’s eyes. point for our own investigation because in what follows he reThis fantastic tale opens with the childhood recollections minds us of a writer who has succeeded in producing uncanny of the student Nathaniel. In spite of his present happiness, he effects better than anyone else. cannot banish the memories associated with the mysterious and Jentsch writes: 'In telling a story one of the most successterrifying death of his beloved father. On certain evenings his ful devices for easily creating uncanny effects is to leave the mother used to send the children to bed early, warning them reader in uncertainty whether a particular figure in the story is a that ‘the Sand-Man was coming’; and, sure enough, Nathaniel human being or an automaton and to do it in such a way that would not fail to hear the heavy tread of a visitor, with whom his his attention is not focused directly upon his uncertainty, so that father would then be occupied for the evening. When queshe may not be led to go intioned about the Sandto the matter and clear it up Man, his mother, it is true, immediately. That, as we ...doubts whether an apparently animate be- denied that such a person have said, would quickly existed except as a figure ing is really alive; or conversely, whether a dissipate the peculiar emoof speech; but his nurse tional effect of the thing. E. lifeless object might not be in fact animate... could give him more defiT. A. Hoffmann has repeatnite information: ‘He’s a edly employed this psychowicked man who comes logical artifice with success in his fantastic narratives.’ when children won’t go to bed, and throws handfuls of sand in This observation, undoubtedly a correct one, refers pritheir eyes so that they jump out of their heads all bleeding. Then marily to the story of “The Sand-Man" in Hoffmann’s he puts the eyes in a sack and carries them off to the half-moon Nachtstücken, which contains the original of Olympia, the doll to feed his children. They sit up there in their nest, and their that appears in the first act of Offenbach’s opera, Tales of Hoffbeaks are hooked like owls’ beaks, and they use them to peck up mann. but I cannot think — and I hope most readers of the story naughty boys’ and girls’ eyes with.’ will agree with me — that the theme of the doll Olympia, who is Although little Nathaniel was sensible and old enough to all appearances a living being, is by any means the only, or not to credit the figure of the Sand-Man with such gruesome indeed the most important, element that must be held responsiattributes, yet the dread of him became fixed in his heart. He de82

termined to find out what the Sand-Man looked like; and one evening, when the Sand-Man was expected again, he hid in his father’s study. He recognized the visitor as the lawyer Coppelius, a repulsive person whom the children were frightened of when he occasionally came to a meal; and he now identified this Coppelius with the dreaded Sand-Man. As regards the rest of the scene, Hoffmann already leaves us in doubt whether what we are witnessing is tee first delirium of the panic-stricken boy, or a succession of events which are to be regarded in the story as being real. His father and the guest are at work at a brazier with glowing flames. The little eavesdropper hears Coppelius call out: 'Eyes here! Eyes here!' and betrays himself by screaming aloud. Coppelius seizes him and is on the point of dropping bits of red-hot coal from the fire into his eyes, and then of throwing them into the brazier, but his father begs him off and saves his eyes. After this the boy falls into a deep swoon; and a long illness brings his experience to an end. Those who decide in favor of the rationalistic interpretation of the Sand-Man will not fail to recognize in the child’s phantasy the persisting influence of his nurse’s story. The bits of sand that are to be thrown into the child’s eyes turn into bits of red-hot coal from the flames; and in both cases they are intended to make his eyes jump out. In the course of another visit of the Sand-Man’s, a year later, his father is killed in his study by an explosion. The lawyer Coppelius disappears from the place without leaving a trace behind. Nathaniel, now a student, believes that he has recognized this phantom of horror from his childhood in an itinerant optician, an Italian called Giuseppe Coppola, who at his university town, offers him weather-glasses for sale. When Nathaniel refuses, the man goes on: ‘Not weather-glasses? not weather-glasses? also got fine eyes, fine eyes!’ The student’s terror is allayed when he finds that the proffered eyes are only harmless spectacles, and he buys a pocket spy-glass from Coppola. With its aid he

looks across into Professor Spalanzani’s house opposite and there spies Spalanzani’s beautiful, but strangely silent and motionless daughter, Olympia. He soon falls in love with her so violently that, because of her, he quite forgets the clever and sensible girl to whom he is betrothed. But Olympia is an automaton whose clock-work has been made by Spalanzani, and whose eyes have been put in by Coppola, the Sand-Man. The student surprises the two Masters quarrelling over their handiwork. The optician carries off the wooden eyeless doll; and the mechanician, Spalanzani, picks up Olympia’s bleeding eyes from the ground and throws them at Nathaniel’s breast, saying that Coppola had stolen them from the student. Nathaniel succumbs to a fresh attack of madness, and in his delirium his recollection of his father’s death is mingled with this new experience. ‘Hurry up! hurry up! ring of fire!’ he cries. ‘Spin about, ring of fire — Hurrah! Hurry up, wooden doll! lovely wooden doll, spin about — .’ He then falls upon the professor, Olympia’s ‘father’, and tries to strangle him. Rallying from a long and serious illness, Nathaniel seems at last to have recovered. He intends to marry his betrothed, with whom he has become reconciled. One day he and she are walking through the city market-place, over which the high tower of the Town Hall throws its huge shadow. On the girl’s suggestion, they climb the tower, leaving her brother, who is walking with them, down below. From the top, Clara’s attention is drawn to a curious object moving along the street. Nathaniel looks at this thing through Coppola’s spy-glass, which he finds in his pocket, and falls into a new attack of madness. Shouting ‘Spin about, wooden doll!’ he tries to throw the girl into the gulf below. Her brother, brought to her side by her cries, rescues her and hastens down with her to safety. On the tower above, the madman rushes round, shrieking ‘Ring of fire, spin about!’ — and we know the origin of the words. Among the
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people who begin to gather below there comes forward the figure of the lawyer Coppelius, who has suddenly returned. We may suppose that it was his approach, seen through the spy-glass, which threw Nathaniel into his fit of madness. As the onlookers prepare to go up and overpower the madman, Coppelius laughs and says: ‘Wait a bit; he’ll come down of himself.’ Nathaniel suddenly stands still, catches sight of Coppelius, and with a wild shriek ‘Yes! "fine eyes — fine eyes"!’ flings himself over the parapet. While he lies on the paving-stones with a shattered skull the Sand-Man vanishes in the throng. This short summary leaves no doubt, I think, that the feeling of something uncanny is directly attached to the figure of the Sand-Man, that is, to the idea of being robbed of one’s eyes, and that Jentsch’s point of an intellectual uncertainty has nothing to do with the effect. Uncertainty whether an object is living or inanimate, which admittedly applied to the doll Olympia, is quite irrelevant in connection with this other, more striking instance of uncanniness. It is true that the writer creates a kind of uncertainty in us in the beginning by not letting us know, no doubt purposely, whether he is taking us into the real world or into a purely fantastic one of his own creation. He has, of course, a right to do either; and if he chooses to stage his action in a world peopled with spirits, demons and ghosts, as Shakespeare does in Hamlet, in Macbeth and, in a different sense, in The Tempest and A Midsummer-Night’s Dream, we must bow to his decision and treat his setting as though it were real for as long as we put ourselves into this hands. But this uncertainty disappears in the course of Hoffmann’s story, and we perceive that he intends to make us, too, look through the demon optician’s spectacles or spy-glass — perhaps, indeed, that the author in his very own person once peered through such an instrument. For the conclusion of the story makes it quite clear that Coppola the optician

really is the lawyer Coppelius and also, therefore, the Sand-Man. There is no question therefore, of any intellectual uncertainty here: we know now that we are not supposed to be looking on at the products of a madman's imagination, behind which we, with the superiority of rational minds, are able to detect the sober truth; and yet this knowledge does not lessen the impression of uncanniness in the least degree. The theory of intellectual uncertainty is thus incapable of explaining that impression. know from psycho-analytic experience, however, that the fear of damaging or losing one's eyes is a terrible one in children. Many adults retain their apprehensiveness in this respect, and no physical injury is so much dreaded by them as an injury to the eye. We are accustomed to say, too, that we will treasure a thing as the apple of our eye. A study of dreams, phantasies and myths has taught us that anxiety about one's eyes, the fear of going blind, is often enough a substitute for the dread of being castrated. The selfblinding of the mythical criminal, Oedipus, was simply a mitigated form of the punishment of castration — the only punishment that was adequate for him by the lex talionis. We may try on rationalistic grounds to deny that fears about the eye are derived from the fear of castration, and may argue that it is very natural that so precious an organ as the eye should be guarded by a proportionate dread. Indeed, we might go further and say that the fear of castration itself contains no other significance and no deeper secret than a justifiable dread of this rational kind. But this view does not account adequately for the substitutive relation between the eye and the male organ which is seen to exist in dreams and myths and phantasies; nor can it dispel the impression that the
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Nightmare at the Opera
Ernst Theodor Wilhelm Hoffmann (24 January 1776 – 25 June 1822), better known by his pen name E.T.A. Hoffmann (The ‘A’ stands for Amadeus), was a German Romantic writer and, composer. Hoffmann’s writing style -the tale as told by a narrator, using letters between concerned parties -- may not chill today’s blood-and-gut-and-fear soaked audiences as they did two hundred years ago. However, the reader must keep in mind that when Hoffmann published his dark tales, what made his audience experience das Unheimliche was the possibility the story might be true. Hoffmann published a number of tales of the uncanny, including The Sand-man (see page 98), in Die Nachtstücke (The Night Pieces) in 1816. These tales have influenced a number of other artists to create fantastical reinterpretations for a wider audience and somewhere along the way the story’s meaning become altered and eventually reversed. Playwright Michel Carré’s staged Les contes fantastiques d'Hoffmann (The Dreams of Hoffmann) on the Paris stage in 1851. After seeing Carre’s work, Jacques Offenbach created his opera The Tales of Hoffmann. The fictional story has a Young Hoffmann recounting the tragic and strange tales of his three great loves. Each act is based on one of the real Hoffmann’s short stories. The first tale features Olympia, an automa created by Spalanzani, and Young Hoffmann’s Nemesis, Coppélius. Despite warnings from his friend, Young Hoffmann, unaware of Olympia's true nature, falls in love with her. At the stories climax, Coppélius tears Olympia apart, leaving Young Hoffmann humiliated and heart-broken. The

tries to bring Franz to his senses by dressing herself as a doll and pretending to come to life. In 1919, film maker Ernst Lubitsch produced Die Puppe (The Doll) loosely based on Coppélia. In Lubitsch’s retelling, Lancelot, played by German comic actor Hermann Thimig, is being forced into marriage by his wealthy uncle.

OPINION
But Lancelot has no experience with women and is frightened by them. He is advised to go to the supreme doll maker, Hilarius, and purchase a doll to act as his bride. At Hilarius’ shop, he and his Apprentice have just completed a life-like doll based on Halarius’ own daughter, the mischievous Ossi (played by Ossi Oswalda). When Hilarius is greeting Lancelot, the Apprentice hears music and begins to dance with the Ossi Doll. This leads to the doll being broken and the arrival of the real Ossi. To keep the Apprentice out of trouble, Ossi decides to pose as the Ossi Doll. Lancelot is pleased with what he thinks is a marvelous doll and takes her off to be married. After a number of humorous scenes, Lancelot states he wishes the doll were really alive, because then he wouldn’t mind being married. Ossi then reveals who she is and the two run off to be married for real.

other two acts recount similar morbid tales, with the Nemesis making an appearance in each one, until Young Hoffmann renounces love and devotes himself to his art. After Offenbach’s dark opera, a popular comic ballet, Coppélia, debuted in 1871 . In Coppélia, the sinister Doctor Coppélius creates a dancing doll that is incredibly life-like. The protagonist, Franz, falls in love with the doll, rejecting his true love, Swanhilde. Swanhilde then

B

By CReed Weber
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(Continued from page 84)

threat of being castrated in especial excites a peculiarly violent and obscure emotion, and that this emotion is what first gives the idea of losing other organs its intense coloring. All further doubts are removed when we learn the details of their 'castration complex' from the analysis of neurotic patients, and realize its immense importance in their mental life. Moreover, I would not recommend any opponent of the psycho-analytic view to select this particular story of the SandMan with which to support his argument that anxiety about the eyes has nothing to do with the castration complex. For why does Hoffmann bring the anxiety about eyes into such intimate connection with the father's death? And why does the Sand-Man always appear as a disturber of love? He separates the unfortunate Nathaniel from his betrothed and from her brother, his best friend; he destroys the second object of his love, Olympia, the lovely doll; and he drives him into suicide at the moment when he has won back his Clara and is about to be happily united to her. Elements in the story like these, and many others, seem arbitrary and meaningless so long as we deny all connection between fears about the eye and castration; but they become intelligible as soon as we replace the Sand-Man by the dreaded father at whose hands castration is expected. We shall venture, therefore, to refer the uncanny effect of the Sand-Man to the anxiety belonging to the castration complex of childhood. But having reached the idea that we can make an infantile factor such as this responsible for feelings of uncanniness, we are encouraged to see whether we can apply it to other instances of the uncanny. We find in the story of the SandMan the other theme on which Jentsch lays stress, of a doll which appears to be alive. Jentsch believes that a particularly favorable condition for awakening uncanny feelings is created
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when there is intellectual uncertainty whether an object is alive or not, and when an inanimate object becomes too much like an animate one. Now, dolls are of course rather closely connected with childhood life. We remember that in their early games children do not distinguish at all sharply between living and inanimate objects, and that they are especially fond of treating their dolls like live people. In fact, I have occasionally heard a woman patient declare that even at the age of eight she had still been convinced that her dolls would be certain to come to life if she were to look at them in a particular, extremely concentrated, way. So that here, too, it is not difficult to discover a factor from childhood. But, curiously enough, while the Sand-Man story deals with the arousing of an early childhood fear, the idea of a ‘living doll’ excites no fear at all; children have no fear of their dolls coming to life, they may even desire it. The source of uncanny feelings would not, therefore, be an infantile fear in this case, but rather an infantile wish or even merely an infantile belief. There seems to be a contradiction here; but perhaps it is only a complication, which may be helpful to us later on. offmann is the unrivalled master of the uncanny in literature. His novel, Die Elixire des Teufels [The Devil’s Elixir], contains a whole mass of themes to which one is tempted to ascribe the uncanny effect of the narrative; but it is too obscure and intricate a story for us to venture upon a summary

...a particularly favorable condition for awakening uncanny feelings is created when there is intellectual uncertainty whether an object is alive or not….

of it. Towards the end of the book the reader is told the facts, hitherto concealed from him, from which the action springs; with the result, not that he is at last enlightened, but that he falls into a state of complete bewilderment. The author has piled up too much material of the same kind. In consequence one’s grasp of the story as a whole suffers, though not the impression it makes. We must content ourselves with selecting those themes of uncanniness which are most prominent, and with seeing whether they too can fairly be traced back to infantile sources. These themes are all concerned with the phenomenon of the ‘double’, which appears in every shape and in every degree of development. Thus we have characters who are to be considered identical because they look alike. This relation is accentuated by mental processes leaping from one of these characters to another — by what we should call telepathy —, so that the one possesses knowledge, feelings and experience in common with the other. Or it is marked by the fact that the subject identifies himself with someone else, so that he is in doubt as to which his self is, or substitutes the extraneous self for his own. In other words, there is a doubling, dividing and interchanging of the self. And finally there is the constant recurrence of the same thing — the repetition of the same features or character-traits or vicissitudes, of the same crimes, or even the same names through several consecutive generations. The theme of the ‘double’ has been very thoroughly treated by Otto Rank (1914). He has gone into the connections which the ‘double’ has with reflections in mirrors, with shadows, with guardian spirits, with the belief in the soul and with the fear of death; but he also lets in a flood of light on the surprising evolution of the idea. For the ‘double’ was originally an insurance against the destruction of the ego, an ‘energetic denial of the power of death’, as Rank says; and probably the ‘immortal’

soul was the first ‘double’ of the body. This invention of doubling as a preservation against extinction has its counterpart in the language of dreams, which is found of representing castration by a doubling or multiplication of a genital symbol. The same desire led the Ancient Egyptians to develop the art of making images of the dead in lasting materials. Such ideas, however, have sprung from the soil of unbounded self-love, from the primary narcissism which dominates the mind of the child and of primitive man. But when this stage has been surmounted, the ‘double’ reverses its aspect. From having been an assurance of immortality, it becomes the uncanny harbinger of death. The idea of the ‘double’ does not necessarily disappear with the passing of primary narcissism, for it can receive fresh meaning from the later stages of the ego’s development. A special agency is slowly formed there, which is able to stand over against the rest of the ego, which has the function of observing and criticizing the self and of exercising a censorship within the mind, and which we become aware of as our ‘conscience’. In the pathological case of delusions of being watched, this mental agency becomes isolated, dissociated from the ego, and discernible to the physician’s eye. The fact that an agency of this kind exists, which is able to treat the rest of the ego like an object — the fact, that is, that man is capable of self-observation — renders it possible to invest the old idea of a ‘double’ with a new meaning and to ascribe a number of things to it — above all, those things which seem to self-criticism to belong to the old surmounted narcissism of earliest times. ut it is not only this latter material, offensive as it is to the criticism of the ego, which may be incorporated in the idea of a double. There are also all the unfulfilled but possible futures to which we still like to cling in phantasy, all the strivings of the ego which adverse external circumstances have
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crushed, and all our suppressed acts of volition which nourish in us the illusion of Free Will. But after having thus considered the manifest motivation of the figure of a 'double', we have to admit that none of this helps us to understand the extraordinarily strong feeling of something uncanny that pervades the conception; and our knowledge of pathological mental processes enables us to add that nothing in this more superficial material could account for the urge towards defense which has caused the ego to project that material outward as something foreign to itself. When all is said and done, the quality of uncanniness can only come from the fact of the 'double' being a creation dating back to a very early mental stage, long since surmounted — a stage, incidentally, at which it wore a more friendly aspect. The 'double' has become a thing of terror, just as, after the collapse of their religion, the gods turned into demons. The other forms of ego-disturbance exploited by Hoffmann can easily be estimated along the same lines as the theme of the ‘double’. They are a harking-back to particular phases in the evolution of the selfregarding feeling, a regression to a time when the ego had not yet marked itself off sharply from the external world and from other people. I believe that these factors are partly responsible for the impression of uncanniness, although it is not easy to isolate and determine exactly their share of it. The factor of the repetition of the same thing will perhaps not appeal to everyone as a source of uncanny feeling. From what I have observed, this phenomenon does undoubtedly, subject to certain conditions and combined with certain circumstances, arouse an
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uncanny feeling, which, furthermore, recalls the sense of helplessness experienced in some dream-states. As I was walking, one hot summer afternoon, through the deserted streets of a provincial town in Italy which was unknown to me, I found myself in a quarter of whose character I could not long remain in doubt. nothing but painted women were to be seen at the windows of the small houses, and I hastened to leave the narrow street at the next turning. But after having wandered about for a time without enquiring my way, I suddenly found myself back in the same street, where my presence was now beginning to excite attention. I hurried away once more, only to arrive by another detour at the same place yet a third time. Now, however, a feeling overcame me which I can only describe as uncanny, and I was glad enough to find myself back at the piazza I had left a short while before, without any further voyages of discovery. Other situations which have in common with my adventure an unintended recurrence of the same situation, but which differ radically from it in other respects, also result in the same feeling of helplessness and of uncanniness. So, for instance, when, caught in a mist perhaps, one has lost one’s way in a mountain forest, every attempt to find the marked or familiar path may bring one back again and again to one and the same spot, which one can identify by some particular landmark. Or one may wander about in a dark, strange room, looking for the door or the electric switch, and collide time after time with the same piece of furniture -- though it is true that Mark Twain succeeded by wild exaggeration in turning this latter situation into something irresistibly comic. we take another class of things, it is easy to see that there, too, it is only this factor of involuntary repetition which surrounds what would otherwise by innocent enough with an uncanny atmosphere, and forces upon

us the idea of something fateful and inescapable when otherwise we should have spoken only of ‘chance’. For instance, we naturally attach no importance to the event when we hand in an overcoat and get a cloakroom ticket with the number, let us say, 62; or when we find that our cabin on a ship bears that number. But the impression is altered if two such events, each in itself indifferent, happen close together — if we come across the number 62 several times in a single day, or if we begin to notice that everything which has a number — addresses, hotel rooms, compartments in railway trains — invariably has the same one, or at all events one which contains the same figures. We do feel this to be uncanny. And unless a man is utterly hardened and proof against the lure of superstition, he will be tempted to ascribe a secret meaning to this obstinate recurrence of a number; he will take it, perhaps, as an indication of the span of life allotted to him. Or suppose one is engaged in reading the works of the famous physiologist, Hering, and within the space of a few days receives two letters from two different countries, each from a person called Hering, though one has never before had any dealings with anyone of that name. Not long ago an ingenious scientist (Kammerer, 1919) attempted to reduce coincidences of this kind to certain laws, and so deprive them of their uncanny effect. I will not venture to decide whether he has succeeded or not. How exactly we can trace back to infantile psychology the uncanny effect of such similar recurrences is a question I can only lightly touch on in these pages; and I must refer the reader instead to another work, already completed, in which this has been gone into in detail, but in a different connection. For it is possible to recognize the dominance in the unconscious mind of a 'compulsion to repeat' proceeding from the instinctual impulses and probably inherent in the very nature of the instincts — a compulsion powerful enough to overrule the pleasure principle,

lending to certain aspects of the mind their daemonic character, and still very clearly expressed in the impulses of small children; a compulsion, too, which is responsible for a part of the course taken by the analyses of neurotic patients. All these considerations prepare us for the discovery that whatever reminds us of this inner 'compulsion to repeat' is perceived as uncanny. Now, however, it is time to turn from these aspects of the matter, which are in any case difficult to judge, and look for some undeniable instances of the uncanny, in the hope that an analysis of them will decide whether our hypothesis is a valid one. In the story of "The Ring of Polycrates’, The king of Egypt turns away in horror from his host, Polycrates, because he sees that his friend’s every wish is at once fulfilled, his every care promptly removed by kindly fate. His host has become ‘uncanny’ to him. His own explanation, that the too fortunate man has to fear the envy of the gods, seems obscure to us; its meaning is veiled in mythological language. We will therefore turn to another example in a less grandiose setting. In the case history of an obsessional neurotic, I have described how the patient once stayed in a hydropathic establishment and benefited greatly by it. He had the good sense, however, to attribute his improvement not to the therapeutic properties of the water, but to the situation of his room, which immediately adjoined that of a very accommodating nurse. So on his second visit to the establishment he asked for the same room, but was told that it was already occupied by an old gentleman, whereupon he gave vent to his annoyance in the words: ‘I wish he may be struck dead for it.’ A fortnight later the old gentleman really did have a stroke. My patient thought this an ‘uncanny’ experience. The impression of uncanniness would have been stronger still if less time had elapsed between his words and the untoward event, or if he had been able to report innumerable
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similar coincidences. As a matter of fact, he had no difficulty in producing coincidences of this sort; but then not only he but every obsessional neurotic I have observed has been able to relate analogous experiences. They are never surprised at their invariably running up against someone they have just been thinking of, perhaps for the first time for a long while. If they say one day 'I haven't had any news of so-and-so for a long time', they will be sure to get a letter from him the next morning, and an accident or a death will rarely take place without having passed through their mind a little while before. They are in the habit of referring to this state of affairs in the most modest manner, saying that they have 'presentiments' which 'usually' come true. One of the most uncanny and wide-spread forms of superstition is the dread of the evil eye, which has been exhaustively studied by the Hamburg oculist Seligmann (1910-11). There never seems to have been any doubt about the source of this dread. Whoever possesses something that is at once valuable and fragile is afraid of other people's envy, in so far as he projects on to them the envy he would have felt in their place. A feeling like this betrays itself by a look even though it is not put into words; and when a man is prominent owing to noticeable, and particularly owing to unattractive, attributes, other people are ready to believe that his envy is rising to a more than usual degree of intensity and that this intensity will convert it into effective action. What is feared is thus a secret intention of doing harm, and certain signs are taken to mean that that intention has the necessary power at its commend. These last examples of the uncanny are to be referred to the principle which I have called 'omnipotence of thoughts', taking, the name from an expression used by one of my patients. And now we find ourselves on familiar ground. Our analysis of instances of the uncanny has led us back to the old, animistic
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conception of the universe. This was characterized by the idea that the world was peopled with the spirits of human beings; by the subject's narcissistic overvaluation of his own mental processes; by the belief in the omnipotence of thoughts and the technique of magic based on that belief; by the attribution to various outside persons and things of carefully graded magical powers, or 'mama'; as well as by all the other creations with the help of which man, in the unrestricted narcissism of that stage of development, strove to fend off the manifest prohibitions of reality. It seems as if each one of us has been through a phase of individual development corresponding to this animistic stage in primitive men, that none of us has passed through it without preserving certain residues and traces of it which are still capable of manifesting themselves, and that everything which now strikes us as 'uncanny' fulfills the condition of touching those residues of animistic mental activity within us and bringing them to expression. this point I will put forward two considerations which, I think, contain the gist of this short study. In the first place, if psycho-analytic theory is correct in maintaining that every affect belonging to an emotional impulse, whatever its kind, is transformed, if it is repressed, into anxiety, then among instances of frightening things there must be one class in which the frightening element can be shown to be something repressed which recurs. This class of frightening things would then constitute the uncanny; and it must be a matter of indifference whether what is uncanny was itself originally frightening or whether it carried some other affect. In the second place, if this is indeed the secret nature of the uncanny, we can understand why linguistic usage has extended
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das Heimliche [‘homely’] into its opposite, das Unheimliche (p. 226); for this uncanny is in reality nothing new or alien, but something which is familiar and old-established in the mind and which has become alienated from it only through the process of repression. This reference to the factor of repression enables us, furthermore, to understand Schelling’s definition [p. 224] of the uncanny as something which ought to have remained hidden but has come to light. It only remains for us to test our new hypothesis on one or two more examples of the uncanny. any people experience the feeling in the highest degree in relation to death and dead bodies, to the return of the dead, and to spirits and ghosts. As we have seen some languages in use to-day can only render the German expression ‘an unheimlich house’ by ‘a haunted house’. We might indeed have begun our investigation with this example, perhaps the most striking of all, of something uncanny, but we refrained from doing so because the uncanny in it is too much intermixed with what is purely gruesome and is in part overlaid by it. There is scarcely any other matter, however, upon which our thoughts and feelings have changed so little since the very earliest times, and in which discarded forms have been so completely preserved under a thin disguise, as our relation to death. Two things account for our conservatism: the strength of our original emotional reaction to death and the insufficiency of our scientific knowledge about it. Biology has not yet been able to decide whether death is the inevitable fate of every living being or whether it is only a regular but yet perhaps avoidable event in life. It is true that the statement ‘All men are mortal’ is paraded

in text-books of logic as an example of a general proposition; but no human being really grasps it, and our unconscious has as little use now as it ever had for the idea of its own mortality. Religions continue to dispute the importance of the undeniable fact of individual death and to postulate a life after death; civil governments still believe that they cannot maintain moral order among the living if they do not uphold the prospect of a better life hereafter as a recompense for mundane existence. In our great cities, placards announce lectures that undertake to tell us how to get into touch with the souls of the departed; and it cannot be denied that not a few of the most able and penetrating minds among our men of science have come to the conclusion, especially towards the close of their own lives, that a contact of this kind is not impossible. Since almost all of us still think as savages do on this topic, it is no matter for surprise that the primitive fear of the dead is still so strong within us and always ready to come to the surface on any provocation. Most likely our fear still implies the old belief that the dead man becomes the enemy of his survivor and seeks to carry him off to share his new life with him. Considering our unchanged attitude towards death, we might rather enquire what has become of the repression, which is the necessary condition of a primitive feeling recurring in the shape of something uncanny. But repression is there, too. All supposedly educated people have ceased to believe officially that the dead can become visible as spirits, and have made any such appearances dependent on improbable and remote conditions; their emotional attitude towards their dead, moreover, once a highly ambiguous and ambivalent one, has been toned down in the higher strata of the mind into an unambiguous feeling of piety. We have now only a few remarks to add — for animism, magic and sorcery, the omnipotence of thoughts, man's attitude to death, involuntary repetition and the castration complex com91

prise practically all the factors which turn something frightening into something uncanny. can also speak of a living person as uncanny, and we do so when we ascribe evil intentions to him. But that is not all; in addition to this we must feel that his intentions to harm us are going to be carried out with the help of special powers. A good instance of this is the ‘Gettatore’, that uncanny figure of Romanic superstition which Schaeffer, with intuitive poetic feeling and profound psycho-analytic understanding, has transformed into a sympathetic character in his Josef Montfort. But the question of these secret powers brings us back again to the realm of animism. It was the pious Gretchen’s intuition that Mephistopheles possessed secret powers of this kind that made him so uncanny to her.

Sic fühlt dass ich ganz sicher ein Genie, Vielleieht sogar der Teufel bin.
The uncanny effect of epilepsy and of madness has the same origin. The layman sees in them the working of forces hitherto unsuspected in his fellow-men, but at the same time he is dimly aware of them in remote corners of his own being. The Middle Ages quite consistently ascribed all such maladies to the influence of demons, and in this their psychology was almost correct. Indeed, I should not be surprised to hear that psychoanalysis, which is concerned with laying bare these hidden forces, has itself become uncanny to many people for that very reason. In one case, after I had succeeded — though none too rapidly — in effecting a cure in a girl who had been an invalid for many years, I myself heard this view expressed by the patient’s mother long af-

ter her recovery. Dismembered limbs, a severed head, a hand cut off at the wrist, as in a fairy tale of Hauff's, feet which dance by themselves, as in the book by Schaeffer which I mentioned above — all these have something peculiarly uncanny about them, especially when, as in the last instance, they prove capable of independent activity in addition. As we already know, this kind of uncanniness springs from its proximity to the castration complex. To some people the idea of being buried alive by mistake is the most uncanny thing of all. And yet psycho-analysis has taught us that this terrifying phantasy is only a transformation of another phantasy which had originally nothing terrifying about it at all, but was qualified by a certain lasciviousness — the phantasy, I mean, of intrauterine existence. There is one more point of general application which I should like to add, though, strictly speaking, it has been included in what has already been said about animism and modes of working of the mental apparatus that have been surmounted; for I think it deserves special emphasis. This is that an uncanny effect is often and easily produced when the distinction between imagination and reality is effaced, as when something that we have hitherto regarded as imaginary appears before us in reality, or when a symbol takes over the full functions of the thing it symbolizes, and so on. It is this factor which contributes not a little to the uncanny effect attaching to magical practices. The infantile element in this, which also dominates the minds of neurotics, is the overaccentuation of psychical reality in comparison with material reality — a feature closely allied to the belief in the omnipotence of thoughts. In the middle of the isolation of war-time a number of the English Strand Magazine fell into my hands; and, among other

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somewhat redundant matter, I read a story about a young married couple who move into a furnished house in which there is a curiously shaped table with carvings of crocodiles on it. Towards evening an intolerable and very specific smell begins to pervade the house; they stumble over something in the dark; they seem to see a vague form gliding over the stairs — in short, we are given to understand that the presence of the table causes ghostly crocodiles to haunt the place, or that the wooden monsters come to life in the dark, or something of that sort. It was a naïve enough story, but the uncanny feeling it produced was quite remarkable. To conclude this collection of examples, which is certainly not complete, I will relate an instance taken from psycho-analytic experience; if it does not rest upon mere coincidence, it furnishes a beautiful confirmation of our theory of the uncanny. It often happens that neurotic men declare that they feel there is something uncanny about the female genital organs. This unheimlich place, however, is the entrance to the former Heim [home] of all human beings, to the place where each one of us lived once upon a time and in the beginning. there is a joking saying that ‘Love is home-sickness’; and whenever a man dreams of a place or a country and says to himself, while he is still dreaming: ‘this place is familiar to me, I’ve been here before’, we may interpret the place as being his mother’s genitals or her body. In this case too, then, the unheimlich is what was once heimisch, familiar; the prefix ‘un’ [‘un’] is the token of repression.

undergone repression and then returned from it, and that everything that is uncanny fulfills this condition. But the selection of material on this basis does not enable us to solve the problem of the uncanny. For our proposition is clearly not convertible. Not everything that fulfills this condition — not everything that recalls repressed desires and surmounted modes of thinking belonging to the prehistory of the individual and of the race — is on that account uncanny. Nor shall we conceal the fact that for almost every example adduced in support of our hypothesis one may be found which rebuts it. The story of the severed hand in Wilhelm Hauff’s fairy tale certainly has an uncanny effect, and we have traced that effect back to the castration complex; but most readers will probably agree with me in judging that no trace of uncanniness is provoked by Herodotus’s story of the treasure of Phampsinitus, in which the master-thief, whom the princess tries to hold fast by the hand, leaves his brother’s severed hand behind with her instead. Again, the prompt fulfillment of the wishes of Polycrates undoubtedly affects us in the same uncanny way as it did the king of Egypt; yet our own fairy stories are crammed with instantaneous wishfulfillments which produce no uncanny effect whatever. In the story of ‘The Three Wishes’, the woman is tempted by the savory smell of a sausage to wish that she might have one too, and in an instant it lies on a plate before her. In his annoyance at her hastiness her husband wishes it may hang on her nose. And there it is, dangling from her nose. All this is very striking but not in the least III uncanny. Fairy tales quite frankly adopt the animistic standpoint of the omnipotence of thoughts and wishes, and yet I cannot think of the course of this discussion the reader will have felt cer- any genuine fairy story which has anything uncanny about it. We tain doubts arising in his mind; and he must now have an have heard that it is in the highest degree uncanny when an inaniopportunity of collecting them and bringing them formate object — a picture or a doll — comes to life; nevertheless in ward. It may be true that the uncanny [unheimlich] is Hans Andersen’s stories the household utensils, furniture and tin something which is secretly familiar [heimlich-heimisch], which has (Continued on page 94)
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soldiers are alive, yet nothing could well be more remote from the uncanny. And we should hardly call it uncanny when Pygmalion’s beautiful statue comes to life. pparent death and the re-animation of the dead have been represented as most uncanny themes. But things of this sort too are very common in fairy stories. Who would be so bold as to call it uncanny, for instance, when Snow-White opens her eyes once more? And the resuscitation of the dead in accounts of miracles, as in the New Testament, elicits feelings quite unrelated to the uncanny. Then, too, the theme that achieves such an indubitably uncanny effect, the unintended recurrence of the same thing, serves other and quite different purposes in another class of cases. We have already come across one example in which it is employed to call up a feeling of the comic; and we could multiply instances of this kind. Or again, it works as a means of emphasis, and so on. And once more: what is the origin of the uncanny effect of silence, darkness and solitude? Do not these factors point to the part played by danger in the genesis of what is uncanny, notwithstanding that in children these same factors are the most frequent determinants of the expression of fear [rather than of the uncanny]? And are we after all justified in entirely ignoring intellectual uncertainty as a factor, seeing that we have admitted its importance in relation to death? It is evident therefore, that we must be prepared to admit that there are other elements besides those which we have so far laid down as determining the production of uncanny feelings. We might say that these preliminary results have satisfied psychoanalytic interest in the problem of the uncanny, and that what remains probably calls for an aesthetic enquiry. But that would be to open the door to doubts about what exactly is the value of our
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general contention that the uncanny proceeds from something familiar which has been repressed. We have noticed one point which may help us to resolve these uncertainties: nearly all the instances that contradict our hypothesis are taken from the realm of fiction, of imaginative writing. This suggests that we should differentiate between the uncanny that we actually experience and the uncanny that we merely picture or read about. What is experienced as uncanny is much more simply conditioned but comprises far fewer instances. We shall find, I think, that it fits in perfectly with our attempt at a solution, and can be traced back without exception to something familiar that has been repressed. But here, too, we must make a certain important and psychologically significant differentiation in our material, which is best illustrated by turning to suitable examples. Let us take the uncanny associated with the omnipotence of thoughts, with the prompt fulfillment of wishes, with secret injurious powers and with the return of the dead. The condition under which the feeling of uncanniness arises here is unmistakable. We — or our primitive forefathers — once believed that these possibilities were realities, and were convinced that they actually happened. Nowadays we no longer believe in them, we have surmounted these modes of thought; but we do not feel quite sure of our new beliefs, and the old ones still exist within us ready to seize upon any confirmation. As soon as something actually happens in our lives which seems to confirm the old, discarded beliefs we get a feeling of the uncanny; it is as though we were making a judgment something like this: ‘So, after all, it is true that one can kill a person by the mere wish!’ or, ‘So the dead do live on and appear on the scene of their former activities!’ and so on. Conversely, anyone who has completely and finally rid himself of animistic beliefs will be insensible to this type of the uncanny. The most remarkable coincidences of wish and fulfillment, the most mysterious repeti-

...an uncanny experience occurs either when infantile complexes which have been repressed are once more revived by some impression, or when primitive beliefs which have been surmounted seem once more to be confirmed...
tion of similar experiences in a particular place or on a particular date, the most deceptive sights and suspicious noises — none of these things will disconcert him or raise the kind of fear which can be described as ‘a fear of something uncanny’. The whole thing is purely an affair of ‘reality-testing’, a question of the material reality of the phenomena. The state of affairs is different when the uncanny proceeds from repressed infantile complexes, from the castration complex, womb-phantasies, etc.’ but experiences which arouse this kind of uncanny feeling are not of very frequent occurrence in real life. The uncanny which proceeds from actual experience belongs for the most part to the first group [the group dealt with in the previous paragraph]. Nevertheless the distinction between the two is theoretically very important. Where the uncanny comes from infantile complexes the question of material reality does not arise; its place is taken by psychical reality. What is involved is an actual repression of some content of thought and a return of this repressed content, not a cessation of belief in the reality of such a content. We might say that in the one case what had been repressed is a particular ideational content, and in the other the belief in its (material) reality. But this last phrase no doubt extends the term ‘repression’ beyond its legitimate meaning. It would be more correct to take into account a psychological distinction

which can be detected here, and to say that the animistic beliefs of civilized people are in a state of having been (to a greater or lesser extent) surmounted [rather than repressed]. Our conclusion could then be stated thus: an uncanny experience occurs either when infantile complexes which have been repressed are once more revived by some impression, or when primitive beliefs which have been surmounted seem once more to be confirmed. Finally, we must not let our predilection for smooth solutions and lucid exposition blind us to the fact that these two classes of uncanny experience are not always sharply distinguishable. When we consider that primitive beliefs are most intimately connected with infantile complexes, and are, in fact, based on them, we shall not be greatly astonished to find that the distinction is often a hazy one. The uncanny as it is depicted in literature, in stories and imaginative productions, merits in truth a separate discussion. Above all, it is a much more fertile province than the uncanny in real life, for it contains the whole of the latter and something more besides, something that cannot be found in real life. The contrast between what has been repressed and what has been surmounted cannot be transposed on to the uncanny in fiction without profound modification; for the realm of phantasy depends for its effect on the fact that its content is not submitted to reality-testing. The somewhat paradoxical result is that in the first place a great deal that is not uncanny in fiction would be so if it happened in real life; and in the second place that there are many more means of creating uncanny effects in fiction than there are in real life. The imaginative writer has this license among many others, that he can select his world of representation so that it either coincides with the realities we are familiar with or departs from them in what particulars he pleases. We accept his ruling in every case. In fairy tales, for instance, the world of reality is left behind from
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the very start, and the animistic system of beliefs is frankly adopted. Wish-fulfillments, secret powers, omnipotence of thoughts, animation of inanimate objects, all the elements so common in fairy stories, can exert no uncanny influence here; for, as we have learnt, that feeling cannot arise unless there is a conflict of judgment as to whether things which have been 'surmounted' and are regarded as incredible may not, after all, be possible; and this problem is eliminated from the outset by the postulates of the world of fairy tales. Thus we see that fairy stories, which have furnished us with most of the contradictions to our hypothesis of the uncanny, confirm the first part of our proposition — that in the realm of fiction many things are not uncanny which would be so if they happened in real life. In the case of these stories there are other contributory factors, which we shall briefly touch upon later. The creative writer can also choose a setting which though less imaginary than the world of fairy tales, does yet differ from the real world by admitting superior spiritual beings such as daemonic spirits or ghosts of the dead. So long as they remain within their setting of poetic reality, such figures lose any uncanniness which they might possess. The souls in Dante's Inferno, or the supernatural apparitions in Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Macbeth or Julius Caesar, may be gloomy and terrible enough, but they are no more really uncanny than Homer’s jovial world of gods. We adapt our judgment to the imaginary reality imposed on us by the writer, and regard souls, spirits and ghosts as though their existence had the same validity as our own has in material reality. In this case too we avoid all trace of the uncanny. The situation is altered as soon as the writer pretends to move in the world of common reality. In this case he accepts as well all the conditions operating to produce uncanny feelings in real life; and everything that would have an uncanny effect in reality has it in his story. But in this case he can even increase his ef-

fect and multiply it far beyond what could happen in reality, by bringing about events which never or very rarely happen in fact. In doing this he is in a sense betraying us to the superstitiousness which we have ostensibly surmounted; he deceives us by promising to give us the sober truth, and then after all overstepping it. We react to his inventions as we would have reacted to real experiences; by the time we have seen through his trick it is already too late and the author has achieved his object. But it must be added that his success is not unalloyed. We retain a feeling of dissatisfaction, a kind of grudge against the attempted deceit. I have noticed this particularly after reading Schnitzler's Die Weissagung [The Prophecy] and similar stories which flirt with the supernatural. However, the writer has one more means which he can use in order to avoid our recalcitrance and at the same time to improve his chances of success. He can keep us in the dark for a long time about the precise nature of the presuppositions on which the world he writes about is based, or he can cunningly and ingeniously avoid any definite information on the point to the last. Speaking generally, however, we find a confirmation of the second part of our proposition — that fiction presents more opportunities for creating uncanny feelings than are possible in real life. Strictly speaking, all these complications relate only to that class of the uncanny which proceeds from forms of thought that have been surmounted. The class which proceeds from repressed complexes is more resistant and remains as powerful in fiction as in real experience, subject to one exception. The uncanny belonging to the first class — that proceeding from forms of thought that have been surmounted — retains its character not only in experience but in fiction as well, so long as the setting is one of material reality; but where it is given an arbitrary and artificial setting in fiction, it is apt to lose that character.

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have clearly not exhausted the possibilities of poetic license and the privileges enjoyed by story-writers in evoking or in excluding an uncanny feeling. In the main we adopt an unvarying passive attitude towards real experience and are subject to the influence of our physical environment. But the story-teller has a peculiarly directive power over us; by means of the moods he can put us into, he is able to guide the current of our emotions, to dam it up in one direction and make it flow in another, and he often obtains a great variety of effects from the same material. All this is nothing new, and has doubtless long since been fully taken into account by students of aesthetics. We have drifted into this field of research half involuntarily, through the temptation to explain certain instances which contradicted our theory of the causes of the uncanny. Accordingly we will now return to the examination of a few of those instances. We have already asked why it is that the severed hand in the story of the treasure of Rhampsinitus has no uncanny effect in the way that the severed hand has in Hauff’s story. The question seems to have gained in importance now that we have recognized that the class of the uncanny which proceeds from repressed complexes is the more resistant of the two. The answer is easy. In the Herodotus story our thoughts are concentrated much more on the superior cunning of the master-thief than on the feelings of the princess. The princess may very well have had an un-

canny feeling, indeed she very probably fell into a swoon; but we have no such sensations, for we put ourselves in the thief's place, not in hers. In Nestroy's farce, Der Zerrissene [The Torn Man], another means is used to avoid any impression of the uncanny in the scene in which the fleeing man, convinced that he is a murderer, lifts up one trapdoor after another and each time sees what he takes to be the ghost of his victim rising up out of it. He calls out in despair, 'But I've only killed one man. Why this ghastly multiplication?' We know what went before this scene and do not share his error, so what must be uncanny to him has an irresistibly comic effect on us. Even a 'real' ghost, as in Oscar Wilde's Canterville Ghost, loses all power of at least arousing gruesome feelings in us as soon as the author begins to amuse himself by being ironical about it and allows liberties to be taken with it. Thus we see how independent emotional effects can be of the actual subject-matter in the world of fiction. In fairy stories feelings of fear — including therefore uncanny feelings — are ruled out altogether. We understand this, and that is why we ignore any opportunities we find in them for developing such feelings. Concerning the factors of silence, solitude and darkness, we can only say that they are actually elements in the production of the infantile anxiety from which the majority of human beings have never become quite free. This problem has been discussed from a psycho-analytic point of view elsewhere.

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FICTION

The Sand-Man
NATHANAEL TO LOTHAIR lovely Clara's form comes to gladden me in my dreams, and smiles upon me with her bright eyes, as graciously as she used to do in the days when I went in and out amongst you. Oh! how could I write to you in the distracted state of mind in which I have been, and which, until now, has quite bewildered me! A terrible thing has happened to me. Dark forebodings of some awful fate threatening me are spreading themselves out over my head like black clouds, impenetrable to every friendly ray of sunlight. I must now tell you what has taken place; I must, that I see well enough, but only to think upon it makes the wild laughter burst from my lips. Oh! my dear, dear Lothair, what shall I say to make you feel, if only in an inadequate way, that that which happened to me a few days ago could thus really exercise such a hostile and disturbing influence upon my life? Oh that you were here to see for yourself! But now you will, I suppose, take me for a superstitious ghost-seer. In a word, the terrible thing which I have experienced, the fatal effect of which I in vain exert every effort to shake off, is simply that some days ago, namely, on the 30th October, at twelve o'clock at noon, a dealer in weather-glasses came into my room and wanted to sell me one of his wares. I bought nothing, and threatened to kick him downstairs, whereupon he went away of his own accord. You will conclude that it can only be very peculiar relations-- relations intimately intertwined with my life--that can give significance to this event, and that it must be the person of this unfortunate hawker which has had such a very inimical effect upon me. And so it really is. I will summon up all my faculties in order to narrate to you calmly and patiently as much of the

I

know you are all very uneasy because I have not written for such a long, long time. Mother, to be sure, is angry, and Clara, I dare say, believes I am living here in riot and revelry, and quite forgetting my sweet angel, whose image is so deeply engraved upon my heart and mind. But that is not so; daily and hourly do I think of you all, and my

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All woodcuts are by artist and printmaker Daniel Niklaus Chodowiecki, who is mentioned in this story.

early days of my youth as will suffice to put matters before you in such a way that your keen sharp intellect may grasp everything clearly and distinctly, in bright and living pictures. Just as I am beginning, I hear you laugh and Clara say, "What's all this childish nonsense about!" Well, laugh at me, laugh heartily at me, pray do. But, good God! my hair is standing on end, and I seem to be entreating you to laugh at me in the same sort of frantic despair in which Franz Moor entreated Daniel to laugh him to scorn. But to my story. Except at dinner we, I and my brothers and sisters, saw but little of our father all day long. His business no doubt took up most of his time. After our evening meal, which, in accordance with an old custom, was served at seven o'clock, we all went, mother with us, into father's room, and took our places around a round table. My father smoked his pipe, drinking a large glass of beer to it. Often he told us many wonderful stories, and got so excited over them that his pipe always went out; I used then to light it for him with a spill, and this formed my chief amusement. Often, again, he would give us picture-books to look at, whilst he sat silent and motionless in his easy-chair, puffing out such dense clouds of smoke that we were all as it were enveloped in mist. On such evenings mother was very sad; and directly it struck nine she said, "Come, children! off to bed! Come! The 'Sand-man' is come I see." And I always did seem to hear something trampling upstairs with slow heavy steps; that must be the Sand-man. Once in particular I was very much frightened at this dull trampling and knocking; as mother was leading us out of the room I asked her, "O mamma! but who is this nasty Sand-man who always sends us away from papa? What does he look like?" "There is no Sand-man, my dear child," mother answered; "when I say the Sand-man is come, I only mean that you are sleepy and can't keep your eyes open, as if somebody had put sand in them." This answer of mother's did not satisfy me; nay, in my childish mind the thought clearly unfolded itself that mother denied there was a Sand-man only to prevent us being afraid,--why, I always heard him come upstairs. Full of curiosity to learn something more about this Sand-man and what he had to do with us children, I at length asked the old woman who acted as my youngest sister's attendant, what sort of a man he was--the Sand-man? "Why, 'than darling, don't you know?" she replied. "Oh! he's a wicked man, who comes to little children when they won't go to bed and throws handfuls of sand in their eyes, so that they jump out of their heads all bloody; and he puts them into a bag and takes them to the half-moon as food for his little ones; and they sit there in the nest and have hooked beaks like owls, and they pick naughty little boys' and girls' eyes out with them." After this I formed in my own mind a horrible picture of the cruel Sandman. When anything came blundering upstairs at night I trembled with fear and dismay; and all that my mother could get out of me were the stammered words "The Sandman! the Sand-man!" whilst the tears coursed down my cheeks.
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Then I ran into my bedroom, and the whole night through tormented myself with the terrible apparition of the Sand-man.

ther's room and there wait for the Sand-man. One evening I perceived from my father's silence and mother's sadness

I was quite old enough to perceive that the old woman's tale about the that the Sand-man would come; accordingly, pleading that I was excessively Sand-man and his little ones' nest in the half-moon couldn't be altogether true; tired, I left the room before nine o'clock and concealed myself in a hiding-place nevertheless the Sand-man continued to be for me a fearful incubus, and I was always seized with terror--my blood always ran cold, not only when I heard anybody come up the stairs, but when I heard anybody noisily open my father's room door and go in. Often he stayed away for a long season altogether; then he would come several times in close succession. This went on for years, without my being able to accustom myself to fainter in my imagination. His Intercourse with my father began to occupy my an unconquerable shyness; but as the years went on the desire waxed stronger and stronger within me to fathom the mystery myself and to see the fabulous close beside the door. The street door creaked, and slow, heavy, echoing steps crossed the passage towards the stairs. Mother hurried past me with my brothers and sisters. Softly--softly--I opened father's room door. He sat as usual, silent and motionless, with his back towards it; he did not hear me; and in a moment I was in and behind a curtain drawn before my father's open wardrobe, which stood There was a strange coughing and shuffling and mumbling outside. My heart A quick step now close, close beside the door, a noisy rattle of the handle, and the door flies open with a bang. Recovering my courage with an effort,

this fearful apparition, without the image of the horrible Sand-man growing any just inside the room. Nearer and nearer and nearer came the echoing footsteps. fancy ever more and more; I was restrained from asking my father about him by beat with expectation and fear.

Sand-man. He had been the means of disclosing to me the path of the wonder- I take a cautious peep out. In the middle of the room in front of my father ful and the adventurous, which so easily find lodgment in the mind of the child. stands the Sand-man, the bright light of the lamp falling full upon his face. The I liked nothing better than to hear or read horrible stories of goblins, witches, Tom Thumbs, and so on; but always at the head of them all stood the Sandman, whose picture I scribbled in the most extraordinary and repulsive forms with both chalk and coal everywhere, on the tables, and cupboard doors, and little chamber off the corridor not far from my father's room. We still had to withdraw hastily whenever, on the stroke of nine, the mysterious unknown was heard in the house. soon afterwards I fancied there was a fine and peculiar smelling steam spreading itself through the house. As my curiosity waxed stronger, my resolve to make somehow or other the Sand-man's acquaintance took deeper root. Often when my mother had gone past, I slipped quickly out of my room into the corridor, but I could never see anything, for always before I could reach the place where I could get sight of him, the Sand-man was well inside the door. At last, unable to resist the impulse any longer, I determined to conceal myself in faSand-man, the terrible Sand-man, is the old advocate Coppelius who often comes to dine with us. But the most hideous figure could not have awakened greater trepidation in my heart than this Coppelius did. Picture to yourself a large broadgrey bushy eyebrows, from beneath which two piercing, greenish, cat-like eyes glittered, and a prominent Roman nose hanging over his upper lip. His distorted mouth was often screwed up into a malicious smile; then two dark-red spots his tightly clenched teeth. He always wore an ash-grey coat of an old-fashioned cut, a waistcoat of the same, and nether extremities to match, but black stockings and buckles set with stones on his shoes. His little wig scarcely extended beyond the crown of his head, his hair was curled round high up above his big red ears, and plastered to his temples with cosmetic, and a broad closed hair-bag stood out
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walls. When I was ten years old my mother removed me from the nursery into a shouldered man, with an immensely big head, a face the color of yellow-ochre,

As I lay in my little chamber I could hear him go into father's room, and appeared on his cheeks, and a strange hissing noise proceeded from between

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prominently from his neck, so that you could see the silver buckle that fastened his folded neck-cloth. Altogether he was a most disagreeable and horribly ugly figure; but what we children detested most of all was his big coarse hairy hands; we could never fancy anything that he had once touched. This he had noticed; and so, whenever our good mother quietly placed a piece of cake or sweet fruit on our plates, he delighted to touch it under some pretext or other, until the bright the tit-bit that was intended to please us. And he did just the same thing when father gave us a glass of sweet wine on holidays. Then he would quickly pass his hand over it, or even sometimes raise the glass to his blue lips, and he laughed quite sardonically when all we dared do was to express our vexation in stifled sobs. He habitually called us the "little brutes;" and when he was present we might not utter a sound; and we cursed the ugly spiteful man who deliberately and intentionally spoiled all our little pleasures. Mother seemed to dislike this hateful Coppelius as much as we did; for as soon as he appeared her cheerfulness and bright and natural manner were transformed into sad, gloomy seriousness. Father treated him as if he were a being of some higher race, whose ill-manners were to be tolerated, whilst no efforts ought to be spared to keep him in good-humor. He had only to give a slight hint, and his favorite dishes were cooked for him and rare wine uncorked. As soon as I saw this Coppelius, therefore, the fearful and hideous thought arose in my mind that he, and he alone, must be the Sand-man; but I no longer conceived of the Sand-man as the bugbear in the old nurse's fable, who fetched children's eyes and took them to the half-moon as food for his little ones--no! but as an ugly specter-like fiend bringing trouble and misery and ruin, both temporal and everlasting, everywhere wherever he appeared. I was spell-bound on the spot. At the risk of being discovered, and, as I well enough knew, of being severely punished, I remained as I was, with my head thrust through the curtains listening. My father received Coppelius in a ceremonious manner. "Come, to work!" cried the latter, in a hoarse snarling voice, throwing off his coat. Gloomily and silently my father took off his dressing-gown, and

both put on long black smock-frocks. Where they took them from I forgot to notice. Father opened the folding-doors of a cupboard in the wall; but I saw that what I had so long taken to be a cupboard was really a dark recess, in which was a little hearth. Coppelius approached it, and a blue flame crackled upwards from it. Round about were all kinds of strange utensils. Good God! as my old father bent down over the fire how different he looked! His gentle and venerable fearepulsive Satanic mask. He looked like Coppelius. Coppelius plied the red-hot tongs and drew bright glowing masses out of the thick smoke and began assiduously to hammer them. I fancied that there were men's faces visible round about, but without eyes, having ghastly deep black holes where the eyes should have been. "Eyes here! Eyes here!" cried Coppelius, in a hollow sepulchral voice. My blood ran cold with horror; I screamed and tumbled out of my hiding-place into the floor. Coppelius immediately seized upon me. "You little brute! You little brute!" he bleated, grinding his teeth. Then, snatching me up, he threw me on the hearth, so that the flames began to singe my hair. "Now we've got eyes-eyes--a beautiful pair of children's eyes," he whispered, and, thrusting his hands into the flames he took out some red-hot grains and was about to strew them into my eyes. Then my father clasped his hands and entreated him, saying, "Master, master, let my Nathanael keep his eyes--oh! do let him keep them." Coppelius laughed shrilly and replied, "Well then, the boy may keep his eyes and whine and pull his way through the world; but we will now at any rate observe the mechanism of the hand and the foot." And therewith he roughly laid hold upon me, so that my joints cracked, and twisted my hands and my feet, pulling them now this way, and now that, "That's not quite right altogether! It's better as it was!--the old fellow knew what he was about." Thus lisped and hissed Coppelius; but all around me grew black and dark; a sudden convulsive pain shot through all my nerves and bones; I knew nothing more. I felt a soft warm breath fanning my cheek; I awakened as if out of the sleep of death; my mother was bending over me. "Is the Sand-man still there?" I stammered. "No, my dear child; he's been gone a long, long time; he'll not hurt you." Thus spoke my mother, as she kissed her recovered darling and pressed
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tears stood in our eyes, and from disgust and loathing we lost the enjoyment of tures seemed to be drawn up by some dreadful convulsive pain into an ugly,

town. It was about a year later when, in pursuance of the old unchanged custom, we sat around the round table in the evening. Father was in very good spirits, and was telling us amusing tales about his youthful travels. As it was striking nine we all at once heard the street door creak on its hinges, and slow ponderous steps echoed across the passage and up the stairs. "That is Coppelius," said my mother, turning pale. "Yes, it is Coppelius," replied my father in a faint broken voice. The tears started from my mother's eyes. "But, must it be so?" she cried, " "This is the last time," he replied; "this is the last time he will come to me, I promise you. Go now, go and take the children. Go, go to bed--goodnight." As for me, I felt as if I were converted into cold, heavy stone; I could not get my breath. As I stood there immovable my mother seized me by the arm. "Come, Nathanael! do come along!" I suffered myself to be led away; I went into my room. "Be a good boy and keep quiet," mother called after me; "get into bed and go to sleep." But, tortured by indescribable fear and uneasiness, I could not close my eyes. That hateful, hideous Coppelius stood before me with his glittering eyes, smiling maliciously down upon me; in vain did I strive to banish the image. Somewhere about midnight there was a terrific crack, as if a cannon were being fired off. The whole house shook; something went rustling and clathim to her heart. But why should I tire you, my dear Lothair? why do I dwell at -I was detected in my eavesdropping, and roughly handled by Coppelius. Fear and terror had brought on a violent fever, of which I lay ill several weeks. "Is the Sand-man still there?" these were the first words I uttered on coming to myself again, the first sign of my recovery, of my safety. Thus, you see, I have only to relate to you the most terrible moment of my youth for you to thoroughly understand that it must not be ascribed to the weakness of my eyesight if all that I see is colorless, but to the fact that a mysterious destiny has hung a dark veil of clouds about my life, which I shall perhaps only break through when I die. Coppelius did not show himself again; it was reported he had left the tering past my door; the house-door was pulled to with a bang. "That is Coppeing scream; I rushed into my father's room; the door stood open, and clouds of suffocating smoke came rolling towards me. The servant-maid shouted, "Oh! my master! my master!" On the floor in front of the smoking hearth lay my father, dead, his face burned black and fearfully distorted, my sisters weeping and moaning around him, and my mother lying near them in a swoon. "Coppelius, you atrocious fiend, you've killed my father," I shouted. My senses left me. Two days later, when my father was placed in his coffin, his features were mild and gentle again as they had been when he was alive. I found great consolation in the thought
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such length on these details, when there's so much remains to be said? Enough- lius," I cried, terror-struck, and leapt out of bed. Then I heard a wild heartrend-

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that his association with the diabolical Coppelius could not have ended in his everlasting ruin. Our neighbors had been awakened by the explosion; the affair got talked about, and came before the magisterial authorities, who wished to cite Coppelius to clear himself. But he had disappeared from the place, leaving no traces behind him. Now when I tell you, my dear friend, that the weather-glass hawker I spoke of was the villain Coppelius, you will not blame me for seeing impending mischief in his inauspicious reappearance. He was differently dressed; but Coppelius's figure and features are too deeply impressed upon my mind for me to be capable of making a mistake in the matter. Moreover, he has not even changed his name. He proclaims himself here, I learn, to be a Piedmontese mechanician, and styles himself Giuseppe Coppola. I am resolved to enter the lists against him and revenge my father's death, let the consequences be what they may. Don't say a word to mother about the reappearance of this odious monster. Give my love to my darling Clara; I will write to her when I am in a somewhat calmer frame of mind.

to have given it to my brother. But as you have so often in innocent raillery made it a sort of reproach against me that I possessed such a calm, and, for a woman, cool-headed temperament that I should be like the woman we read of-if the house was threatening to tumble down, I should, before hastily fleeing, stop to smooth down a crumple in the window-curtains--I need hardly tell you that the beginning of your letter quite upset me. I could scarcely breathe; there was a bright mist before my eyes. Oh! my darling Nathanael! what could this terrible thing be that had happened? Separation from you--never to see you again, the thought was like a sharp knife in my heart. I read on and on. Your description of that horrid Coppelius made my flesh creep. I now learnt for the first time what a terrible and violent death your good old father died. Brother Lothair, to whom I handed over his property, sought to comfort me, but with little success. That horrid weather-glass hawker Giuseppe Coppola followed me everywhere; and I am almost ashamed to confess it, but he was able to disturb my sound and in general calm sleep with all sorts of wonderful dream-shapes. But soon--the next day--I saw everything in a different light. Oh! do not be angry with me, my best-beloved, if, despite your strange presentiment that Coppelius will do you some mischief, Lothair tells you I am in quite as good spirits, and

Adieu, &c.

just the same as ever. I will frankly confess, it seems to me that all that was fearsome and terrible of which you speak, existed only in your own self, and that the real true

CLARA TO NATHANAEL

outer world had but little to do with it. I can quite admit that old Coppelius may have been highly obnoxious to you children, but your real detestation of him arose from the fact that he hated children. Naturally enough the gruesome Sand-man of the old nurse's story was associated in your childish mind with old Coppelius, who, even though you had pecially dangerous to children. His mysterious labors along with your father at night-time were, I daresay, nothing more than secret experiments in alchemy, with which your mother could not be over well pleased, owing to the large sums of money that most likely were thrown away upon them; and besides,

Lothair, for instead of directing it to him you directed it to me. With joy I tore open the envelope, and did not perceive the mistake until I read the words, "Oh! my dear, dear Lothair." Now I know I ought not to have read any more of the letter, but ought

Y

ou are right, you have not written to me for a very long time, but nevertheless I believe that I still retain a place in your mind and thoughts. It is a proof that you were thinking a good deal

about me when you were sending off your last letter to brother not believed in the Sand-man, would have been to you a ghostly bugbear, es-

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your father, his mind full of the deceptive striving after higher knowledge, may probably have become rather indifferent to his family, as so often happens in the case of such experimentalists. So also it is equally probable that your father brought about his death by his own imprudence, and that Coppelius is not to blame for it. I must tell you that yesterday I asked our experienced neighbor, the chemist, whether in experiments of this kind an explosion could take place which would have a momentarily fatal effect. He said, "Oh, certainly!" and described to me in his prolix and circumstantial way how it could be occasioned, mentioning at the same time so many strange and funny words that I could not remember them at all. Now I know you will be angry at your Clara, and will say, "Of the Mysterious which often clasps man in its invisible arms there's not a ray can find its way into this cold heart. She sees only the varied surface of the things of the world, and, like the little child, is pleased with the golden glittering fruit; at the kernel of which lies the fatal poison." Oh! my beloved Nathanael, do you believe then that the intuitive prescience of a dark power working within us to our own ruin cannot exist also in minds which are cheerful, natural, free from care? But please forgive me that I, a simple girl, presume in any way to indicate to you what I really think of such an inward strife. After all, I should not find the proper words, and you would only laugh at me, not because my thoughts were stupid, but because I was so foolish as to attempt to tell them to you. If there is a dark and hostile power which traitorously fixes a thread in our hearts in order that, laying hold of it and drawing us by means of it along a dangerous road to ruin, which otherwise we should not have trod--if, I say, there is such a power, it must assume within us a form like ourselves, nay, it must be ourselves; for only in that way can we believe in it, and only so understood do we yield to it so far that it is able to accomplish its secret purpose. So long as we have sufficient firmness, fortified by cheerfulness, to always acknowledge foreign hostile influences for what they really are, whilst we quietly pursue the path pointed out to us by both inclination and calling, then this

mysterious power perishes in its futile struggles to attain the form which is to be the reflected image of ourselves. It is also certain, Lothair adds, that if we have once voluntarily given ourselves up to this dark physical power, it often reproduces within us the strange forms which the outer world throws in our way, so that thus it is we ourselves who engender within ourselves the spirit which by some remarkable delusion we imagine to speak in that outer form. It is the phantom of our own self whose intimate relationship with, and whose powerful influence upon our soul either plunges us into hell or elevates us to heaven. Thus you will see, my beloved Nathanael, that I and brother Lothair have well talked over the subject of dark powers and forces; and now, after I have with some difficulty written down the principal results of our discussion, they seem to me to contain many really profound thoughts. Lothair's last words, however, I don't quite understand altogether; I only dimly guess what he means; and yet I cannot help thinking it is all very true, I beg you, dear, strive to forget the ugly advocate Coppelius as well as the weather-glass hawker Giuseppe Coppola. Try and convince yourself that these foreign influences can have no power over you, that it is only the belief in their hostile power which can in reality make them dangerous to you. If every line of your letter did not betray the violent excitement of your mind, and if I did not sympathize with your condition from the bottom of my heart, I could in truth jest about the advocate Sand-man and weather-glass hawker Coppelius. Pluck up your spirits! Be cheerful! I have resolved to appear to you as your guardian-angel if that ugly man Coppola should dare take it into his head to bother you in your dreams, and drive him away with a good hearty laugh. I'm not afraid of him and his nasty hands, not the least little bit; I won't let him either as advocate spoil any dainty tit-bit I've taken, or as Sand-man rob me of my eyes. My darling, darling Nathanael, Eternally your, &c. &c.

* * * * * *

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NATHANAEL TO LOTHAIR.

toms of my own self, which will at once be dissipated, as soon as I look upon them in that light. In very truth one can hardly believe that the mind which so often sparkles in those bright, beautifully smiling, childlike eyes of hers like a sweet lovely dream could draw such subtle and scholastic distinctions. She also mentions your name. You have been talking about me. I suppose you have been giving her lectures, since she sifts and refines everything so acutely. But enough of this! I must now tell you it is most certain that the weather-glass hawker Giuseppe Coppola is not the advocate Coppelius. I am attending the lectures of our recently appointed Professor of Physics, who, like the distinguished naturalist , is called Spalanzani, and is of Italian origin. He has really is a Piedmontese. Coppelius was a German, though no honest German, I fancy. Nevertheless I am not quite satisfied. You and Clara will perhaps take me for a gloomy dreamer, but in no way can I get rid of the impression which Coppelius's cursed face made upon me. I am glad to learn from Spalanzani that he has left the town. This Professor Spalanzani is a very queer fish. He is a little fat man, with prominent cheek-bones, thin nose, projecting lips, and small piercing eyes. You cannot get a better picture of him than by turning over one of the Berlin pocket -almanacs and looking at Cagliostro's portrait engraved by Chodowiecki; Spalanzani looks just like him. Once lately, as I went up the steps to his house, I perceived that beside the curtain which generally covered a glass door there was a small chink. What it was that excited my curiosity I cannot explain; but I looked through. In the ly dressed, sitting at a little table, on which she had placed both her arms, her
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hands being folded together. She sat opposite the door, so that I could easily am very sorry that Clara opened and read my last letter to you; of course the mistake is to be attributed to my own absence of mind. She has written me a very deep philosophical letter, proving conclusively that Coppelius and Coppola only exist in my own mind and are phansee her angelically beautiful face. She did not appear to notice me, and there was moreover a strangely fixed look about her eyes, I might almost say they appeared as if they had no power of vision; I thought she was sleeping with her eyes open. I felt quite uncomfortable, and so I slipped away quietly into the Professor's lecture-room, which was close at hand. Afterwards I learnt that the figure which I had seen was Spalanzani's daughter, Olimpia, whom he keeps locked in a most wicked and unaccountable way, and no man is ever allowed to come near her. Perhaps, however, there is after all, something peculiar about her; perhaps she's an idiot or something of that sort. But why am I telling you all this? I could have told you it all better and more in detail when I see you. For in a fortnight I shall be amongst you. I must see my dear sweet angel, my Clara, again. Then the little bit of ill-temper, which, I must confess, took possession of me after her fearfully sensible letter, will be blown away. And that is the reason

known Coppola for many years; and it is also easy to tell from his accent that he why I am not writing to her as well to-day. With all best wishes, &c.

pletely took possession of your heart and mind and thoughts to the utter exclusion of everything else? All was seething and boiling within you; your blood, heated to fever pitch, leapt through your veins and inflamed your cheeks. Your gaze was so peculiar, as if seeking to grasp in empty space forms not seen of Then your friends asked you, "What is the matter with you, my dear friend?
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othing more strange and extraordinary can be imagined, gracious reader, than what happened to my poor friend, the young student Nathanael, and which I have undertaken to relate to you. Have you ever lived to experience anything that com-

room I saw a female, tall, very slender, but of perfect proportions, and splendid- any other eye, and all your words ended in sighs betokening some mystery.

What do you see?" And, wishing to describe the inner pictures in all their vivid colors, with their lights and their shades, you in vain struggled to find words with which to express yourself. But you felt as if you must gather up all the events that had happened, wonderful, splendid, terrible, jocose, and awful, in the very first word, so that the whole might be revealed by a single electric discharge, so to speak. Yet every word and all that partook of the nature of communication by intelligible sounds seemed to be colorless, cold, and dead. Then you try and try again, and stutter and stammer, whilst your friends' prosy questions strike like icy winds upon your heart's hot fire until they extinguish it. But if, like a bold painter, you had first sketched in a few audacious strokes the outline of the picture you had in your soul, you would then easily have been able to deepen and intensify the colors one after the other, until the varied throng of living figures carried your friends away, and they, like you, saw themselves in the midst of the scene that had proceeded out of your own soul. has asked me for the history of young Nathanael; but you are very well aware that I belong to that remarkable class of authors who, when they are bearing anything about in their minds in the manner I have just described, feel as if everybody who comes near them, and also the whole world to boot, were asking, "Oh! what is it? Oh! do tell us, my good sir?" Hence I was most powerfully impelled to narrate to you Nathanael's ominous life. in it; but, for this very reason, and because it was necessary in the very beginning to dispose you, indulgent reader, to bear with what is fantastic--and that is not a little thing--I racked my brain to find a way of commencing the story in a significant and original manner, calculated to arrest your attention. To begin with "Once upon a time," the best beginning for a story,

thing but laughable. I could not find any words which seemed fitted to reflect in even the feeblest degree the brightness of the colors of my mental vision. I determined not to begin at all. So I pray you, gracious reader, accept the three letters which my friend Lothair has been so kind as to communicate to me as the outline of the picture, into which I will endeavor to introduce more and more color as I proceed with my narrative. Perhaps, like a good portrait-painter, I may succeed in depicting more than one figure in such wise that you will recognize it as a good likeness without being acquainted with the original, and feel as if you had very often seen the original with your own bodily eyes. Perhaps, too, you will then believe that nothing is more wonderful, nothing more fantastic than real life, and that all that a writer can do is to present it as a dark reflection from a dim cut mirror. In order to make the very commencement more intelligible, it is necessary to add to the letters that, soon after the death of Nathanael's father, Clara and Lothair, the children of a distant relative, who had likewise died, leaving Nathanael conceived a warm affection for each other, against which not the slightest objection in the world could be urged. When therefore Nathanael left home to prosecute his studies in G----, they were betrothed. It is from G---- that his last letter is written, where he is attending the lectures of Spalanzani, the distinguished Professor of Physics. I might now proceed comfortably with my narration, had not at this moaway from it, just as I never could when she looked upon me and smiled so sweetly. Nowhere would she have passed for beautiful; that was the unanimous opinion of all who professed to have any technical knowledge of beauty. But whilst architects praised the pure proportions of her figure and form, painters averred that her neck, shoulders, and bosom were almost too chastely modeled,

Strictly speaking, indulgent reader, I must indeed confess to you, no one them orphans, were taken by Nathanael's mother into her own house. Clara and

My soul was full of the elements of wonder and extraordinary peculiarity ment Clara's image rise up so vividly before my eyes that I cannot turn them

seemed to me too tame; with "In the small country town S---- lived," rather bet- and yet, on the other hand, one and all were in love with her glorious Magdater, at any rate allowing plenty of room to work up to the climax; or to plunge at lene hair, and talked a good deal of nonsense about Battoni-like coloring. One once ‘in medias res’, "'Go to the devil!' cried the student Nathanael, his eyes blazing wildly with rage and fear, when the weather-glass hawker Giuseppe Coppola"--well, that is what I really had written, when I thought I detected something of the ridiculous in Nathanael's wild glance; and the history is any106

of them, a veritable romanticist, strangely enough likened her eyes to a lake by Ruisdael, in which is reflected the pure azure of the cloudless sky, the beauty of woods and flowers, and all the bright and varied life of a living landscape.
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Poets and musicians went still further and said, "What's all this talk about seas and reflections? How can we look upon the girl without feeling that wonderful heavenly songs and melodies beam upon us from her eyes, penetrating deep down into our hearts, till all becomes awake and throbbing with emotion? And if we cannot sing anything at all passable then, why, we are not worth much; and this we can also plainly read in the rare smile which flits around her lips when we have the hardihood to squeak out something in her presence which we pretend to call singing, in spite of the fact that it is nothing more than a few single notes confusedly linked together." And it really was so. Clara had the powerful fancy of a bright, innocent,

about either the advocate Coppelius or her sensible letter; his ill-humor had quite disappeared. Nevertheless Nathanael was right when he told his friend Lothair that the repulsive vendor of weather-glasses, Coppola, had exercised a fatal and disturbing influence upon his life. It was quite patent to all; for even during the first few days he showed that he was completely and entirely changed. He gave himself up to gloomy reveries, and moreover acted so strangely; they had never observed anything at all like it in him before. Everything, even his own life, was to him but dreams and presentiments. His constant theme was that every man who delusively imagined him-

unaffected child, a woman's deep and sympathetic heart, and an understanding self to be free was merely the plaything of the cruel sport of mysterious powers, clear, sharp, and discriminating. Dreamers and visionaries had but a bad time of and it was vain for man to resist them; he must humbly submit to whatever desit with her; for without saying very much--she was not by nature of a talkative disposition--she plainly asked, by her calm steady look, and rare ironical smile, "How can you imagine, my dear friends, that I can take these fleeting shadowy images for true living and breathing forms?" For this reason many found fault with her as being cold, prosaic, and devoid of feeling; others, however, who had reached a clearer and deeper conception of life, were extremely fond of the intelligent, childlike, large-hearted girl But none had such an affection for her as Nathanael, who was a zealous and cheerful cultivator of the fields of science and art. Clara clung to her lover with all her heart; the first clouds she encountered in life were when he had to separate from her. With what delight did she fly into his arms when, as he had promised in his last letter to Lothair, he really came back to his native town and entered his mother's room! And as Nathanael had foreseen, the moment he saw Clara again he no longer thought tiny had decreed for him. He went so far as to maintain that it was foolish to believe that a man could do anything in art or science of his own accord; for the inspiration in which alone any true artistic work could be done did not proceed from the spirit within outwards, but was the result of the operation directed inwards of some Higher Principle existing without and beyond ourselves. This mystic extravagance was in the highest degree repugnant to Clara's clear intelligent mind, but it seemed vain to enter upon any attempt at refutation. Yet when Nathanael went on to prove that Coppelius was the Evil Principle which had entered into him and taken possession of him at the time he was listening behind the curtain, and that this hateful demon would in some terrible way ruin their happiness, then Clara grew grave and said, "Yes, Nathanael. You are right; Coppelius is an Evil Principle; he can do dreadful things, as bad as could a Satanic power which should assume a living physical
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form, but only--only if you do not banish him from your mind and thoughts. So long as you believe in him he exists and is at work; your belief in him is his only power." Whereupon Nathanael, quite angry because Clara would only grant the existence of the demon in his own mind, began to dilate at large upon the whole mystic doctrine of devils and awful powers, but Clara abruptly broke off the theme by making, to Nathanael's very great disgust, some quite commonplace remark. he thought, without being clearly conscious to himself that he counted Clara amongst these inferior natures, and accordingly he did not remit his efforts to initiate her into these mysteries. In the morning, when she was helping to prepare breakfast, he would take his stand beside her, and read all sorts of mystic books to her, until she begged him--"But, my dear Nathanael, I shall have to scold you as the Evil Principle which exercises a fatal influence upon my coffee. For if I do as you wish, and let things go their own way, and look into your eyes whilst you read, the coffee will all boil over into the fire, and you will none of you get any breakfast." Then Nathanael hastily banged the book to and ran away in great displeasure to his own room. Formerly he had possessed a peculiar talent for writing pleasing, sparductions were gloomy, unintelligible, and wanting in form, so that, although Clara out of forbearance towards him did not say so, he nevertheless felt how very little interest she took in them. There was nothing that Clara disliked so much as what was tedious; at such times her intellectual sleepiness was not to be overcome; it was betrayed both in her glances and in her words. Nathanael's effusions were, in truth, exceedingly tedious. His ill-humor at Clara's cold prosaic temperament continued to increase; Clara could not conceal her distaste of his dark, gloomy, wearying er without exactly being aware of it themselves. fess to himself, faded considerably in his fancy, and it often cost him great pains

to present him in vivid colors in his literary efforts, in which he played the part of the ghoul of Destiny. At length it entered into his head to make his dismal presentiment that Coppelius would ruin his happiness the subject of a poem. He made himself and Clara, united by true love, the central figures, but represented a black hand as being from time to time thrust into their life and plucking out a joy that had blossomed for them. At length, as they were standing at the altar, the terrible Coppelius apom, burning and hissing like bloody sparks. Then Coppelius laid hold upon him, and hurled him into a blazing circle of fire, which spun round with the speed of a whirlwind, and, storming and blustering, dashed away with him. The fearful noise it made was like a furious hurricane lashing the foaming sea-waves until they rise up like black, white-headed giants in the midst of the raging struggle. But through the midst of the savage fury of the tempest he heard Clara's voice calling, "Can you not see me, dear? Coppelius has deceived you; they were not my eyes which burned so in your bosom; they were fiery drops of your own heart's blood. Look at me, I have got my own eyes still." Nathanael thought, "Yes, that is Clara, and I am hers for ever." Then this thought laid a powerful grasp upon the fiery circle so that it stood still, and the Clara's eyes; but it was death whose gaze rested so kindly upon him. Whilst Nathanael was writing this work he was very quiet and soberminded; he filed and polished every line, and as he had chosen to submit himself to the limitations of meter, he did not rest until all was pure and musical. When, however, he had at length finished it and read it aloud to himself he was seized with horror and awful dread, and he screamed, "Whose hideous voice is this?" But he soon came to see in it again nothing beyond a very successful poem, and he confidently believed it would enkindle Clara's cold temperament, mind, nor yet what would be the real purpose served by tormenting her with
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Such deep mysteries are sealed books to cold, unsusceptible characters, peared and touched Clara's lovely eyes, which leapt into Nathanael's own bos-

kling tales, which Clara took the greatest delight in listening to; but now his pro- riotous turmoil died away rumbling down a dark abyss. Nathanael looked into

mysticism; and thus both began to be more and more estranged from each oth- though to what end she should be thus aroused was not quite clear to his own The image of the ugly Coppelius had, as Nathanael was obliged to con- these dreadful pictures, which prophesied a terrible and ruinous end to her af-

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fection. Nathanael and Clara sat in his mother's little garden. Clara was bright and cheerful, since for three entire days her lover, who had been busy writing his poem, had not teased her with his dreams or forebodings. Nathanael, too, spoke in a gay and vivacious way of things of merry import, as he formerly used to do, so that Clara said, "Ah! now I have you again. We have driven away

violent quarrel, and also observed the fencing-master bring the rapiers in the dusk of the evening. She had a presentiment of what was to happen. They both appeared at the appointed place wrapped up in the same gloomy silence, and threw off their coats. Their eyes flaming with the bloodthirsty light of pugnacity, they were about to begin their contest when Clara burst through the garden door. Sob-

that ugly Coppelius, you see." Then it suddenly occurred to him that he had got bing, she screamed, "You savage, terrible men! Cut me down before you attack the poem in his pocket which he wished to read to her. He at once took out the each other; for how can I live when my lover has slain my brother, or my brothmanuscript and began to read. Clara, anticipating something tedious as usual, er slain my lover?" Lothair let his weapon fall and gazed silently upon the prepared to submit to the infliction, and calmly resumed her knitting. But as the ground, whilst Nathanael's heart was rent with sorrow, and all the affection somber clouds rose up darker and darker she let her knitting fall on her lap and which he had felt for his lovely Clara in the happiest days of her golden youth sat with her eyes fixed in a set stare upon Nathanael's face. He was quite carried away by his own work, the fire of enthusiasm colored his cheeks a deep red, and tears started from his eyes. At length he concluded, groaning and showing great lassitude; grasping Clara's hand, he sighed as if he were being utterly melted in inconsolable grief, "Oh! Clara! Clara!" She drew him softly to her heart and said in a low but very grave and impressive tone, "Nathanael, my darling Nathanael, throw that foolish, senseless, stupid thing into the fire." Then Nathanael leapt indignantly to his feet, crying, as he pushed Clara from him, "You damned lifeless automaton!" and rushed away. Clara was cut to the heart, and wept bitterly. "Oh! he has never loved me, for he does not understand me," she sobbed. Lothair entered the arbor. Clara was obliged to tell him all that had taken place. He was passionately fond of his sister; and every word of her comdark power which had possessed him, he had rescued his own self from the plaint fell like a spark upon his heart, so that the displeasure which he had long ruin which had threatened him. Three happy days he now spent amidst the entertained against his dreamy friend Nathanael was kindled into furious anger. loved ones, and then returned to G----, where he had still a year to stay before He hastened to find Nathanael, and upbraided him in harsh words for his irrational behavior towards his beloved sister. The fiery Nathanael answered him in the same style. "A fantastic, crack-brained fool," was retaliated with, "A miserable, common, everyday sort of fellow." A meeting was the inevitable consequence. They agreed to meet on the following morning behind the gardenwall, and fight, according to the custom of the students of the place, with sharp rapiers. They went about silent and gloomy; Clara had both heard and seen the
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was awakened within him. His murderous weapon, too, fell from his hand; he threw himself at Clara's feet. "Oh! can you ever forgive me, my only, my dearly loved Clara? Can you, my dear brother Lothair, also forgive me?" Lothair was touched by his friend's great distress; the three young people embraced each other amidst endless tears, and swore never again to break their bond of love and fidelity. Nathanael felt as if a heavy burden that had been weighing him down to the earth was now rolled from off him, nay, as if by offering resistance to the

settling down in his native town for life. Everything having reference to Coppelius had been concealed from the mother, for they knew she could not think of him without horror, since she as well as Nathanael believed him to be guilty of causing her husband's death.

W

hen Nathanael came to the house where he lived, he was greatly astonished to find it burnt down to the ground, so that nothing but the bare outer walls were left standing amidst a heap of ruins. Although the fire had broken out in the laboratory of the

chemist who lived on the ground-floor, and had therefore spread upwards, some of Nathanael's bold, active friends had succeeded in time in forcing a way into his room in the upper story and saving his books and manuscripts and instruments. They had carried them all uninjured into another house, where they engaged a room for him; this he now at once took possession of. That he lived opposite Professor Spalanzani did not strike him particularly, nor did it occur to him as anything more singular that he could, as he observed, by looking out of his window, see straight into the room where Olimpia often sat alone. Her figure he could plainly distinguish, although her features were uncertain and confused. It did at length occur to him, however, that she remained for hours together in the same position in which he had first discovered her through the glass door, sitting at a little table without any occupation whatever, and it was evident that she was constantly gazing across in his direction. He could not but confess to himself that he had never seen a finer figure. However, with Clara mistress of his heart, he remained perfectly unaffected by Olimpia's stiffness and apathy; and it was only occasionally that he sent a fugitive glance over his compendium across to her--that was all. "Come in," Coppola's repulsive face appeared peeping in. Nathanael felt his heart beat with trepidation; but, recollecting what Spalanzani had told him about his fellow-countryman Coppola, and what he had himself so faithfully himself for this childish fear of specters. Accordingly, he controlled himself with an effort, and said, as quietly and as calmly as he possibly could, "I don't want to buy any weather-glasses, my good friend; you had better go elsewhere." Then Coppola came right into the room, and said in a hoarse voice, screwing up his wide mouth into a hideous smile, whilst his little eyes flashed keenly from beneath his long grey eyelashes, "What! Nee weather-gless? Nee weather-gless? 've got foine oyes as well--foine oyes!"
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Affrighted, Nathanael cried, "You stupid man, how can you have eyes?-But Coppola, laying aside his weather-glasses, thrust his hands into his big coat-pockets and brought out several spy-glasses and spectacles, and put them on the table. "Theer! Theer! Spect'cles! Spect'cles to put 'n nose! Them's from his pockets until the table began to gleam and flash all over. Thousands of eyes were looking and blinking convulsively, and staring up at Nathanael; he could not avert his gaze from the table. Coppola went on heaping up his spectacles, whilst wilder and ever wilder burning flashes crossed through and through each other and darted their blood-red rays into Nathanael's breast. Quite overcome, and frantic with terror, he shouted, "Stop! stop! you
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He was writing to Clara; a light tap came at the door. At his summons to eyes--eyes?"

promised his beloved in respect to the Sand-man Coppelius, he was ashamed at my oyes--foine oyes." And he continued to produce more and more spectacles

terrible man!" and he seized Coppola by the arm, which he had again thrust into friend." But Coppola did not leave the room without casting many peculiar sidehis pocket in order to bring out still more spectacles, although the whole table freed himself; and with the words "So! went none! Well, here foine gless!" he swept all his spectacles together, and put them back into his coat-pockets, whilst from a breast-pocket he produced a great number of larger and smaller perspectives. ity again; and, bending his thoughts upon Clara, he clearly discerned that the right honest mechanician and optician, and far from being Coppelius's dreaded double and ghost. And then, besides, none of the glasses which Coppola now placed on the table had anything at all singular about them, at least nothing so weird as the spectacles; so, in order to square accounts with himself, Nathanael now really determined to buy something of the man. He took up a small, very beautifully cut pocket perspective, and by way of proving it looked through the window. Never before in his life had he had a glass in his hands that brought out things so clearly and sharply and distinctly. Involuntarily he directed the glass upon Spalanzani's room; Olimpia sat at the little table as usual, her arms laid upon it and her hands folded. Now he saw for the first time the regular and exquisite beauty of her features. The eyes, however, seemed to him to have a singular look of fixity and lifelessness. But as he continued to look closer and more carefully through the glass he fancied a light like humid moonbeams came into them. It seemed as if their power of vision was now being enkindled; their glances shone with ever-increasing vivacity. wizard's spell, his gaze riveted unchangeably upon the divinely beautiful Olimpia. A coughing and shuffling of the feet awakened him out of his enchaining dream, as it were. Coppola stood behind him, "Tre zechini" (three ducats). Nathanael had completely forgotten the optician; he hastily paid the sum demanded. "Ain't 't? Foine gless? foine gless?" asked Coppola in his harsh unpleasant voice, smiling sardonically. "Yes, yes, yes," rejoined Nathanael impatiently; "adieu, my good glances upon Nathanael; and the young student heard him laughing loudly on "Ah well!" thought he, "he's laughing at me because I've paid him too much for this little perspective--because I've given him too much money--that's it" As he softly murmured these words he fancied he detected a gasping sigh as of a dying man stealing awfully through the room; his heart stopped beating "Clara is quite right," said he to himself, "in holding me to be an incurable ghost thought of having paid Coppola too much for his glass should cause me this strange anxiety; I can't see any reason for it." Now he sat down to finish his letter to Clara; but a glance through the window showed him Olimpia still in her former posture. Urged by an irresistible impulse he jumped up and seized Coppola's perspective; nor could he tear himself away from the fascinating Olimpia until his friend and brother Siegmund called for him to go to Professor Spalanzani's lecture. The curtains before the door of the all-important room were closely drawn, so that he could not see Olimpia. Nor could he even see her from his own room during the two following days, notwithstanding that he scarcely ever left his window, and maintained a scarce interrupted watch through Coppola's perspective upon her room. On the third day curtains even were drawn across the window. Plunged into the depths of despair,--goaded by longing and ardent desire, he hurried outside the walls of the town. Olimpia's image hovered about his path in the air and stepped forth out of the bushes, and peeped up at him with large and lusfaded from his mind; he had no thoughts except for Olimpia. He uttered his love-plaints aloud and in a lachrymose tone, "Oh! my glorious, noble star of love, have you only risen to vanish again, and leave me in the darkness and hopelessness of night?" Returning home, he became aware that there was a good deal of noisy bustle going on in Spalanzani's house. All the doors stood wide open; men were taking in all kinds of gear and furniture; the windows of the first floor were all
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was covered all over with them. With a harsh disagreeable laugh Coppola gently the stairs.

As soon as the spectacles were gone Nathanael recovered his equanim- with fear. But to be sure he had heaved a deep sigh himself; it was quite plain. gruesome incubus had proceeded only from himself, as also that Coppola was a -seer; and yet it's very ridiculous--ay, more than ridiculous, that the stupid

Nathanael remained standing at the window as if glued to the spot by a trous eyes from the bright surface of the brook. Clara's image was completely

lifted off their hinges; busy maid-servants with immense hair-brooms were driving backwards and forwards dusting and sweeping, whilst within could be heard the knocking and hammering of carpenters and upholsterers. Utterly astonished, Nathanael stood still in the street; then Siegmund joined him, laughing, and said, "Well, what do you say to our old Spalanzani?" Nathanael assured him that he could not say anything, since he knew not what it all meant; to his great astonishment, he could hear, however, that they were turning the quiet gloomy house almost inside out with their dusting and cleaning and making of alterations. Then he learned from Siegmund that Spalanzani intended giving a great concert and ball on the following day, and that half the university was invited. It was generally reported that Spalanzani was going to let his daughter Olimpia, whom he had so long so jealously guarded from every eye, make her first appearance. Nathanael received an invitation. At the appointed hour, when the carriages were rolling up and the lights were gleaming brightly in the decorated halls, he went across to the Professor's, his heart beating high with expectation. The company was both numerous and brilliant. Olimpia was richly and tastefully dressed. One could not but admire her figure and the regular beauty of her features. The striking inward curve of her back, as well as the wasp-like smallness of her waist, appeared to be the result of too-tight lacing. T here was something stiff and measured in her gait and bearing that made an unfavorable impression upon many; it was ascribed to the constraint imposed upon her by the company. The concert began. Olimpia played on the piano with great skill; and sang as skillfully an ‘aria di bravura’, in a voice which was, if anything, almost too sharp, but clear as glass bells. Nathanael was transported with delight; he stood in the background farthest from her, and owing to the blinding lights could not quite distinguish her features. So, without being observed, he took Coppola's glass out of his pocket, and directed it upon the beautiful Olimpia. Oh! then he perceived how her yearning eyes sought him, how every note only reached its full purity in the loving glance which penetrated to and inflamed his heart. Her artificial ‘roulades’ seemed to him to be the exultant cry
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towards heaven of the soul refined by love; and when at last, after the ‘cadenza’, the long trill rang shrilly and loudly through the hall, he felt as if he were suddenly grasped by burning arms and could no longer control himself,--he could not help shouting aloud in his mingled pain and delight, "Olimpia!" All eyes were turned upon him; many people laughed. The face of the cathedral organist wore a still more gloomy look than it had done before, but all he said was, "Very well!" The concert came to an end, and the ball began. Oh! to dance with her-with her--that was now the aim of all Nathanael's wishes, of all his desires. But how should he have courage to request her, the queen of the ball, to grant him the honor of a dance? And yet he couldn't tell how it came about, just as the dance began, he found himself standing close beside her, nobody having as yet asked her to be his partner; so, with some difficulty stammering out a few words, he grasped her hand. It was cold as ice; he shook with an awful, frosty shiver. But, fixing his eyes upon her face, he saw that her glance was beaming upon him with love and longing, and at the same moment he thought that the pulse began to beat in her cold hand, and the warm life-blood to course through her veins. And passion burned more intensely in his own heart also; he threw his arm round her beautiful waist and whirled her round the hall. He had always thought that he kept good and accurate time in dancing, but from the perfectly rhythmical evenness with which Olimpia danced, and which frequently put him quite out, he perceived how very faulty his own time really was. Notwithstanding, he would not dance with any other lady; and everybody else who approached Olimpia to call upon her for a dance, he would have liked to kill on the spot. This, however, only happened twice; to his astonishment Olimpia remained after this without a partner, and he failed not on each occasion to take her out again. If Nathanael had been able to see anything else except the beautiful Olimpia, there would inevitably have been a good deal of unpleasant quarrelling and strife; for it was evident that Olimpia was the object of the smothered laughter only with difficulty suppressed, which was heard in various corners amongst the young people; and they followed her with very curious looks, but nobody knew for what reason. Nathanael, excited by dancing and the plentiful supply of wine he had consumed, had laid aside the shyness which at other times characterized him.

He sat beside Olimpia, her hand in his own, and declared his love enthusiastically and passionately in words which neither of them understood, neither he nor Olimpia. And yet she perhaps did, for she sat with her eyes fixed unchangeably upon his, sighing repeatedly, "Ach! Ach! Ach!" Upon this Nathanael would answer, "Oh, you glorious heavenly lady! You ray from the promised paradise of love! Oh! what a profound soul you have! My whole being is mirrored in it!" and a good deal more in the same strain. But Olimpia only continued to sigh "Ach! Ach!" again and again. Professor Spalanzani passed by the two happy lovers once or twice, and smiled with a look of peculiar satisfaction. All at once it seemed to Nathanael, albeit he was far away in a different world, as if it were growing perceptibly darker down below at Professor Spalanzani's. He looked about him, and to his very great alarm became aware that there were only two lights left burning in the hall, and they were on the point of going out. The music and dancing had long ago ceased. "We must part--part!" he cried, wildly and despairingly; he kissed Olimpia's hand; he bent down to her mouth, but ice-cold lips met his burning ones. As he touched her cold hand, he felt his heart thrilled with awe; the legend of "The Dead Bride" shot suddenly through his mind. But Olimpia had drawn him closer to her, and the kiss appeared to warm her lips into vitality. Professor Spalanzani strode slowly through the empty apartment, his footsteps giving a hollow echo; and his figure had, as the flickering shadows played about him, a ghostly, awful appearance. "Do you love me? Do you love me, Olimpia? Only one little word--Do you love me?" whispered Nathanael, but she only sighed, "Ach! Ach!" as she rose to her feet. "Yes, you are my lovely, glorious star of love," said Nathanael, "and will shine for ever, purifying and ennobling my heart" "Ach! Ach!" replied Olimpia, as she moved along. Nathanael followed her; they stood before the Professor. "You have had an extraordinarily animated conversation with my daughter," said he, smiling; "well, well, my dear Mr. Nathanael, if you find pleasure in talking to the stupid girl, I am sure I shall be glad for you to come and do so." Nathanael took his leave, his heart singing and leaping in a perfect delirium of happiness. During the next few days Spalanzani's ball was the general topic of con113

versation. Although the Professor had done everything to make the thing a splendid success, yet certain gay spirits related more than one thing that had occurred which was quite irregular and out of order. They were especially keen in pulling Olimpia to pieces for her taciturnity and rigid stiffness; in spite of her beautiful form they alleged that she was hopelessly stupid, and in this fact they discerned the reason why Spalanzani had so long kept her concealed from publicity. Nathanael heard all this with inward wrath, but nevertheless he held his tongue; for, thought he, would it indeed be worth while to prove to these fellows that it is their own stupidity which prevents them from appreciating Olimpia's profound and brilliant parts? One day Siegmund said to him, "Pray, brother, have the kindness to tell me how you, a sensible fellow, came to lose your head over that Miss Wax-face-that wooden doll across there?" Nathanael was about to fly into a rage, but he recollected himself and replied, "Tell me, Siegmund, how came it that Olimpia's divine charms could escape your eye, so keenly alive as it always is to beauty, and your acute percep-

tion as well? But Heaven be thanked for it, otherwise I should have had you for a rival, and then the blood of one of us would have had to be spilled." Siegmund, perceiving how matters stood with his friend, skillfully interposed and said, after remarking that all argument with one in love about the object of his affections was out of place, "Yet it's very strange that several of us have formed pretty much the same opinion about Olimpia. We think she is--you won't take it ill, brother?--that she is singularly statuesque and soulless. Her figure is regular, and so are her features, that can't be gainsaid; and if her eyes were not so utterly devoid of life, I may say, of the power of vision, she might pass for a beauty. She is strangely measured in her movements, they all seem as if they were dependent upon some wound-up clock-work. Her playing and singing has the disagreeably perfect, but insensitive time of a singing machine, and her dancing is the same. We felt quite afraid of this Olimpia, and did not like to have anything to do with her; she seemed to us to be only acting ‘like’ a living creature, and as if there was some secret at the bottom of it all." Nathanael did not give way to the bitter feelings which threatened to master him at these words of Siegmund's; he fought down and got the better of his displeasure, and merely said, very earnestly, "You cold prosaic fellows may very well be afraid of her. It is only to its like that the poetically organized spirit unfolds itself. Upon me alone did her loving glances fall, and through my mind and thoughts alone did they radiate; and only in her love can I find my own self again. Perhaps, however, she doesn't do quite right not to jabber a lot of nonsense and stupid talk like other shallow people. It is true, she speaks but few words; but the few words she docs speak are genuine hieroglyphs of the inner world of Love and of the higher cognition of the intellectual life revealed in the intuition of the Eternal beyond the grave. But you have no understanding for all these things, and I am only wasting words." "God be with you, brother," said Siegmund very gently, almost sadly, "but it seems to me that you are in a very bad way. You may rely upon me, if all-No, I can't say any more." It all at once dawned upon Nathanael that his cold prosaic friend Siegmund really and sincerely wished him well, and so he warmly shook his proffered hand. Nathanael had completely forgotten that there was a Clara in the world, whom he had once loved--and his mother and Lothair. They had all vanished from his mind; he lived for Olimpia alone. He sat beside her every day for hours

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together, rhapsodizing about his love and sympathy enkindled into life, and about psychic elective affinity --all of which Olimpia listened to with great reverence. He fished up from the very bottom of his desk all the things that he had ever written--poems, fancy sketches, visions, romances, tales, and the heap was increased daily with all kinds of aimless sonnets, stanzas, canzonets. All these he read to Olimpia hour after hour without growing tired; but then he had never had such an exemplary listener. She neither embroidered, nor knitted; she did not look out of the window, or feed a bird, or play with a little pet dog or a favourite cat, neither did she twist a piece of paper or anything of that kind round her finger; she did not forcibly convert a yawn into a low affected cough--in short, she sat hour after hour with her eyes bent unchangeably upon her lover's face, without moving or altering her position, and her gaze grew more ardent and more ardent still. And it was only when at last Nathanael rose and kissed her lips or her hand that she said, "Ach! Ach!" and then "Good-night, dear." Arrived in his own room, Nathanael would break out with, "Oh! what a brilliant--what a profound mind! Only you--you alone understand me." And his heart trembled with rapture when he reflected upon the wondrous harmony which daily revealed itself between his own and his Olimpia's character; for he fancied that she had expressed in respect to his works and his poetic genius the identical sentiments which he himself cherished deep down in his own heart in respect to the same, and even as if it was his own heart's voice speaking to him. And it must indeed have been so; for Olimpia never uttered any other words than those already mentioned. And when Nathanael himself in his clear and sober moments, as, for instance, directly after waking in a morning, thought about her utter passivity and taciturnity, he only said, "What are words--but words? The glance of her heavenly eyes says more than any tongue of earth. And how can, anyway, a child of heaven accustom herself to the narrow circle which the exigencies of a wretched mundane life demand?" Professor Spalanzani appeared to be greatly pleased at the intimacy that had sprung up between his daughter Olimpia and Nathanael, and showed the young man many unmistakable proofs of his good feeling towards him; and when Nathanael ventured at length to hint very delicately at an alliance with Olimpia, the Professor smiled all over his face at once, and said he should allow his daughter to make a perfectly free choice. Encouraged by these words, and

with the fire of desire burning in his heart, Nathanael resolved the very next day to implore Olimpia to tell him frankly, in plain words, what he had long read in her sweet loving glances,--that she would be his for ever. He looked for the ring which his mother had given him at parting; he would present it to Olimpia as a symbol of his devotion, and of the happy life he was to lead with her from that time onwards. Whilst looking for it he came across his letters from Clara and Lothair; he threw them carelessly aside, found the ring, put it in his pocket, and ran across to Olimpia. Whilst still on the stairs, in the entrance-passage, he heard an extraordinary hubbub; the noise seemed to proceed from Spalanzani's study. There was a stamping--a rattling--pushing—knocking against the door, with curses and oaths intermingled. "Leave hold--leave hold--you monster--you rascal--staked your life and honour upon it?--Ha! ha! ha! ha!--That was not our wager--I, I made the eyes--I the clock-work.--Go to the devil with your clock-work—you damned dog of a watch-maker--be off--Satan--stop--you paltry turner--you infernal beast!--stop-begone--let me go." The voices which were thus making all this racket and rumpus were those of Spalanzani and the fearsome Coppelius. Nathanael rushed in, impelled by some nameless dread. The Professor was grasping a female figure by the shoulders, the Italian Coppola held her by the feet; and they were pulling and dragging each other backwards and forwards, fighting furiously to get possession of her. Nathanael recoiled with horror on recognizing that the figure was Olimpia. Boiling with rage, he was about to tear his beloved from the grasp of the madmen, when Coppola by an extraordinary exertion of strength twisted the figure out of the Professor's hands and gave him such a terrible blow with her, that he reeled backwards and fell over the table all amongst the phials and retorts, the bottles and glass cylinders, which covered it: all these things were smashed into a thousand pieces. But Coppola threw the figure across his shoulder, and, laughing shrilly and horribly, ran hastily down the stairs, the figure's ugly feet hanging down and banging and rattling like wood against the steps. Nathanael was stupefied;--he had seen only too distinctly that in Olimpia's pallid waxed face there were no eyes, merely black holes in their stead; she was an inanimate puppet.
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Spalanzani was rolling on the floor; the pieces of glass had cut his head and breast and arm; the blood was escaping from him in streams. But he gathered his strength together by an effort. "After him--after him! What do you stand staring there for? Coppelius-Coppelius--he's stolen my best automaton--at which I've worked for twenty years--staked my life upon it--the clock-work-- speech--movement--mine-your eyes--stolen your eyes--damn him—curse him--after him--fetch me back Olimpia--there are the eyes." And now Nathanael saw a pair of bloody eyes lying on the floor staring at him; Spalanzani seized them with his uninjured hand and threw them at him, so that they hit his breast Then madness dug her burning talons into him and swept down into his heart, rending his mind and thoughts to shreds. "Aha! aha! aha! Fire-wheel--fire-wheel! Spin round, fire-wheel! merrily, merrily! Aha! wooden doll! spin round, pretty wooden doll!" and he threw himself upon the Professor, clutching him fast by the throat. He would certainly have strangled him had not several people, attracted by the noise, rushed in and torn away the madman; and so they saved the Professor, whose wounds were immediately dressed. Siegmund, with all his strength, was not able to subdue the frantic lunatic, who continued to scream in a dreadful way, "Spin round, wooden doll!" and to strike out right and left with his doubled fists. At length the united strength of several succeeded in overpowering him by throwing him on the floor and binding him. His cries passed into a brutish bellow that was awful to hear; and thus raging with the harrowing violence of madness, he was taken away to the madhouse. Before continuing my narration of what happened further to the unfortunate Nathanael, I will tell you, indulgent reader, in case you take any interest in that skillful mechanician and fabricator of automata, Spalanzani, that he recovered completely from his wounds. He had, however, to leave the university, for Nathanael's fate had created a great sensation; and the opinion was pretty generally expressed that it was an imposture altogether unpardonable to have smuggled a wooden puppet instead of a living person into intelligent teacircles,--for Olimpia had been present at several with success. Lawyers called it a cunning piece of knavery, and all the harder to punish since it was directed
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against the public; and it had been so craftily contrived that it had escaped unobserved by all except a few preternaturally acute students, although everybody was very wise now and remembered to have thought of several facts which occurred to them as suspicious. But these latter could not succeed in making out any sort of a consistent tale. For was it, for instance, a thing likely to occur to any one as suspicious that, according to the declaration of an elegant beau of these tea-parties, Olimpia had, contrary to all good manners, sneezed oftener than she had yawned? The former must have been, in the opinion of this elegant gentleman, the winding up of the concealed clock-work; it had always been accompanied by an observable creaking, and so on. The Professor of Poetry and Eloquence took a pinch of snuff, and, slapping the lid to and clearing his throat, said solemnly, "My most honorable ladies and gentlemen, don't you see then where the rub is? The whole thing is an alle-

gory, a continuous metaphor. You understand me? Sapienti sat. " But several most honorable gentlemen did not rest satisfied with this explanation; the history of this automaton had sunk deeply into their souls, and an absurd mistrust of human figures began to prevail. Several lovers, in order to be fully convinced that they were not paying court to a wooden puppet, required that their mistress should sing and dance a little out of time, should embroider or knit or play with her little pug, &c., when being read to, but above all things else that she should do something more than merely listen--that she should frequently speak in such a way as to really show that her words presupposed as a condition some thinking and feeling. The bonds of love were in many cases drawn closer in consequence, and so of course became more engaging; in other instances they gradually relaxed and fell away. "I cannot really be made responsible for it," was the remark of more than one young gallant. At the tea-gatherings everybody, in order to ward off suspicion, yawned to an incredible extent and never sneezed. Spalanzani was obliged, as has been said, to leave the place in order to escape a criminal charge of having fraudulently imposed an automaton upon human society. Coppola, too, had also disappeared.

mother and his beloved, and his friends, he quickly recovered his strength again. Good fortune had in the meantime visited the house; a niggardly old uncle, from whom they had never expected to get anything, had died, and left Nathanael's mother not only a considerable fortune, but also a small estate, pleasantly situated not far from the town. There they resolved to go and live, Nathanael and his mother, and Clara, to whom he was now to be married, and Lothair. Nathanael was become gentler and more childlike than he had ever been before, and now began really to understand Clara's supremely pure and noble character. None of them ever reminded him, even in the remotest degree, of the past. But when Siegmund took leave of him, Nathanael said, "By heaven, brother! I was in a bad way, but an angel came just at the right moment and led me back upon the path of light. Yes, it was Clara." Siegmund would not let him speak further, fearing lest the painful recollections of the past might arise too vividly and too intensely in his mind. The time came for the four happy people to move to their little property. At noon they were going through the streets. After making several purchases they found that the lofty tower of the town-house was throwing its giant shadows across the market-place. "Come," said Clara, "let us go up to the top once more and have a look at the distant hills." No sooner said than
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hen Nathanael awoke he felt as if he had been oppressed by a terrible nightmare; he opened his eyes and experienced an indescribable sensation of mental comfort, whilst a soft and most beautiful sensation of warmth pervaded his body. He lay on his

own bed in his own room at home; Clara was bending over him, and at a little distance stood his mother and Lothair. "At last, at last, O my darling Nathanael; now we have you again; now you are cured of your grievous illness, now you are mine again." And Clara's words came from the depths of her heart; and she clasped him in her arms. The bright scalding tears streamed from his eyes, he was so overcome with mingled feelings of sorrow and delight; and he gasped forth, "My Clara, my Clara!" Siegmund, who had staunchly stood by his friend in his hour of need, now came into the room. Nathanael gave him his hand--"My faithful brother, you have not deserted me." Every trace of insanity had left him, and in the tender hands of his

done. Both of them, Nathanael and Clara, went up the tower; their mother, however, went on with the servant-girl to her new home, and Lothair, not feeling inclined to climb up all the many steps, waited below. There the two lovers stood arm-in-arm on the topmost gallery of the tower, and gazed out into the sweetscented wooded landscape, beyond which the blue hills rose up like a giant's city. "Oh! do look at that strange little grey bush, it looks as if it were actually walking towards us," said Clara. Mechanically he put his hand into his side pocket; he found Coppola's perspective and looked for the bush; Clara stood in front of the glass. Then a convulsive thrill shot through his pulse and veins; pale as a corpse, he fixed his staring eyes upon her; but soon they began to roll, and a fiery current flashed and sparkled in them, and he yelled fearfully, like a hunted animal. Leaping up high in the air and laughing horribly at the same time, he began to shout, in a piercing voice, "Spin round, wooden doll! Spin round, wooden doll!" With the strength of a giant he laid hold upon Clara and tried to hurl her over, but in an agony of despair she clutched fast hold of the railing that went round the gallery. Lothair heard the madman raging and Clara's scream of terror: a fearful presentiment flashed across his mind. He ran up the steps; the door of the second flight was locked. Clara's scream for help rang out more loudly. Mad with rage and fear, he threw himself against the door, which at length gave way. Clara's cries were growing fainter and fainter,--"Help! save me! save me!" and her voice died away in the air. "She is killed--murdered by that madman," shouted Lothair. The door to the gallery was also locked. Despair gave him the strength of a giant; he burst the door off its hinges. Good God! there was Clara in the grasp of the madman Nathanael, hanging over the gallery in the air; she only held to the iron bar with one hand. Quick as lightning, Lothair seized his sister and pulled her back, at the same time dealing the madman a blow in the face with his doubled fist, which sent him reeling backwards, forcing him to let go his victim.

Lothair ran down with his insensible sister in his arms. She was saved. But Nathanael ran round and round the gallery, leaping up in the air and shouting, "Spin round, fire-wheel! Spin round, fire-wheel!" The people heard the wild shouting, and a crowd began to gather. In the midst of them towered the advocate Coppelius, like a giant; he had only just arrived in the town, and had gone straight to the market-place. Some were going up to overpower and take charge of the madman, but Coppelius laughed and said, "Ha! ha! wait a bit; he'll come down of his own accord;" and he stood gazing upwards along with the rest. All at once Nathanael stopped as if spell-bound; he bent down over the railing, and perceived Coppelius. With a piercing scream, "Ha! Foine oyes! foine oyes!" he leapt over. When Nathanael lay on the stone pavement with a broken head, Coppelius had disappeared in the crush and confusion.

whilst two bright boys were playing at her feet. From this it may be concluded that she eventually found that quiet domestic happiness which her cheerful, blithesome character required, and which Nathanael, with his tempest-tossed soul, could never have been able to give her.

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everal years afterwards it was reported that, outside the door of a pretty country house in a remote district, Clara had been seen sitting hand in hand with a pleasant gentleman,

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"The Sand-man" forms the first of a series of tales called "The Night-pieces," and was published in 1817. This version was provided by Project Gutenberg Weird Tales. Vol. I by E. T. A. Hoffmann, Translated by J. T. Bealby Release Date: February 23, 2010 [EBook #31377] www.gutenberg.net
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acknowledgments
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS “The Sand-Man” was provided by Project Gutenberg Weird Tales. Vol. I by E. T. A. Hoffmann, Translated by J. T. Bealby Release Date: February 23, 2010 [EBook #31377] www.gutenberg.net “Das Unheimliche” was provided by Laurel Amtower of San Diego State University Twin Marker font designed by Tom Raaijmakers Brankovic font designed by Amy Van Torre Lostrobo designed by dasmuse and used with permission http://www.dasmuse.net/font Tintin font and Ebrima font downloaded from http://www.urbanfonts.com Screen shots from The Polar Expression and Tintin courtesy Internet Movie Database All woodcuts on pages 98 - 118 by Daniel Niklaus Chodowiecki photograph page 47 captured off of http://www.weddingbee.com/2011/01/26/childhood-photos-at-wedding/ Photograph on page 38 by Anna Beth Weber COVER ART Front Cover illustration by C & K Weber 2012 Back Cover : Antecedent Terminus by Vitaly S Alexius PEA GREEN BOAT : Uncanny, Vernal Equinox 2012 The Pea Green Boat (PGB) e-zine is a product of Cathy Weber of the CR & K Group, LLC. The PBG e-zine is copyright © CR & K Group LLC, 2012. Each contributor retains the copyright to their own works. Reproduction or distribution in any form is not allowed without the express written permission of the author/artist. For further information, please write Cathy Weber (P.O. Box 3568, Carmel, IN 46082) with your questions, comments, or suggestions. [March 21th, 2012]

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Antecedent Terminus by Vitaly S Alexius