Murder She Wrote: Death Takes Curtain Call

On the sixteenth day of December in the year of our Lord 1984, the eighth episode of Murder, She Wrote aired. Titled Death Takes a Curtain Call it’s set in both Boston and Cabot Cove. (Last week’s episode was We’re Off to Kill the Wizard.)

Unusually, the title card above is from a minute or so into the episode. The episode actually begins with an establishing shot of Jessica’s house:

(The exterior of Jessica’s house was played by the Blair House Inn in Mendocino, California, as was the coastline and many other exterior shots since shooting in rural Maine was too expensive.)

Inside the house Jessica and Ethan are listening to the news on Jessica’s kitchen television as Ethan tries a slice of apple pie which Jessica just baked.

The news reporter says that police tangled with anti-communist protesters outside the venue where the Rostov Ballet was going to give a preview performance this afternoon. Ethan asks about the slice of pie with urgency but Jessica waves him away as she gets closer and concentrates on the TV. The news then shows a woman shouting that it’s the USA, not communist Russia, and they have a right to be heard saying that the ballet should be banned. Oddly she’s named, though she isn’t shown clearly. (Her name is Velma Rodecker, and she’s called one of the protest leaders.)

After she cries out that the ballet should be banned because we don’t want red culture here, Ethan remarks that it’s enough to spoil a man’s appetite. I never took Ethan for a communist sympathizer, but you never did know about people back then.

Anyway, it comes out that Jessica is going to that performance because someone by the name of Leo Peterson invited her. After a bit of small talk of her asking how the pie is and him saying, “delicious, as always. I’d have told you if it wasn’t” and Jessica saying that she’s sure that he would, we then cut to the Boston and the title card.

Jessica and a man we presume to be Leo Peterson walk into the ballet house and as Leo presents his tickets, his gaze is caught by a gruff looking man who is watching everyone. His name will turn out to be Major Anatole Karzof.

Leo looks troubled, and the man politely tips his hat.

Inside, they meet a young man by the name of Mr. Eddington who is both the president of the arts council and also handing out programs. Jessica met him a while ago and he’s delighted to see her again. She introduces Leo, who compliments him on the choice of the Rostov ballet.

After a little small talk he hands Jessica a program and then hands Leo a program from the bottom of the deck.

It’s not subtle, but they couldn’t have been subtle back then, given television quality. I can’t help but wonder how subtle they would be if they were shooting it now, with modern high definition and no static from radio broadcasts.

Anyway, Jessica notices this completely unsubtle gesture and they walk off.

We then meet a character backstage who tells somebody how to tie a rope, then goes and hits on one of the ballerinas.

He asks her to come with him, and about ten feet over from where she was, he asks her name.

It’s Irina.

Anyway, he hits on her in an absurdly clumsy way, including pawing her to her obvious discomfort, when he’s grabbed from behind by someone his own size.

Obviously a member of the KGB sent to guard the dancers, his name is Sergei Berensky and he warns the guy to not associate with members of the company. The jerk in the argyle sweater isn’t impressed, though, and walks off.

Irina then goes into the dressing room of the star ballerina and ballerino, Natalia and Alexander Masurov (husband and wife). She embraces Natalia and asks if she’s nervous.

She is because she and her husband are going to defect to America. Irina tells her not to be afraid and Natalia thanks her for being such a good friend and that their good wishes will be with her always. They both kiss her on the cheek and wish her well in the future.

Irina seems a little embarassed by Alexander’s kiss on her cheek, but this might just be fear of the KGB because she’s already been there for like thirty seconds. At the backstage call of “three minutes” she excuses herself and runs off.

In the audience Jessica asks Leo if he’s seen the Rustov ballet before and he says yes, many years ago. She asks if this was why he was favored with a special invitation to this performance and he replies, guardedly, “perhaps.” Jessica then notices something written in his program.

I’m not sure why the single number nineteen would be written down in a program when it could be easily worked into conversation, but in any event, the plot thickens. Something is clearly up.

Jessica sees it and tries to ask him about it but he hushes her because the ballet is starting. As the curtain opens we see Alexander and Natalia, so they’re clearly not defecting quite yet.

Backstage, Sergei warns the guy in the argyle sweater to stay away from Irina again, and again to no avail.

A bit later Jessica notices the arts director wandering off and Leo notices too.

Outside, Velma Rodecker, the anti-communist protestor, bangs on a door in an alleyway and demands entry. Presumably no one is actually hearing her.

In my extremely limited experience of theaters, it’s fairly rare to have back entrances manned during a performance, since they’re really only convenient ways of making certain kinds of deliveries. Though down this large a flight of stairs, it’s probably more of a fire escape than anything else.

Anyway, after a while she concludes that this won’t work and starts to leave, but on her way out notices a second floor window being opened.

Inside, this seems to have been done by the arts director, who may have been seen by Sergei.

A moment later, Leo excuses himself to Jessica, saying that he’ll be right back.

He’s still gone when the triumphant finale comes and the lights go down and the curtains close. When they come back up a moment later, as everyone is giving them a standing ovation, the ballerinas are in a line and bow.

Then the ballerinos come out and bow.

The older KGB agent (the one with the silver beard) speaks into a walkie talkie saying that Alexander and Natalia are not on stage, and to check on their dressing room. Sergei answers in the affirmative and goes off to do it.

Just then, Velma runs on stage, calling on the people to wake up because the Russian tour is only an excuse!

An excuse for what? To bring more communists into our midst. I’m not sure, but I think that this is meant to be amusing because, at that very moment, the communists are working hard to not permit two communists to leave and go into America’s midst.

Security guards then rush on stage and drag her off.

Leo then comes in and tells Jessica that they must leave and now. He rushes Jessica off. In the lobby she protests that the parking exit is not the way that they’re going, but he tells her to nevermind.

There’s then a scene of major Karzof looking down, as if having seen them, but he doesn’t look like he’s somewhere he could have seen them. Anyway, another KGB agent rushes in and asks what happened. He tells him to clover the exits and close down the theater, because Alexander and Natalia are missing. They walk off.

The argyle sweater guy then walks in and looks at where Major Karzof was looking and the camera pans out to show us what he was looking at.

Sergei is dead!

Oddly, we don’t fade to black. Instead, we cut to Peter and Jessica rushing off in a hurry to a car.

Somehow, Jessica manages to recognize their chauffeur, despite only having seem him on stage from a distance.

When she gets into the back seat, Natalia is there. Alexander starts the car and drives off, and we fade to black and go to commercial.

When we come back, after an establishing shot of Chicago, the scene is of the car driving along is Boston in glorious rear projection:

Natalia is reaching across Jessica and saying, “it is wonderful to finally meet you, dear Uncle.” He kisses her hand and replies something in Russian.

Leo asks Jessica to forgive him for involving her; he thought that a single man—with an accent, no less!—at a ballet would arouse too much suspicion, so he invited her. Natalia thanks her, as they’ve been planning this escape since she was a little girl.

After Leo says that they must go to federal authorities to seek asylum for Alexander and Natalia, Jessica says that by now their absence must have been noticed and there might be news, so they have Alexander turn on the radio. Fortunately it’s tuned to a news station which is broadcasting the news of Sergei Berensky’s death (from stabbing) in Natalia and Alexander’s dressing room. They are being sought by federal authorities.

There’s some discussion, including Natalia translating the news into Russian for Alexander (who apparently speaks no English), and Natalia assures Leo and Jessica that they had no part in Sergei’s death. They never even went to their dressing room and never saw Berensky.

Jessica says that they should go to the police right now because if Natalia and Alexander are innocent, they have nothing to fear. For a bright, worldly woman, sometimes Jessica can be a complete idiot.

Leo points out how this is madness and if the KGB gets their hands on Natalia and Alexander they will drag them back to Russia and there is no such thing as a fair trial there.

Jessica says that if it’s a matter of delaying their surrender, she’s willing to be an accomplice to that, and says to take them back to Cabot Cove. She’ll telephone Ethan and explain the situation, then stay here and try to solve the murder (technically, she says, “find out what I can”).

Back at the theater, an FBI agent and Major Karzof are interviewing Argyle Sweater Guy when Jessica comes up and asks who’s in charge and the FBI agent and Major Karzof both reply, “I am.” The FBI guy tells Argyle Sweater Guy that they’ll talk to him later and he leaves.

The FBI guy walks up to Jessica and introduces himself. Chief Agent O’Farell of the FBI.

When he asks what he can do for her, she begins to explain that she was in the audience, and Major Karzof notes that she was with a distinguished gentleman. Anyway, it comes up that she’s J.B. Fletcher the mystery writer and Major Karzof is a huge fan. He’s delighted to meet her and introduces himself in full, Major Anatol Karzof, Committee for State Security. She corrects this to “KGB”, to which he replies “Well, if you prefer.” KGB was just an acronym for the Russian name, Комитет государственной безопасности, which is romanized to Komitet gosudarstvennoy bezopasnosti (note the initial letters in the romanized version), so he was just introducing himself in English.

Anyway, O’Farrell interrupts to say that unless she has some relevant knowledge about what happened, he’s going to have to ask her to leave. Fortunately for Jessica Major Karzof is a huge fan and says that he would welcome her observations in the matter as she has remarkable powers of deduction.

O’Farrell is not pleased by this and says, hotly, that he wouldn’t welcome them and this is his turf. Karzof begins to shout back, “I would—” but then catches himself, moderates his tone, and finishes his sentence, “hope, in the spirit of cooperation, in this instance you might defer to my request, eh?” By the end of the sentence he’s quite friendly and charming.

O’Farrell gives in, says, “suit yourself, major,” and walks off.

This places Jessica in a very interesting position since she clearly doesn’t like the KGB but on the other hand is indebted to Major Karzof for being allowed to investigate. Karzof says to her, “I feel as if I already know you from the many hours I have spent absorbed with your books.”

Jessica says that he’s very kind, but it is unfortunate that Russia doesn’t see fit to pay authors royalties. Karzof laughs and replies, “that is a capitalist invention. Come, shall we investigate the scene of the crime?”

Karzof was the first to find Berensky. He was face down, with a jeweled dagger in his back. The dagger was part of Alexander Mazarov’s costume. He sent Berensky to find Natalia and Alexander, and apparently he found them. There was a struggle with Natalia and Alexander stabbed him. He knows that there was a struggle because there were nail marks on Berensky’s face.

Jessica then says that while that is sound, surely there must be other suspects. The major, for instance. Realizing that the dancers slipped away and nothing short of murder could prevent it, he might have killed his own man to prevent their seeking asylum.

Karzof is deeply amused. It’s wrong, but brilliant, he says. He then asks if she’s staying in the city and she says that she hand’t planned to, but under the circumstances she thinks that she will. He then recommends the hotel where he’s staying, and leads the way out.

In her hotel room, Jessica pleads with Ethan, over the phone, for Ethan to take the young Russians in. Despite having been established as a communist sympathizer—or perhaps, because of it—he’s reluctant, but he never really had a chance of having it his way, and eventually agrees. (Oddly, Ethan is taking this call from a payphone.)

Jessica says goodbye as she hears someone knocking on her door. The knocking is very loud and insistent. When she opens it it’s major Karzof, who apologizes for knocking so loudly and explains it’s an old habit from his days in the militia. Some people were reluctant to answer the buzzer. Jessica replies that she’s glad she opened the door before he kicked it down. He chuckles and this and tells her that the lab reports are in he thought she might like to come with him to police headquarters. Which she would.

At police headquarters, someone dumps out the stuff which Berensky had in his pockets and Major Karzof remarks, pensively, “Isn’t it sad how a man’s whole life can be reduced to a pile of trinkets?” No one replies, but Jessica, looking through the police report, says to him, “Now here’s something interesting, Major. The victim’s handkerchief was found in his pocket, stained with his own blood.”

Jessica notes that this disproves the Major’s theory that Berensky was scratched while struggling with Natalia as Alexander stabbed him in the back. Chief Agent O’Farrell isn’t impressed, but Karzof agrees with Jessica that it’s absurd that Berensky wiped his face with his handkerchief after having been fatally stabbed, so the face scratching must have happened earlier.

Chief Agent O’Farrell does not contradict this, and instead asks if the report mentions green fibers, as from a sweater, caught on the watch band. Jessica points out that Velma Rodecker was wearing a green sweater. She’s currently locked up “upstairs” and so a sergeant is dispatched to see if the fibers caught on the watch that the Chief Agent was inspecting match her sweater. Jessica adds, sotto voce, that the sergeant might as well check under Velma’s fingernails while he’s at it. Major Karzof chuckles approvingly at this.

The scene then shifts to the hotel where Jessica and the Major are staying. While they’re in the elevator, the Major asks Jessica if this will be valuable material for a new novel. Jessica, I think aware that this research is her cover story, says that it certainly has the right ingredients. A murdered Soviet agent and the disappearnce of two world-famous ballet stars. Karzof asks her, smiling and laughing, to not forget the wise and venerable chief of state security who solves the murder and brings to justice the misguided betrayers of the homeland. The elevator stops at his floor and he asks her if she would like a nightcap. Jessica says that she’s had a very long day and needs to get to sleep, but she would like to take a rain-check. Karzof, ever-genial, replies, “You have a rain-check,” and walks off.

Jessica doesn’t go to her room, though; she instead visits Mr Eddington, the president of the arts counsel (the man who handed Leo the brochure from the bottom of the deck).

Jessica tells him about how she saw him deal with the program from the bottom of the deck, and he explains the importance of it not getting out that he was involved in the defection or the Soviets will never cooperate with the arts counsel again. Given her assurance of confidentiality, he explains that his father was the American officer who arranged for Leo’s defection from the Soviet army during the fall of Berlin in World War 2. He was, then, Leonid Petrovich, a dancer with a burgeoning reputation that was cut short by the tragic accident which gave him his limp.

This backstory doesn’t really have anything to do with the mystery, but it’s nice world-building. This kind of thing really helps to flesh out the world and make it feel more real, which helps the mystery to feel important.

His participation in the defection (which is relevant to the mystery) was relatively minor. He opened a window in the musician’s room and Leo was to bring a change of clothes for Natalia and Alexander and leave them in a locker—locker number 19, which was the significance of the number scribbled on Leo’s program. There was one small hitch—when he left the musician’s room, Berensky saw him from the far wing. He remembers because Berensky was holding a handkerchief to his face for some reason.

Jessica bids him adieu and, declining his offer of a lift, walks back to her bus. She’s followed, which she notices, and ducks into a doorway and catches up to the man following her. When he turns around she asks if he’s looking for someone, Major Karzof drives up and tells the agent to leave. He hopes she was not startled, and she replies she wasn’t and thanks him for the bodyguard. She wouldn’t have dared to walk the streets alone if she didn’t know that Mr. Nagy was following her. Karzof then tells her that it was a waste of time to interview Mr. Eddington. The fibers in his watch match those of Velma Rodecker’s sweater and traces of his skin were found under her fingernails, as Mrs. Fletcher suggested.

I don’t know how they could have confirmed it was Berensky’s skin under her fingernails, back in 1984—they didn’t have DNA analysis then. About the best they could say was that the blood types matched, but unless they gave Berensky an extremely rare blood type such as O-, that wouldn’t mean much. This may just be a matter of the writer assuring us of facts to save time over proving them, since he’s only got 48 minutes to work with.

Jessica asks if Velma has been arrested for the murder and Karzof says that she has. He adds that, while he has no sympathy for a neurotic anti-communist, he regards it as a most depressing development.

And on that bombshell, we fade to black and go to commercial.

When we come back from commercial we’re in Cabot Cove.

Amos walks over to Alexander, who is in disguise. He asks if Ethan is around, and, after pausing for a moment in obvious panic because he speaks no English, Alexander says, “Ah, yup.”

Amos then introduces himself, and Alexander guardedly answers everything with “yup.” At that moment Ethan spots this and interrupts, explaining that this is his new deck hand, since the cod are biting so well. Ethan navigates the conversation, hinting to Al whether to say “nope” or “yup” for a bit until he’s able to maneuver Amos away by offering him a cup of coffee. There’s a cute bit where Amos remarks that “Al” seems like a nice sort, and Ethan replies, “a might too gabby for my taste.” This is a fun use of the stereotype of Maine fisherman as being very reserved with people they don’t know. Amos also asks if Ethan’s seen any suspicious characters around, and explains about the “Rusky toe dancers” who’ve defected but there’s a warrant on them because they murdered someone. Ethan keeps his reply to saying that he doesn’t know if he’d know a Russian if he saw one. Amos also spots Natalia, who’s helping someone elsewhere at the docks, and gives her a cover story of her being Niels Larsen’s cousin.

I sure hope that Niels is in on this, because in a small town like Cabot Cove news would get around fast if he’s not.

The scene then shifts back to Boston where Jessica is having breakfast with Major Karzof. He jovially reports that Velma Rodecker is deriving intense pleasure from her newfound notoriety. He does think that she is guilty, though. Jessica isn’t so sure—she has reservations about how Velma got the dagger. Karzof explains she had the opportunity because the dagger—part of Alexander’s costume—is not worn in the final scene, so it would have remained in the dressing room.

Jessica notices Irina, who is at a table with some of the other ballerinas, and the Major offers to introduce them. Jessica would like that, so he politely calls her over and she comes very sheepishly—which is, I assume, how most people come when the KGB calls them. She’s very sad about Natalia and Alexander, as well, and Jessica expresses her condolences because she, too, knows what it is to lose a friend. Major Karzof thanks Irina, and she meekly leaves. Jessica then says that, with the crime solved, it’s time for her to head home. Major Karzof says that it is farewell only, not goodbye. After Jessica walks off, a KGB agent comes to Karzof and tells him that Velma Rodecker has decided to talk.

Back in Cabot Cove, Amos meets Jessica at the bus and she gives him the news about Velma. She asks about Ethan and Amos says that he’s showing his new hand the ropes. Amos says that he’s a friendly fellow, who sounds like he’s from around Bangor. (While Cabot Cove’s location was never given, it’s generally depicted as being in the south-west of Maine and certainly on the coast. Bangor is about twenty miles inland in the north-east of Maine.)

Jessica rushes off to find Ethan and after bickering with him about how he hid the Mazurovs—Amos thinks that Natalia is a Swede from Minnesota—she discusses how they have to make new arrangements because The police, the FBI, and the KGB might descend on the town at any moment, since Velma certainly isn’t the killer.

That night at dinner they’re interrupted by a young man who knocked on the door. He was looking for Ethan, as he’d just put into the harbor with a blown gasket and heard that Ethan might have one to sell him.

Ethan doesn’t and suggests that he try Gus Harker over at Rockwater Bay. The young man is disappointed and asks if he can use Jessica’s phone to call over there to make sure that they have one before he starts hitchin’ in that direction. Interestingly, he’s got a Maine accent, unlike about 90% of the inhabitants of Cabot Cove.

He notices the places at table and asks if she’s expecting company. Jessica replies that they are a bit late—you know what babies can be. She points him to the telephone and asks if he’s from Down East. He replies that no, Ma’am, he’s born and bred in Maine, up near Bar Harbor. (Not that it matters, but Bar Harbor is, as the name suggests, on the coast, a little further north-east than Bangor.)

He makes his phone call while Jessica comes out and watches the TV with Ethan. It’s a news program which reviews what we already know, and shows a clip of the curtain call of the ballet where Natalia and Alexander failed to appear. They’ve shown us this clip of the ballerinas taking their bow after the curtain more than once, so it must be important:

I showed that clip before when it was from the audience’s perspective, but it’s interesting to look at it now, as shown on a TV. If you look, you can see how round the screen was. The screen curvature was a function of the distance of the screen from the electron gun in the cathode tube since it was helpful to have every point on the screen equidistant from the electron gun. That said, it distorted things as they were viewed, which you can see pretty well here. It helps to explain the closeups on clues.

A moment later the male dancers come out, but not a single male dancer other than Alexander is a character so it must be the female dancers that hold the clue. Since about the only thing we can see in this clip is the number of dancers, there’s a good chance that that’s the clue. Let’s compare to how many dancers there were at the beginning of the ballet:

It’s not super clear, here, but there aren’t many shots where it is. There are certainly six of them, though, meaning that not every ballerina in white was on stage during the curtain call.

Anyway, the young man comes out, saying that Gus does have the seal, so he better get headed on over there now. Jessica bids him farewell and Leo comes out as soon as the door is closed because this is television and we can’t spend the time to wait a realistic amount of time for him to no longer be within earshot. I think we should assume that, had this been a book, Leo would have waited for Jessica to give a signal that all was clear.

In response to Leo’s question if he’s gone, Jessica says yes, but not to Gus Harker’s. Down East is slang for Maine (or, more specifically, the coast of Maine, at least according to Wikipedia), and someone born and bred in Maine would certainly know that. He’s not who he says he is, so who, then, is he? Jessica says that we’ll soon find out, and she’s got a strong suspicion that he’s done something to her telephone.

And on that bombshell we fade to black and go to commercial.

When we come back it’s the next day and Jessica is on the phone talking to Letitia (the local operator), saying that she needs to make a call to Boston. She’s interrupted by a heavy knocking at her door. When she opens it, it’s Amos, Major Karzof, and someone else.

(I’m sure it would be more obvious in the blu-ray if they ever make one, but even in the DVD version you can see that the backdrop is a painting. The interior of Jessica’s house is, of course, in a sound stage, so it must be this way, but I don’t think we’d have noticed in broadcast quality.) Amos mentions that it wasn’t him doing the knocking, but I think we all knew that. Major Karzof is not so jovial this time; he and his associate have a warrant to search her house.

While Amos and the KGB agent go on their fruitless search, Karzof explains why he’s searching here. Velma Rodecker had an interesting story to tell. After she struggled with Berensky he threw her out of the theater. She then discovered an open window in the musician’s room. She then saw Leo (though she didn’t know his name) slip in through the window with a viola case and take out of it two costumes which he put into a locker. He matched the description of “Mr Peterson” and a quick check with the soviet embassy revealed Leo Peterson’s real name, history, and relationship to Natalia.

Amos and the KGB agent come back to report that there is no sign of the Mazurovs and Major Karzof asks Jessica to give the Mazurovs a message, should she meet them, unlikely as that may be, that if they turn themselves in the Soviet government will give them a fair and just trial. Leo Peterson walks in at this point and finishes the sentence, saying, “after which they will be executed.” He then announces that he’s prepared to give himself up and make a full confession. He then says that he killed Berensky so that his niece and nephew would have time to escape.

Jessica tells the Major to not listen to him. It’s a noble gesture, but it’s not true. Major Karzof dryly replies, “Obviously. Arrest him anyway, Sheriff. He is guilty of obstructing justice.”

As he goes to leave (he is the last one out the door) Jessica asks him if that was really necessary. He replies, gravely, “Ours is a war of attrition, Mrs. Fletcher. That was a warning shot across your bow. Don’t be deceived by my gentle manner. I beg of you.”

Jessica, alone in the house, then makes her call to Boston, which goes to the argyle sweater guy, now wearing a pink short-sleeve button-down shirt.

Ah, the 1980s. Still not as bad as the 1970s, fashion-wise, but it certainly had its weird choices. He answers the phone, “stage manager,” which is about as close as we’ve gotten to his name. We don’t hear what Jessica says, then he merely answers, “yeah” and calls Irina, who is at the theater for some reason.

We hear the telephone call as an overlay to the young man with the Maine accent who didn’t know that “Down East” was a nickname for Maine in his boat is listening in to it over radio equipment.

This is some fairly sophisticated equipment, by the standards of 1984. Radio was quite advanced by this time, but an easily concealed transmitter powered off of a battery would require fairly sensitive equipment to pick up. Unless they’re meant to be using Soviet super-technology. In 1984 the Cold War was was still almost seven years from over and we had a tendency to over-estimate the state of Soviet technological prowess.

Anyway, Jessica tells her that Natalia asked her to call Irina and tell her that they’re safe. She adds that Alexander also sends a message (in Russian, of course, since Alexander speaks no English). She then tries to pronounce the Russian and adds she hopes that she said it correctly, she doesn’t know what it means. At this Irina perks up quite a bit. She says, “if only I could be there.” Jessica suggests that “Mr Flemming” might be able to be of some assistance. That might possibly be argyle sweater guy, though how Jessica would know his name I do not know.

The next day we get some ominous music as Jessica’s morning run is spied on.

He goes off to report to Major Karzof, who is at the Sheriff’s office becoming increasingly frustrated with, and disappointed in, Amos. Karzof then gets a phone call that Irina has gone missing, to his greater frustration.

That night we get a scene of Irina and Argyle sweater guy in a car. (They save on rear projection by having it be completely dark.) She calls him Mr. Flemming to his face, so that must be what his name is. When they get to Jessica’s house Irina gets out and goes to the door and Mr. Flemming follows. Irina declares that Natalia’s bravery has inspired her and she wants to joint Natalia and Alexander in living in freedom. Jessica says that this is great and that she needs to go make a phone call. Argyle sweater guy (I can’t get used to “Mr. Flemming”) asks what’s wrong with the phone in this room and Jessica answers, “Well, that phone isn’t bugged.”

This phone call is to Ethan. Jessica tells him to take Alexander and Natalia to his boat.

The pretend-Mainer radios to Chief Agent O’Farrell with the opening, “Flotsam to Sand Castle.” So I guess he’s American, not Russian, and the stuff I said about Soviet super-technology doesn’t apply. I guess it was FBI super-technology. (If this was the FBI, I wonder why they didn’t tap her phone at the phone office, since they would have the jurisdiction to do that and it would be easier and cleaner.)

Anyway, as Jessica is setting the table for Irina and Argyle Sweater Guy, the doorbell rings. It turns out to be Amos and Major Karzof. Jessica asks if they forgot to search her fruit cellar and Karzof cuts off Amos who was in the middle of saying “come to think of it—”. He briefly says that he was informed she has visitors from Boston, and goes to talk to Irina.

He asks her what she’s doing here and if she knows what the penalty for shielding a murderer is. Irina protests that Alexander didn’t kill anyone and tries to pin the blame on Argyle Sweater Guy. He killed Berensky out of jealousy because he wanted Irina for himself.

Jessica, however, isn’t buying it. Argyle Sweater Guy had nothing to fear from Berensky because Irina was in love with Alexander Mazurov. Major Karzof says that this is incorrect and that Alexander’s affair with Irina ended when he took up with Natalia. But Irina protests that this is wrong and Alexander still loves her. She then asks Jessica to tell him the message which Alexander gave her. Oddly, she doesn’t give Jessica a chance. She immediately repeats it in Russian, then translates to English. “I will love you always.”

Jessica then apologizes for lying. Alexander didn’t send that message. She only said he did. Leo gave her the words, so she could trick Irina into revealing her true feelings for Alexander.

As you might imagine, Irina is disappointed.

When Major Karzof asks why, Jessica explains that it was her motive for killing Berensky. This dawned on her when she finally realized what was wrong with the curtain call—it was asymmetrical because a ballerina was missing. She sensed that they were going to defect and when she saw them leave the stage, she ran after them. More specifically, she hoped to stop the man she loved from running out of her life. But she found their dressing room empty. Berensky came in shortly after her and told her that they were gone. There was still one way to prevent their escape. In her desperation she picked up Alexander’s dagger and—

“Stop!” cries Irina. “Stop. Please stop.” Through sobs she says that she just wanted Alexander back. She didn’t think and didn’t know what she was doing.

After crying a bit, she composes herself and says, resignedly, that it makes no difference anymore. She then looks at Major Karzof and says, “Take me back.” He merely looks at her, and Jessica says, “Child, he has no jurisdiction here.” She then asks Amos to be gentle with her. Amos gently replies, “Yes Ma’am. I sure will.” He escorts Irina out.

After a moment, Argyle Sweater Guy says, “Well, if no one objects, I’ll just get the hell out of here.” Jessica tartly replies, “I was about to suggest the same thing, Mr. Fleming. Goodnight.”

Major Karzof, who stayed behind, says, “So, J.B. Fletcher has wrapped up another mystery. Rather neatly done, I might say.”

Jessica demurs, since she did leave poor Mr. O’Farrell on an empty boat. But then, he shouldn’t have tapped her phone. Major Karzof laughs at this. And what of Natalia and Alexander Mazurov?

Jessica replies that they’re on their way to Portland to turn themselves in as defectors seeking sanctuary.

Karzof replies, “I thought as much.”

“You could have tried to stop them,” Jessica observes.

Karzof smiles and holds up his hands helplessly. “Well… I did what I could.” He chuckles then adds, “let them live in peace.”

Jessica asks, “and what about you, Major? Have you ever thought of living in peace?”

He looks grim and replies, “As a loyal citizen of the Soviet Union, I will pretend that I did not hear that.”

He then lightens his tone and asks, “Tell me, how is the fishing around here?” Jessica tells him that it’s marvelous and asks if he fishes. Of course he does, every chance he gets. Jessica suggests, enthusiastically, that perhaps he could stick around for a few days.

Karzof chuckles at this. “Hm. A few days.” He smiles, then sighs and says, sadly, “Unfortunately, days have a way of growing into years.”

He bids her farewell and says that he’s looking forward to her next novel. She says that she’d like to send him a signed copy, if it won’t compromise him in the Kremlin.

He laughs and says, “Sometimes, a man likes to be compromised. Eh?”

He then kisses her hand and we go to credits.

This was one of the great Murder, She Wrote episodes. A big part of that was William Conrad’s performance as Major Karzof. Conrad has a beautiful, rich, sonorous voice and if his Russian accent isn’t perfect, it’s plenty good enough for 1980s television. His performance is magnificent and he imbues the character with real depth. That said, the writers gave him a good character to play, which should not be overlooked.

Major Karzof is an ambiguous figure in a difficult position. On the one hand, you don’t become a major in the KGB entrusted with guarding performing artists in America without a decent record of being trustworthy. On the other hand, (if you’re not a fool) you don’t become a man in his sixties without developing a certain amount of cynicism of politics and human institutions. And in any event, but especially in the latter case, you don’t last into your sixties in the KGB in the Soviet Union without a reasonable amount of cunning. But, of course, you also can’t be too idealistic.

Major Karzof threads this needle well. His words, especially anywhere they can be overheard, are very officially correct. His manner is very genial, but he is also clear that this is a facade. Well, not precisely a facade. He certainly wants to be pleasant, but will not let that get in the way of doing his duty, however unpleasant that is. This reminds me a bit of Winston Churchill’s famous comment defending his politeness in the declaration of war against Japan he gave to the Japanese ambassador, that if you have to kill a man it costs nothing to be polite.

The mystery is good, though not perfect. A dagger is a weapon that can kill a man, and Irina is an athlete, not a sedentary older woman. Ballerinas, though thin, tend to be surprisingly strong for their size, and it’s quite plausible that Irina could actually kill a man with a dagger, provided of course that it was sharp. American prop weapons tend to not be sharp but it’s believable that Soviet props would be sharp. Irina’s motivation is a bit thin, of course—striking out in a moment of blind desperation to keep the man she loved in her life is unlikely, but of course murder is always unlikely. If you exclude organized crime and gang violence, murder is just extremely rare. But it does happen, unfortunately, and so all murder mysteries will be unlikely because they describe very rare events. Incidentally, that’s one reason mystery writers need to move their detectives around a lot. If you want someone to encounter a bunch of rare events, moving him around helps to make it more believable, since these rare events are still rare locally.

The solving of the mystery is done quite well, especially with the interleaving of the solving of the mystery with the hiding of the defectors. Making Major Karzof a fan of Jessica’s worked well, especially because he had his reasons to play this up in order to keep Jessica close in order to keep an eye on her, since he clearly has his suspicions of her friend. You never quite knew where you stood with Major Karzof, and he certainly liked to keep it that way. And so the mystery started off with the Mazurovs as the chief suspects, as it had to. (It’s a nice touch that it had to both because of the needs of the story but also because of the intention of the murderer, even if the intention was confused and panicked.)

Then Jessica visits the director of the arts counsel and gets evidence which she cannot share with anyone. That sets Jessica up in an interesting position because she cannot cooperate with anyone on the official investigation. Of course, at the time she doesn’t really want to, so this is no major inconvenience. But it also sets up the plot to come.

Then Major Karzof tells Jessica about the evidence pointing towards Velma Rodecker, which gives a big twist. But of course we know it can’t be Velma both because it’s way too early in the episode and because of the evidence given to Jessica by the arts counsel director. Jessica clearly knows this, but it makes a perfect excuse for her to go to Cabot Cove without looking suspicious. This is probably partially wasted because Major Karzof is habitually suspicious of everyone, but it still works very nicely.

And it gives Jessica time to prepare for when Major Karzof and his crew descend on Cabot Cove the next day.

When Major Karzof comes to Cabot Cove, we get a very interesting development of his character, and of his relationship with Jessica. Before, he had been purely genial and almost fawning on Jessica. Now, he acknowledges her as an adversary. To be fair, we got a hint of that with Karzof having an agent following Jessica and showing up himself when he said that he was going to bed. Here he becomes explicit, though he always preserves proprieties. I love, for example, his preface of the message he asked Jessica to give to the Mazurovs: “If you should, by some chance, happen to encounter the Mazurovs, as unlikely as that may be,” Of course, he knows full well that she’s taking part in hiding them. Moreover, she knows that he knows, and he’s well aware of that, too.

I also love the warning he gives her a few moments later, when she asks if having Leo arrested was really necessary: “Don’t be deceived by my gentle manner. I beg of you.”

He is a KGB agent who does not like to be cruel. But that does not mean that he will refuse to be cruel if it’s necessary. You don’t become a KGB major by being shy.

It raises the interesting question of why he brought Jessica on, and why he’s treating her as he is. They don’t spell it out—it would not be in the Major’s character to be unambiguous on the point—but my favorite theory is that solving the murder is his primary concern and he knows that he’s at a significant disadvantage in solving it here in America where the KGB is openly hated. Recognizing that Jessica is at least tied to the people hiding the Mazurovs, he knows that she’s in a position to solve the murder and that putting pressure on her about the Mazurovs will motivate her to get the job done.

Another aspect of this episode which interests me is how cruel Jessica is to Irina. Lying to her that Alexander said he still loves her in order to trick her into running to Cabot Cove so she could set her up and confront her. And whether it was her original intent or not, it was crushing Irina with the knowledge that Jessica lied and Alexander didn’t say this that got Irina to confess. She is as hard and willing to be cruel as Major Karzof. Yes, afterwards, she takes a comforting manner to Irina and asks Amos to be gentle with her, but how is this different than the gentle manner of Major Karzof? The two have more in common than Jessica would like to admit. And another point to Major Karzof as a great character, I think he knows it.

Though Jessica might know it; there’s a hint of it in her line, after she said that the Mazurovs are on their way to Portland to turn themselves in as defectors seeking sanctuary and Karzof replied, “I thought as much.” She says, “You could have tried to stop them.” There’s almost a hint of reproach in her voice.

And after this, and after he drops the mask for a moment and says, candidly, “let them live in peace,” she is genuinely affectionate towards the Major. So perhaps she does recognize having more in common with him than she’d care to admit.

Still, I think the best line is right before the end, when Jessica invites him to stay for a few days to enjoy the fishing and he is at first excited, then sadly sighs and says, “Unfortunately, days have a way of growing into years.” He does elaborate, but he has a family back home. He has friends and responsibilities back home. They would all suffer if he chose to stay. It gives Major Karzof an element of nobility and a great deal of depth.

Next week we’re in Lake Tahoe for Death Casts a Spell.

Reviewing Good Episodes is Harder

Recently I’ve been working on my review of the Murder, She Wrote episode Death Takes a Curtain Call. It’s a really good episode and has one of my favorite characters in it. Ironically, though I was excited to get to it, I’m finding it much harder to finish the episode review than I normally do precisely because it is such a good episode. There’s a lot to say, and praising a thing well is much harder than criticizing self-evident problems. There’s a lesson in there, I think.

This may be related to why C.S. Lewis said that he wrote The Screwtape Letters only from the demons’ perspective, which left the book unbalanced. The problem was that letters from an archangel to the man’s guardian angel would need to have all of the virtues that a perfect being of superhuman intellect would naturally imbue into them, and to do that Lewis would need to have an equal intellect and equal perfection. This was a wise choice for The Screwtape Letters, but I think that the difficulty in praising a thing well causes problems in the case when there is no requirement for the praise to be perfect. That is, it makes it very tempting for people to leave off praising things that they should praise. And that’s a mistake, because it tends to lead other people to have a distorted view of life. As Dale Carnegie rightly observed, any fool can criticize, condemn, and complain, and most fools do. As a result, there tends to be tons of complaining in life, while the better things often go unpraised. When the good things are praised, it’s often by people who don’t appreciate the difficulty of praising things well and in consequence give mediocre if not outright bad praise.

So next time you hesitate to praise something, give yourself an extra push to do it. It’s probably better for the world than keeping silent.

And I’ll get to work on that Murder, She Wrote review.

Calories In vs. Calories Out

When it comes to health and fitness, and in particular to reducing the amount of fat on one’s body, the dominant story within our culture, at least from the sort of people who present themselves as experts, is that fat gain or loss is just Calories-in-vs-Calories-out so just take however many Calories you burn and eat less than that until you’re thin.

Now, obviously there is something truth to this because if you stop eating you will waste away until you die, and you will be very thin shortly before your death. (Though, interestingly, if you autopsy the corpses of people who’ve starved to death you will find tiny amounts of fat still remaining.) Of course, the problem with just not eating until you’re thin is that starvation makes you unfit for pretty much any responsibilities and it’s also bad for your health. (Among many problems, if you literally stop eating your muscles will substantially atrophy, including your heart.)

So the big question is: is there a way to eat fewer Calories than you burn while remaining a functioning adult who can do what the people you have responsibilities to need you to do, which doesn’t wreck your health?

The good news is that there are methods that accomplish this balance. The bad news is that (at least as far as I can tell) there’s no one method that works for everyone.

Since this post is about the Calories-in-vs-Calories-out mantra (from here on out, Ci-Co), I’m only going to discuss moderate Calorie restriction—oversimplifying, aiming for a deficit that results in about a half a percent of bodyweight reduction per week, for a period of 6-12 weeks, before returning to maintenance for an approximately equal length of time. (This is a version of what bodybuilders do and they’re probably the experts at losing fat because bodybuilding can be described, not entirely inaccurately, as competitive dieting.)

Now, at first glance, this isn’t too far off what the Ci-Co people seems to be saying. However, it’s very different in practice, and those differences will be illuminating, because they’re all things that the Ci-Co people get wrong.

The first big problem with trying to implement Ci-Co is: what on earth is your daily Calorie expenditure? There are highly accurate ways of measuring this which are extremely expensive with most being infeasible outside of a laboratory. Apart from that, there’s no good short term way. The best way—which is what bodybuilders do—is to carefully measure your Calorie intake and your weight over a period of time, then see what your weight does, and calculate your Calorie expenditure from your intake plus what your weight did. For example: suppose you take 3000Cal/day and over 14 days lost a pound. A pound of fat contains roughly 3600 Calories, so your actual expenditure was 3000 + (3600/14) = 3257. From there you can refine your intake to achieve what you want. (Bodybuilders also have phases where they put on muscle, which means gaining weight, so they will have to eat at a surplus to provide energy for building the extra muscle tissue.)

This looks nothing like what the Ci-Co people suggest, which usually amounts to either taking the USDA random-number of 2000 or else using an online tool which estimates your Calorie expenditure from your height, weight, and some description of how active you are. These are generally accurate to +/- 50%, which is not obviously distinguishable from useless. Using myself as an example, entering 6′ and 215 pounds with high activity, it estimated my maintenance Calories as 2900 and a weight loss target of 2450. I’ve actually been using the MacroFactor app to track approximately 100% of what I eat and weighing myself every morning when I wake up. It estimates my maintenance Calories as about 3900 Cal/day and I’m losing a little over a pound a week with a target Calories of 3200 Cal/day. On days when I eat about 2800 Calories I go to bed hungry and am very hungry the next day. If I tried to lose weight at 2400 Cal/day in a week or two I’d be constantly ravenous, unable to concentrate, barely able to do my job (I’m a programmer), and miserable to be around.

Because here’s the thing: the human body can tolerate small (consistent) Calorie deficits without worrying, but if they become too large the body freaks out and concludes that something very, very bad is going on and the top priority for the foreseeable future is getting through it. That means two things, both very bad for losing fat:

  1. Spending all your waking hours trying to find enough food
  2. Reducing your Calorie expenditures as much as possible to conserve what energy we do have until the bad times have past.

The second point is probably the bigger deal. What the CiCo people don’t realize is that your Calorie expenditure is nowhere near fixed. If your body thinks it’s a good idea, you can maintain on a surprisingly large number of Calories. If your body thinks it’s a good idea, you can maintain on a surprisingly small number of Calories. The former looks like having a lot of energy and feeling good. The latter looks like being tired and cold all the time.

Even worse, there is reason to believe—though this is nowhere nearly as well established—that if you make your body freak out and think it needs to survive a famine too many times, it will start to prepare for the next famine as soon as food becomes readily available again, much as people who’ve been broke a few times and also had good times tend to live like misers and save money the next time things go well. (In the the case of your body, this means gaining the fat you will need to survive the next famine, just like bears put on a ton of fat in summertime in order to get through the coming winter.)

This is why the other critical part of how bodybuilders diet is that they only do it for 6-12 weeks at a time, then take long maintenance breaks at their new weight. (The variability because they pay attention to how their body reacts and if it seems to be starting to freak out, they stop losing weight and start maintaining so it doesn’t have to adapt to the diet—there are many factors which go into how long it’s possible to diet before the body starts to freak out.) This relatively short fat-loss window ensures that the body never goes into surviving-famine mode. And the maintenance Calories are not a fixed number, either. They can easily increase for a few weeks as your body gets used to the extra food and raises your metabolism because it seems safe to do so.

When you put this all together, it’s why the Ci-Co people give the laws of thermodynamics a bad name. It may be perfectly true that losing weight is the result of one number that’s not easy to measure being lower than another number that’s impractically expensive to measure and impossible to usefully estimate, but knowing that that’s true has no practical value.

For a much more entertaining take on a closely related subject, check out Tom Naughton’s post Toilet Humor And The HOW vs. WHY Of Getting Fat.


This post was about the problems with Calories In vs Calories Out, but I would be remiss to point out that everything I said up above about how bodybuilders reduce fat is predicated on having a reasonably well-regulated metabolism to begin with. There are all sorts of ways for the human metabolism to become disregulated and if yours is disregulated your odds of successfully reducing fat are much lower until you figure out what’s wrong and fix it. In my own case, I’m about 99% certain that at times in my life I’ve induced insulin insensitivity in my body through excessive fructose consumption. (I can eat a pound of chocolate for lunch if I let myself and there was a period back when I was in grad school when I was drinking full-sugar Mountain Dew and eating cake mix out of the box with a spoon. That stuff has more sugar and flour in it. This is during a period when I was unemployed and depressed as well as young and dumb, and I had yet shaken off being raised during the low-fat craze of the 1980s and 1990s.) I believe some extensive low-carb eating has allowed my body to mostly reset its relationship with insulin and at this point I’m only willing to eat candy/ice cream/etc. on Christmas, Easter, and my birthday. That said, when I’m cutting (reducing fat), I find it much easier and more successful if I go back to eating low carb or even keto.

That’s me; I suspect that many people are in a similar boat because fructose is way more common in processed food than people normally realize and it’s reasonably well established that extremely high fructose consumption (much higher than anything you’d get from any reasonable intake of fresh fruit, btw) can induce non-alcoholic fatty liver disease, which seems to have a causative relationship with insulin resistance/metabolic syndrome. That said, this is not everyone who’s got excess fat. There are tons of things that can go wrong to disregulate one’s metabolism/appetite, some of them dietary, some of them endocrine, and some I don’t even begin to have an idea. The human body is unbelievably complex and there are a lot of ways it can malfunction. There’s really no substitute for trying things and seeing what works. And at least we know that it’s a good idea to get regular exercise no matter how much excess fat you’re carrying. It may not make you lean, but it will certainly make you healthier and happier than if you don’t do it. After the first few months.

Oh yeah—and I’m no expert, so please do your own research and don’t take my word for it.

What Makes an Expert

I was recently re-watching the 2009 documentary Fat Head, mostly for nostalgia because I enjoyed it and it did me a lot of good back when I watched it circa 2010.

If you haven’t seen it and are curious, it’s available (officially, from its distributor) on YouTube. (Weirdly, it’s age-restricted so I can’t embed it.)

This was back when the documentary Super Size Me blaming McDonalds for people being fat was only five years old and people still remembered it. Fat Head was a response-documentary criticizing Super Size Me, but it actually spent more of its time discussing the lipid hypothesis (the idea that fat and especially saturated fat causes heart disease) and the problems with it. Throughout the documentary, Tom Naughton (the filmmaker and narrator) continually refers to “the experts,” by which he mostly means the people who give official advice, such as the USDA giving food recommendations or various medical organizations telling everyone to reduce their saturated fat intake as much as possible.

“Expert,” of course, ordinarily means a person who is extremely knowledgeable in a subject or very good at it. But “expert” is also a social designation for special people to whom ordinary people are supposed to defer, generally with the assumption that they are expert in the first sense. But this introduces a problem: how do you know that someone is an expert in the first sense?

The easy way to do this is to be an expert yourself. Expertise will generally be good at recognizing expertise, as well as recognizing what is not expertise. That’s great, but if you’re an expert yourself you don’t need to know who else is an expert so you can defer to them.

So what if you’re not an expert?

Well, it gets a lot harder.

You can, of course, punt the problem to someone that you trust, but that is a general solution: it works for literally every question. How do you calculate the circumference of a circle given its diameter? Ask someone you trust.

But let’s assume, for the sake of discussion, that you want to find an expert and aren’t going to just have someone else do the work. How can you do this—again, assuming that you, yourself, are not an expert?

It certainly cannot be in the same way that an expert would, that is, by evaluating how the person does what they do. There is something left, though it’s not nearly so efficient: you can see whether the person can achieve what only an expert could achieve.

In most of the places where this is possible, it’s fairly obvious. If you want to know if a man is an expert archer, you ask him to shoot at a few things which are very difficult to hit. If you want to know if a man is an expert lock pick, you ask him to pick a difficult lock.

There are some intermediate situations, which do not admit of demonstrations which only take a moment. If you want to know if a man is an expert painter, it is not practical to ask him to go to all of the trouble of painting a painting in your sight. But you can ask him to show you paintings which he has painted, and then after he shows you some impressive paintings you have only the ordinary problem of finding out whether he’s an honest man and really is the one who painted them.

But then we come to problems which are far more difficult. How can you tell if a man is an expert teacher? The only practical effect of a good teacher is a learned student. If you have access to the students to test them, you mostly can only tell in the negative—a student who obviously knows nothing—since the whole reason to seek out a teacher is to be taught. (There are exceptions for things such as being an expert in Greek but not in teaching Greek, and you want to find an excellent teacher for your child. Let us set that aside as a special case which is easier than the one we’re trying to deal with.) However, even in the best case this is not a pure evaluation of the teacher because the end results also depends upon the quality of the student. This is clear in the case of athletics. Some people have bodies which are proportioned exceedingly well for the sport and when this is married to a disposition which finds physical activities intuitive, they would come to be very good in their sport regardless of who their teacher is; an excellent teacher will make them better but a bad teacher will still make them good (unless he gets them injured).

Medicine is an interesting hybrid of this. It is possible to evaluate a trauma surgeon mostly based on results because how well one patches up a man after a knife would or a gun shot or a bear mauling does not depend very much on the constitution of the victim. It does depend on the wound, of course, but it’s not that hard to evaluate wounds based on criteria such as their rate of blood flow or the amount of the victim which is missing.

It is nowhere near as possible to evaluate an internal medicine doctor’s treatment of chronic conditions. The human body is an unbelievably complex thing—I mean that literally; most people can’t believe the complexity involved. Biology keeps on making new discoveries that things are more complex than previous believed. All of this complexity can go wrong, and there are far fewer kinds of symptoms. In short, we have no way of evaluating what is actually wrong with a patient or how bad it actually is. Not everything is fixable; how much that doesn’t get better is the fault of the doctor and how much is the fault of the disease? We have no way of knowing, certainly not for the purpose of evaluating the doctor.

So what about the kinds of experts who give health and nutrition advice?

The first thing to notice is that the time scales are not favorable. Being healthy over decades is a thing that takes decades, and that’s a really long time over which to evaluate someone’s advice in order to determine whether their advice is worth following. And we’ve also got a problem much like in evaluating internal medicine doctors: we’re talking about how to optimize an unbelievably complex system (the human body). Worse, though, is that this kind of advice is general, and the population itself varies. There’s absolutely no reason to believe that the same dietary advice is equally good advice for all members of the population. For all we know, Frenchmen do better eating baguettes than Germans do and Germans are healthier eating sausages than Frenchmen are. For all we know, there might be two brothers and one does well on pasta while the other will get fat and sick on it. At least internal medicine doctors treat individual patients; experts who give general advice on health and nutrition give the same advice to everyone. That might be fine—no one should eat uranium, for example—but it’s not obviously fine. For all we know (without be experts ourselves) universal dietary guidelines are intrinsically a bad idea that no true expert would do, just as no true fencing expert fences with reverse grip or by holding the tip and trying to thrust the hilt into his opponent.

But even if we grant the idea, for some reason, that a true expert would give general dietary advice, how do we evaluate the expertise of a particular expert giving it? The effect that we could measure would be the superior health and fitness of the people who follow this advice to what they would have had if they didn’t follow this advice.

OK, but how on earth do you measure that? How do you identify the people who follow the advice. How do you figure out how healthy they would have been had they not followed the advice?

That last part is important because it’s extremely easy for advice which does nothing to select for people who are generally superior. To give a silly but clear example: if you give advice on how to grow taller and it’s to dunk a basketball ten times a day, every day, and then measure the average height of the adherents and the average height of the non-adherents, you’ll find that the adherents are, in fact, taller. No taller than they would have been otherwise, but certainly taller than the non-adherents. Or if your advice for strength is to pick up a three hundred pound rock and carry it five hundred feet each day, you’ll certainly find that the adherents are stronger than the non-adherents, since only very strong people will even try to follow this advice. In like manner, if you recommend that people eat a pound of arugula a day, it’s quite possible that only people who are very healthy would even consider putting the stuff in their mouth given how much (if you don’t disguise its flavor with oil or sugar) it tastes like poison. (Because it is; the bitter taste of many plants come from natural pesticides they make in order to dissuade bugs from eating them. These are just poisons that have little to no effect on us since we’re mammals and not insects.)

The basic answer is that you can’t. Not to any important degree.

There’s a related issue to the question of “how can you tell if someone is an expert?” and that’s “how does someone become an expert?” It’s related because, oversimplifying, the way you become an expert is to evaluate whether you can do what an expert can do and then change what you’re doing until you can do those things. If there’s no way to evaluate whether you’re getting better at the things an expert could do, there’s no way to tell whether the things that you’re doing are making you any better, which means that there’s no way to actually become an expert. (I’ve oversimplified quite a bit; this really deserves its own blog post.)

So what does that mean for fields where it’s not possible to tell who’s an expert?

Effectively, it means that there are no experts in that field.

The Conan Stories and Civilization vs. Barbarism

Several years ago, in his series on the Conan stories, Mr. John C. Wright wrote about the theme of how barbarians were stronger than civilized men:

“Zaporavo was the veteran of a thousand fights by sea and by land. There was no man in the world more deeply and thoroughly versed than he in the lore of swordcraft. But he had never been pitted against a blade wielded by thews bred in the wild lands beyond the borders of civilization. Against his fighting-craft was matched blinding speed and strength impossible to a civilized man.Conan’s manner of fighting was unorthodox, but instinctive and natural as that of a timber wolf. The intricacies of the sword were as useless against his primitive fury as a human boxer’s skill against the onslaughts of a panther.”

As for me, I feel sorry for the man who is the most well-versed and skilled swordsman in the whole world being bested by a quick and strong adversary who is just born better than he. Hardly seems fair.

My own limited experience as a fencer gives a ripe and loud Bronx Cheer to the idea that natural talent can overwhelm trained skill with a blade. I have fought men stronger and faster than I, but less skilled, and have fought men slighter and slower than I, but more skilled. The victories are not just occasionally or even mostly to the more skilled swordsman, but inevitably. My stronger but unskilled foe could not land a single touch on me, no, not one. My weaker but more highly skilled foe did not let me land a single touch on him, no, not one.

On the other hand, if the reader is not willing to accept, as a given, that naked aborigines, scratching themselves with sticks, living in mud huts, drinking from mud puddles, and eating mud-worms are not stronger and faster than the Olympic Athletes or US Marines formed by training grounds or bootcamps of civilization, such a reader simply is not entering into the daydream of the noble savage, and into the spirit of a Conan story.

It is as stubborn as saying there is no such planet as Kripton, or no such thing as an Amazon, or that no orphaned millionaire fights crime in secret by dressing as a bat. The one unreal conceit to be granted the author is the ticket price for entering any fiction story. Anyone unwilling to pay is left outside, and will never get what this genre of stories are about, or what their appeal is.

Now, Mr. Wright is of course correct about the suspension of disbelief required, and how that is merely the price of admission to the fun. But there is one thing I would like to say in defense of the superiority of the barbarian over the civilized man, and that is, while Mr. Wright is certainly correct that the best that civilization has to offer will tend to massively overwhelm the best that barbarity has to offer, this is not nearly so true of the averages.

Barbarians—if by that we mean hunter-gatherers and not merely people who don’t speak Greek or else Germans—will be, on average, moderately strong and moderately athletic. They actually tend to be decently fed and decently healthy, since in the places where the hunter-gatherer lifestyle works it tends to work quite well and require quite a bit less work than agriculture does to meet one’s caloric needs without the same danger of famine as monocultural agriculture. They have very little in the way of refined sugars or alcohol, and often do a lot of walking and a non-trivial amount of climbing. (I’m painting with broad strokes, of course; there’s a great deal of individual variation.) This will not tend to make anyone nearly as strong as an athlete who trains specifically for strength and speed and who has access to great abundances of foods, as the cream of the crop of civilization has.

But on the other hand, civilized men in the age of mechanized farming, which was when Howard was writing and almost certainly what he was really writing about, could be almost unlimitedly soft and weak unless they specifically chose to be better. And even when they chose to be better than soft and weak, it was often a play form of it, like many modern martial arts.

Modern martial arts suffer from the same problem that all martial training has—you can’t actually practice killing people, so you have to practice the skill of killing people with equipment which prevents you from actually killing them. And, almost invariably, in addition to safe equipment you need to impose rules which prevent injury, too. These rules create an even playing field if everyone is following them, but they can create openings for people who are not following the rules.

The flip side of this, of course, is that experience can be easily misleading; generals of armies are known for often fighting the last battle, not the present one, and this will apply to fighters whose only teacher is experience no less than to generals. There are things you only learn by trying a thousand times, and no one survives a thousand fights to the death. Eventually you come across someone too tall, or too short, or just too lucky, for your previous experience to help you.

Howard’s solution in Conan is the raw fury of the barbarian; unmatched power produced by pure, bestial adrenaline. It’s nice in theory and even works if Conan is just a symbol for nature because hurricanes and volcanoes have orders of magnitude more power than any of the works of man. If Conan is just a man it may work in theory but it doesn’t work in practice—not against an expert.

But Howard isn’t really writing about experts, not real experts. Zaporavo is not meant to be a man who’s fought in a thousand real sword fights and is genuinely skilled at sword fighting because he’s practiced it. I mean, Howard literally wrote that, but I don’t think that he meant it. What he meant (I contend) was that Zaporavo knew the theory of sword craft, and had lots of experience in civilized sword fights, which were under rules because his opponents were also so civilized that they were detached from reality even in a duel to the death. That is, he had the virtues of civilization but also the vices of civilization.

Does that make sense for a long-experienced pirate who lived by his wits and skill? Oh heavens no. But the artistic point is that civilized human beings lost their contact with nature, which is far more powerful than our puny intellects.

And that was certainly going on in the 1930s. One of the curious things, if you knew people who grew up in the 1910s and 1920s, was that they were practically allergic to exercise. (Not all of them, of course; movements such as Muscular Christianity had been trying to get people to want to exercise since Victorian times.) This is a complex historical phenomenon I don’t have the space here even to sketch out with justice, but the short, short version is that a man in the 1930s could look around and conclude that his fellow men wanted to be weak and delicate while attributing to themselves all of the power of technology. They wanted, to use G. K. Chesterton’s phrase, “to sit on sofas and be a hardy race.”

Nearly one hundred years later, I don’t think that this can be appreciated as much because in the intervening decades professional athletes have become celebrated heroes of our culture. Laziness abounds, but the lazy will profess that they should be exercising.

There’s also the issue that the 1930s was the era of the Great Depression, when it looked to many like civilization was failing. I don’t mean failing to be perfect, as it is common to complain about now and in all eras, but failing to be even viable in the basic sense. It was failing to provide jobs for many and failing to provide food for some. (Under-nutrition was more common than outright starvation, but it was fairly wide-spread.) Under these conditions, it looked to many like the collapse of civilization back into barbarism was imminent. And, given what the second world war was like, there may even have been some truth to the expectation.

We have something a little similar in that many people were promised by schools and universities that they were becoming the elites of society when they weren’t. This has been described as “over-producing elites” and they are bitterly disappointed and mistake having been lied to for society collapsing. However, their anticipation of society collapsing looks very different, since they are (wannabe) elites, with at least pretensions to elite tastes.

I think that if we take this historical context into account, the symbolism of the tale rings a bit more true, and requires less effort to buy our ticket with the suspension of disbelief.

My Issue With Traveling

While there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with travelling or being a tourist, there is a problem with how it’s frequently done, and Chesterton summed it up very well in his chapter on Rudyard Kipling in his book Heretics.

The globe-trotter lives in a smaller world than the peasant. He is always breathing an air of locality. London is a place, to be compared to Chicago; Chicago is a place, to be compared to Timbuctoo.
But Timbuctoo is not a place, since there, at least, live men who regard it as the universe, and breathe, not an air of locality, but the winds of the world. The man in the saloon steamer has seen all the
races of men, and he is thinking of the things that divide men–diet, dress, decorum, rings in the nose as in Africa, or in the ears as in Europe, blue paint among the ancients, or red paint among the modern
Britons. The man in the cabbage field has seen nothing at all; but he is thinking of the things that unite men–hunger and babies, and the beauty of women, and the promise or menace of the sky.

If you want to know what it is like to be a Chinese peasant, you will learn far more about it by trying to grow some food in your own back yard, even if you grow plants no Chinese peasant has ever heard of, than by going to China, staying in a hotel, and watching the peasant every day for a month.

So much of what the Chinese peasant does he only does because of the accidents of where he is and would do quite differently if he lived, say, in your back yard. If you want confirmation of this, just look at how differently peasants act when they immigrate somewhere else. They haven’t suddenly become different people but they eat different food because different foods are now cheap and wear different clothes because different clothes are now cheap (and possibly better suited to the weather where they are now). The person who only learns the particular reactions to particular accidents learns only about the accidents of the peasant, not about his soul.

Of course, this may be by design; the Chinese peasant being a human being his soul will be much the same as that of other human beings. Well, not the same as the globe-trotter’s.