There are three kinds of valid explanation for Federer’s ascendancy. One kind involves mystery and metaphysics and is, I think, closest to the real truth. The others are more technical and make for better journalism.
The metaphysical explanation is that Roger Federer is one of those rare, preternatural athletes who appear to be exempt, at least in part, from certain physical laws. Good analogues here include Michael Jordan,7 who could not only jump inhumanly high but actually hang there a beat or two longer than gravity allows, and Muhammad Ali, who really could “float” across the canvas and land two or three jabs in the clock-time required for one. There are probably a half-dozen other examples since 1960. And Federer is of this type — a type that one could call genius, or mutant, or avatar. He is never hurried or off-balance. The approaching ball hangs, for him, a split-second longer than it ought to. His movements are lithe rather than athletic. Like Ali, Jordan, Maradona, and Gretzky, he seems both less and more substantial than the men he faces. Particularly in the all-white that Wimbledon enjoys getting away with still requiring, he looks like what he may well (I think) be: a creature whose body is both flesh and, somehow, light.
—David Foster Wallace
—from “Roger Federer as Religious Experience”
—found in Both Flesh and Not
pother (alt. puther) /PAW-t~her/. noun or verb. A vocal commotion; loud turmoil; a thick cloud of dust or smoke. As a verb, to cause a pother (naturally) but also to trouble one/oneself over a mundane or trivial matter. Origin unknown, but likely derived from the rhyming bother. See also: dither, ado, tizzy, flap and hurly-burly.
“Then thank heaven we can discuss facts calmly, without a lot of useless pother … facts which I have got from Miss Osgood. For instance, that you are what Mr. Osgood – and many other people – would call an unscrupulous blackguard.” (Rex Stout)
“All this pother of coming to England and seeing lawyers wasn’t to marry her, but to prevent her from marrying anybody else.” (Virginia Woolf)
“What a wonderful pother is here, to make all these poetical beautifications of a ship! that is, a phenix in the first stanza, and but a wasp in the last…” (Samuel Johnson)
“I wish at any rate that any book could wait until I produce the Silmarillion. I am constantly interrupted in this – but nothing interferes more than the present pother about ‘me’ and my history.” (J.R.R. Tolkien)
“Away up the road was a puther of dust, then the flash of glass as the automobile turned.” (D.H. Lawrence)
This On Being interview with Maria Popova is a few years old, but just too good not to share. And it couldn’t be more timely, really. And I adore Popova…if you aren’t a regular Brain Pickings reader, you should stop reading this and go there now (but do come back). → Cartographer of Meaning in a Digital Age.
At first I thought, “yet more wireless earbuds.” But Here One is something else: AI-assisted personal listening. With big implications for the future of all kinds of audio experiences.
Speaking of amazing developments hinting at a fascinating future, how about growing human organs in animals? → The Early Days of Organ Farming Are a Bit Gnarly. See also: Mice cured of diabetes by cells grown inside rats — are humans next?
Google News Lab’s The Year in Language: 2016 is interesting and includes some fun interactive widgets to delve into the results (even if the by-state results don’t include Alaska or Hawaii. Grr.).
Bibliomania: the strange history of compulsive book buying [Thanks, Reader B.!] :: See also, earlier WORKs from Nicholas Basbanes’ book A Gentle Madness that explores this topic.
Hey, this newsletter is partly intended for word nerds, after all! → Interview with a Lexicographer (Jane Solomon)
What Lincoln called the “hot letter” is a habit worthy of reconsideration. → The Lost Art of the Unsent Angry Letter
Research says…at least until the next study. → Smart, Emotionally Stable People Enjoy Morbid Humor
Cat faces recognized as human and human faces recognized as cats by face-detection algorithms. → Cat or Human
Today in 1964, Stanley Kubrick’s brilliant black comedy, Dr. Strangelove, Or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Bomb is unleashed upon the world after a delay due to U.S. President John F. Kennedy’s assassination. Good reading: Almost Everything in “Dr. Strangelove” Was True, Art of the Title on Dr. Strangelove and the 1964 New York Times review.
Allesandro Moreschi, though in his fifties at the time, is the only castrato singer ever recorded. It’s not what he would have sounded like in his prime singing days, but intriguing, haunting and sad nonetheless. Listen also: Moreschi singing Ave Maria and “Hostias Et Preces”.
Not a WHAT!? entry because it’s weird or bizarre, but because it feels like Gary Gulman’s comedy is based on direct observations of my brain…and thus I suspect it will resonate with many Clamorites as well.
Reader C. follows up: "The Everything is F**ked Syllabus reminded me of the Lexicon Valley podcast episode “Seven Centuries of F–ks” that includes your fave John McWhorter.
Reader B.: “Thank you for the additional carnage.”
Reader N.: “Really appreciated the link to Bowie’s fav books. I’m adding a bunch to my list.”
Reader M.: “Chris, aside from all the rest, thanks so much for this.”
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