Books – Page 7 – My Own RE:public

As June turns into July

From Juneteenth to the Fourth of July; it is but a couple of weeks, but for many Americans it could symbolize a life time of experience and expectation – ways shared and often not.

This Fourth of July 2021 being the very first that follows the very first official national Juneteenth, I let speak historian and law professor, Annette Gordon-Reed in today’s guest essay for The New York Times.

No, I haven’t read her recent book which is an essay collection called On Juneteenth (I did read the excellent The Hemingses of Monticello several years ago) that reaches into her Texan childhood, but will certainly do so. Given her heritage, and after reading the NYT piece and this interview at The Harvard Gazette, Professor Gordon-Reed is definitely the person to go to as June turns to July and no star should stand alone.

Should an outsider dare to offer her opinion; I would suggest Fourth of July celebrations aren’t going anywhere fast, but Juneteenth as a new national holiday, with a narrative that is peculiarly fitting for these times and with appeal to a new generation of Americans, may gain in traction and attraction. It is to be hoped, as Professor Gordon-Reed pleads for, that these days do not fall into competition rather are seen as complementary facets in an ever evolving national identity.

Mary Beard on empires, emperors & when the old is new again

I’m surprised that it wasn’t until very recently, and in respect to her pending retirement, that I first mentioned Mary Beard here; for she really does rank up there amongst my most favorite people. In my Twitter life – now forsaken – I followed her avidly (and even went into bat for her when necessary!).

For those unacquainted, this annotated “talk” piece in The New York Times Magazine (subscription) is as good an introduction as any to the person and particularly to the very special art of delving into the ancient world and learning the lessons it can teach, even be they about how not to be. Also, I take this opportunity to make mention of her new book, entitled Twelve Caesars: Images of Power from the Ancient World to the Modern, due out later this year.

[…]In this book—against a background of today’s “sculpture wars”—Mary Beard tells the story of how for more than two millennia portraits of the rich, powerful, and famous in the western world have been shaped by the image of Roman emperors, especially the “Twelve Caesars,” from the ruthless Julius Caesar to the fly-torturing Domitian. Twelve Caesars asks why these murderous autocrats have loomed so large in art from antiquity and the Renaissance to today, when hapless leaders are still caricatured as Neros fiddling while Rome burns. […]

Princeton University Press (2021)

Published in the UK on September 28th, 2021, and in the US on October 12th.

Videos of The Sixtieth A. W. Mellon Lectures in Fine Arts at the National Gallery of Fine Arts, Washington D.C. held in 2011, and on which Mary’s book is based may be found here (scroll down to the 60th lecture series). A decade old, but resonating in a new light considering the ongoing – and global – controversies surrounding statues and memorials of historical figures with – mildly put – tainted images. And, not to mention, a growing gallery of populist autocratic figures running amok from one end of the world to the next – until recently even in the US capital. To think, as Mary speaks, a much finer figure of a man was in power, and one could almost believe the promises of an ever-evolving democracy. These videos, a great find on my behalf, I must say! And just a taster before the (belated) publication in extended book form.

Caste: a defining problem

“Caste – the Lies that Divide Us” by Isabel Wilkerson

*Las castas*. Anonymous, 18th century, Museo Nacional del Virreinato, Tepotzotlán, Mexico.

That is the thing with definitions, be they of word, phrase or more complex description; beyond the essential vocabulary and grammatical rectitude, precision is rarely absolute and very often determined by context; imbedded in society, geography and time.

One such word that provides an interesting example is ‘caste’. As an Anne with an ‘e’ like she from Green Gables, and having always been uncompromisingly for its quiet but firm closing presence both in word and speech, I have blithely accepted caste so spelt to have just one definition, and that firmly rooted on the Indian sub-continent and descriptive of the system of social stratification that has existed there since ancient times. Now, of course, it turns out to be infinitely more complex than that, even when specific to Indian society, but the etymological route from the Latin castus ‘to be cut-off, separated’ through to the Portuguese casta meaning ‘breed or race’ and adopted by – and complicated by – the British Raj is clear. That the very ordinary and malleable word cast is strongly associated is equally so (though a matter to which I have not previously given thought!) – always somehow to do with throwing together, throwing away – a troupe of players (cast of characters); iron (cast-iron); a fishing line; a dice (literally, and metaphorically as in iacta alea est; the die is cast) And then there are all those who are cast out, away; who are downcast, typecast.

My copy of “Caste – The Lies that Divide Us”, Allen Lane, UK, 2020

Not wishing to cast aspersions (to stay with my train of thought!) on Oprah Winfrey, but when a tome comes my way emblazoned with “Magnificent. Profound. Eye-opening. Sobering. Hopeful” my antennae begin to twitch nervously. Be that as it may, I said here that I would read Isabel Wilkerson’s 2020 book Caste: The Lies That Divide Us (as my copy is titled), and I have, and so give here a few of my thoughts.

Only now after reading Caste and upon reflection, has it occurred to me that Wilkerson also used that terminology in her 2010 bestseller The Warmth of Other Suns; though, I think, sparsely and without particular emphasis, nor can I remember that she specifically explained her choice of vocabulary. Of course, I may be wrong on this, but on any account it is obviously a means of framing race that she has mulled over for a relatively long period, and one that she thought needed refining and deserving of its very own book. This I am not so sure of; I would even contend it even muddies the waters.

And, this is not to say that I didn’t find Caste an interesting enough read; for despite the objections I have – and there are a few (or maybe many!) – and however dissatisfied I was in the conclusions drawn by the author, Wilkerson is a very good writer and journalist, who can weave the factual with anecdotal to present the narrative that she very well wants to tell, and in the interests of a firmly held point of view and, furthermore, in an accessible style well suited for popular consumption. Perhaps here lies the crux of my criticism – the author, it seems to me, was so intent on telling her one version, that she has not even attempted to identify faults in her argument or to consider whether her reasoning may be inadequate or does not lend itself to generalization (across vast expanses of time and place). And as colorful as they sometimes may be, her more personal micro-narratives with typical micro-aggressions at their core have a tendency to aggravate. Now I can’t be sure, but who hasn’t been pushed, shoved, insulted, etc., by some dude on a plane (though I’ve never had the luxury of first class!), or felt out of place or ignored in a crowd, and my irritation hasn’t been lessened by reflecting upon interviews that Wilkerson has given in the last year or so in which the same anecdotes are rattled off. That’s okay, but one has to wonder what she thinks they add to her argument, other than presumably offering up herself as an example of the subordinate caste. As a highly successful, Black American woman of renown, fair or not, that premise rests on shaky ground. When I say this, I don’t wish to diminish the sensitivities of those who are subjected to or slighted by everyday racism, or sexism, or both, it is just that I think when putting forward an argument, or espousing a theory, sometimes it is better to stand back – a little less subjectivity is more.

On a fundamental level, I have to say I struggled with Wilkerson’s ‘update’ of an ancient caste model to expound her own “eight pillar” theoretical framework, one in which racial discrimination is inherent, and racial purity and allocation of labor constrained within each hierarchy is aspired to. And, to then whittle this down to the existence of a rigid three tier caste system in the United States; one in which the white majority in all their, presumably homogeneous, glory reigns on high, a Hispanic and Asian middle struggles to ascend – whereby the very possibility of doing so is antithetical to a caste construction, and a Black minority, relegated (and by virtue of their skin color alone) to the lower caste. The result is, in my opinion, a much too simple reading of the dynamics at play in a modern society driven by capitalism; Wilkerson’s absolute decoupling of race from capital fatally ignores the latter as the ultimate “pillar” (to use her language) in supporting – perpetuating – racial inequities in the United States.

A classical update in a digital world

Unlike in the digital world, where an update comes from out of nowhere, or perhaps from the clouds above – overnight and undercover, or intruding unannounced in the light of day, there remain great collections of human thought and knowledge, remnants from times passed, that demand meticulous review; and under the auspices of the human brain that understands memory as more than a machine, that pays little regard to bits and bytes, and timeouts, rather dedicates its own finely wired synapses to the higher arts of scholarship – perseverance, selection, reflection, accuracy.

Such may be said of the just published Cambridge Greek Lexicon (Cambridge University Press). [On the website is a trove of information, including the history and methodology of the project, an extended video introduction and reference material and links.] Over twenty years in compilation; what was originally conceived as a revision of HG Liddell and Robert Scott’s legendary 1889 Intermediate Greek-English Lexicon, after due consideration and because of its antiquated form, had morphed into a completely new project.

Classics at Cambridge: Introducing the “The Cambridge Greek Lexicon”

This Guardian piece informs of what is in and what is not, and delights in giving us the down and dirty – or “earthy” as they call it. Some may say, well … and with a blush! To rejoin: Shame on those who go digging in ancient ground and shun at getting hands dirty! And though blushing, I quote:

…The verb χέζω (chezo), translated by Liddell and Scott as “ease oneself, do one’s need”, is defined in the new dictionary as “to defecate” and translated as “to shit”; βινέω (bineo) is no longer “inire, coire, of illicit intercourse”, but “fuck”; λαικάζω (laikazo), in the 19th-century dictionary translated as “to wench”, is now defined as “perform fellatio” and translated as “suck cocks”.
The Guardian, 27th May 2021

Whatever would the Messrs. Liddell and Scott think! Whether these new volumes will endure as long as their predecessor only time will tell but it is interesting to contemplate how language and custom may develop in the next hundred years or so (hopefully, it will still be determined by the living, breathing not an artificial intelligence!) – and in which direction! As the Guardian editorial ends:

…Easy as it is to gently mock the sensibilities of a former age, perhaps future generations will decry early-21st-century comfort with sexually aggressive terms; when, perhaps, it will be time for another dictionary of a “dead” language.
The Guardian, 28th May 2021

A very good year

“Was 1925 Literary Modernism’s Most Important Year?” Such is the title of an essay by Ben Libman in the NYT, in which he begins with Virginia Woolf’s rather infamous opinion (The Diary of Virginia Woolf, Volume 2, August 16, 1922) of James Joyce’s Ulysses, and continues to make a case for the literary importance of 1925 over the more often championed 1922 – being the year in which Ulysses and T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land were published. A timely article; for, of course, with the passing of 95 years, on January 1st of this year, works copyrighted in 1925 entered the public domain.

Lidman contends that both as prose and lyric, the two aforesaid works did indeed signify a radical break with literary tradition, but they were also notoriously difficult; allusive, obscure, cantankerous. Ulysses, of course, was just plain notorious, scandalous it has to be said, a matter for the courts (of justice and public opinion).

And in 1925? Four books are published, and without fanfare or legal proceedings or grand ambition, that could be read by the mainstream (or what Woolf may have thought of as her ‘common reader’); Mrs. Dalloway, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, John Dos Passos’ Manhattan Transfer and Ernest Hemingway’s collection of short stories, In Our Time. Libman makes his case well, that it is these works of early modernism that have been, and will remain, the more enduring; for the stylistic innovations they initiated left a lasting legacy and profoundly influenced the literary form.

For Fitzgerald, it is the tool of Symbolism. In the person of Jay Gatsby, he creates a legendary symbol for the transmutation of the American Dream into an American greed and the shattering consequences. How ‘Great’ is it anyway to wallow in the shallow? Dos Passos lays bare a Realism that dared not be, writes as a down and dirty cinéaste might, an editor of the streets of New York; an assembler with the sharpest scissors, cutting bare – only to expose. Or overexpose. He is the town crier, the publicist of the city; a truth-teller and a dissembler, refining the cut and paste long before Word. A fast and furious operator. Then, there is the papa of the modern minimalists; Hemingway saying out loud only that which must be said. What remains after paring back the trees to lay bare the wood? Either it is there to be found, or it’s just not there – or dead. Pay attention to what I say, not what I do not.

And, then, there is Mrs. Woolf, with whom Libman actually begins his argument, and who I quote (in some length; I hope not too much! I hope the link remains live!), because it is important.

[...] As the critic J. Hillis Miller once put it, the reader most often finds that she is “plunged within an individual mind which is being understood from inside by an ubiquitous, all-knowing mind.”

This is evident to us not from the novel’s immortal opening line — “Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself” — but from the one immediately following, which serves as a kind of mirror to the first, tipping us off that we must reread it as something other than objective assertion: “For Lucy had her work cut out for her.” Suddenly, with the lightly colloquial “cut out for her,” we are in the mind not of an omniscient narrator but of a character — Clarissa Dalloway, as the succeeding lines make clear. The reader ceases to think that she is being told what Mrs. Dalloway said about getting the flowers, and begins to think instead that Mrs. Dalloway is just remarking on that fact, as if to herself. And that changes everything. This narrative technique, known as free-indirect speech, was part of Woolf’s quiet revolution. [...] Woolf perfected this mode, coloring it with the anxiety of modern subjectivity. [...] [...] we have in “Mrs. Dalloway” the innovation of an enduring, deep structure — something like geometric perspective in painting, that contributes to the development of technique, rather than driving it up a dead end. - "Was 1925 Literary Modernism's Most Important Year?" by Ben Libman, in the NYT, March 20, 2021

I like Libman’s analysis very much, and I should say he also mentions, and quotes from, Woolf’s 1919 essay, “Modern Fiction” (linked to in my commentary to her diaries) in which, to my mind, though still only hinted of in her own work at that time, she articulates the most succinct case for her evolving literary philosophy and lays the foundation for the direction her writing is about to veer towards.

Another way of seeing

There are few works of contemporary fiction that have left their mark as profoundly as Colson Whitehead’s 2016 best-selling, prize-winning novel, The Underground Railroad. A magically realised narrative, a tour de force that takes the reader on an uncompromising journey amongst souls, alive and dead and and in the murky depths in-between; through their suffering and degradation; on a restless search for absolution for sins not committed and some dignified resolution, and to be granted sanctuary; a place to call their own, a place to rest without fear or sacrifice – even when it be the final.

In only three sittings I have brought to a conclusion Barry Jenkins’ brilliant adaptation of the novel. Presented as a ten part series on Amazon Prime, I would have to say that this is a format very well-suited for such an intellectually and viscerally powerful work, and I am not sure it could be easily pared down to feature film length. (I really wasn’t looking to sign up for another streaming service, but the chatter of late had become so intense and the temptation too great.)

Admittedly, some of the opening scenes are discomforting, even threaten to overwhelm with their brutality, but there is this one undeniable reality – the barbarity of slavery – that must be confronted before the layers are stripped back to lay bare the soul of the characters – in whatever world they inhabit and wherever their journeys may lead. The alert viewer will recognise early that Jenkins is operating on multiple planes of narrative filmmaking; not just that of a stark, unadulterated realism, but that which blends tangible human experience with the emotional response and psychological mechanisms without which those experiences could not possibly be endured – memories and dreams; as alive as the cotton boll, as the whip, as the next to be lynched, but holding the promise of a way to freedom.

Another outstanding aspect of the series is the haunting soundtrack from Nicholas Britell that accompanies most every frame; conjuring an extraordinary atmosphere of foreboding, of unrelenting disquietude, of an unresolved tension between the living and the dead. As a taster, a guest essay by Scott Woods – excellent read – in today’s New York Times led me to the following on Vimeo (fifty odd minutes, so give it time); Barry Jenkins visual homage to his extended cast is augmented by Britell’s musical composition. (And, here is a wonderful NYT Magazine piece on Britell, and a close up on his collaborative creative process with Jenkins. )

Starring a cast of many from Barry Jenkin’s “The Underground Railroad, and with score by Nicholas Britell

On the Vimeo site is an informal and insightful text written by Barry Jenkins; describing the circumstances under which the accompanying film evolved during the greater film-making process. An act of seeing, and with the black gaze, a tribute to his players and the histories of all their shared ancestors. A gesture of gratitude, of respect, of love.

[…]we have sought to give embodiment to the souls of our ancestors frozen in the tactful but inadequate descriptor “enslaved,” a phrase that speaks only to what was done to them, not to who they were nor what they did. My ancestors – midwives and blacksmiths, agrarians and healers; builders and spiritualists, yearn’ers and doers – seen here as embodied by this wonderful cast of principal and background actors, did so very much. […]
Barry Jenkins, Vimeo

Jenkins may well think that should he never make another film, he has left some work of substance in his stead – I read this the other day – and, of course, that is so, but after watching and thinking about The Underground Railroad, I await, and with confidence, the realisation of that which is yet to come.

Riding the Waves

Much has been said and written about Virginia Woolf’s 1931 novel The Waves, and as the 90th anniversary of its publication approaches, BBC Radio 3 featured on Sunday (& perhaps only available for a limited time) a programme focusing on the musical, lyrical attributes of this, perhaps her moodiest, most experimental work.

To begin with, I was intrigued by Woolf’s novel having been the inspiration behind Steve Harley’s “Riding the Waves” from 1978. That was a long time ago, and listening to it now there is a familiarity; whether because of a recognisable turn of phrase or the rhythms of Cockney Rebel I am not sure – a definite Woolf connection I remember absolutely not.

Riding the Waves, Steve Harley and Cockney Rebel

As Harley readily admits, he takes the words out of Woolf’s mouth, or rather from the pages of her novel, but it is a warm tribute to a long dead female writer who quite obviously touched the soul of a young vagabond minstrel in the wayward 70s.

Different is Max Richter’s composition XVI. The Waves: Tuesday (from Three Worlds: Music from Woolf Works, Deutsche Grammophon, 2015) that brought to an end Wayne McGregor’s 2015 ballet “Woolf Works” for The Royal Ballet. A beautiful contemporary piece that fuses elements from the classical with electronic acoustics to capture the essence of the novel – and Virginia Woolf’s life. Listen well; imagine the ebb and flow of tides, the waters lapping and seeping through sand and upon rocks, clouds scuttling across the sky above. Just like the characters in her novel as they traverse time, waves are forever in motion – rising and falling, drawing near and receding into the distance. Becoming but a memory of their former self … only to reassemble and reemerge again. A haunting reminder of time past and the promise of rebirth. Richter’s musical meditation re-imagines the rhythm of nature and life.

XVI. The Waves: Tuesday

And the prologue? Tuesday. Written in her famous hand on the upper right hand corner of that final note; known to touch even the most hardened amongst us. Beautifully spoken by Gillian Anderson, perhaps capturing the sonorous quality of Woolf’s voice that also has its place in legend.

The Book Review (2) – The Podcast

As The Book Review looks back over a 125 year history, an accompanying podcast does so of its own modest 15 years, and with fifteen favourites. The Review editor and podcast host, Pamela Paul, admits the difficulty in culling down her selection to an acceptable level, and provides some brief and succinct notes of recommendation.

For me; some that are mentioned were caught in a timely way and some missed, some naturally interest more than others; but certainly there is something to be learnt from all. Given that, as I write, I am in the midst of Caste and fairly recently read The Warmth of Other Suns, I especially appreciate Isabel Wilkerson speaking in 2018 on her own work and Michelle Obama’s memoir and the Great Migration – one of those missed, and which is now very relevant to some of my reading projects.