When words matter

We are witnessing the beginning of the end of a fantastically failed presidency; the state of the society that facilitated it, and which is to be left in its wake, is yet to unfold and reveal itself, let alone to be told.

Here, in this space, I have been very disciplined in my restraint, and (mostly) suffered and seethed in silence; words are not all that matter, but sometimes really are there to be said…

As things would have it, the events of the last weeks, culminating in yesterday’s mayhem, have coincided with my immersion in Barack Obama’s memoir covering his first years in office. And as my reading, too, approaches its end, it does so leaving me much informed, much reminded of things worth remembering, sometimes irritated, and very often touched by beautifully rendered human moments – full of warmth, humour, regret.

Obama makes the intricacies of finance and health reform and the complications of composing and passing of legislation eminently readable. (Though, and especially in terms of finance reform, I was sometimes overwhelmed with initialisms and acronyms – for legislation, programs, committees, etc.) International relations and foreign and defence policy concerns are usually presented with a brief historical discourse that places the matter at hand in context – for instance, I particularly liked his preludes to discussions on Saudi Arabia (on his visit there) or to Iran (when the nuclear capabilities issue came to the fore). What I liked somewhat less was Obama’s tendency to see fit to describe the physical attributes of others. I mean, we know what Vladimir Putin (“…a wrestler’s build…”) and Benjamin Netanyahu (“…built like a line backer…”) look like. And, perhaps the “high-fiving”, “firing-ups”, “freaking outs” and the like, irritate a little the non-American ear. On the other hand, I “know” Barack Obama well enough to recognise such colloquialisms as genuinely being an aspect of his way of expression, and authenticity in voice is surely what one wants from a testimony such as this.

When did I last think of this. The catastrophe of Deepwater Horizon seems such a long time ago, and affecting a coastal region I once passed through even longer ago, but deserves not to be easily forgot: as an event in and of itself, but beyond that, what it has to say about the world’s insatiable consumption of fossil fuel. And, Obama tells us that little Sasha came into the bathroom one morning whilst he was shaving and enquired: “Did you plug the hole yet, Daddy?”; a tone Obama sets throughout – of seriousness and reflection blended with glimpses into the intimate family life that was being lived, parallel to, and sometimes intersecting with, the job at hand. There are any number of snippets of repartee with Mrs. Obama and their daughters and interactions with his staff and others, of observations and afterthoughts, which reflect a wonderful mix of wit and intelligence, and a basic goodness that is rarer than we would like to imagine.

So, it is then, that every other day, I have been reading the former President’s account, and every other day waking up to, or retiring of an evening with, the reality of this perversely “other” presidency, or the closing act of absurd theatre – or both. And, wondering where the line is to be drawn, if in fact a line can be drawn, between performance and all its component parts. Is Trump playing a role? Or is he the role? And for all those who enabled – who set the scene, supported from the wings, propped up – does the show go on with a new cast? And, when Trump exits the stage (or be dragged from it!) in a few days time, what will be his legacy, or more precisely, what extent the wreckage he leaves behind? Surely, there will neither be the traditional memoir nor Presidential library – a historian’s nightmare in years to come; explaining this era without the defining subject’s testimony.

Words matter. What is said and written matters. Words inspire and words incite. The 44th and 45th Presidents of the United States have proved that; each casting long shadows that could not be more different. And the 46th? Mediocrity incarnate one could reasonably suggest, uninspired. Perhaps. But, a Biden presidency will at least offer some respite, and with good will (and some luck) allow in its warmer shadow a new generation of political leadership to form.

Some Literary Reminder(s) for the New Year

The Guardian, 2021 in books, 3 January, 2021

I bookmark this page at The Guardian every year, and always find it a worthwhile guide to what is coming up, and when. And not just books, also the dates of literary events and anniversaries. The following is a list of some of the new works that interest me for one reason or another.

  • A Swim in a Pond in the Rain by George Saunders (Bloomsbury)
  • Begin Again: James Baldwin’s America by Eddie S Glaude Jr (Chatto & Windus).
  • The Mysterious Correspondent by Marcel Proust, translated by Charlotte Mandell (Oneworld)
  • Under a White Sky by Elizabeth Kolbert (Bodley Head)
  • Everybody by Olivia Laing (Picador)
  • Letters to Camondo by Edmund de Waal (Chatto & Windus)
  • The Wife of Willesden by Zadie Smith (Hamish Hamilton)
  • Home in the World by Amartya Sen (Allen Lane)
  • The Magician by Colm Tóibín (Viking)
  • Oh, William! by Elizabeth Strout (Viking)
  • Greek Myths by Charlotte Higgins (Jonathan Cape)
  • HG Wells by Claire Tomalin (Viking)
  • Silent Catastrophes: Essays on Literature by WG Sebald (Hamish Hamilton)

There is no need to say that the Books section of The New York Times always has plenty to offer – by week, month and year, and just about everything else – but this international selection (mostly in translation) for the year to come is worth perusing. Here, for various reasons, and by those known and not, the following (just some amongst many) particularly interest me:

  • An Apprenticeship, or The Book of Pleasures by Clarice Lispector, trans. from the Portuguese by Stefan Tobler (New Directions)
  • Aristophanes: Four Plays trans. by Aaron Poochigian (Liveright)
  • The Art of Losing by Alice Zeniter, trans. from the French by Frank Wynne (Farrar, Straus & Giroux)
  • Cleopatra by Alberto Angela, trans. from the French by Katherine Gregor (HarperVia)
  • The Copenhagen Trilogy by Tov Ditlevsen, trans. from the Danish by Tiina Nunnally and Michael Favala Goldman
  • First Person Singular by Haruki Murakami, trans. from the Japanese by Philip Gabriel (Knopf)
  • The Impudent Ones by Marguerite Duras, trans. from the French by Kelsey L. Haskett (The New Press)
  • In the Company of Men by Véronique Tadjo (Other Press)
  • Painting Time by Maylis de Kerangal, trans. from the French by Jessica Moore (Farrar, Straus & Giroux)

At year’s end, and in retrospect, I don’t ever seem to get as far as time and circumstance should allow for, but …!

Anyway, while in retrospect mode, here is The New York Times “10 Best of 2020”; of which, I have read only Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell and, still bringing to an end, Barack Obama’s presidential memoir. I appreciate being reminded of, on the fictional front, Homeland Elegies and The Vanishing Half, and non-fiction works pertaining to war, Shakespeare and schizophrenia that I had totally missed. (Though, Margaret MacMillan’s “War” may well be related to her 2018 Reith Lecture series.) One could, of course, go a step further (which I haven’t!) and be tormented further by their “100 Notable of 2020”.

At odyssey’s end …

At odyssey’s end,
what is to be said?
What is to be sung,
when all's said and done?
 
When great wars fought
have long been won -
in ancient lands lost
awaiting to be found?
Or upon the high seas 
that time has forgot?
 
Where human hearts beat
to the drum of the gods;
playing their game loud,
and in joyful discord?
Or to be told by another
or many more in song?
 
What is to be said?
What is to be sung -
alone or in chorus
for heroes long dead?


- Anne Dromache January 1st 2021

My reading of Homer’s The Odyssey was never meant to take a whole year! But when I conceived the project at the end of 2019, such a verflixtes year I did not even imagine! In my defence, then – the distractions have been many!

Anyway, it is just in the nick of time, that I have reached an end. (Though a lot of very clever people would insist that a reading of Homer never really ends.) My reflections along the way are collected here. What you don’t see, are the videos of my readings of each book – done to encourage the “reading out aloud” that Emily Wilson suggested. And, conscientiously having done so, I would most definitely agree.

Awaited now, is Wilson’s new translation of the Iliad – for which I think we must be patient.

The Diary of Virginia Woolf (2)

VOLUME Two: 1920-1924

My Copy of Vol. II of The Diary of Virginia Woolf

Posting here only to report that I have now completed writing up “my reading of” Volume Two of The Diary of Virginia Woolf (or see the menu). I think I remember aspiring at least to a more condensed form than with the first volume; but this absolutely did not eventuate! In fact, I was tempted into ever wider tangents, and uncovered some interesting associations that made the time well spent. I will (again!)endeavour to take a more stringent approach with Volume Three – to be started in the new year – otherwise I fear I may be doing this to my dying day!

Christmas Day 2020

Surprised by the Wikipedia “Picture of the Day” on this Christmas Day, and on my phone this morning; for the real thing, so to speak, is known to me, and to be viewed just a very few kilometres away from where I live in Germany. The picture depicts one of the panels of Hans Pleydenwurff’s “Dreikönigs” altar piece in the famous medieval St. Lorenz church in the heart of Nuremberg.

Panel from the “Dreikönigsaltar” (the Magi), Hans Pleydenwurff, mid-15th century, St. Lorenz, Nuremberg.

Reminded me also, and not gladly so, of one of my plans earlier in the year that went awry, and that was to visit Ghent to see Jan Van Eyck’s restored altar piece in St. Bavo’s Cathedral, and a greater exhibition of his works at the Museum of Fine Art. Alas. For the moment at least, here is a visual tour of the exhibition that was forced to close early. And, a lot has been written about it, and especially the “mystic lamb” – for instance, here at the NYT, and by Jonathan Jones at The Guardian.

Looking again at some of Van Eyck’s work, and other early Netherlandish painters, elements from that school can be discerned in Pleydenwurff’s work; just a generation on and in southern Germany.

Introducing Mmes. Woolf & Dalloway

Today at The New York Times: an essay, excerpted from the introduction by Michael Cunningham (famously, a Woolf disciple) to a new edition of Mrs. Dalloway, to be published by Vintage in the US in January

“Mrs. Dalloway” (new ed. 2021, Vintage)

And, to my mind anyway, a most finely wrought tribute to this exquisite gem. Mrs. Dalloway is modest in length and deceptively so in ambition, yet Michael Cunningham identifies its epic character and its grandeur that I too have for so long admired; how within a rigorous time frame of just one day and through the eyes of one woman, Woolf’s novel expands out into time and space and allows memory to work its magic; to magnify and enhance, and to expose the true largesse of life, right there all the time in the apparently ordinary – just waiting to be discovered.

For some time, I have been very much wanting to write something about Mrs. D., but Cunningham’s essay is so good, and says so many of the things I would like to say, and so much better, that … Enough! I refuse to be deterred! Rather, inspired to add my bit to the multitudes.

Great Lives

“Great Lives” on BBC Radio 4 is a long favourite programme, though these days I often miss the scheduled broadcast and listen to it as a podcast. It doesn’t often disappoint, and this concerning Frank Ramsey was no exception.

“Great Lives” BBC Radio 4 – Frank Ramsey

Matthew Parris, the presenter, was momentarily taken aback with David Spiegelhalter’s nomination; admitting to not having heard of Ramsey. I wouldn’t like to be the one to raise my eyebrows, for only in recent times has this short, brilliant life come to my attention, but Parris has encountered an associated other, Ludwig Wittgenstein, in both his own academic life at Cambridge; as an insurmountable hurdle, he says, and amongst previous “great lives”. And, I would have thought, any investigation into Wittgenstein’s life would have somehow thrown up Ramsey.

Re-listening to that 2011 broadcast, Ramsey is indeed not mentioned, but I guess in thirty minutes only so much can be said. I am surprised though; for as I understand it, the young Ramsey, took some time out from a heady Viennese sojourn to act as an emissary of sorts (at the behest of Maynard Keynes amongst others), to visit Wittgenstein in the provinces of Austria in 1923; spent some time with him, gained his trust (not an easy thing!), translated the Tractatus into English, and eventually played an important role in finally enticing Wittgenstein back to Cambridge in 1929.

This is by no means meant to be derogatory of either “Great Lives” or Matthew Parris, in fact I enjoy the program very much, and along the way I have discovered an extraordinary gallery of people. Granted, some have, to my mind, been grotesque – like Mussolini (a minor scandal that selection was a few months ago!), and some trivial – confusing a life to be celebrated with that of celebrity. And, in this special edition, Parris does contemplate the very subjective nature of defining adequately what exactly a “great life” is.

But generally speaking, an enlightening interlude – whether on radio or as podcast on various platforms – that may be light on answers, but very often suggests questions.

In tragic times

Further to the previous post, since earlier this year, CHS and their associated Kosmos Society has also, in conjunction with the UK’s Out of Chaos theatre collective, been presenting creative theatrical readings of many Greek tragedies. A marvellous initiative – and also available on YouTube.

Reading and discussion of Aeschylus’ Agamemnon (translation by Oliver Taplin)

Above, as an example, Aeschylus’ Agamemnon, which I note uses the Oliver Taplin translation that Emily Wilson spoke of here. And, Mr. Taplin is in fact a guest (approx. 22:00), and has some interesting things to say about translation and performance – in general and in respect to the Oresteia in particular.

And, while we’re with Agamemnon, here a wonderful and free (iBook, ePub) learning resource at APGRD – created by another participant in the above, Fiona Macintosh (et.al.), and in which Mr. Taplin also has a role.