“While a student, Tycho lost part of his nose in a duel with Manderup Parsbjerg, a fellow Danish nobleman. This occurred in the Christmas season of 1566, after a fair amount of drinking, while the just turned 20-year-old Tycho was studying at the University of Rostock in Germany. Attending a dance at a professor’s house, he quarrelled with Parsbjerg. A subsequent duel (in the dark) resulted in Tycho losing the bridge of his nose. A consequence of this was that Tycho developed an interest in medicine and alchemy. For the rest of his life, he was said to have worn a replacement made of silver and gold blended into a flesh tone, and used an adhesive balm to keep it attached.”

The quarrel, from what I can gather from other sources, was about math. They did not kid around about math in the 16th century.

-John
http://www.sparksflyup.com

Or are you lying about that?

Sure, honesty is virtue. A lot of things are virtues. Chastity is a virtue (or so I’m told), but if we were all chaste all the time, there wouldn’t be any babies.

Virtues are never absolute, in my opinion. Generally, it’s a good idea to be loyal, but there are exceptions. Generally, it’s a good idea to be kind, but there are exceptions. And generally, it’s a good idea to be honest, but there are exceptions.

Glad to see so many people enjoyed the interview.

-John

I wrote an article about a panel which featured Green and Zusak, and trust me, it was a positive piece.

By telling your friend about her boy, you may have caused her a big short-term heartache, but you may also have saved her from a much bigger one, particularly if her two-timing boy brought home some kind of dread disease. This benefit from your action is real, whether she agrees it’s real or not. So I would argue that you were in fact acting as a true friend when you told her this truth, and that you shouldn’t regret it at all.

Sure, it sucks that *you* lost a friend, but I really don’t think that’s a long-term problem for you. Friends come and go, and I’m guessing you’re doing just find in the friend department now.

Of course I realize that this analysis is quite naive and that I don’t have all the facts, so I don’t know if it really applies in this particular case, but since you made a blanket statement about not telling secrets of this sort, I felt it might be worth considering an opposing viewpoint.

“If people are coming to kill your family and friends and you know where they are hidden, saying you don’t know is the only honourable, good thing you can do. Telling the truth in that situation would be reprehensible”

In point of fact, you could say, “Yes. I know where they’re hidden. But I won’t tell you because you’re coming to kill them.” Then, if you live in sensible state, like, oh, Virginia, you pull out your rifle and say, “Get off my property. Now.”

Lies, it seems to me, are often failures of the imagination. Then too, there’s the historical blindness. Readers of old novels knew that there were all sorts of conventional phrases used (with acquaintences, etc.) which inabled one to both avoid a hurtful truth and an out-and-out falsehood.

But that got ditched in favor of Sincerity with predictable results in either hurt feelings or personal integrity.

Diana: I believe it is essential for a novelist to be good at Telling-Better-Story lies.

Marrije: Glad you liked it. His books are most excellent, indeed. Wouldn’t have interviewed him otherwise.

What makes you think I’m not already writing that novel?

justine, you should write a cult of evil parent-eating nuns book!

I’m a terrible, terrible liar (truth)

except for the category of ‘telling-a-better-story’ lies. in those cases, i lie so well that i believe them myself, and i tell the story, and i think it’s true, and then my fiance looks and me and kind of shakes his head and is all ‘none of this happened, you know.’ (truth)

but no one believes him because my story sounds so much better. (possibly a lie?)

(Agreed, by the way—great interview!)