Day 28: Literary Influences

Hello again!

Right now, as most of my friends would vouch, I’m on a bit of a cultural island, with no permanent resident other than me and Ed, though he lives in a particularly remote corner of this island (no offence Ed, of course *wink*). Of course, I share interests with many of my friends, whether it be playing classical guitar with Qesser, singing Frontier Psychiatrist with Yusuf, or sharing Gianina’s interest in indie film. This has led to the question of how I actually ended up here. Nobody in my family shares my musical interests (except, to an extent, my grandma, who introduced me to the wonders of such eras as the Greenwich folk scene), I am the only one who has ever taken an interest in biology, and when I tried to describe Birdman to them, they just burst out laughing.

So in this post, I thought I’d talk a little about literature, because I’ve not really done that in a while…

Except for trains, reading must have been my first ever real interest. I had watched Sesame Street from an early age, a TV programme I still swear by, and therefore was a competent reader before most of my friends had even begun to try. My dad used to always read to me and my sister before bed, probably my most avid memories as a kid, and these books were awesome.

Of course, Roald Dahl was always an idol of mine. I’ve read most of his books, and enjoyed all of those I had read (except The Witches. That was some scary stuff right there.) I remember the excitement I experienced of first reading the descriptions of the wacky Willy Wonka, and the sadness of watching the BFG get picked on by the other giants, or the confusion of the virtuoso grasshopper in James and the Giant Peach. However, none of these books had such a profound effect on me as Matilda.

I still recall all the emotions I felt whilst reading this book: from the novel events of the Wormwood household, to being creeped by the evil Agatha Trunchbull, to affection for Miss Jennifer Honey. It’s also suitable, given my situation, that Matilda found peace and inspiration by reading. This masterpiece is so typical of Dahl’s famous style too. Whilst his books are mainly children’s books, each still contains a moral, even if it means applying it in a rather R-rated fashion. The disrespectful and sickly Twits end up being crushed by their own weight. Fantastic Mr Fox leaves the three psychopathic farmers to die of starvation whilst waiting for him to emerge from a hole. Four children die in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory for being greedy and selfish. Even Tim Burton didn’t go that far!

A similarly named literary influence as a kid was the Irish writer Roddy Doyle who, whilst bagging himself a Man Booker Prize for his inventive and unique novel Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha, wrote some pretty good children’s literature too! My main memory of his work was the incredible Meanwhile Adventures, which track the story of the Mac family, all undertaking various tasks, whether it be running up stairs, taking short cuts to Las Vegas or avoiding a big pile of poo. In fact, this book was such a revelation to the Jacobson household that, upon returning this book to the library, my dad declared it as the best children’s book he had ever come across. To which the librarian agreed.

However, at some point I did have to grow out of Dahl and Doyle, and this was when I became embroiled in series. This was a fairly dark period of my literary life spanning from Year 4 to about Year 8. By Year 8, the only books I was bothering to read were books in the Cherub series, which were all a load of rubbish, and I’m disappointed i my 12-year-old self for immersing himself so forcefully in them. There were also the Diamond Brothers books by Anthony Horowitz, which were/are amazing, and the Alex Rider series by Anthony Horowitz, which was not. However, the pinnacle of my series reading had to be Caroline Lawrence’s Roman Mysteries.

It may be the only series in which I am proud to have said that I read so many of them. This is because they were more than just a plot (which, admittedly, never really changed): they were faction. This meant that whilst the plots were fictional, the scenario was real. Thus, I was able to learn al about the port of Ostia and the gladiatorial games and Roman imperialism, all from the comfort of a book for teenagers. These books inspired me to study Classical subjects at school, something that continued from the age of 11 to October 2014 where, in the light of university applications, I was forced to drop A-Level Classical Greek. My study in Classics has opened so many doors, whether it be reading Homer and Sophocles in the original Greek, to analysing literary techniques in tragedy, to being able to say I did A-Level Greek. And it’s all down to Caroline Lawrence.

As a result of all of these inspirations, I have now found myself on my own little literary island. This includes everything from the beautiful poetic techniques of Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita to the plain mad Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut to the classic Jane Eyre. Even works that aren’t considered masterpieces, such as Alan Bennett’s The History Boys or David Nicholls’ Starter for Ten, are books without which I don’t know where I would be. Honestly, Brian Jackson from Starter for Ten is 18 (almost like me), a student of Bristol University (where I received my first university offer), has people make fun of him for his taste in music (like me), is clumsy (like me), is blissfully clueless about politics and philosophy (like me), loves University Challenge (like me), is hopeless around girls (like me), is socially clueless (like me) and has an issue with spots (like me). Genuinely, if any book was a biography of my own life, it would have to be Starter for Ten.

And on top of that, it is absolutely hilarious.

So if there was to be a conclusion from this huge tangeant, it would probably be to make your kids read Roddy Doyle, avoid Cherub and READ STARTER FOR TEN! You will not regret it.

Day 5: Summer Reading 2014

Hello everyone!

Yes, I am very much aware that I should be on Day 10 by now. However, pre-mock Daniel seemed to think it to be a good idea to start this challenge beforehand, just to make it even more of an inconvenience for him. So here we are! Day 5 on the 10th day. I’d hope that Day 30 was still scheduled for the 30th…

Anyway, this post is extremely delayed, as you can probably infer from the title. I had a pretty uneventful Summer, giving me plenty of time to do lots of reading, so I hope there will be some juicy reviews here for you guys to get your teeth stuck into.

I have included a couple of books I read as a kid and decided to re-read due to sheer boredom, so I hope they will provide some light relief throughout this post.

But let’s crack on!

Firstly, some science-y books.

Apostolos Doxiadis – Uncle Petros and Goldbach’s Conjecture. This novel, written by a Greek mathematician, tells the story of a young man with aspirations to become a mathematician, like his mysterious Uncle Petros, who dedicated his entire life to solving the elusive Goldbach’s Conjecture. Unfortunately, this is a prime example of academics thinking they can write academic fiction, and then completely failing. Whilst this book is quite interesting for those who want to learn a little bit about maths, this is quite a quick, easy book. For anybody else, you will be struck by Mr Doxiadis’ inability to actually write. However, I would recommend Logicomix, a graphic novel which he wrote about the life and work of the British philosopher Bertrand Russell. Much more interesting for anyone, plus you don;t have to suffer the painful prose.

James D. Watson – The Double Helix. This book is widely considered to be a must-read for any medic, biologist, dentist, biochemist, vet or indeed anybody interested in biological research (okay, so maybe not the dentists then). The reason for this is because it doesn’t involve much thought, and so you can read it before your university interview to seem ‘interested’. If you actually want to learn about genetics, there must be better books out there. This is much more of a memoir which, though interesting in its own right, doesn’t make a great book for the scientist.

Ian Stewart – The Mathematics Of Life. This is the book which I had been looking for ever since I decided to pursue biological sciences: a book quantifying the importance of maths in biology. This, therefore, is a book every single biologist must read, in order to get it into their heads that biology can no longer exist separately to maths. Ian Stewart, a maths professor, whilst spending more time discussing novel cases of numbers in biology rather than practical cases, still convinces the reader that maths is a necessity which, for me, is all that is really important.

Paul Davies – The Origin Of Life. This was probably the best science book I read all Summer, as it has the makings of a great science book. The topic, how life originated from mere chemical reactions, is one that has never ceased to amaze mankind. It’s author is a respected scientific professor. And he engages in the links between all the sciences, discussing everything from astrobiology to thermodynamics to microbial physiology. A fantastic book for any scientist, or anyone simply looking to expand their intellectual horizons.

I even took the time to read some classic books…

Xenophon – Anabasis/The Persian Expedition. I had to study a part of this book for my Classical Greek AS-Level, so thought I may as well finish it off. It sets itself up for an epic, a few thousand men, trapped deep into enemy territory, who must fight to return home. Great! Except what most often happens with classical literature is that the writer’s intentions get lost in translation. Thus, even if Xenophon wrote the most thrilling. Hollywood-esque epic of all time, his stories of bravery and heroism still force my eyelids closed.

Sophocles – Oedipus Tyrannus. Okay, so what I said earlier about ‘lost in translation’? I take that back regarding Sophocles’ tragedy Oedipus Tyrannus. This play is the perfect tragedy, because a tragedy is about more than everybody dying at the end. It’s about emphasising the pain of the characters, and not a word in this play is used for any purpose other than to convey the extent of Oedipus’ tragic, unfortunate life. I really don’t want to give too much away, so I’m going to stop writing. But, if you want to read a piece of classical literature right now, for the sake of your sanity please read this.

Fyodor Dostoevsky – The Double. Given the fact the most works from Russian authors are the size of a small country, this 150-page novella seemed like a walk in the park. And with the release of the new remake of it, starring Jesse Eisenberg and directed by Richard Ayoade, I was rather looking forward to reading this, until I actually started. This book was the heaviest, slowest-going piece of literature I’ve ever read. Literally, it took me two months to get through it. I don’t normally say this, but please, just watch the film.

JD Salinger – The Catcher In The Rye. I feel like I missed something after I read this book. GoodReads seemed to imply that this was the most beloved piece of literature since the Bible, but I couldn’t quite understand why. If anybody could explain this to me, please comment below. I’d be more than interested to hear…

…and now for the lighter stuff.

Nigel Slater – Toast. This award-winning autobiography tells the story of beloved TV chef Nigel Slater, but in a rather original way: in terms of food. Whether it be his mother’s inability to cook anything, including toast, or Slater’s love of grapefruit. This book describes the way of life growing up in 60’s Britain in a surprisingly evocative way, whilst simultaneously emphasising Slater’s fascination with the world of food which, of course, has shaped his entire life.

Michael Faber – Under The Skin. Until this book, I had never actually been creeped out by a piece of writing (even that of Ray Bradbury), but this book was completely sickening, thought in a way more fascinating than negative. It’s about an alien in a human’s skin, which is normally a pretty good start to a creepy novel, and it doesn’t get much better as the novel goes on. I would really recommend this book, though, even if you watch enough horror stories for this not to be much of a threat to your sleep. (Also, I should mention that there is a film for it…)

Stephen Chbosky – The Perks Of Being A Wallflower. I don’t normally read much YA fiction, even if the blogging/social/entire world goes completely crazy for it. This book, though, is really magical. Even though the language is simple (maybe too simple, which did annoy me a little), the characters are so tangible and thorough, resulting in a beautiful, empathic read. Whether you are laughing, crying or slightly confused, Chbosky seems to be so consistent in ensuring that quality is never compromised, so much so that it almost convinced me to read more YA…

John Green – The Fault In Our Stars…and then I read this. It’s not that this book was inherently ‘bad’, but it seems to epitomise everything people find annoying about the YA genre. It supports the idea that you can only be cynical and thoughtful about everything around you if you are tormented, and that you aren’t a real person unless you are, somehow, broken. I detested the cynicism which was fundamentally associated with this book, and is now being treasured, especially amongst the 14-year-old girls who went crazy for this novel and film. However, if this book does encourage 14-year-old girls to read, then I will do nothing but support it.

Sara Shilo – The Falafel King Is Dead. Despite being half-Israeli, this was the first time I’ve ever immersed myself in Israeli literature, and now I understand why. This book was essentially a list of character’s say “I have 99 problems, and my mum is all of them”. By the end of it, my sympathy for any of the characters was as dead as most of the character’s in this book wished they were, and that can never be a good thing.

E. Lockhart – We Were Liars. I hate E. Lockhart. I don’t hate her because she’s a bad author. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I hate her because she officially broke me. It took me less than a day to read this book, even though the whole thing was completely heartbreaking. I simply couldn’t put the book down and cease the pain which E. Lockhart had stirred in my heart, and for that I don’t know whether to laud her or loathe her.

Anthony Horowitz – The Falcon’s Malteser. Yeah, this was the kids’ book I decided to re-read, and my god it was hilarious. Horowitz may have no idea how to read teen fiction, but I have to urge every 10-year-old to read this book. It isn’t overly simple, but the plot is still just about mad enough to maintain the attention span of its reader (quite a feat when, more often than not, that attention span is equal to that of a spanner). It also happens to be based on the classic 1941 film The Maltese Falcon, starring Humphrey Bogart, which can’t be a bad thing!

Alan Bennett – The History Boys. Without a doubt, this was by far the best thing I read all year, never mind all Summer. It is brilliant, not just because it is witty, thought-provoking and starring James Corden, but also because it is so relatable, especially for all of my friends in the process of university applications. I wrote a post about this a while ago, but I’m not sure you even need to read that to be convinced to read this play. It is only a play, and I promise that your day will become much better as a result of it.

One Bad Thing About ‘The Da Vinci Code’

In 2003, Dan Brown wrote one of the most popular works of fiction ever written, The Da Vinci Code, which sold over 80 million copies over the next six years, and was translated into 44 languages. It is probably also the most Marmite-like book ever written. Many swear by it, arguing it to be an incredible book, others argue that it is incredibly poor.

Having read the book, I’d say that it’s pretty good. Dan Brown has an ingenious style, involving two intertwining plots, with alternate chapters. However, there are always holes at the end of each chapter, meaning you will read on to the next chapter of the plot, in turn acquiring more holes, and so on. This made reading any Dan Brown incredibly annoying, but also somewhat invigorating, and so credit to him!

But I’m not here to give you a review of The Da Vinci Code, I want to discuss the events and style that evolved from its publication which, quite frankly, destroyed the genre of academic fiction in its entirety.

This book triggered an instant interest in anything to do with cryptography, the Italian Renaissance, Jesus, or indeed anything else discussed by Brown. What this did lead to, though, was hundreds of academics, probably on disappointingly low salaries from some university somewhere, saying to themselves:

‘Wow, I could write that! Dan Brown is only an author, and I’m an expert! This is going to be easy! One-million-dollar contracts, here I come!’

It’s probably unnecessary to say that this was a miserable failure.

Via a shamefully blinded idea, these PhD students and professors thought that they could write better than people who not only earn their living as a result of it, but also dedicated their lives to this art.

On the contrary to this, I will say that these naive scholars, if they really put their mind to it, could write, and well for that matter. But they all make two grave errors:

1. They never have an original idea. They thought they could write a book similar to The Da Vinci Code, so they try to replicate it. Not only will the reader realise that this is their goal, but they will always be writing in the shadow of the book that sold 80 million copies.

2. As academics, they always put their study and subject before the actual story. The actual book becomes a platform on which they can display their infinite knowledge of something most people don’t care about anymore.

The second point, in my opinion, is a much more serious issue, given the fact that it makes reading their books a living nightmare. To display this perfectly, I am going to use the uniform example of a failure like this: The Tomb Of Alexander by Sean Hemingway.

Yes, Sean Hemingway is a direct descendant of Ernest Hemingway, and the latter ought to be turning in his grave if he were to find out, whilst frolicking in literary heaven, that his own grandson wrote a book so useless.

Anyway, Sean Hemingway is a curator at the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art, and he has a PhD in classical art and archaeology. Good for him and all, but you could literally figure that out by reading this fiction book. However, for the ultimate blasphemous act, I am going to directly quote from page 62:

…To my knowledge, I’ve never had any previous thoughts on Alexander the Great in my life. I want to learn more about him. Since you are an expert, can you recommend any reading materials for me?’

 

 

Tom thought for a moment and then replied, ‘Well, I’d suggest you start with the primary sources. Unfortunately, practically nothing survives from Alexander’s lifetime but there are later ancient biographers. I’d begin with Arrian and Plutarch. There’s a modern biography by Peter Green that is also quite good…’

This is the point where I threw the book against the wall and started crying for the time and money I’d wasted acquiring and reading this book. It’s awful enough for a fiction book to have someone inquire about ‘reading materials’, but for a detailed reply to worm its way into this catastrophe is just phenomenal.

This is a clear example of a writer simply trying to show off about something nobody cares about, and doing it on one of the purest stages in art and culture.

Another, more scientific example, is The Black Cloud by the award-winning physicist Sir Fred Hoyle. This book concerned a group of physicists dealing with the approach of a big cloud of gas threatening to wipe out life on Earth by blocking it from solar radiation.

Despite having an interest in science, albeit not so much in physics, this may have been the most boring book I’ve ever read, instead of the thrilling apocalyptic novel I’d been promised by the blurb. In fact, it is so bad that at one point two of the physicist drive into the middle of a desert and have a fifty page conversation on theoretical physics. I was sold…

Again, it is just some scientist believing he could do something that science fiction writers had perfected. Idiot…

Anyway, I’m losing the energy to continue this rant, but I will finish with some good news, being that it has not always been a failure, and on the rare occasion that a decent book is actually produced via this route, not only can it be interesting and informative, but also more fun than you’d expect, so:

-for the scientists, I’d recommend anything by Isaac Asimov (professor of biochemistry).

-for arts students, I’d recommend Raphael Cardetti (professor of Italian history) – Death In The Latin Quarter

Homer’s Iliad

Never did the idea of reviewing a work of the sort of calibre and stature as the Iliad ever even cross my mind.

Considering this overly keen and excited attitude, it was striking how many people I came across whilst reading the Iliad who had never even heard of it, so I do feel it necessary to provide a brief overview. The Iliad is the first epic poem of two by the legendary Greek poet Homer, the other being the Odyssey. It is a 24-book, 500 page roller coaster set within the final weeks of the Siege of Troy, a city thought to be part of Northern Turkey, by the Greek forces. However, when Achilles, the god-like hero of the Greek forces, refuses to fight having been insulted by the Greek leader Agamemnon, the Greeks turn onto the back foot, until the untimely death of Achilles’ close friend Patroclus, which alters the course of the siege.

Studying this work in the original work, as I have done, has a surprisingly profound effect on the reader’s view of the work (which is interesting, as it wasn’t written down until almost 300 years after Homer’s death, having previously been spread by bards). This initial method of the disclosure of the story has, nonetheless had an equally profound effect on the stylistic techniques used by Homer. He write in a meter called ‘iambic hexameter’, which consists of six ‘parts’ per line, each containing two or three syllables, which totals up to a total number which is normally reflective of the speed of the scene in question. (Any students of Shakespeare may be knowledgeable of his own meter, ‘iambic pentameter’, which consists of five ‘parts’).

Also, as it was originally made to be told by bards, Homer has been left with the seemingly impossible task of setting scenery not only through part length, but also through many other aspects, namely vocabulary and even sound of word. Often, a scene of death may be partnered with a particularly violent sound, such as that of a sword, merged into his choice of word, which makes it all the more magical to study in the original Greek. Even word order played a part, where a certain position would place emphasis on the word of Homer’s choice.

T0 sum up the last few paragraphs, for a student of literature or language, Homer’s Iliad has its aspects of interest even before you consult the story itself. However, considering that my A-level Classical Greek class consists of one other person, it is appreciated that the Iliad would be read in English, as I did over half term. So here is my take on a review of one of the forefronts of Western literature.

Remember what I said about the death of Patroclus? It struck me that this incident, which many would describe as the pivotal event of the Siege of Troy, occurred in Book 16, about 300 pages into the book. Promised with the prospect of raging chaos caused by the wrath of Achilles upon the poor Trojan soldiers, this seemed to be a bit of a let down. With various plot points mixed in, such as the final meeting between the Trojan hero, Hektor, and his wife Andromache (a beautiful scene in Book 6) and an attempt to persuade Achilles to fight in Book 9, unfortunately, not much really happened, other than various skirmishes of varying success.

These long expanses of almost dreary warfare often act as a way of describing the war among the gods. Whilst Hera (queen of the gods) and Poseidon (king of the sea) support the Greek forces (referred to as ‘Achaeans’ throughout the poem), Aphrodite (goddess of beauty) and Ares (goddess of war) support the Trojans. Throughout the entire Iliad, every stab of the spear or toss of a javelin is monitored and altered by the gods fighting for each side, which almost provides an entirely new take on the story as a disagreement between the Olympian gods. It would mean that ultimately, regardless of the strength of Trojan Hektor or Greek Achilles, this fight would be sorted out by the gods themselves.

However, despite my idea of ‘dreary warfare’, these parts prior to the death of Patroclus are dotted with strokes of literary genius on Homer’s account. The parting of Hektor and Andromache (which provides an edge of inspiration for the play ‘Trojan Women’ by Euripides) not only shows the paternal side to Hektor (who is often referred to using the epithet ‘man-slaying’), it also emphasises the effects of war on the observers, namely the women. Here, the focus is concentrated on members of Hektor’s family, such as Andromache and Hecabe (his mother), who is the protagonist of Euripides’ play. Scenes like this have also regarded points of view which may have been more central to Homer himself, here regarding the idea of pacifism and the horrors of war.

This theme of the horrors of war also has its interests for the modern historian. The other day, I attended a fascinating lecture at Manchester University entitled ‘Homeric Mud in the Trenches’, which concerned the on-running theme of mud and dirt within both the Iliad and World War I. It’s interesting because the speaker mentioned classically trained students in Britain (picture Hugh Laurie’s character of Lieutenant George in the fourth series of Blackadder) who were blinded by the idea ‘Dulce et Decorum est; pro Patria mori’ (It is sweet and proper to do for one’s country), which may have provided a thought of dying a glorious death on battlefields kissed by the sun of ‘rosy-fingered dawn’ (another Homeric epithet).

However, the theme of mud may counter this idea, as a use of mud is the elimination of glory, not the creation. In Book 21, Achilles has a battle against the River Scamander, which he fills with the blood of the Trojan soldiers who he has slaughtered. The river, speaking as a god, threatens to flood Achilles, drowning him in mud so deep that no trace of his bones or armour would be found. The thought of an improper burial of the Greek hero Achilles would have been extremely damaging for the Greeks, especially as Patroclus’ dying wish had been for Achilles’ ashes to be mixed with his own after death. Here, mud does not signify glory at all, as implied by these naive scholars of Classics, but does the total opposite.

One other aspect of Homer’s masterpiece that really defines the work is the characters; both the number of them and their personalities. This story takes place in the ‘Golden Age’ long before the era of Classical Athens, where the gods and god-like figures lived among mortals. But these characters, and Homer’s representation of them, is a definite theme for debate.

Whilst this may not be Homer’s purpose, it seems to me that the Trojans are seen as the victims, whereas the Greeks are more powerful, mainly due to the presence of Achilles. Because of this, there is a certain air of arrogance amongst the Greeks (except in Book 15, when the Trojans bring down the walls of the Greek camp). Achilles is a prime example.

In my opinion, Achilles is an utter prick.

This idea was established right at the beginning and still held strong after Book 24. Achilles refuses to fight, in full knowledge that the Greeks cannot overpower the Trojans without his ‘superpowers’, simply because Agamemnon lashed out at him a bit. So he sits in the camp with his ‘friend’ Patroclus whilst the soldiers, with reliance on Achilles, are dying at the hands of the Trojans. (I put ‘friend’ in apostrophes because he is a horrible friend who takes Patroclus for granted. Mind you, Patroclus is as weak as you would expect him to be, until he starts fighting in Book 16). Patroclus’ fighting was actually instigated by Achilles again, who convinced him to go out with his armour, meaning that people would mistake him for Achilles and morale would rise. However, Achilles wasn’t thinking about Hektor and Euphorbus, another Trojan, who finished him off after he had killed over 50 men. But the way in which Achilles puts Patroclus at risk in this way is, to me, truly disgusting. In fact, Achilles’ arrogant and angry character is left unblemished until Book 24, where it involves Priam, the Trojan king, who is mourning the death of all of his sons, who had all been killed by Achilles, including god-like Hektor, hero of the Trojans. It takes a grieving old man who is upset only due to the actions of Achilles, to make Achilles show the slightest sliver of empathy.

Yet it seems to be a different story for the Trojans. Take Hektor as an example. Throughout the Iliad (as within this post), Hektor is referred to as ‘god-like’, but his immortality is also stressed, being the son of two mortals (unlike Achilles, who was son of the nymph Thetis). His portrayal by the other Trojans offers his original character as the only possible saviour of his beloved Troy. Yet along with this, the paternal love he expresses for his young son, Astaianax, and his wife and mother shows his side whilst off the battlefield. In Book 6, Homer mentions that Astaianax shrunk away from Hektor when he was wearing his plumed helmet, yet when he removed it, he held his child. This shows that Hektor the hero is almost a different person to Hektor the father. And whilst all of the aspects of Achilles’ character imply nastiness, Hektor’s characteristics only resonate positivity.

In conclusion (to what is probably the longest post I’ve done by a good 600 lines), this masterpiece is full of content and subtext which is fascinating for debate and discussion. It is unsurprising that within the Oxford University Classics course, 20% of the first year is spent studying this book alone. Whilst it may not agree for everyone at this very moment, it is a truly important book that I profoundly believe ought to be read by everybody. So I strongly suggest that at some point in the near future, you read Homer’s Iliad. It may seem slow at first, but persevere, for the overall result is phenomenal.