Wicked Interpretations

                I don’t like Wicked.

                Oh, the music is great, and I listen to many of the songs all the time (Defying Gravity is one of my go-to running songs), but the story is nothing but one gigantic misfire.

                The trouble is that it purports to tell the back story of the Wicked Witch of the West. But it doesn’t. It tells the story of Elphaba; a young woman born with green skin who is ostracized, oppressed, and ultimately accomplishes nothing except landing the cute rich boy and being friends with a brainless popular girl named Glinda. At no point does she even remotely resemble the cunning, powerful, walking nightmare known only as the Wicked Witch of the West.

                Now, you may be saying “but that’s the point of the story! That she wasn’t wicked, but only misunderstood!” To which I answer “if that’s the point, then I don’t see the point of it.” Once you strip away her evilness, there’s really nothing very interesting about the Wicked Witch of the West (or, as I suppose we must call her, the “Misunderstood and Innocent Sort-of Witch Who at One Point Makes a Vague Reference to the West”). The attempt to reform her destroys the character. There’s simply no reason to connect the two figures of Elphaba and the Wicked Witch of the West, since they have absolutely nothing to do with one another.

                And not only that, but by any standards Elphaba isn’t a very interesting character. She’s certainly nowhere near as captivating, imposing, or impressive as the W³. For one thing, she’s essentially helpless; I don’t think she actually accomplishes a single thing over the whole course of the show, except for some really bitching musical numbers and setting the Cowardly Lion free. The one time she encounters a real threat, she needs to be rescued by her boyfriend. She never defeats the Wizard (here the villain), who just kind of gives up after she’s out of the picture. Moreover, the “plain, unpopular, brainy girl who nevertheless lands the hottest boy in school” isn’t exactly a bold or original character type, and I can’t remember them putting any kind of unique spin on it.

                So why do I bring all this up? Is it just to vent my spleen after growling about it for years? Well, partly. But more importantly, it’s to illustrate an important point; that most really interesting characters can’t survive very much reinterpretation. The Wicked Witch of the West can’t be the heroine; not without removing everything that makes her the Wicked Witch. The Joker (despite what Harley Quinn thinks) can’t be a misunderstood innocent without ceasing to be the Joker. The more striking a character is, the less they can be presented as other than what they are.

                I have a similar reaction to the many “historical” Jesuses as I have to Wicked: the sense of “well, if that’s all, then what’s the point?” If Jesus were just a moral teacher, or just a political revolutionary, or just a whatever-else, then there really doesn’t seem to be any reason why anyone should have worshiped Him. No one worshiped Socrates, or Seneca, or Solon, or any of the other ancient sages. No one deified any of the hundreds and hundreds of revolutionaries constantly springing up and being put down throughout the Roman Empire. Moreover, all of Jesus’s first disciples were Jews: the very last people who would divinize anyone. The problem, in short, is why, if that’s all He was, did anyone try to portray Him as anything different?

Even of the early Heresies, no one (as far as I am aware) tried to pull the “just a moral teacher” card: they said He was an adopted semi-divine creature, or a spirit with only the appearance of a body, or that He was a divine schizophrenic with two-natures, or any other number of interpretations, but always with the view that He was more than human. The only people who called Him a revolutionary or such like were the Roman authorities who weren’t paying much attention to the actual teachings.

There’s a troubling disconnect here; on the one hand, we have the Church, which worships Jesus, assigns Him the titles of “Son of God” and “Second Person of the Blessed Trinity.” On the other we have the man Jesus Himself. Somehow we have to get from the Jewish man walking about in Israel to the mushrooming community of people who fervently believe that He was God come to Earth and who are willing to go to their deaths rather than deny that belief and argue out the most fiddling and difficult philosophical implications of it over the course of centuries. A mere revolutionary or moral philosopher simply isn’t, well, interesting enough to spark that kind of movement. But the only possible motive for such a movement is that the founders actually believed it to be true. There are precious few interpretations of the figure of Jesus that will account for all these facts (not to mention the fact that this religious movement was explicitly founded on the idea that He died and rose to life again). As a matter of fact, I would say there’s only one: that Jesus was and is just who the Church claims He is. Much like the Wicked Witch of the West, Jesus simply can’t be interpreted any other way without losing everything that makes Him worth talking about in the first place.

Vivat Christus Rex!

7 Quick Takes Vol. 31

Still hosted by Conversion Diary:

1.     So, Lost City is officially on hold now. I realized the story and characters just weren’t jelling because they lacked any kind of unified theme or purpose apart from cool dinosaurs, so I needed to step back and settle on that. This requires some major story restructuring, and though it won’t be quite as extensive as I thought at first, it will require me to come up with yet another new opening.

2.     All this means I’m effectively between projects again: I have about three or four different novels I could be working on right now other than LCD, but I can’t seem to settle on any of them. They all require either more research or more story or both. I hate being between projects; I feel so frustrated and restless. It’s like when you have a bad cough and you take cough syrup, only it doesn’t stop your throat from scratching, it only stops you from coughing to relieve the scratching, so really it just makes things worse!

(I really, really hate cough syrup).

3.     Speaking of which (books, not coughing), Gods and Monsters the blog has now gone public, since the ‘invite only’ list was causing more problems than it was worth. So, if you want to read any of the fiction I keep talking about, you can hop on over. I recommend starting here, where you can read the still-ongoing Chronicles of Hendricks (which is actually nearing its end, and I have nothing to replace it with!).

4.     I’ve been listening to The Forgotten Man, a new history of the Great Depression. It confirms my great dislike of FDR, which has been growing for some time. It also makes me interested to learn more about Coolidge, whom I’ve been developing an increasing respect for. Partly I think it might be that I relate to the introverted Coolidge much more than the extroverted Roosevelt. A case study comparing the two presidents would be interesting, I think; the gregarious FDR who liked to play games with other people’s lives and the reserved Coolidge who maintained a firm grip on the impact government policies actually have on people. It’s an interesting contrast of expectations – the ‘people person’ forgets real people and the ‘non-people-person’ remembers them – and would make a fascinating study.  

5.     This week I learned that I seriously need to exercise every morning, at least during the week. Otherwise, I barely have the energy to get through the day without going on a rampage (my resignation can’t come soon enough). Exercise gives me a nice influx of good cheer and optimism to help me survive another day of soul-crushing toil. And it means the added bonus that if I do go on my rampage, I’ll be able to make something of it (I have classical tastes, so my idea of a rampage mostly involves kidnapping an attractive lady and climbing a tall building).

6.     I’ve been working on a lot of blog posts, mostly about hammering out my own views on life, the universe, and everything. Mostly it’s been a stripping away of the assumptions I’ve been indoctrinated with for most of the first few decades of life about history, competition, art, and so forth. I might be posting some next week, so stay tuned.

7.      If nothing else I always have the comfort that I’m the kind of man who uses the evolutionary history of sharks as an argument against modernity. This might appear in one of those promised posts, but the short version is that sharks demonstrate the popular notion of ‘progress’ to be false because they show that nature actually works not by experimentation but by maintaining models that work for as long as they work: sharks haven’t changed appreciably in over 400 Million Years.

Vivat Christus Rex!

Reviews: The Lego Movie

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            The Lego Movie is everything you would hope for from a movie about Legos. That is, if you’re the kind of person who hopes for anything from a movie about Legos. Even if you aren’t that kind of person, it’s everything you would have hoped for, if only you had known just how good this sort of movie can be. Here is anarchic, freewheeling creativity with surprising depth and frenetic, subversive humor paired with real heart.

            Emmet (Chris Pratt) is a breathtakingly average Lego construction worker; a little lonely, but otherwise gleefully and obliviously happy in his staggeringly normal life. In the Lego city where he works, everyone follows the instructions, watches the same stupid sitcom, drinks the same overpriced coffee, and listen to the same super-catchy dance tune (“EVERYTHING IS AWESOME!”).

            Then, at the end of another day’s work, Emmet runs into an alluring and mysterious young lady, who accidentally leads him to a mysterious object that marks him as the messianic ‘Special:’ “the brightest, most talented, most interesting person in the universe” (“uh…yes! That’s me!”). This launches him into a larger world of evil conspiracies, secret resistance movements, and an ancient prophecy…or does it?

            You see, The Lego Movie’s plot is one long cliché at first glance, but as time goes on it becomes clear that what is going on here is something much subtler and more exciting. Unexpected twists, clever subversions, and endless inventiveness abound at every turn. You may not believe it, but this is a movie that will genuinely surprise you. Even the usually trite “everyone is special” and “believe in yourself” messages are handled in subtler and more intelligent forms than you’d expect, and in the end even the formulaic nature of the story itself hides a deeper meaning.

            I can’t really get into any of this without massive spoilers, which I absolutely refuse to do. So, I’ll turn instead to the utter brilliance of the writing, with never-ending gags and laugh-a-minute jokes. A random sampling: a hyperbolic expression of enjoyment that turns out to be completely and literally true; a title that remains visible in the background throughout the subsequent scene; and a gleefully vindictive depiction of a certain famous superhero whose last appearance on the big screen was a notorious failure.

            Yes, we have real superheroes here. Lego is partnered with several major franchises, and The Lego Movie makes good use of this fact with a string of hilarious cameos, not to mention Batman himself playing a major supporting role (voiced by Will Arnett). I would say this affectionate semi-parody of the world’s most popular superhero is the funniest thing in the movie, but I don’t dare make any such a bold claim in a film like this.

            Another fair choice might be Will Ferrell’s villainous President/Lord Business: a controlling, yet rather cheerful dark lord who bears more than a passing resemblance to Ferrell’s earlier role in Megamind; an evil genius who keeps getting sidetracked by picky little details and is constantly annoyed when things don’t turn out the way they’re supposed to. In fact, he has a plan to make sure that things will end up and stay just the way they ought to be…

            Or it might be Lord Business’s chief enforcer; Bad Cop/Good Cop, who is somehow ten times funnier for the mere fact that he’s voiced by Liam Neeson (“Darny-darn-darn-darn-DARN!”).

            Or…well, trying to list the film’s best jokes would be an exercise in futility. It’s simply the funniest movie I’ve seen in a long time.

            And yet, the gag-a-minute humor doesn’t change the fact that this is also a movie with a lot of honest-to-goodness heart to it. The little plastic heroes evince real humanity; they get under your skin and make you love them, much like the similarly artificial-yet-soulful protagonists of Toy Story or Wreck-It Ralph; especially Emmet, who really is just a very nice, normal guy. He’s almost hobbit-like: cheery, good-humored, friendly, honest, not-too-bright, and capable of both simple kindness and great courage. Even better, his very normalcy, though the source of much humor, turns out to be his greatest advantage. He is a fit hero precisely because he’s so humble. 

            Elizabeth Banks’ Wyldstyle isn’t quite as interesting as Emmet: she’s a bit too ordinary (ironically enough) in the sense that badass action-chicks are a dime-a-dozen these days. She does break the mold a little, though, by being perhaps a little too good; that is, she may be putting on a bit of an act and actually be a little more vulnerable and needy than she initially appears (her obviously-made-up name is the source of both several funny gags and a scene of real pathos).

            Morgan Freeman (!)’s Vitruvius is a fun send-up of the “mentor” archetype. Like Neeson, the mere fact that this is Morgan Freeman playing a plastic toy (and apparently having a ball doing it) makes everything he does even funnier, while his smooth, authoritative voice makes us immediately believe everything that Vitruvius says, however ridiculous (“all this is true/because it rhymes”). 

            Ah, but this is supposed to be The Lego Movie: what of the Legos? What makes this a movie about Lego rather than just a generic animated adventure film?

            Everything. The Lego nature of the world is recalled in every scene, almost every moment. Every ‘conceit’ of the Lego toy is represented perfectly: from the range of movement on the characters, to the fact that they can ‘stick’ to any surface with the correct ‘pegs,’ to the way they change their clothes by swapping-out torsos. The whole world, even water, smoke, fire, and explosions are made out of Lego pieces.

            When I first saw the trailers for The Lego Movie, what struck me most was the animation style. The characters don’t move with the fluid, seamless grace of your typical CG character, but with the jerks and strobes of stop-motion. The effect is that it looks like this was made with real Lego figures filmed a couple frames at a time, though the actual events and set-pieces are obviously much too complicated and elaborate for that. The style gives the film an appealing solidity and makes it seem even more at home in the world of Lego.

            Moreover, the feel of Lego; the unbridled creativity, the ability to take and remake almost anything into anything is a key part of the story. This is captured perfectly the moment Wyldstyle exclaims “quick! We can build a motorcycle out of the alley!” Certain characters are “Master Builders:” people who can make anything out of anything (one scene has Emmet tested to “build a racecar using only what you see here”). In short, this is a movie about a toy that knows exactly what makes that toy special, and makes that it’s theme. This central idea – the magic of Legos – is the bedrock that makes the movie work. If they hadn’t done this; if it had merely been any kind of story set in a world made of Lego, but without any of this freewheeling creativity, it would have been a failure, however good the writing was.

            At the same time, the film dares to critique unbridled individual expression even as it celebrates personal creativity. Some form of authority; a guiding voice or a common aim is necessary if creativity is to reach its full potential. Neither the extremes of complete conformity nor absolute individualism will work, but something like self-submission and willing obedience to lawful authority is required for the creative impulse to really achieve anything. 

            There is also a hint of Tolkien’s idea of ‘sub-creation:’ that man is the image of God in that he too creates, though in a subordinate fashion, and that God’s will for His creatures is that they join Him in the act of creation. I can’t really explore this idea further without getting into spoilers, but the mere fact that it can be seen here is startling enough.

            Flannery O'Connor once wrote that a good story tells something that can’t be told in any other way, so that if someone asks you about a certain book “what’s it about?” the only answer is “read it.” Would you believe me if I said The Lego Movie does something like that? Here is the balance between freedom, authority, creativity, and humility laid out so that it can be seen, if not quite described.

            The value of humility, the joys and limitations of freedom and personal creativity, theological wonder…can these themes really exist in a film about small plastic building blocks that features things like a robot army breaking into a dance number, or a pirate with a completely mechanical body that includes a built-in shark? Well, why not? Isn’t that the ideal of creativity; that each proclaims the truth in his own, inimitable way? If the truth can be proclaimed in Legos, let it be proclaimed in Legos!

            The Lego Movie is perhaps the best example to date of something I’ve been saying for years; any subject, in the right hands, can make a good story. If you can take a completely plotless line of creativity toys, toys whose very appeal is in their lack of structure or storyline, and from that produce one of the finest animated films in recent memory, you can, with enough talent and creativity, turn any subject into gold.

Final Rating: 4.5/5: Everything is Awesome! 

Vivat Christus Rex! 

Keep the Papacy Weird!

Vivat Christus Rex!

7 Quick Takes Friday vol. 30

Welcome Conversion Diary readers!

1.     My first item was going to be a complaint about J.K. Rowling expressing regrets about the romances in Harry Potter, but as you know, that turned into a post of its own (which I just shamelessly promoted).

2.     I’ve started reading A Princess of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs this week, and am absolutely loving it! It’s like a breath of fresh air to one used to sifting through postmodern leftist nonsense to get at some small kernel of truth or virtue. Burroughs splashes things like “a gentleman doesn’t lie, even to save his life” right there across the page! And the story and characters – the gentle Sola, the fierce, yet admirable Tars Tarkis, beautiful and spirited Dejah Thoris – are delightful. I’m engrossed in the story now, and looking forward to seeing how it turns out. This is real literature, this is!

3.     I’m also still reading My Bondage, My Freedom, by Frederick Douglass, Introduction to the Devout Life by St. Francis de Sales and Aristotle’s Ethics. I have a vague idea that the same person isn’t really supposed to be reading those four particular books all at the same time.

4.     On the writing front, I’m still plugging away at Lost City, which is progressing quite well. My present strategy on this one is that I have about three or four previous drafts in various states of repair. So, I take the bits that I like from those drafts (mostly from the most recent one) and paste them into the current one, then fill in between. It’s working pretty good; I just pasted in a description of a fishing method that uses trained rhamphorhynchuses (little pterosaurs) after the manner of falcons; they fly out, scoop up a fish, and return to drop it in their owner’s bucket. More traditional fishermen hate people who practice this method, and vice versa (that gives you an idea of the kinds of things I put in the book).

5.     I just learned we’re scheduled to get our second Godzilla trailer one week from today! That news is awesome enough to warrant its own take. As I said in my rundown of the teaser: I’m looking for a clearer shot of the title character and/or the enemy monsters, a better sense of the story, and, most importantly, a hint of the atomic ray (ideally, the final shot of the trailer will be his plates just beginning to light up). Yes, I’d say I’m fairly excited about this movie.

6.     Speaking of movies, I’m pleased to see that The Lego Movie is getting very positive reviews thus far. I’ve been looking forward to that one, and from the sound of it, it was worth the wait. I’ll probably make time to go see it this weekend, so look for a review next week!

7.     Apparently, someone stole my credit card information, so I had to cancel it and get a new one. What does someone buy with a stolen credit card? $70 worth of Green Tea. Yes, for real; that was the transaction that made the bank suspicious. Something tells me I wouldn’t get along with this thief on a number of levels.

Vivat Christus Rex!

The Loves of Harry Potter (SPOILER ALERT)

I learned an important lesson about being an author this week; once your book is complete and published, you should really KEEP ANY SECOND THOUGHTS YOU HAVE TO YOURSELF!! 

I’m referring, of course, to J.K. Rowling’s infamous announcement that she regrets pairing Ron and Hermione. Really, what possible purpose could such an announcement serve? It’s not like she can go back and ‘fix’ the books so that Harry and Hermione get together instead. All it does is introduce a disconnect in the minds of the readers, who now will have a harder time getting caught up in the romance because they’ll be thinking “but the authoress thinks it should have been different…maybe I shouldn’t enjoy it so much…” Likewise, if you shipped Harry-Hermione, you’ll be even more focused on how much better that would have been, and so you will also have a harder time enjoying the story, because the criticism you already had will have been sharpened. A little of the readers' enjoyment of the books has been taken away.  

Besides which, I think she’s wrong. I love the Ron-Hermione romance, and I can’t imagine the story without it. Ron in particular would have virtually no character arc at all.

See, Ron’s deal is that he’s always gotten the short end of the stick in pretty much everything; poor, second-youngest while the youngest is the girl his mother always wanted, picked on by his elder brothers, obliged to use second-hand-everything, not especially smart or talented or popular, and so on. He’s always the runner-up: second-best in everything, eternally overshadowed, and it’s a source of constant torment and shame for him, which ironically stops him from making good use of what talents he has. He’s come to expect to fail and be overlooked, and so at the slightest hint that he might be, he panics and becomes defensive or angry, thinking ‘Of course: here we go again.’ In short, he’s nearly lost his capacity to hope.

Then he makes friends with Hermione, and they grow up together, and Hermione, of course, excels and surpasses him, just like almost everyone else he knows. But Ron doesn’t feel overshadowed by Hermione (as he does by Harry) because she’s good at things that he admires, but isn't really interested in. He can tease her about spending so much time on homework or reading or being a ‘know-it-all’ because has no ambitions in that direction himself (he never teases Harry about being good at Quidditch, for instance, and note that when he fights with Harry, it’s out of resentment, but when he fights with Hermione it’s over some specific felt injury). He’s able to enjoy her talents without jealousy, which is something he’s probably never experienced before. Then, as they grow older, Ron slowly realizes that Hermione is becoming a beautiful young woman and that he is falling in love with her.

Now faced with the one thing – or rather one person – that he wants more than anything else in the world, he panics. So he does stupid things and makes rash choices because he is so terrified by the idea that he can’t actually succeed in winning her, which of course makes it all the less likely that he will.

For her part, Hermione is sensitive to criticism and afraid of failure. She takes refuge in her studies and overcompensates on them due to a lack of confidence mixed with a deep desire to succeed. She has a tendency to be overly serious or driven or wrapped up in her own head. Ron helps her counterbalance this tendency by both interjecting a voice of calm and good-humor into her life and, equally importantly, by being a constant source of reassurance to her. He’s always reminding her of how brilliant she is and how hard she works. True, he usually does it in a teasing or mocking manner, but he means it and she knows it (note the scene in the sixth book where Ron launches into a boastful description of how brilliant Hermione was at their apparition lesson). Besides, his treating it humorously helps control her fears and self-doubts. He laughs at her at the same time he compliments her, which is just the combination Hermione needs.

This sort of thing is a sign of something Ron doesn’t show much; he has deep wells of kindness and compassion. They’re often lost in the storm of his darker emotions, but he loves and cares for other people very deeply. This is shown in scenes as disparate as his losing his temper whenever Malfoy taunts his family or friends, his grief when he thinks his pet Scabbers has died, and even his regret over the state his backfiring wand has reduced Gilderoy Lockhart to. Hermione, being sensitive to that sort of thing, recognizes this and loves him for it. It isn’t his sudden, brilliant idea of breaking into the Chamber of Secrets that finally breaks her resistance; it’s his concern for the safety of the House Elves.

As I said, by the time he realizes he’s in love with her, Ron has almost become afraid to hope for anything that he really wants. The fact that Hermione already has two ostensibly superior possible beaus – Viktor Krum and Harry himself – only exacerbates the situation. It confirms the suspicion in his mind that he really doesn’t have a chance with her (note he always becomes grumpier when Krum is mentioned, and learning that Krum probably kissed her sends him into his worst temper yet: it makes him think again about how much his supposed rivals apparently outclass him).

Basically, Ron needs to learn to hope; to make the effort even though he doesn’t see much chance of succeeding. The key point in his transformation is when he saves Harry’s life in the seventh book and fully understands what Harry has been trying to tell him all these years about that sort of thing being less impressive from the point of view of the person actually doing it. That’s when he realizes that, even though he doesn’t think of himself as being as good a catch as Krum or Harry, Hermione might not see it that way. That’s when he starts to hope again, and he pursues her quietly, but steadily for the rest of the book (in contrast to the fits and starts that characterized his pursuit of her in prior books). It’s this learning to hope that forms the backbone of his character arch. Ron without Hermione, it seems to me, would be a fairly pointless character.

Hermione without Ron, on the other hand, is, well, boring. She needs him to take her down a peg, to needle and tease and hold a light to her flaws. Without him, she’s simply ‘the smart one:’ there to provide exposition and teach Harry what he needs to know. Consider the films, where Ron is constantly sidelined and Hermione emphasized. The result is that Hermione, in the absence of Ron’s affectionate ribbing, becomes utterly insufferable: just a solemn, bossy know-it-all. Picture Mr. Darcy without Elizabeth and you have an image of what Hermione is like without Ron (the catastrophic mishandling of those two is the main reason I don’t like the films).

Besides which, I really can’t picture a romance between Harry and Hermione. They don’t complement one another at all, and their interactions aren’t nearly as fun as Ron and Hermione’s. Note that whenever they’re alone together, they find they really don’t have a whole lot to say to one another. In the two periods where Harry and Ron aren’t speaking, Harry finds life with Hermione as his best friend to be quiet and rather dull. They love each other, but like brother and sister: there’s no fire or spark or merry duel between them, and never could be (judging by the narration, Harry barely even registers that she’s attractive, requiring us to gather it from the reactions of other characters). There’s a level on which they simply don’t connect. It’s almost as though he’s a straight line and she’s a wavy one; there are contours and depressions in her soul that he doesn’t and can’t respond to.

Now, I can imagine the books rewritten so that Harry and Hermione could reasonably get together, or that Ron would have a character arc apart from his romance with Hermione, but that would require a very different story than the one we have. Mrs. Rowling might just as well have said “I wish I had written a different book series than the one I did.” It's her business if she feels that way, but she shouldn't have mentioned it. It has no effect on the stories themselves, and if it has any effect at all on the readers, it can only be an effect for the worse.

And in any case, I respectfully disagree with her.

Credit: maria-abagnale.livejournal.com

Vivat Christus Rex!

Why Men Like Curves

            Have you ever noticed how most of the really great buildings are curved? I mean, domed and pillared and vaulted and all that? Take a look at a few:

 

            It seems we like ‘roundness.’ Why is that, I wonder?

            Now, I know what you’re thinking: as loyal Freudians, you’re thinking “that’s because we’re evolved to be attracted to the opposite sex, which has rounded parts.”

Well, maybe. Though, that raises the question of why the opposite sex should have evolved those rounded parts. I mean, from an evolutionary point of view, wouldn’t there have to be some advantage to the parts being rounded for them to have evolved that way and hence for mankind to develop his love of all things circular?

Besides which, I don’t think anyone has ever been aroused by the Taj Mahal or St. Basil’s Cathedral. No one, unless they’ve been carefully taught, looks at the dome of Hagia Sophia and thinks “breasts!” They think “Oh, how magnificent!” Or “how beautiful!” And, if I may trust my own experience, the pleasure of looking at a grand building, however rounded, is a very different pleasure than that of looking at a woman’s chest. The very rhythm and tempo of the delight is different; as different as listening to Vivaldi is from listening to Brad Paisely. I like them both, but in very different ways. 

No, the pleasure I find closest to that of admiring a great building is admiring a great landscape; a mountain, or a forest, or a grassy plain with rolling hills. The desert, where the sky seems ten times as big as usual and stretches in a vast dome overhead. Or the sea, with its endless horizon curving away at the edge of eyesight.

Nature is shot through with roundness. The very idea of a right-angle is essentially man-made: you almost never see one in the natural world.

Our love of roundness in architecture, therefore, is based on our love of nature; of the outdoors, the land, the waters, the whole show. The great vaulted roofs of cathedrals are an imitation of the vault of the sky; domes are our copy of rolling hills and tall mountains; pillars are our version of trees and forests; archways of cave-mouths or interlocked branches. All these are the memories of the home and playground and battlefield of our race’s childhood, which we still love to revisit and which have left their impressions on our hearts even all these millennia later. 

Or, to put it another way, man recognizes the superiority of God’s handiwork to his own. God works in circles. The very earth, moon, sun, and stars are spherical and beautiful. Nature, as I already pointed out, is an endless series of curves, with only minimal lines. Men of sensibility, such as Bernini, Wren, Michelangelo, and so on recognize the Master’s hand and seek to imitate it, as beginning art students try to copy the style of great painters. All man’s art is an imitation of God’s, or at least of the desecrated, corrupted version we have at present. So, of course, the imitation that is closest to the Master’s – the curved dome of St. Peter’s, the pillared, vaulted chamber of Notre Dame, or the rounded façade of the White House – appeals to us the most. Curves, you might say, are 'the master touch.' 

Vivat Christus Rex!