It’s hard to know what to make of this book. A writer lives in abject poverty and, you guessed it, extreme hunger in late 19th century Kristiana (now Oslo). Very little happens in the way of narrative development except for the main character’s experience of poverty. All other characters in the story play minor roles and the focus is overwhelmingly on the personal psychology of the author. The protagonist is kicked out of his accommodation, attempts to pawn his meagre possessions, spends a night in jail, sleeps rough, writes some articles for local papers to earn money and involves himself in sundry deranged antics and interactions with strangers and newspaper editors. There is also a bizarre love story, of sorts, whereby he stalks a girl and then is later invited into her apartment where our ‘hero’ makes an abortive attempt to sleep with her. After an excruciating account of these hardships he joins the crew of a ship sailing from the port and leaves the city where the book ends.
One infuriating aspect of the book is the fact that the starving author is quite often offered food, money or assistance but almost always refuses them. In one sense, I can understand that pride is a powerful motivator but, at the same time, there must be a limit to the demands placed on someone by pride; I feel sure that the demand of hunger is greater! Equally frustrating is his behaviour when he gets money. In short, he squanders it and even goes so far as to make gifts of it to people who haven’t even asked for it. One possible explanation of this reckless impropriety is that he is a lunatic and much of the interest of the book comes from assessing the psychological state of someone who would behave in such an extraordinary manner.
The book reminded me of ‘Crime and Punishment’ (1866) in its descriptions of impoverished, freezing lodgings and hardship. More generally, it reminded me of ‘Down and Out in Paris and London’ (1933) with which it shares themes of sacrificing everything to become a writer and existing without money. ‘Hunger’ itself was published in 1890 and provides an interesting mid-point between the two both chronologically and stylistically. While Dostoevsky’s 19th century novel has a very clear plot and takes explicit philosophical and moral stances by the time Orwell is writing in the 20th century the focus is almost exclusively on the psychology and actions of the protagonist, describing the reality and experience of having no money. I would guess that Orwell may have read ‘Hunger’ and possibly drew on it for inspiration in the same way he, supposedly, used ‘We’ by Yevgeny Zamyatin as a source for 1984. One major difference between the two books, I found, was the style. Orwell writes in a more matter of fact way and I didn’t question his sanity. ‘Hunger’, on the other hand, is like a lot of Nabokov novels (‘The Real History Of Sebastian Knight’, ‘Pale Fire’) whereby I began to question the veracity of what I was reading and sanity of the narrator. In this sense, ‘Hunger’ could be seen as a description of a more extreme psychological deterioration than Orwell’s. It’s interesting to note that these books are the first ones each author had published but that Orwell classed his as non-fiction whereas Hamsun’s is considered a novel. I suspect neither is entirely one nor the other but it could account for some of the differences in style. Perhaps Orwell is attempting something in a more documentary vein whilst Hamsun’s focus is squarely on the protagonist’s increasingly deranged mentality.
Overall, Hamsun creates a dark and intimidating atmosphere not only because of the horrific physical privations the hero undergoes. The wild behaviour and psychology described also creates a close, confusing sensation as I read it; a bit like a fog, that reduces the ability to discern what is real and disorientates. I enjoyed the book and found it readable but wouldn’t rate it as first class.
Thursday, 16 January 2020
Tuesday, 5 November 2019
James Hogg: The Private Memoirs and Confessions of A Justified Sinner
The book takes the form of two separate parts written by different authors at different times. First, an account of the ‘facts’ surrounding the case by an anonymous ‘editor’ looking back on them from a point in the future. Secondly, the confessions of the ‘justified sinner’ himself, observed more or less concurrently. The book was published in 1824 but the majority of the action takes place around the turn of the 17th and 18th centuries. The ‘editor’s narrative’ that precedes and follows the central document appear to be roughly contemporary to the book’s publication, i.e. early 19th century.
The story conveyed by the editor at the beginning of the book tells of a pious woman who is married to an elderly laird of more secular tastes. The couple are not at all well suited, quarrell and arrange their affairs so they live separately in the same house and never see each other. In spite of this, they have two sons. However, the laird will only recognise one of them and sends the other to live with his, now departed, mother in Glasgow. It is strongly implied that the second son, Robert, was fathered by a Reverend Wringhim who is the spiritual adviser and confidante of the pious wife. The spurned son grows up inculcated with his mother’s religion, reinforced by the instruction of Reverend Wringhim who he adopts as his father. This religion takes the form of a radical antinomian type of Calvinism that maintains that salvation is preordained and proceeds from faith and divine grace rather than adherence to laws. The term antinomian comes from the Greek words meaning, ‘against’ and ‘law’. The narrative, which the editor claims to be reconstructing from facts and local traditions, goes on to follow the two brothers to Edinburgh where a divisive debate relating to Covenanting is taking place. The two brothers are on opposite sides of the debate but do happen to meet for the first time and have a fight. Later, George, the first son, is murdered in suspicious circumstances outside a brothel. The prime suspect for his murder, which is not Robert, flees the country. Shortly after learning the news of his son’s death, George’s father the laird also dies. The laird’s heartbroken housekeeper / mistress continues to search for clues relating to the death of her adopted son. She finds there were eye witnesses to his murder who could identifiy Robert as one of the culprits but they have kept quiet because of their own criminality. She travels to the castle Robert has inherited from his biological father with one of the witnesses to identify Robert as the murderer. During their trip, Robert reveals his part in George’s murder and discusses a plot to kill his mother in conversation with his friend Gil-Martin before he goes on the run to escape the various authorities that suspect him of previous murders.
The ‘confessions’ essentially cover the same narrative but from Robert’s perspective. In this sense, the book isn’t driven by the narrative in the same way as, for example, a whodunnit. Most people reading the book today would probably be aware of the fact that it details the exploits of a murderous sinner aided and abetted by the Devil and, in this sense, the culprit is presupposed. Of course, some of the niceties are covered in greater detail than they are in the ‘Editor’s Narrative’ but the facts are broadly the same as those discovered by the laird’s housekeeper during her enquiries. Indeed, from a purely chronological perspective the ‘Editor’s narrative’ contains far more material as it contains the family history and the actions of several different characters not mentioned in the confession. However, the autobiographical confessions are full of interest for the reader because of their unique perspective and the insight they give into the psychology of the perpetrator. Both sources agree that Robert committed fratricide but differ in their assessments of it. The editor makes far scacer mention of Gil-Martin, the Devil to which Robert ascribes a good deal of the blame in his confession. Nonetheless, even the editor lends credence to his existence sighting various eyewitnesses to his close companionship with Robert, his ability to assume the form of other people and the incriminating conversation between the two observed by George’s mother (de facto) and the eyewitness to his murder. As such, it is not simply a question of the rational, factual account of the editor against the supernatural ravings of a murder; both documents allow for occult occurances. While the confessions are more explicitly paranormal it is hard to say that either source is particularly reliable and so, as a reader, you’re left wondering what to believe. Robert clearly wants to exculpate himself or, at least, record his experience but, by the same token, the editor seems eager to incriminate him and seems opposed to his antinomian religious views. It’s hard to see either as a disinterested record of facts especially as there is no hint about the editor’s identity.
The two authors adopt very different tones in describing events, perhaps as one would expect, but the juxtaposition of styles is still jarring. The editor narrates events as an interested outsider and much of the material is light hearted and jocular. The edition of the book I read contained two short stories by Hogg as well, ‘Marion’s Jock’ and ‘John Gray o’ Middleholm’, which shared this amused tone. With the exception of some mild chiding of religious zealotry and stock revulsion at blackguardly behaviour, the editor’s narrative has the feel of a fairy story or folk tale. It is designed to pique the reader’s interest but not to scare or disturb them in any fundamental way. The confession itself, however, is quite different in character. Robert’s confession is chilling in its aloof statement of predestined superiority and salvation, saddening as he falls more and more enthrall to the devil and, finally, discombobulating and frightening as he loses his sanity on the run and eventually dies in suspicious circumstances. It is an altogether more grave and serious document than the editor’s and paints a far darker picture of psychological turmoil and deterioration. The only times I found myself smiling ryely were the boastful passages where Robert ascribes to himself far more bravery and skill in fights than the editor’s version.
Given the unusual structure and content described, almost any reader would ask - what kind of book is this? It could be the ravings of a lunatic but these ravings seem to be just about substantiated by the research of the apparently impartial editor. For instance, there is no reason for the reader to suppose that George was not murdered or Robert not discovered dead some time later. Under this kind of reading, the devil is either a figment of Robert’s imagination or serves a symbolic or metaphorical role. However, there is enough in the account given by the editor to suggest that the Devil has some external reality. In this way, the reader is kept on the verge of dismissing the whole thing as fantasy or mental illness while still reserving some credence, however doubtful, for Robert’s account. The editor comments on his beliefs about the book quite extensively in the postscript (pp209-10) saying, ‘it is certainly impossible that these scenes could ever have occured’ and that he greatly doubts whether Robert had any hand in his brother’s murder and calls the account ‘either dreaming or madness’. The editor also puts forward the idea that the confession might be a parable, as Robert himself says when he is printing it. However, Robert is attempting to hide the documents true nature from the owner of the printing press when he does this so this explanation does not seem in earnest. If it is a parable, the editor says its purpose is ‘scarcely tangible’ and resolves to pity the author as criminally insane.
In spite of this dismissal by the editor, I am inclined to see the book as a parable with the purpose of demonstrating the danger of unquestionable ideas and dogmatic philosophies. In the same way as Stalinist Russia allowed all manner of immoral means to be justified in pursuit of the unquestionable, infallible end of Communism so Robert is tempted into committing and justifying his sins on the basis of his unassailable membership of the elect. Some of this understanding comes from the way the editor frames the document itself. The Wringhim family are portrayed as distorting Christian teaching with their extreme beliefs long before Robert meets Gil-Martin and there is a general and persistent objection from the editor to their draconian, ascetic brand of Calvinism. However, there are also hints in this direction in the confessions themselves. For example, when Robert and Gil-Martin meet Mr Blanchard he warns Robert about Gil-Martin and the dangers of absolutism, which Robert duly records:
“There is not an error into which a man can fall, which he may not press Scripture into his service as proof of the probity of, and though your boasted theologian [Gil-Martin] shunned the full discussion of the subject before me, while you pressed it, I can easily see that both you and he are carrying your ideas of absolute predestination, and its concomitant appendages, to an extent that overthrows all religion and revelation together; or, at least, jumbles them into a chaos, out of which human capacity can never select what is good. Believe me, Mr Robert, the less you associate with that illustrious stranger the better, for it appears to me that your creed and his carries damnation on the very front of it” (p109)
By the same token, a few pages later, when Robert asks Gil-Martin, who he incorrectly assumes to be an exiled Russian tsar, “Are all your subjects Christian, prince?” He replies by saying, “All my European subjects are, or deem themselves so, and they are the most faithful and true subjects I have.” (p112) Later still, when Robert is installed at Dalcastle and seems to be losing touch with reality he asks his servant what the “wives of clachan” say about him. The servant replies that they say he is in cahoots with the devil or possessed by him but that he refuted this by saying that his master is a ‘strick believer’ and ‘fervent a prayer’ (p162-3). The auld wife dispatches a fantastic dressing down as a reply:
“Ye silly, sauchless, Cameronian cuif! Is that a’ that ye ken about the wiles and doings o’ the prince o’ the air, that rules and works in the bairns of disobedience? Gin ever he observes a proud professor, wha has mae than ordinary pretensions to a divine calling, and that reards and prays till the very howlets learn his preambles, THAT’S the man Auld Simmie fixes on to mak a dishclout o’” (p163)
This passage is central to my understanding of this book. Extreme pretension and totalitarian beliefs leave one especially open to corruption. The line between religious and moral ambition and evil actions is incredibly thin or even blurred. This passage also reminded me of an earlier section where Robert’s father, Rev Wringhim, argues with his servant John Barnet (pp87-89) who skillfully exposes the hypocrisy and sophistry of his character and religion. Throughout the book, those from criminal or lower class backgrounds are portrayed as the more honest and truly faithful to Christian principles and it is in their words and warnings to Robert that I find the central theme of the book. They tell us that it is those Christians who consider themselves better than others, who long to be raised up and recognised as superior to their fellow people and employ clever, complicated arguments and philosophies in support of their beliefs that are most at risk of committing evil.
As a slightly more speculative aside, it seems that Hogg may also attribute Robert’s especial susceptibility to the Devil to his breeding as well as his theology. When his brother George is complaining to his father about Robert harassing him in Edinburgh, his father replies that he is, ‘the third in a direct line who had all been the children of adultery; and it is well known that all such were born half deils themselves, and nothing was more likely than that they should hold intercourse with their fellows’ (p40). In the footnote to this sentence it is noted that Hogg had superstitious beliefs about the children of adultery and may have fathered two himself. While such an approach might strike a modern reader as irrational, it could broadly be seen as a contributing factor to Robert’s demise. In the same way as his totalitarian beliefs and ascetic practices are shown to be an unnatural corruption of Christian teaching, so Robert’s ‘unnatural’ status as an outsider in 18th century society may lead him into cruel thoughts and evil deeds. It is often mentioned that he is Rev Wringhim’s son, although never explicitly stated, and this fact could certainly foment a huge amount of resentment towards his brother and mother, both of whom end up murdered. This is never explicitly stated in the book but could be seen as a factor contributing to Robert’s susceptibility to the devil’s advances alongside his intellectual and religious pretensions and insecurities.
I also very much enjoyed the Scottish dialect used throughout the book. A few reveiws ago, I wrote that it was nice and unusual to find Scottish slang in the book ‘Hings’. I now realise that there is probably plenty of scottish slang in literature if I read Hogg and Scott and other famous 19th century Scots so it was more my ignorance that made it seem unusual than anything else!
I really loved the way this book played with the nature of testimony and the connection of documents to their surrounding reality. It reminded me a bit of Nabokov in this way (Pale Fire, The Real Life Of Sebastian Knight) as you’re never quite sure who or what to believe. The huge, uninterrupted blocks of dense text where sometimes a bit overwhelming as Hogg doesn’t use any chapter breaks. However, I overwhelmingly enjoyed this book and thought it was very interestingly and creatively conceived.
The story conveyed by the editor at the beginning of the book tells of a pious woman who is married to an elderly laird of more secular tastes. The couple are not at all well suited, quarrell and arrange their affairs so they live separately in the same house and never see each other. In spite of this, they have two sons. However, the laird will only recognise one of them and sends the other to live with his, now departed, mother in Glasgow. It is strongly implied that the second son, Robert, was fathered by a Reverend Wringhim who is the spiritual adviser and confidante of the pious wife. The spurned son grows up inculcated with his mother’s religion, reinforced by the instruction of Reverend Wringhim who he adopts as his father. This religion takes the form of a radical antinomian type of Calvinism that maintains that salvation is preordained and proceeds from faith and divine grace rather than adherence to laws. The term antinomian comes from the Greek words meaning, ‘against’ and ‘law’. The narrative, which the editor claims to be reconstructing from facts and local traditions, goes on to follow the two brothers to Edinburgh where a divisive debate relating to Covenanting is taking place. The two brothers are on opposite sides of the debate but do happen to meet for the first time and have a fight. Later, George, the first son, is murdered in suspicious circumstances outside a brothel. The prime suspect for his murder, which is not Robert, flees the country. Shortly after learning the news of his son’s death, George’s father the laird also dies. The laird’s heartbroken housekeeper / mistress continues to search for clues relating to the death of her adopted son. She finds there were eye witnesses to his murder who could identifiy Robert as one of the culprits but they have kept quiet because of their own criminality. She travels to the castle Robert has inherited from his biological father with one of the witnesses to identify Robert as the murderer. During their trip, Robert reveals his part in George’s murder and discusses a plot to kill his mother in conversation with his friend Gil-Martin before he goes on the run to escape the various authorities that suspect him of previous murders.
The ‘confessions’ essentially cover the same narrative but from Robert’s perspective. In this sense, the book isn’t driven by the narrative in the same way as, for example, a whodunnit. Most people reading the book today would probably be aware of the fact that it details the exploits of a murderous sinner aided and abetted by the Devil and, in this sense, the culprit is presupposed. Of course, some of the niceties are covered in greater detail than they are in the ‘Editor’s Narrative’ but the facts are broadly the same as those discovered by the laird’s housekeeper during her enquiries. Indeed, from a purely chronological perspective the ‘Editor’s narrative’ contains far more material as it contains the family history and the actions of several different characters not mentioned in the confession. However, the autobiographical confessions are full of interest for the reader because of their unique perspective and the insight they give into the psychology of the perpetrator. Both sources agree that Robert committed fratricide but differ in their assessments of it. The editor makes far scacer mention of Gil-Martin, the Devil to which Robert ascribes a good deal of the blame in his confession. Nonetheless, even the editor lends credence to his existence sighting various eyewitnesses to his close companionship with Robert, his ability to assume the form of other people and the incriminating conversation between the two observed by George’s mother (de facto) and the eyewitness to his murder. As such, it is not simply a question of the rational, factual account of the editor against the supernatural ravings of a murder; both documents allow for occult occurances. While the confessions are more explicitly paranormal it is hard to say that either source is particularly reliable and so, as a reader, you’re left wondering what to believe. Robert clearly wants to exculpate himself or, at least, record his experience but, by the same token, the editor seems eager to incriminate him and seems opposed to his antinomian religious views. It’s hard to see either as a disinterested record of facts especially as there is no hint about the editor’s identity.
The two authors adopt very different tones in describing events, perhaps as one would expect, but the juxtaposition of styles is still jarring. The editor narrates events as an interested outsider and much of the material is light hearted and jocular. The edition of the book I read contained two short stories by Hogg as well, ‘Marion’s Jock’ and ‘John Gray o’ Middleholm’, which shared this amused tone. With the exception of some mild chiding of religious zealotry and stock revulsion at blackguardly behaviour, the editor’s narrative has the feel of a fairy story or folk tale. It is designed to pique the reader’s interest but not to scare or disturb them in any fundamental way. The confession itself, however, is quite different in character. Robert’s confession is chilling in its aloof statement of predestined superiority and salvation, saddening as he falls more and more enthrall to the devil and, finally, discombobulating and frightening as he loses his sanity on the run and eventually dies in suspicious circumstances. It is an altogether more grave and serious document than the editor’s and paints a far darker picture of psychological turmoil and deterioration. The only times I found myself smiling ryely were the boastful passages where Robert ascribes to himself far more bravery and skill in fights than the editor’s version.
Given the unusual structure and content described, almost any reader would ask - what kind of book is this? It could be the ravings of a lunatic but these ravings seem to be just about substantiated by the research of the apparently impartial editor. For instance, there is no reason for the reader to suppose that George was not murdered or Robert not discovered dead some time later. Under this kind of reading, the devil is either a figment of Robert’s imagination or serves a symbolic or metaphorical role. However, there is enough in the account given by the editor to suggest that the Devil has some external reality. In this way, the reader is kept on the verge of dismissing the whole thing as fantasy or mental illness while still reserving some credence, however doubtful, for Robert’s account. The editor comments on his beliefs about the book quite extensively in the postscript (pp209-10) saying, ‘it is certainly impossible that these scenes could ever have occured’ and that he greatly doubts whether Robert had any hand in his brother’s murder and calls the account ‘either dreaming or madness’. The editor also puts forward the idea that the confession might be a parable, as Robert himself says when he is printing it. However, Robert is attempting to hide the documents true nature from the owner of the printing press when he does this so this explanation does not seem in earnest. If it is a parable, the editor says its purpose is ‘scarcely tangible’ and resolves to pity the author as criminally insane.
In spite of this dismissal by the editor, I am inclined to see the book as a parable with the purpose of demonstrating the danger of unquestionable ideas and dogmatic philosophies. In the same way as Stalinist Russia allowed all manner of immoral means to be justified in pursuit of the unquestionable, infallible end of Communism so Robert is tempted into committing and justifying his sins on the basis of his unassailable membership of the elect. Some of this understanding comes from the way the editor frames the document itself. The Wringhim family are portrayed as distorting Christian teaching with their extreme beliefs long before Robert meets Gil-Martin and there is a general and persistent objection from the editor to their draconian, ascetic brand of Calvinism. However, there are also hints in this direction in the confessions themselves. For example, when Robert and Gil-Martin meet Mr Blanchard he warns Robert about Gil-Martin and the dangers of absolutism, which Robert duly records:
“There is not an error into which a man can fall, which he may not press Scripture into his service as proof of the probity of, and though your boasted theologian [Gil-Martin] shunned the full discussion of the subject before me, while you pressed it, I can easily see that both you and he are carrying your ideas of absolute predestination, and its concomitant appendages, to an extent that overthrows all religion and revelation together; or, at least, jumbles them into a chaos, out of which human capacity can never select what is good. Believe me, Mr Robert, the less you associate with that illustrious stranger the better, for it appears to me that your creed and his carries damnation on the very front of it” (p109)
By the same token, a few pages later, when Robert asks Gil-Martin, who he incorrectly assumes to be an exiled Russian tsar, “Are all your subjects Christian, prince?” He replies by saying, “All my European subjects are, or deem themselves so, and they are the most faithful and true subjects I have.” (p112) Later still, when Robert is installed at Dalcastle and seems to be losing touch with reality he asks his servant what the “wives of clachan” say about him. The servant replies that they say he is in cahoots with the devil or possessed by him but that he refuted this by saying that his master is a ‘strick believer’ and ‘fervent a prayer’ (p162-3). The auld wife dispatches a fantastic dressing down as a reply:
“Ye silly, sauchless, Cameronian cuif! Is that a’ that ye ken about the wiles and doings o’ the prince o’ the air, that rules and works in the bairns of disobedience? Gin ever he observes a proud professor, wha has mae than ordinary pretensions to a divine calling, and that reards and prays till the very howlets learn his preambles, THAT’S the man Auld Simmie fixes on to mak a dishclout o’” (p163)
This passage is central to my understanding of this book. Extreme pretension and totalitarian beliefs leave one especially open to corruption. The line between religious and moral ambition and evil actions is incredibly thin or even blurred. This passage also reminded me of an earlier section where Robert’s father, Rev Wringhim, argues with his servant John Barnet (pp87-89) who skillfully exposes the hypocrisy and sophistry of his character and religion. Throughout the book, those from criminal or lower class backgrounds are portrayed as the more honest and truly faithful to Christian principles and it is in their words and warnings to Robert that I find the central theme of the book. They tell us that it is those Christians who consider themselves better than others, who long to be raised up and recognised as superior to their fellow people and employ clever, complicated arguments and philosophies in support of their beliefs that are most at risk of committing evil.
As a slightly more speculative aside, it seems that Hogg may also attribute Robert’s especial susceptibility to the Devil to his breeding as well as his theology. When his brother George is complaining to his father about Robert harassing him in Edinburgh, his father replies that he is, ‘the third in a direct line who had all been the children of adultery; and it is well known that all such were born half deils themselves, and nothing was more likely than that they should hold intercourse with their fellows’ (p40). In the footnote to this sentence it is noted that Hogg had superstitious beliefs about the children of adultery and may have fathered two himself. While such an approach might strike a modern reader as irrational, it could broadly be seen as a contributing factor to Robert’s demise. In the same way as his totalitarian beliefs and ascetic practices are shown to be an unnatural corruption of Christian teaching, so Robert’s ‘unnatural’ status as an outsider in 18th century society may lead him into cruel thoughts and evil deeds. It is often mentioned that he is Rev Wringhim’s son, although never explicitly stated, and this fact could certainly foment a huge amount of resentment towards his brother and mother, both of whom end up murdered. This is never explicitly stated in the book but could be seen as a factor contributing to Robert’s susceptibility to the devil’s advances alongside his intellectual and religious pretensions and insecurities.
I also very much enjoyed the Scottish dialect used throughout the book. A few reveiws ago, I wrote that it was nice and unusual to find Scottish slang in the book ‘Hings’. I now realise that there is probably plenty of scottish slang in literature if I read Hogg and Scott and other famous 19th century Scots so it was more my ignorance that made it seem unusual than anything else!
I really loved the way this book played with the nature of testimony and the connection of documents to their surrounding reality. It reminded me a bit of Nabokov in this way (Pale Fire, The Real Life Of Sebastian Knight) as you’re never quite sure who or what to believe. The huge, uninterrupted blocks of dense text where sometimes a bit overwhelming as Hogg doesn’t use any chapter breaks. However, I overwhelmingly enjoyed this book and thought it was very interestingly and creatively conceived.
Monday, 21 October 2019
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.
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.
Monday, 14 October 2019
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.
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.
Tuesday, 8 October 2019
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.
Wednesday, 2 October 2019
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.
Monday, 30 September 2019
Richard P Feynman - Surely you're joking Mr Feynman! Adventures of a curious character.
Curious is an apt word to describe both the contents of this book and the character of 1965 Nobel Prize in Physics winner Richard Feynman it describes. It is a collection of stories told to his drumming partner Ralph Leighton, the son of another Caltech physicist. Several things are obvious from the tales the book contains, some positive and some less so. Feynman was a formidable intellect with an extraordinary capacity for work. Equally he’s a formidable bore with an extraordinary capacity for smugness!
As someone who is famous for his popularisation of complex theoretical physics and other esoteric ideas, a lot of the scientific explanations were arcane and impenetrable to the layperson. Whether this was a fault of Feynman’s stories or Leighton’s account of them is hard to tell from reading the book but I would probably go for the latter. The stories chosen give a strange and lopsided view of Feynman. For example, a long series of recollections about working on developing nuclear weapons at Los Alamos as a young man focus mainly on how to pick locks and break into filing cabinets, which is about as interesting as it sounds. There’s also a lot of pervy material on how to talk to girls in bars, how to ‘befriend’ showgirls in Vegas and his appreciation for strip clubs.
Taken as a whole, the book was boring and reminded me of listening to a loquacious person with a very high opinion of themselves drone on about their various exploits. A lot of these exploits are couched in transparent false modesty, which compounds the problem of their tediousness. Of course, Feynman lived an extraordinary life in terms of his intellectual achievements but this is no guarantee of his brilliance as a raconteur. On the evidence of this book he is definitely not someone I’d like to share a few drinks with!
There were some admirable aspects of his character that shone through the monotony of the anecdotes. He was interested in anything and everything, always found things out for himself and never trusted received opinion and worked with an almost maniacal fervour. He obviously considered himself a leading authority on pretty much anything he studied, perhaps quite accurately, but this makes his claims of modesty ring all the more hollow. His opinions about the rigours of the scientific method contained in the final chapter (‘Cargo Cult Science, adapted from a Caltech commencement speech given in 1974) was by far the best chapter in the book. This gave me the idea that maybe it was the compiler of this collection that was the major problem and that Feynman would be better encountered in his own words.
Feynman’s attitude to winning the Nobel Prize was very pleasing to me. He thought it was more hassle than it was worth because it made him a celebrity when all he really wanted was to be a physicist. This rang true to me for some reason but also made me reflect that: if he hadn’t have won this famous prize then no one would have written a book like this about him, which is ironic!
This was a boring book, full of bad stories but I’m intrigued to read more of Feynman in his own words or listen to his famous lectures on physics because I have a strong suspicion that this collection does not do him justice!
As someone who is famous for his popularisation of complex theoretical physics and other esoteric ideas, a lot of the scientific explanations were arcane and impenetrable to the layperson. Whether this was a fault of Feynman’s stories or Leighton’s account of them is hard to tell from reading the book but I would probably go for the latter. The stories chosen give a strange and lopsided view of Feynman. For example, a long series of recollections about working on developing nuclear weapons at Los Alamos as a young man focus mainly on how to pick locks and break into filing cabinets, which is about as interesting as it sounds. There’s also a lot of pervy material on how to talk to girls in bars, how to ‘befriend’ showgirls in Vegas and his appreciation for strip clubs.
Taken as a whole, the book was boring and reminded me of listening to a loquacious person with a very high opinion of themselves drone on about their various exploits. A lot of these exploits are couched in transparent false modesty, which compounds the problem of their tediousness. Of course, Feynman lived an extraordinary life in terms of his intellectual achievements but this is no guarantee of his brilliance as a raconteur. On the evidence of this book he is definitely not someone I’d like to share a few drinks with!
There were some admirable aspects of his character that shone through the monotony of the anecdotes. He was interested in anything and everything, always found things out for himself and never trusted received opinion and worked with an almost maniacal fervour. He obviously considered himself a leading authority on pretty much anything he studied, perhaps quite accurately, but this makes his claims of modesty ring all the more hollow. His opinions about the rigours of the scientific method contained in the final chapter (‘Cargo Cult Science, adapted from a Caltech commencement speech given in 1974) was by far the best chapter in the book. This gave me the idea that maybe it was the compiler of this collection that was the major problem and that Feynman would be better encountered in his own words.
Feynman’s attitude to winning the Nobel Prize was very pleasing to me. He thought it was more hassle than it was worth because it made him a celebrity when all he really wanted was to be a physicist. This rang true to me for some reason but also made me reflect that: if he hadn’t have won this famous prize then no one would have written a book like this about him, which is ironic!
This was a boring book, full of bad stories but I’m intrigued to read more of Feynman in his own words or listen to his famous lectures on physics because I have a strong suspicion that this collection does not do him justice!
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