Set-Up & Pay-Off: The Shroud of Turin

Note:  So it was pointed out to me that this blog post is being discussed over here.  On that note, I'd just like to say that my intention is not to provide scientific information or discredit the Shroud in any way.  I'm certainly not qualified for that and I don't pretend to be.  Rather, the point of this post is to use the exhibit, which indeed has a room in which it claims the Shroud is resistant to temperature, water, etc., as an example of problematical set-up/pay-off.

The exhibit itself is hardly a scientific journal article.  There are no signs with information, no pamphlets…Nothing except an audio guide with a very clear goal:  to tell a story.  It's not the story itself I wish to focus on; it's the telling of the story, which left me and others very disappointed.

A few weeks ago my roommate told me that the Shroud of Turin was currently in Sevilla, which is a big deal, since it usually lives in Italy.  My response:  "What's in the world is the Shroud of Turin?"

"It's supposedly the shroud in which Jesus was wrapped when they took him off the cross," she explained.  "It has his image on it."

A negative photograph of the Shroud of Turin.

Interesting, indeed.  As a sometimes-wannabe-pseudo archaeologist, I like old stuff, and if this really was the shroud in which Jesus was wrapped, then that's pretty old.  Besides, I like to make checkmarks on my "List of Cool Things I've Seen in Museums" (which so far includes St. Peter's bones and Abraham Lincoln's hat, among others), so I decided to make a visit to the exhibit titled La Sábana Santa, which translates to "The Holy Shroud."

I wasn't really expecting much--just a piece of cloth--but it turned out to be a pretty neat exhibit, one that told a story.  It began with the discovery of the shroud in Medieval France, then proceeded to discuss the nineteenth-century photograph that revealed it to be a giant negative of a man who looks suspiciously like Jesus Christ.

Could it really be Jesus?  And the even bigger question, how is the image on the cloth when there's no signs of paint, ink, embroidery, or anything else of an artistic nature?  (Plus, the question that resounded in my wannabe archaeologist's mind:  How could a piece fabric survive 2000 years?  Fabric is one of the most degradable materials, which is why archaeologists rarely ever find it, and when they do, they only find tiny threads.)

These are the questions the exhibit tried to answer.  Slowly.  Each room offered a little bit more information, more clues:

• Carbon dating -- Do the dates match Crucifixion?
• Pollen samples -- Scientists are able to analyze pollen in the threads, which indicates where the fabric has been.  Indeed, the shroud had bits of pollen from plants that only grow in and around Jerusalem.
• Forensic studies -- What do the blood stains and the positioning of the limbs indicate?

Each room added a little bit more; the entire time, the suspense built and built.  Soon enough, I was ready to scream into my audio guide, "Just tell me if it's real!"

Then, the rising action right before the climax:  the tests.

• The shroud is impervious to water.
• The shroud is impervious to temperatures, both hot and cold.
• The shroud is impervious to light.  The image hasn't faded.

After thousands of years, the shroud has not deteriorated at all, something absolutely unheard of in the archaeological world.  Which makes one wonder if it really is a miracle…

By this point I'm bouncing on the balls of my feet with anticipation, wishing the audio guide would go faster (there were no cards next to the displays, so unfortunately I couldn't just read my way through).  I needed to know.  Then, finally, it told me to proceed into the next room.

The climax.  Now, after about an hour, it was finally time to actually see the shroud of Turin and find out what scientists have concluded:  is it really the shroud?

There it is.  Hanging on a wall behind glass.  I walk toward it, holding my breath, and--

"What you're seeing is a reproduction of the shroud of Turin.  The original is only taken out every twenty five years so that it doesn't deteriorate."

Wait…What?  Rewind, I need to hear that again.  Reproduction?  So that it doesn't deteriorate?

This is what I saw behind class.  Yup…It really is just a strip of fabric.

Sorry, but the exhibit was just asking for the string of blasphemies that escaped my mouth.

Nobody said anything about a reproduction.  A reproduction?  Of a strip of fabric?

That's hardly the worst of it.  The whole time the museum strung me along:  despite my doubts in the beginning, as I went along, I became pretty convinced.  The science seemed thorough, the evidence pretty solid…

Then the penultimate room.  The one with the tests:  impervious to water, impervious to temperature, impervious to light, impervious to time…

Then the last room:  "The original is only taken out every twenty five years so that it doesn't deteriorate."

Wait, but you just said…?  I thought…?  What happened to being impervious to everything?  Even time?

One sentence, and the museum lost me.  Nope.  If this were a book, I'd have thrown it across the room.  Yup, this exhibit is a great example of what books shouldn't do.

When you pick up a book, you're putting your faith in the author.  You're trusting him with valuable hours of your life:  his book had better satisfy.

I'm not saying it should be predictable.  It should, however, have good set-up and pay-off:  they should match each other.

What do I mean by set-up?  Pay-off?

Set-up is information you need in order for the pay-off, another action, to be believable.  For example:

Joanne has to stop a bomb from detonating.  Fortunately, she has the instruction manual.  Unfortunately, it's written in Greek.

The set-up would be that Joanne knows Greek:  earlier in the book, we witnessed a scene in which she speaks Greek to her neighbor, who happens to be from Athens.  The pay-off would be that she can easily read the instruction manual and stop the bomb.  That's a good set-up/pay-off situation.  A bad one would be:  By the way, Joanne knows Greek.  We learn that she can speak it at the same time she needs it.  That's not very believable.

The Shroud of Turin exhibit had excellent set-up.  With every room, it gave just a tad bit more information, continuing to pique my interest as it tugged me along.  A little here, a little there, so that by the end, I wouldn't have been able to "put the book down."  I couldn't wait for the big reveal.

So set-up, great.  Pay-off, not so much.

Just like you can't have a good pay-off without a good set-up, if the pay-off isn't good, then the set-up is meaningless.  It's excess information, completely unimportant.  Which is how I felt after the exhibit: that the set-up was a waste of my time.

Moral of the story:  set-up/pay-off problems can go both ways.

Have you ever been really disappointed in something because of set-up/pay-off problems?  Movie, book, museum?

A - Z Challenge: REYES CATÓLICOS (THE CATHOLIC MONARCHS)

SPAIN

From my experiences, Spanish history is not something that's taught in most American schools.  If you were to ask me about it five years ago, I'd have replied,

"Columbus discovered America, then Cortés killed all the Indians.  There was the Inquisition sometime…"

Fortunately, I've come a long way since then, thanks to some excellent history professors.  So, today I'm going to talk a little about the reyes católicos, or the Catholic Monarchs, Fernando II de Aragón and Isabel I de Castilla (Ferdinand and Isabella).  What's really neat about them is that they were a team:  rarely do you hear about one without the other, which makes them a cute historical couple.  Though not nearly as cute as my favorite royal couple, King William III and Queen Mary II, who chartered this great university somewhere in Virginia ;)

Spain owes a lot to Fernando and Isabel.  But what, exactly, did they do?

Get married

Probably one of the most important weddings in history.  When they married, they united the two largest and most powerful kingdoms, Aragon and Castile.  Thus began the unification process.  Until now, Spain was just a jumble of kingdoms.  It wouldn't become a unified nation until 1492, when Fernando and Isabel defeated the Moors in Granada.

Reconquista

Spain was occupied by Moors from North Africa from 711 to 1492.  Fernando and Isabel kicked them out, making Spain one unified Catholic country (as opposed to Muslim), which is why they're called the "Catholic Monarchs."

Inquisition

Part of the Reconquista was the establishment of the Spanish Inquisition.  Even after the fall of Granada, many muslims and jews remained in Spain, though usually in hiding.  The Inquisition, begun by Fernando and especially Isabel, was a way to find these so-called "heretics" and be rid of them.

America

Yup, Fernando and Isabel funded Christopher Columbus's journeys to America!

Had Children

Their five children married into the major ruling families of Europe, but the most famous one is Catherine of Aragon, the first wife of Henry VIII.

A - Z Challenge: LEFTOVERS (ROME & MOORS)

SPAIN

The Iberian Peninsula has been inhabited for centuries, most notably by the Roman and Ottoman Empires.  To this day, you can see many leftovers in Spanish cities, especially in the autonomous community of Andalusia, the name of which comes from the Arabic Al-Andalus.

Architecture

This Roman aqueduct is right by my house!

Moors maintained a presence on the Iberian Peninsula from 711 to 1492.  That's 781 years.  Comparably, Spain has only been "Spanish" as we know it for 521 years, which is very strange to think about.  It's been asked if the Reconquista, or the Reconquest (when Catholics led by Ferdinand and Isabel expelled the Arabs from Spain), was actually a reconquest, or if it was just a conquest.

I believe these columns were supposedly
placed here by Hercules himself.  (Hercules
founded many cities in Spain, including
Sevilla and Barcelona, according to legend.)

Traveling through Spain, you'll find a lot of architectural leftovers from Rome and Moorish occupation.  In Sevilla, for example, there are several Roman columns.  My street even has the ruins of an old aqueduct :)

A patio in the Alcázar.  These archways are a
signature element of Islamic architecture.

As for Moorish influence, it's everywhere.  Courtyards, rounded archways, and tiles all have their origins in Arabic architecture.

The Alcázar, for example, was originally a Moorish fort, converted into a royal palace.  Though there are certain Gothic elements, most of it is Islamic design.

Sevilla's most famous site, the Cathedral, was actually originally a mosque.  The Giralda served as a minaret from which someone would issue the call to prayer.  It was converted into a Cathedral, yet it still has lots of Islamic architecture.

The Cathedral in Sevilla.

Language

While Spanish is a romance language that has Latin roots, its filled with words that come from Arabic.  Some of these include:

Andalucía - from Al-Andalus, the Arabic name for the region.

Ojalá - I hope, from law šhaʾ allāh "God willing".

Alcázar - palace, from al-qasr
Zumo - juice, from zum.  Spain is the only Spanish-speaking country that uses "zumo" for juice.

And hundreds more!

WRITING

When writers build worlds, they often draw from real cultures and civilizations.  Stereotypical fantasy worlds are usually based on medieval Northern Europe (the Holy Roman Empire is probably closest in comparison); and when they name characters and places, they often pick a language to act as the "root language."

Why is this a good idea?  So that the made-up words sound as though they belong to the same family, the same culture.  It helps to make the world believable, and that's extremely important :)  So as you create world, make like Spain and let other civilizations influence you!

P.S.  I'd love to read a fantasy in which the world is based on North Africa or Middle East, so if you know of any, please let me know!

One Horrible Travel Hangover: Istanbul

If you like to look at book-related websites (like I do), chances are you've seen something like this before.  Maybe not the same image, perhaps not the same exact phrasing, but it's a common sentiment that the internet expresses well.

We've all felt this way.  You know, when we're so lost in a book, that when we look up, we're startled to find that the rest of the world isn't having the same emotional experience we are.  Sometimes the book is so powerful it gives you a whole new perspective.  In a way, it changes you, but the world around you hasn't altered one bit.

That's how I feel about my trip to Istanbul.

The Blue Mosque at night.

That moment when you come back from Istanbul, look around, and realize that everyone is just carrying on with their lives…

I've tried to explain my trip to my friends.  To my family.  I tell them what we did, where we went, our best (and worst) stories, but it isn't the same.  Words are a powerful magic, but even words cannot capture the majesty that was this sunset viewed from the Galata bridge.  The profundity of that one moment, the unspoken wonder shared between friends, the blazing emotions that consumed my entire being…

It's impossible.

The photo just doesn't capture the moment.

All week I'd been thinking about what I was going to blog about in relation to Istanbul, but all my ideas fell flat.  They wouldn't do my experience justice.  They wouldn't do the city justice.

My favorite story from the trip is that of Muhammed.  It was our last night, so we decided to end our trip by getting tea and baklava at a relatively fancy pastry shop.  Once we had finished eating, we spread our map over the table in order to review where we had been.  Upon noticing the map, our waiter, Muhammed, came over and offered to give us directions.

We started to talk to him about where he lived in Istanbul, how long he had been there, where he was from…

Syria.  Which, if you don't know, has been in turmoil for a few years.  (Click here to learn more.)

His home was destroyed.  His university was destroyed.

And all his friends are dead.

He's my age.

I tell this story, but nobody can see the expression on his face when he told us he never ever wants to go back to Syria.  When he brought us Turkish Delight, on him, against our protestations.  When he said, "America is nice, yes?  I would like to go there, but…"

The way his voice trailed off at the "but…"

That moment when you meet someone you'll never forget, look around, and realize that everyone is just carrying on with their lives, as though you didn't just experience emotional trauma at the hands of a Syrian waiter.

Left to Right:  Me, Sean, Muhammed, Natalie, Josh.
I seriously hope we meet again someday.

It really is strange that the world keeps going without acknowledging the experience, and even a few days after my return, I'm having a hard time carrying on with my life.  I simply want to sit, and remember, and think, and wonder, and ask if that really happened, and realize that it did.  It happened, and only I will ever fully understand it.

I don't even like to tell people about Istanbul anymore.  At first, I tried my hardest to make them understand.  I gave them a day-by-day play-by-play.  I showed them photos.  I found the call to prayer on YouTube and sent it to them.  But the truth is, it's something that can never be truly shared.

No matter what, nobody will ever have my same emotional experience.  Really, it's the same when reading a book.  Just as you can go to the same place, you can read the same words; but your emotional experience is entirely unique to you, and that's what makes it so darn difficult to connect with people while you're still suffering from a "book hangover," or in my case, a "travel hangover."

Have you ever had a "book hangover" or a "travel hangover," or any other type of emotional experience that left you feeling somewhat alone while the rest of the world carries on with their lives?

The Inquisition: Surreal Sci-Fi or Gothic Horror Story?

I've been in Spain about a month and already I've been to two Inquisition museums.  (Not by choice).

Now here's a little history lesson.  (If you don't care, scroll down for the writing part.  But keep in mind that history is one big epic story, so as writers, we can learn from it, and we should definitely appreciate it):

Spain is a very Catholic country, but it wasn't always.  In fact, it was controlled by Arabs from North Africa for almost 800 years, which meant that a large percentage of the population practiced Islam.  It influenced architecture, language, food, and more, and those influences are still around to this day.

At this point, Spain didn't exist.  It was a bunch of small kingdoms up until the 1400s, when one of historys' most famous couples got married:  Ferdinand II and Isabella I.  With their marriage, they united Castile and Aragon, two of the biggest kingdoms, and from there, set out to "reconquer" the kingdoms still controlled by the Arabs.  In 1492, the last Arab city (Granada) fell, and for the first time, Spain was united under one monarchy.

Yet Ferdinand and Isabella, nicknamed the Catholic Monarchs, sought to secure their new country with more than political unity.  They wanted religious unity, as well.  So they set up the Holy Office of the Inquisition to seek out falsos conversos, generally Muslims or Jews who claimed to have converted to Christianity, but still secretly practiced their original religion.

But the Inquisition was used for far more than that.  It was frequently an excuse for something else, like personal vengeance or commercial gain.

So how did the Inquisition work?

Enter Diego, a wealthy merchant.  His competitor, jealous of his success, informs the Holy Office of the Inquisition that he has reason to believe that Pablo is secretly practicing Judaism.  Why?  Because he never buys pork.  In reality, Diego just doesn't like pork.  (This is the case with Natalie Portman's character in the movie Goya's Ghosts).

He doesn't know why he has been summoned by the Holy Office, and when he shows up, the inquisitors don't tell him.  Not for awhile, anyway.  When they do, he tries to explain that it's a simple misunderstanding.  He's a very pious Catholic.  But the inquisitors have already confiscated his property, and they don't want to release him.

And here's where it gets gory.  In order to get Diego to confess that he is secretly Jewish, the inquisitors subject him to torture:  the rack, the wheel, etc.  They believed that a confession gained through torture was hard evidence of someone's guilt, because if they were innocent, God would give them the strength to withstand the pain.

Now let's say Diego caves.  Even though he isn't Jewish, he tells them he is.  OK, so enough with the torture, but now he's stuck in a tiny dungeon cell until it's time for his public auto de fe, a trial that most often resulted in public humiliation, but could also end in punishment as severe as burning at the stake.

Now onto writing.

Since being in Spain, I've visited two Inquisition museums.  To my surprise, they were completely different, though they both told the exact same story.

Gothic Horror

The first one we visited while in Córdoba, a city about an hour from Sevilla.  It was a small museum, situated on a tiny street, with only about five rooms; but by the end of it, we all felt a little nauseous.

Why?  You can probably guess.

This museum focused heavily on torture, and it had on display dozens of different devices.  (Yup, we asked.  Not recreations.  That was an authentic guillotine I tripped on.)  Lining the walls were drawings from the time period that showed the devices at work.  Honestly, these were the most disturbing part.

Notice the "Do Not Touch" sign.  "Do not put your hand in the spiky wardrobe!"

Then there was the atmosphere.  To enter and exit the exhibit, you had to pass through black veils that hung over the doors.  Once inside, the lights were dim, giving the rooms an eerie reddish glow.  They were small rooms, too, perfectly square, with very low ceilings.  There was no background music, no television screens.  Not even a guard to keep you grounded in the present.  Just you, your friends, and the Iron Maiden.

Overall tone of this museum?  The Inquisition was dark.  Scary.  Bloody.  Nothing short of a gothic horror story.

Notice the red light and the chandelier in the background.  Both set the mood:  dark and scary.
(Sidenote:  I tripped on this thing.  Thank goodness it wasn't on something with spikes, though.   Nothing was behind glass, or even roped off, so if you tripped and fell onto the Judas Chair, sucks for you.)

Surreal Sci-Fi

The second museum was in Sevilla.  It's located in what's left of the Castillo de San Jorge, which used to house the Holy Office of the Inquisition in Sevilla.  So this is the real deal.  Where it happened.

Kind of dreamlike, right?

But what happened?

Unlike the museum in Córdoba, this one housed very few artifacts.  Almost none.  Instead, this museum utilized video to emphasize the mental and emotional components of the Inquisition.  And not the kind of video you'd expect, either.  These were surrealist clips, no more than a few minutes long.  What do I mean by surrealist?  Well, one showed a naked man in a fetal position, floating in a black void.  A bunch of different angles, close-ups, etc., until finally he grew smaller, and smaller, and smaller…

Nope, there was no plaque with an explanation.  No words at all.

The other part of the museum focused on spaces.  Here's where the stables were, and here was the kitchen, and here were the cells.  No complete walls remain, so they're just spaces marked by walls that are two feet high.  There is nothing in these spaces, either.  They're a hundred percent empty, and dare I say it?  Yes, walking through them was somewhat surreal.

Notice the lighted boardwalks.  Almost futuristic.

Now for the atmosphere.  Lots of television screens with strange videos.  Lots of glass, including a glass ceiling.  A lighted boardwalk that went over the ruins.  Huge spacious rooms that allowed for an echo.

As I toured the museum, I felt like I was floating through a dream; or better yet, a surrealist painting like Dali's The Persistence of Memory.  Very strange.

Overall tone?  The Inquisition was bizarre.  Kind of like a surreal sci-fi story.

So which is correct?  Which is better?

Is the fake skeleton really necessary?
No, but it's all part of the genre.
Like a horror writer, the museum is
trying to create a certain atmosphere.

Well, they're both correct, that's for sure.  They tell the same story.  Same setting, same characters, same plot.  The big difference is the genre, which sets the tone:  the content, combined with the dim lighting, of the museum in Córdoba pinned the Inquisition as a gothic horror.  But based only on the museum at the Castillo de San Jorge, I'd file it as sci-fi, or maybe magical realism.  Very different genres.  Very different messages.

Is one better than the other?  Well, let's see.

As writers, we have to be aware of our genre and the expectations that go along with it.  What mood are we trying to convey?  When is it a good idea to combine genres?  And if we want to do that, how can we do it well?

The best way to figure that out is to read books within your genre.  Lots of books.  And as you read, pay attention to the tone.  Is this the tone you want for your story?  Does it work well?  Or will something else work better?  Make your story stand out?

All in all, it depends on your focus.  The museum in Córdoba focused on torture, and the physical horrors of the Inquisition; but the museum in Sevilla wanted to explore the mental and emotional side, so it sought to create a hazy dreamlike atmosphere that left its visitors a little confused, a little shocked, but with a better understanding the quiet chaos and perpetual fear that went along with the Spanish Inquisition.

Same story, different messages.  Is one better than the other?  That's for the visitor to decide.

Combining Genres

So what if these two museums were combined?

Surreal Sci-Fi + Gothic Horror = ?

Well, I'm not sure there's a name for the result, but when I first thought about this question, my mind immediately went to the movie Pan's Labyrinth.  If you've never seen Pan's Labyrinth, you should.  It's a fantastic movie set during the Spanish Civil War, and it combines the above elements.  (OK, so fantasy instead of sci-fi, if we're going to be nitpicky.)  The blend of genres works perfectly for this movie.  The dark fantasy elements express the characters' fear, and their attempts at coping with the horror and violence of the period.

In Summary

Know your genre.  Know your tone.  Know your message.

And perhaps most importantly, don't be afraid to experiment.  Maybe write a few pages intending it to be in one genre, then try in another.  Heck, I wrote half a book as a YA paranormal retelling, only to then try writing a few chapters of the same story as a MG fantasy adventure.  Very different tones, very different messages.  (Ultimately, I went with the MG fantasy adventure.)

Whew, this is a long post! 

Your thoughts?  Are you familiar with two versions of the same story with very different tones?  What are they?  Which do you like better, and why?

Writing, Reading, and Religion

St, Peter's Basilica.  That's me in the white sweater.

I spent this past weekend in Rome.  Pretty awesome, right?  All in all, it was a fantastic trip, though I wouldn't dare call it a vacation.  If you've ever read Dan Brown's ANGELS & DEMONS, then you'll know how the protagonist, Robert Langdon, sprints through the whole city in the space of a day.  Yup, that was us:  in two days we visited the Vatican (with tour of the crypts), Coliseum, Roman Forum, Spanish Steps, Pantheon, Trevi Fountain, Bridge of Angels, Castel Sant'angelo, more fountains, more churches, and a few piazzas.

Though like true Spaniards (well, we're Americans living in Spain), we still had time for siestas.  But that's beside the point.

The point of this post is something else entirely:  writing, reading, and religion.

My relationship with religion is about as complicated as my relationship with my hair, and considering I feel like a Pantene model one day, and Bellatrix Lestrange the next, it's pretty darn complicated.

A statue of Artemis, Greek goddess of the hunt. 

I was raised in a mixed religion household.  That's really confusing, and with one half of the family saying this, and the other saying that, I never quite understood either.  At least, not enough to prefer one over the other, and let's face it:  when it comes to religious beliefs, you can't be half-and-half.  It wasn't until my rebellious high school years that I went through an identity crisis and settled on only one.

Growing up, it always bothered me that I didn't understand.  Sure, I attended church and synagogue events with friends, but I had no idea what was going on.  What does this mean?  What does that mean?  Yet I didn't apply myself to really learning until I decided to become an English major:  to be a writer and a reader, you certainly don't have to be religious; however, I'd argue that you need to have a fairly firm understanding of the world's major religions, and you definitely-without-a-doubt-no-exceptions need to have an open mind.  Here's why:

To be a writer, you have to be a reader, and to be a good reader, you have to recognize the importance of the classics, even if you don't particularly enjoy them.  There's a reason they're classics, after all, and if we take the time to think about them, we can learn a lot about our chosen craft.  Now, what are the various literary techniques you study when you read a classic?  Imagery, metaphor, allusions...Lots of those techniques draw on religion, and if you don't catch the references, it's likely you're missing part of the story's message.

Then there are the archetypes we draw from religion and religious works.  For example, many would argue that there would be no sexy antihero without Milton's Paradise Lost, the first work to feature the devil as the protagonist.

The small white temple on the far left is the temple of the vestal virgins, priestesses in ancient Roman religion.

How about demons?  Angels?  Those come from Christianity.  And the gods and goddesses that often show up in fantasy?  They're usually based on the divinities of Ancient Greece and Rome.  Did you know that the dæmons in Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials series are based on classical mythology?  Then there's Laini Taylor's YA urban fantasy Daughter of Smoke & Bone, which draws heavily on both Christianity and Buddhism.  No, it's not required that you understand either of those religions to appreciate the book, but her use of religion to create a world is definitely interesting.

Long story short:  I love to learn about religions, so I was thrilled to visit the Vatican and other religious sites in Rome.  Thanks to my wonderful travel buddies, super awesome tours, and so many old artifacts, sculptures, and paintings, I learned so much :)

What books do you know of that draw heavily on religion?