Eric Hobsbawm - Bandits

While this book is primarily a work of historical scholarship it was nonetheless an enjoyable read for the layperson. Hobsbawm starts by recognising the ubiquity of ‘the ideal social bandit myth’ in cultures as disparate and distant as medieval England and 20th century Latin America along with pretty much everything in between. The range of source material and scholarship he draws on is impressive. He also recognises the extreme longevity of certain social bandit myths, quintessentially that of Robin Hood who first appears in 14th century ballads, as supporting evidence for the value and interest of the genre.


What are the constituent parts of the ‘ideal social bandit myth’, as opposed to the common criminal? A few key attributes stand out as important but what follows will be by no means exhaustive given the extensive and nuanced account given of the dozen odd bandits in the book. Equally, each proclaimed proponent of social banditry may not display all the key attributes mentioned and, in some cases, none of them at all. First, the social bandit may be initially wronged by unjust authorities or the victim of exploitation; unfair taxes may be levied, excessive punishment meted out or a relative may be killed or raped by a nobleman or another figure above justice. The bandit will often refuse to bend to the greater power of the authority figure and, as such, may be seen as morally justified in his conflict. This moral justification may lend him, or very occasionally her, the help and support of the local community either implicitly or explicitly. Alongside these facets of the bandit’s origin, the bandit may have other ethical or moral advantages on his side. They may use violence and murder sparingly and only direct them against ‘fair’ targets rather than terrorising and otherwise abusing the general population. Indeed, in some cases they may even act as a protector of the local population. Equally, they may only steal from outsiders or other targets outwith the community they come from. As in the case of Robin Hood, they may distribute the spoils of their criminality amongst other members of their oppressed class. For Hobsbawm, a Marxist historian, this class is almost always oppressed peasants and landless labourers or cattle herders. Thus, there is a broad image of the social bandit as justified in his grievance, pursuing this greivance fairly or, at least, with some ethical considerations as to who his victims are and philanthropically distributing some of the spoils of his criminality with the general population.


For Hobsbawm, it’s hard for this type of figure to emerge before the idea of an external authority. Before the advent of the state, almost all power is wielded by groups of armed men very similar to bandit gangs. The existence of laws or externally imposed rules is negligible or weak meaning there is little scope for the social bandit to be abused and consequently react against. ‘Laws’, per se, are not so much broken as feuds between rival factions are inaugurated. Banditry “cannot...exist outside socio-economic and political orders” (p7). Indeed, the original meaning of the Italian ‘bandito’ is ‘one placed outside the law’. Equally, according to Hobsbawm, the modern capitalist state also largely excludes the possibility of social brigandage because the apparatus of the state is more ever present reducing the geographical homelands of the bandit. Secondly, the poor are rarely as hungry as in earlier forms of government. Hobsbawm links famines and other outbreaks of hunger closely with explosions of brigandage. As one would expect of a Marxist, for Hobsbawm bandits are the poor, the assetless, the hungry, living far from the seat of power, unrepresented and oppressed. They ‘resist the encroaching power of outside authority and capital’ (p9). Nonetheless, social bandits are rarely true revolutionaries although they can be incorporated into revolutionary causes. Their concerns are ordinarily less wide ranging than the revolutionary’s and, while they usually want to act outside of the existing laws for whatever reason, they rarely have plans of overthrowing the existing government and ruling themselves.


As alluded to in the previous paragraph, geography can play an important role in the birth and development of social banditry. Far flung, mountainous regions are often poor, removed from the seat of central power, suspicious of outsiders and devoid of much power in the political process. As such, the bandit may function as an alternative to absent law enforcement or the apparatus of the judiciary, if such a thing exists. The bandit may also represent unyielding dissent to the central authority, which other rural peasants would like to enact themselves were it not for circumstance, resources or disposition. In these regions, topographical knowledge may allow the bandit to elude capture, indulge in effective ambushes, kidnapping and highwaymanship and otherwise operate undetected. In turn, the local population may help to support the bandit in various ways. They may mislead the authorities, offer sanctuary or provide sustenance in times of need. Hobsbawm does debate how voluntary much of this assistance may be, given that it is probably quite hard to refuse the demands of a group of armed criminals!


The reality of the social bandit is evasive. Hobsbawm points out that the source material he is using, which largely consists of ballads, chapbooks and oral tradition, is poor. It is perhaps illustrative of the sub-culture as a whole that the existence of its most famous and enduring son, Robin Hood, has proved impossible to establish in spite of the huge amount of interest his figure has attracted over the centuries. The more modern examples that Hobsbawm examines shows there is often a good deal of common criminality mixed in with the supposed just practice that is celebrated by the community in songs and literature. Indeed, he notes that sometimes totally inappropriate characters are co-opted into the role of ‘social bandit’ just to give the community a figurehead through which to glorify opposition to outside authority. All told, it seems there is a good deal less reality to the ‘ideal social bandit myth’ than certain sources would imply and that these sources themselves are of dubious provenance. This begs the question as to why this type of myth is so universal and, in some cases, enduring when it has so little foundation in reality? For me, a salient point in this regard is the romanticism of the concept. The bandit is a quintessential underdog, a member of a poor, landless minority oppressed by external forces far greater than his own. Against all this, he stands up for himself and his community fighting against the injustice and attempting to improve the lot of his fellow community members by stealing from those who have to give to those who do not. The existence of this kind of symbol could be of huge importance to a community that is otherwise downtrodden and with little hope of alleviating or improving their circumstances. One of the most resonant passages, for me, was the following:

“Man has an insatiable longing for justice. In his soul he rebels against a social order which denies it to him, and whatever the world he lives in, he accuses either that social order or the entire material universe of injustice. Man is filled with a strange, stubborn urge to remember, to think things out and to change things; and in addition he carries within himself the wish to have what he cannot have - if only in the form of a fairy tale. That is perhaps the basis for the heroic sagas of all ages, all religions, all peoples and all classes.” p145, (taken from, I Olbracht ‘Der Rauber Nikola Schuhaj’ pp76-7).

Furthermore, the very existence of such a well known example as Robin Hood shows the broad appeal of such a figure in a world where many feel hard done by the cruelty of those in power or the heartlessness of anonymous, external bureaucracy. Indeed, most examples of the social bandit fail to gain much renown outside of their home region, which is necessarily limited by the geographical factors examined in the fourth paragraph. So it is striking that one example does transcend the natural tendency towards parochialism, which speaks to it wide and abiding appeal. How the myth attained such a status and whether or not he really existed are besides the point.


The book itself showed me how fun and romantic it is to read about these brave, principled outsiders fighting against an evil, oppressive authority. The stories and characters it contained really lit up an otherwise fairly dry work of academic history. In reality there’s probably a fair amount of artistic license taken in their creation. Nonetheless, their power as a symbol is undeniable. It was also very enjoyable to be able to benefit from academic quality footnotes, bibliographies and lists of further reading when something in the book piqued my interest, which goes against my allegation that the book is dry! There were some great postscripts to the text examining criticisms that have been made against Hobsbawm’s arguments and this detailed analysis made a nice change to sensationalist journalism and fake news. It was an enjoyable read and made an interesting argument.

Aldous Huxley - Brave New World

The beginning of the book was very engaging and immersive. The sterile, scientifically advanced, super communal, social hierarchy Huxley envisages has some remarkably prescient features. Unlike 1984, where the state largely oppresses the population into submission, here the population are complicit in their own subjugation albeit with the aid of extensive social conditioning. Of course, there are still characters like Mustapha Mond and the other members of the ‘World Controller’ class but the fact that the vast majority of the oppressed believe themselves to be happier than ever struck me as probable and cleverly observed. Through a combination of genetic engineering, social conditioning and drug addiction the population are effectively controlled and prevented from rising up against the established order. Several aspects of this bear more than a passing resemblance to the world of 2019: obsession with economic growth and producing more, consumption as the greatest aim of the individual with an attendant abhorrence of thrift, addiction to drugs, an estrangement from the natural world and an obsession with superficiality. For example, John the savage’s mother is considered too ugly and horrific to be seen in society even though she is an example of the ‘naturalness’ of motherhood that almost all current societies hold sacred. I was really impressed at how Huxley had taken the existing order of society and reimagined it so completely. One theme that Huxley failed to anticipate was climate change and the ability of the planet to continue to support an ever larger human burden.


Things that I felt were a bit less skillfully handled included the sex life of the Brave New World (BNW) inhabitants. They’re divorced, both physically and psychologically, from the idea of reproduction as desirable or even attainable in the case of the freemartins. However, they appear to retain a similar obsession with sex to Old Worlders! I wondered if this would really be the case. First, wouldn’t BNW citizens be bored of sex having been exposed to ever since they were toddlers? In one sense, I can see how the pleasure of sexual sensation is entirely in keeping with the BNW ambience of feelies and soma induced euphoria. Secondly, I wondered how fully the sexual urge could be separated from the egotistical desire to reproduce one's own genes, which is entirely out of sync with the BNW attitude that places the needs of society in front of the needs of the individual. For example, I was surprised to find Bernard Marx using his newfound status to make sexual conquests and boasting about them to his friends. I would have thought that sexual relationships would have ceased to be of such all-consuming interest once divorced from egotistical desires to reproduce or monogamous concerns about coupling. Nonetheless, the desire to be attractive and desirable could also be seen as entirely of a piece with the BNW’s obsession with aesthetics.


John, the quasi savage, was also a slightly problematic character for me. Rejected by the society of the savages for his light colouring and strange, promiscuous mother he finds solace in Shakespeare and develops a highly principled and improbable personality. He seems devoid of sexual desire in and of itself and is only interested in sex as an expression of monogamous love. Later on in the book it becomes clear that he is, in some senses, a character like Jesus in the New Testament or Prince Myshkin in Dostoevsky’s ‘The Idiot’ insofar as he is there to show the depravity of the world through his other worldliness. Through his character he shows the BNW to be cruel and heartless and the world of the savages to be superior in spite of its primitive science and status as a forgotten ‘badlands’ from the perspective of the BNW. Nonetheless, the savage world is also depicted as cruel and heartless in its rejection of John so he really is a special case. I found his refusal to sleep with the object of his desires, Lenina, and his rejection of her as an ‘impudent strumpet’ because of her attempts to have sex with him weird in the extreme. My conclusion was that John is supposed to be a God like figure or a sacrificial lamb, as his death also implies, who’s function within the story is to show the soullessness of the BNW. However, he also, less understandably, shows the failings of the of the savage world order too so I couldn’t see him as a straightforward representation of the superiority of the old world over the new.


The fact that John is allowed to stay in the BNW even after he has rejected it seemed unlikely to me given that he is an adherent to ‘banned’ knowledge like Shakespeare. Clearly, the point is to have him rail against the nature of the world he finds himself in and eventually kill himself in the face of its unfeeling brutality. For me, this wasn’t a very successful part of the book. I found the chapters where John tries to define and justify his position against the world to be boring, preachy and condescending. It felt to me like the author is trying to cover too much ground and what results is a rather long, unstructured and unclear lecture on the nature of man. Of course, John’s passion for freedom, his belief in true love and his grief at the death of his mother go to the core of what current humans feel humanity is. However, I felt like the world of the savages also has unappealing characteristics, like rape, alchoholism, racism and violence; but these are conveniently edited out of John’s character so he can appear perfect. This perfection really robs him of his humanity. Just because the BNW is a pretty horrible and weird place doesn’t mean that there is a Christ-like figure of goodness somewhere. This seems facile and needlessly one sided. More interesting to me is the tension between the BNW and the world of the savages. It’s true that the BNW has dispensed with eternal, ephemeral concepts like love, loyalty and the family unit but it has also brought the end of wars, blood feuds, honour killings and the like that seem to go on unabated in the world of the savages. In this sense, I felt like this book wasn’t really addressing the extremely interesting problem it raises: would society be better off if the most powerful and potent human desires were neutered or otherwise managed? The book seems to answer that both the world of the savages and the BNW are bad and the only way to be good is to read Shakespeare and exist outside of both societies, which ends up being impossible and leads those who try to kill themselves. However, to me both the BNW and the zones controlled by savages are expressions of humanity, albeit extreme ones, which the author seems to caricature and then reject. This struck me as a bit condescending and also fantastical.


In conclusion, I loved the world that Huxley creates and enjoyed the narrative of Bernard Marx’s rise and fall. When compared with John, who is presumably the ‘hero’ of this bookThe character of John and the tension between the BNW and the world of the savages was less well handled. In the end, I felt like the book span off into a grandiose attempt to explain the entirety of human nature and history. I would have preferred it if it had had a more nuanced, less ostentatious ending.

G.K.Chesterton - The Man Who Was Thursday

I really enjoyed this book’s wonderfully light, frolicking, playful language. It drew me into the narrative and I thought the tone and pace were spot on for a novella of this type where the author is continually playing with the nature of reality and its perception. There were some very atmospheric scenes in the anarchists’ lair and I really loved the part where they enter through the tunnel for the first time. Equally well drawn were the descriptions of London, especially Leicester Square, which I had never thought of in the terms the author describes but it immediately struck me as true. The prose was generally of a high quality and out shone the narrative.


The whole book had an otherworldly feel and many aspects of it felt inverted or topsy turvy, which lead me to question what was going on. For example, time passes very quickly and mercurially during the course of the narrative. At night they go to the pub, then suddenly it is morning after only a quick meeting, then breakfast turns to lunch almost immediately. By the same token, it snows in London, meaning winter, but the night seems so short. The plot had an ethereal quality like a dream or the experience of taking hallucinogens and this was pleasing. In some senses, this topsy turvy-ness extends to the characters as well: the anarchy hating policeman gives the best and most impassioned anarchist speech, the anarchist obeys his oath and doesn’t shoot the policeman when oaths should have no sway over an anarchist. The paradoxical nature of so much the author shows us had me questioning everything. I began to think that the two poets could be a fantasy or different versions of the same fundamental character or idea because both are intoxicated by hate, absorbed by secret orders and disguised as poets.


Perhaps it was because of the perpetual paradoxes and inversions that I felt especially alert to plot twists or sudden changes of course. For this reason, around p72 when the Professor turns out to be a policeman too, I got the impression all the anarchists would eventually be revealed to be policeman as this would be the last thing you’d expect! I also felt like either Sunday or the man who would have been Thursday would be the policeman in the dark room or vice versa. Owing to this, I felt like the book’s major plot twist was telegraphed by the nature of the preceding content and this was a bit disappointing.

All told, this was a fun novella with great prose and some memorable scenes and atmospheres that was a bit let down by the narrative.

Chris McQueer - Hings Short Stories 'N That

I really enjoyed the ambience of these stories.  It’s lovely to read Scottish words and pronunciations in a longer form than tweets or memes and some of the phrases in the book are absolute belters!  There are a lot of characters that I feel familiar with but rarely encounter in most of the books I read.  In this sense, the book has a distinctive voice but also a recognisable one.  The characters are archetypes of people everyone who lives in Scotland would have encountered but might not come across in many novels.  The scenes of drinking and drug taking, office drudgery and youthful high jinx are well observed and often very funny.  The book takes stories and people you might meet at the pub or the football and gives them a place and voice in literature, which I thought was great.

The longest story, ‘Bowls’, was one of the most successful for me as it allowed the characters space to develop.  The narrative also had more time to expand and the results of this were a bit mixed for me as some aspects of it felt overblown and lurid.  I felt it might have been more successful if the storyline had stayed recognisable and quotidian, like the characters, rather than straying into the sensational.  Nonetheless, the scenes from the bowling club, the larger than life Angie and the dour, conniving, misogynistic bully Phillip are all fantastic.

I really liked the surrealist aspects of the book too.  The club that opens in someone’s shed for three nights in ‘Alan’s Shed’, the office workers in ‘The Universe Factory’  and the writing bird in ‘Budgie’ all mixed the everyday with the fantastical in pleasing proportions.  The ideas are inventive and witty, giving the stories satisfying new perspectives.  More everyday stories like ‘Top Boy’, ‘Sammy’s Bag of Whelks’ and ‘Pat’ are equally good even though the twists they contain are more prosaic.  ‘Pat’ might have been my favourite along with ‘Bowls’ because it points beyond itself to a wider issue.  In the case of ‘Pat’, the relationship between unemployment, drugs and mental illness, and in ‘Bowls’ the issue of domestic abuse.  

Along with the tendency for some of the plots to get a bit extravagant, I felt that some of the stories and prose would have benefited from tighter editing.  In ‘Is it Art?’ the posh guy’s wallet gets stolen twice, once by the son and once by the father, in a confusing and nonsensical twist.  Equally, punching someone as the title suggests in ‘A Fistful of Coppers’ might result in breaking your own hand as well as hurting the victim.  There were also a fair number of typos, which should have been picked up.

Overall, I found this collection fun and witty.  In some places the narrative was a bit fancy.  Several of the stories had rough edges or were quite limited in their scope.  The best stories pointed beyond themselves and allowed the characters to develop.  I would be very interested to see if these positive aspects could be enhanced in a longer format with more complexity and depth.