伊奧兒之憤 The Frustrations of Eeyore

It's not quite true that I did no writing on Thursday; I did write the following book review:
The Te of Piglet by Benjamin Hoff


My rating: 1 of 5 stars
The Fèn of Eeyore.

One day I was walking through the bog, gazing wistfully at the muddy water, when I came across Eeyore in his den. A lovely smell was coming out of the crumbling donkey shelter.

"Hallo old friend. What's cooking?"

"Hola, amigo. Why this is just a simple zuppa verde. Thistles and nettles from the bog you know, but quite good when cooked in buttered broth. Farina grains add bulk and thickness, what what. Ho ho! But what's this, you're looking a bit doom-and-gloom, my friend. What has happened to your cheerful demeanor?"

"Oh Eeyore, it is Very Good to see you again. I've just been reading The Te of Piglet you see, and it has got me feeling...that is, a bit..."

"Ho-ho! Say no more. That book has the wrong title, to start with. Actually it has the wrong everything. It's not really about anything. Though of course certain parties are trodden on..."

"Yes, I believe that's what's left me so conflicted. And, well, so you know, then, that...uhm..."

"Yes, I know. Oh I know. It was me what was trod, yup? I'm the odd bits which got smithered on. I certainly know all this. You needn't mention it. And after all, one can't complain. I have my friends. Somebody spoke to me only yesterday. And was it last week or the week before that Rabbit bumped into me and said 'Bother!'. The Social Round. Always something going on."

"You know, Eeyore, I can't help but feel that this time this Tao and Te fellow has gone over the line. I mean, really, Educational System Eeyores? And what's this nonsense about 'Eeyore Amazons'? Could you make head or tail out of that (so to speak)?"

"Ah yes, those misfit feminists with their 'overabundance of masculine energies.' Do you mean to say you find the fellow unqualified to measure the proper amount of 'masculine energy'?"

"The thought had occurred to me."

"Haha, well it's all quite amusing really. In a quiet way, that is, and without being really helpful. As you no doubt gathered, the book is said to be about Piglet, but there's really very little of Piglet in it at all."

"Quite true -- I was surprised at that."

"You shouldn't be, my friend! Oh, I tell you, in this world nearly every creature suffers from a Positively Startling Lack of Brain. The result of course is that the books they write aren't about what they thought they would write about. Probably this book did start out about Piglet, but soon a bit of chaff flew by, or else a new smell entered the air, and before the author knew it, he was Whining again, as he is of course wont to do.

Now for your information, in China, Whining is actually an art."

"Really? But isn't that annoying to readers?"

"Not at all! Not when done properly. And not if the listeners feel the same way about matters. Why, down in the bogs and swamps of China I have visited with Donkeys, Monkeys, DonkMonks, and Key-Dons of all shapes and sizes, all perfectly able to spend an entire evening Whining. Whining's good for the soul, after all, for once you're done you've cleaned yourself out. You've taken out all your bile and whatnot and spillt it out into the bog water, where it makes no difference at all."

"Oh! I think I see where you are going with this. And so The Te of Piglet..."

"Right. It's entirely whining, from beginning to end. What little we see of poor Piglet is purposely obscured to make it seem as if we are all actually already either Whiners or Worth Whining About. Which is perfectly true, by the way!"

"I see. So back to the title. You said it had the wrong title. Perhaps it should be called Whining?"

"Yes. Since our friend likes Chinese terms so much, he might have called it after the Chinese term for a "whining," which refers to the scattering and drawing out of the bile, or indignation, which is called "fen." "Whining" is a verb, but "fen" is a nice solid noun which refers to the bile in the heart. So I do think he should have called it The Fen."

"I see, yes. But then again it wouldn't do to call it The Fen. It needs an Animal, don't you think? Perhaps The Fen of Piglet would be better?"

"Don't be daft. That silly bit of fluff hasn't the confidence to Whine in a full-throated, belly-emptying way. No, no, Piglet would never do."

"Come to think of it, as we said before, the Animal that whines most is you, Eeyore."

"Why thank you very much. I was so hoping someone would notice!"

"Ah! Now I have it. Our friend only seems to dislike you, Eeyore. He whines about Eeyores. But since Eeyores are the whiners, then he too is an Eeyore. Why don't we call the book The Fen of Eeyore?"

"Oh, my goodness. I couldn't accept that. Oh, no, really. Me? The star of a book? Well, suppose I do know a thing or two. I've a brain. Say, do you want to stay awhile? Have some zuppa?"

"Wonderful! I've some beer in this bag, if that interests you."

"It may interest me, sir. Perhaps as much as anything ever does, in any case. Drinking beer never did anyone any good. Then again, the world is in such a state, a few beers are certainly called for. Oh! Everybody has been Wrong about Everything. I tell you! Especially Wrong about Me. Why, what Whining we shall have tonight, sir..."

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