The · New · Republic · of · Chelemby

2009 is here, and an odd collection of round anniversaries come in its wake.

Happy 250th, Robert Burns. Ol' Bobby died young, but his poetry changed Scotland from barbaric enemy of England into its rugged, vital soul. Instead of being a terrifying enemy, English found themselves quoting words about a Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie with a tear in their eyes (or eyen ) and holding forth about the noble character of clansmen. Quite an odd change, but quite an important one.

Happy 200th to two men of very different career paths -- Abraham Lincoln and Edgar Allen Poe. Both, again, died before their times, Lincoln by an assassin's hand, Poe through his own inner demons, and there is little doubt that this year will belong more to the former than the latter, which is sad, as both of them loom large in my life. From Poe I learned an important lesson -- the most terrifying monster in the world is the one that lurks in the human heart; no vampire, no werewolf, no eldritch horror from the stars possesses such pure malevolence as a human being who has taken it into his heart to do what he knows, knows is evil. From Lincoln, I can think of nothing more proper than to quote from him: "With malice towards none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right"; if I could but live up to that standard, I would know that I have been a righteous individual. Thus these two men, born the same year, grant me a vision of good and evil.

Happy 50th anniversary, Alaska. You strove for statehood and are still a state large enough that if you were split in two, Texas would be the third largest landmass-state. You are as much a state of mind as a true place, with few inhabitants, many "empty" acres, and a swirling, disconnected vision of the American Dream ... self-reliant, yet partaking of external revenues; vastly open, yet most of your crowded into a few corners; a place of future dreams, yet clinging to outmoded traditions.

Ambivalent 50th anniversary, Hawai'i. You had statehood thrust upon you. You were America's first real imperial holding, beginning more as a coaling station than anything else. Your royalty was thrust aside, your people overshouted by incomers, and yet you still have a sense of being something different from the mainlanders. You sent the oddest pair of statues to the Rotunda in Washington, CD -- King Kamehameha done up in full Romantic splendour, an image of ebony and gold, heroic and vital, and a tiki-form Father Damien, an outsider who became woven into your soul for his selflessness.

And happy golden anniversary to me, next month. To that end I am re-reading War & Peace. Tolstoy said that everyone should read the book three times in their life, and that the reading at 50 was the most important, so today, doing a little trick with some coupons, I was able to pick up Pierre and company on the cheap in a wonderful new translation.

And so I shall read of Napoleon, the Rostovs, and think deeply on life's many odd lessons.