Middle Earth one week, the American heartland the next. Well, I've always prided myself on being an eclectic reader.
This week, in between juggling two essays, I've been working my way through John Micklethwait and Adrian Woolridge's "The Right Nation: Why America is Different" - a scholarly but readable account of why America is, and continues to be, so much more, well, conservative than other Western capitalist democracies. Now, this could so easily have been the wrong book to try reading at bedtime at this precise moment - after all, I spend all day reading about politics, I've just recovered from an exam on US foreign policy that required me to stuff my head with all things American, and I'm currently spending my mornings researching the impact of New Right ideas in Britain and America during the 1980s. Anything less than a thoroughly engaging account of American conservatism would have been overkill. Luckily, this book proved to be just that - the engaging style belies the formidable amount of research than has clearly gone into it, so I coasted along nicely and finished it in just over a week, barely even noticing that it technically counted as "work".
Anyway, a few brief comments about specific aspects of the book:
1) It's hardly the authors' fault -"The Right Nation" has been on my "to read" list for a couple of years now, and I really should have got round to it before now - but the book is starting to look rather dated. It was published just before Bush's reelection in 2004 (in fact, it accurately predicted the outcome of that election where most people on this side of the Atlantic were forecasting a victory for Kerry). As a result, it depicts a country where the Republicans are in the ascendancy and where the conservative movement is more united, more organised and more ideologically vibrant than the apparently moribund liberal movement. Six years down the line, however, Obama is in the White House, Congress is dominated by the Democrats, and the organised, unified foot-soldiers of the Right have been replaced by the "Tea Party" - that motley band of evangelicals, libertarians and the generally disaffected, as opposed to mainstream Republicanism as they are to the communist, Muslim non-citizen they believe to be in the White House. A lot has changed since 2004, some of the conclusions reached back then don't seem to fit the picture today, and I think that a substantially updated version will be necessary if the book is to continue to be an accurate account of American conservatism.
2) That said, it would be a great shame if this book were to be rendered obsolete - because it's a great account of the historical journey of American conservatism from the fringes of the political scene, through the seminal Goldwater campaign in '64, to the eras of Reagan and George W. Bush. What is more, it offers a nuanced account of the many different shades of political opinion that come under the umbrella of "conservatism". (This is definitely something which is seldom acknowledged by liberals. I've heard many friends and acquaintances - including quite a few Americans - simply equate neo-conservatives with evangelical Christians, when in fact John Ashcroft was very much the exception rather than the rule). One of the negative impacts of the Bush years (well, one of the many, if you ask me!) was a tendency towards extreme polarisation and the obliteration of nuance in political books from and about the United States. If conservatives such as Ann Coulter were guilty of painting all liberals as terrorist-hugging baby-killers, those on the left were just as quick to characterise conservatives as a grotesque patchwork of every offputting right-wing trait - homophobic, Bible-bashing, Iraq-invading, racist bombers of abortion clinics to a man. "The Right Nation" is an excellent antidote to this kind of stereotyping - which, while it can be fun in the right time and place (believe me, I did my fair share of Bush-bashing as an undergraduate) doesn't really help us understand anything at the end of the day.
3) Finally, the most important point this book makes is contained in its title - "The Right Nation: Why America is Different". It is beyond doubt that mainstream politics in the United States is considerably to the right of any of the other Western capitalist democracies. The contrast with Western Europe is especially striking. While the ever-widening gulf between the Republicans and European conservative parties such as Britain's Tories has generated quite a lot of press of late; what fewer pundits have picked up on (but Micklethwait and Woolridge do) is how right-wing even the Democrats tend to be by Western European standards. There is no shortage of Democrats who are opposed to abortion and healthcare reform, and even fairly left-wing Democratic politicians such as Bill Clinton and Howard Dean are strong advocates of the death penalty. While their prognosis that the Republicans would continue to dominate US politics for the foreseeable future now looks dated - a throwback to the era of George W. Bush where the Republican grassroots now rallies round Sarah Palin - this is a more lasting feature of American politics.
(One more quick comment before I sign off on this one and collapse into bed. As a Hispanist, I was perplexed by the description of a San Francisco politician - I can't remember who - as "Pablo Neruda-reading", as though this was a clear indication of a terminal case of left-wing looniness. Now, despite my connections with Chile I can't say Neruda is a favourite of mine, but surely a fondness for the work of a Nobel Prize-winning poet is a sign of erudition, not insanity?)
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
On Tolkien, love and immortality
So, after saying that this would be a place for book reviews, I'm going to go back on my word immediately and post something a little bit unconventional. Instead of a whole book, the first thing I find myself wanting to write about is a fascinating essay from volume 10 of Christopher Tolkien's History of Middle Earth series, Morgoth's Ring. (I've recently delved into the HoME series properly for the first time. Although I had dipped into it before - primarily the parts concerning the writing of The Lord of the Rings - I had never got as far as Morgoth's Ring. A good thing too, as I don't think I would have been ready for it. It's not for the casual fan, but for the hardcore nerds - among whom I count myself - parts of it are pure crack, exploring in detail some of the deeper questions of Tolkien's secondary world). The particular essay I'm talking about, as any really hardcore fans ought to have picked up from the title, is the Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth, to the best of my knowledge Tolkien's most detailed exploration of the central question of mortality and the differing fates of Men and Elves in the world he created.
The Athrabeth takes the form of a dialogue between the wise Elf-lord Finrod Felagund (brother of Galadriel) and the mortal wise-woman Andreth, on the subject of mortality,which is the principal distinguishing factor between Men and Elves in Tolkien's world. I'll try to be as brief as possible in discussing this long (60 pages, including notes) and dense text, although that is difficult given that it provides such profound insight into a range of fascinating issues. In the most reductive terms, the Athrabeth is a metaphysical discussion of mortality - the so-called "Gift of Iluvatar" to Men - and the difference this creates in the lives and fates of Elves and Men. That said, it's actually one of the most beautifully-written pieces I've read in Tolkien's early mythology. Rarely for the tales of the First Age, it is also primarily a dialogue, providing us with a lot of insight into the characters of Finrod and Andreth. Where the characters in the Silmarillion tend to strike the reader as heroic archetypes, here Finrod's wise and generous nature is palpable in his response to Andreth's sorrow and bitterness. His genuine love for and interest in the race of Men is also very much in evidence in his desire to learn as much about their history and traditions as possible, which somehow makes his eventual self-sacrifice for Beren seem all the more poignant. I have to confess that I'd never really paid much heed to Finrod before, being too preoccupied by the flashier types of the Silmarillion (Feanor and his sons, especially Maedhros), but this essay has given me a greater appreciation for his character. Professor Tolkien, if you're listening, I promise I'll never get him and Fingon mixed up again!
Then, of course, there are the ideas - and what a lot of complex and fascinating insights there are in this dense little text! From Andreth, Finrod learns (and so we do too) about mortals' fear of death, and about the differing nature of "death" for Men and for Elves: while Elves are tied to Arda for as long as it endures, and can be reincarnated even after being killed, Men's spirits are not tied to the world, and upon dying they are doomed to "go out to no return", a fate Andreth describes as "an uttermost end, a loss irremediable". One of the little details I love about Tolkien's world is that both Men and Elves in a sense envy one another's fates. Mortals in Tolkien are seldom overly appreciative of the "Gift of Iluvatar". Although The House of Beor, to which Andreth belongs, have not gone to the same extremes as their descendants the Numenoreans, it is clear that they perceive mortality not as a gift, but as a flaw - a curse placed on them, they believe, by Morgoth himself. (I thought this was a particularly acute observation on human nature by Professor Tolkien, showing that he was sensitive to the human tendency to create myths to rationalise the things we don't understand - of which the greatest mystery is death). Finrod explains that Elves, meanwhile, sometimes grow envious of Men, who are not tied to the world and therefore are able to leave it; what is more, while Men have a shadow behind them (something I will discuss in a moment), Elves have a shadow before them, in that they are doomed to live as long as the world and therefore presumably to perish with it. After that, they have no idea what their fate will be; according to Finrod, this uncertainty weighs heavily on the Elves. As for how we are supposed to interpret what Andreth says about Men and their belief that mortality is a curse, Finrod points us in the right direction: he surmises that Morgoth did not curse the Edain with mortality (none but Iluvatar himself, he believes, could so change the nature of one of his creations) but rather with the dread of death: "Nay, death is but the name that we give to something that he has tainted, and it sounds therefore evil; but untainted its name would be good".
The most poignant thing about the Athrabeth, however, is what it has to say about the relations between Elves and Men, given their differing fates and life-span. Finrod, as we have seen, is a true friend to the race of Men and takes a genuine interest in their history and traditions; unlike certain other Elves of the Elder Days (coughThingolcough), he also appears to believe that there are things that Men can teach the Elves: "Yes, Wise-woman, maybe it was ordained that we Quendi, and ye Atani, ere the world grows old, should meet and bring news one to another, and so we should learn of the Hope from you: ordained, indeed, that thou and I, Andreth, should sit here and speak together, across the gulf that divides our kindreds, so that while the Shadow still broods in the North we should not be wholly afraid." At the beginning of the Athrabeth, however, we learn of his grief at the swift (to him) passing of his friends of the House of Beor. The really touching revelation, however, is left for last. We learn that Andreth's bitterness about the differing fates of Elves and Men stems, at least in part, from how it has touched her personally. As a young woman, she fell in love with Finrod's brother Aegnor. He loved her back, but chose not to pursue that love because the differences between their two kindreds were too profound - a few short years of happiness, then a parting that would endure until the end of time. Rarely, moreover, have these differences been more poignantly and evocatively expressed - Men, brief as they are, must seize their chance for happiness, while Elves, with all the life of Arda to regret, are more cautious. This essential difference in fate and outlook, coupled with the similarities and sympathy between the two kindreds, inevitably result in tragedy when the two are close together. The words Tolkien puts into the mouths of Finrod and Andreth express this far more poignantly than I ever could:
"For one year, one day, of the flame I would have given all: kin, youth and hope itself: adaneth I am", said Andreth.
"That he knew", said Finrod; "and he withdrew and did not grasp what lay to his hand: elda he is".
This is incredibly touching stuff, as moving as anything I have read in Tolkien (and far more so than, say, the story of Beren and Luthien, which also deals with mortality and the two kindreds without exploring the issues in anything like as much depth - or for that matter, allowing you to care about the characters in this way). It's full of tragedy, but manages to end on a note of hope, as Finrod suggests that the two kindreds may yet meet again in Arda Remade: "But you are not for Arda. Whither you go you may find light. Await us there, my brother - and me."
Anyway, I've definitely gone on enough here, although there is so much more I could say about the Athrabeth - with its layers of complexity, its deeply poetic language, and the deep sense of humanity that sets it apart from the more "heroic" narratives of the Elder Days. One last observation, then: along with much of HoME (particularly the later volumes such as Morgoth's Ring and The Peoples of Middle-Earth), the Athrabeth shows clearly the incredible time and effort Tolkien put into developing every aspect of his secondary world, to the point of engaging in in-depth philosophical speculation about issues such as death and mortality. It is, for want of a better term, mind-boggling.
The Athrabeth takes the form of a dialogue between the wise Elf-lord Finrod Felagund (brother of Galadriel) and the mortal wise-woman Andreth, on the subject of mortality,which is the principal distinguishing factor between Men and Elves in Tolkien's world. I'll try to be as brief as possible in discussing this long (60 pages, including notes) and dense text, although that is difficult given that it provides such profound insight into a range of fascinating issues. In the most reductive terms, the Athrabeth is a metaphysical discussion of mortality - the so-called "Gift of Iluvatar" to Men - and the difference this creates in the lives and fates of Elves and Men. That said, it's actually one of the most beautifully-written pieces I've read in Tolkien's early mythology. Rarely for the tales of the First Age, it is also primarily a dialogue, providing us with a lot of insight into the characters of Finrod and Andreth. Where the characters in the Silmarillion tend to strike the reader as heroic archetypes, here Finrod's wise and generous nature is palpable in his response to Andreth's sorrow and bitterness. His genuine love for and interest in the race of Men is also very much in evidence in his desire to learn as much about their history and traditions as possible, which somehow makes his eventual self-sacrifice for Beren seem all the more poignant. I have to confess that I'd never really paid much heed to Finrod before, being too preoccupied by the flashier types of the Silmarillion (Feanor and his sons, especially Maedhros), but this essay has given me a greater appreciation for his character. Professor Tolkien, if you're listening, I promise I'll never get him and Fingon mixed up again!
Then, of course, there are the ideas - and what a lot of complex and fascinating insights there are in this dense little text! From Andreth, Finrod learns (and so we do too) about mortals' fear of death, and about the differing nature of "death" for Men and for Elves: while Elves are tied to Arda for as long as it endures, and can be reincarnated even after being killed, Men's spirits are not tied to the world, and upon dying they are doomed to "go out to no return", a fate Andreth describes as "an uttermost end, a loss irremediable". One of the little details I love about Tolkien's world is that both Men and Elves in a sense envy one another's fates. Mortals in Tolkien are seldom overly appreciative of the "Gift of Iluvatar". Although The House of Beor, to which Andreth belongs, have not gone to the same extremes as their descendants the Numenoreans, it is clear that they perceive mortality not as a gift, but as a flaw - a curse placed on them, they believe, by Morgoth himself. (I thought this was a particularly acute observation on human nature by Professor Tolkien, showing that he was sensitive to the human tendency to create myths to rationalise the things we don't understand - of which the greatest mystery is death). Finrod explains that Elves, meanwhile, sometimes grow envious of Men, who are not tied to the world and therefore are able to leave it; what is more, while Men have a shadow behind them (something I will discuss in a moment), Elves have a shadow before them, in that they are doomed to live as long as the world and therefore presumably to perish with it. After that, they have no idea what their fate will be; according to Finrod, this uncertainty weighs heavily on the Elves. As for how we are supposed to interpret what Andreth says about Men and their belief that mortality is a curse, Finrod points us in the right direction: he surmises that Morgoth did not curse the Edain with mortality (none but Iluvatar himself, he believes, could so change the nature of one of his creations) but rather with the dread of death: "Nay, death is but the name that we give to something that he has tainted, and it sounds therefore evil; but untainted its name would be good".
The most poignant thing about the Athrabeth, however, is what it has to say about the relations between Elves and Men, given their differing fates and life-span. Finrod, as we have seen, is a true friend to the race of Men and takes a genuine interest in their history and traditions; unlike certain other Elves of the Elder Days (coughThingolcough), he also appears to believe that there are things that Men can teach the Elves: "Yes, Wise-woman, maybe it was ordained that we Quendi, and ye Atani, ere the world grows old, should meet and bring news one to another, and so we should learn of the Hope from you: ordained, indeed, that thou and I, Andreth, should sit here and speak together, across the gulf that divides our kindreds, so that while the Shadow still broods in the North we should not be wholly afraid." At the beginning of the Athrabeth, however, we learn of his grief at the swift (to him) passing of his friends of the House of Beor. The really touching revelation, however, is left for last. We learn that Andreth's bitterness about the differing fates of Elves and Men stems, at least in part, from how it has touched her personally. As a young woman, she fell in love with Finrod's brother Aegnor. He loved her back, but chose not to pursue that love because the differences between their two kindreds were too profound - a few short years of happiness, then a parting that would endure until the end of time. Rarely, moreover, have these differences been more poignantly and evocatively expressed - Men, brief as they are, must seize their chance for happiness, while Elves, with all the life of Arda to regret, are more cautious. This essential difference in fate and outlook, coupled with the similarities and sympathy between the two kindreds, inevitably result in tragedy when the two are close together. The words Tolkien puts into the mouths of Finrod and Andreth express this far more poignantly than I ever could:
"For one year, one day, of the flame I would have given all: kin, youth and hope itself: adaneth I am", said Andreth.
"That he knew", said Finrod; "and he withdrew and did not grasp what lay to his hand: elda he is".
This is incredibly touching stuff, as moving as anything I have read in Tolkien (and far more so than, say, the story of Beren and Luthien, which also deals with mortality and the two kindreds without exploring the issues in anything like as much depth - or for that matter, allowing you to care about the characters in this way). It's full of tragedy, but manages to end on a note of hope, as Finrod suggests that the two kindreds may yet meet again in Arda Remade: "But you are not for Arda. Whither you go you may find light. Await us there, my brother - and me."
Anyway, I've definitely gone on enough here, although there is so much more I could say about the Athrabeth - with its layers of complexity, its deeply poetic language, and the deep sense of humanity that sets it apart from the more "heroic" narratives of the Elder Days. One last observation, then: along with much of HoME (particularly the later volumes such as Morgoth's Ring and The Peoples of Middle-Earth), the Athrabeth shows clearly the incredible time and effort Tolkien put into developing every aspect of his secondary world, to the point of engaging in in-depth philosophical speculation about issues such as death and mortality. It is, for want of a better term, mind-boggling.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Welcome to the Macondo Public Library!
(Figuratively walks up to the imaginary microphone). "Testing...testing...anybody out there?" (There is a deafening silence. Tumbleweed blows across the Internet).
Thought not.
At any rate, before I start throwing around my disjointed thoughts for others to put together, a few words about what I'm doing here. Basically, I read a lot of books. Novels, short stories, scifi, fantasy, history, current affairs, travel literature, politics, popular science...To paraphrase the hymn: each little book that's published, I love to read them all. My idea of a great day out is a trip to Hay-on-Wye. Whenever I visit London, I invariably end up going both to Charing Cross Road and the giant Waterstones at Piccadilly Circus. There are 17 books on my desk right now, on everything from McCarthyism and Chinese foreign policy to the creation of the published "Silmarillion". I even have a little journal in which I make a note of each and every book I read cover-to-cover so that in later years I can look back and roll my eyes at my youthful pretension. (Last year's total was 75, for the record).
Like most sentient beings, I also have my own opinions about everything I read. Sometimes these are fairly profound, sometimes shallow. However, whatever I think about a book while I'm reading it, I am invariably remiss when it comes to recording it. This means that most of my thoughts never evolve into anything more sophisticated than inchoate thoughts that flap briefly around my brain before being displaced by thoughts of dinner and next week's essay. Then, in a year or two, all that book is to me is a title on a page, on more tome ploughed through in the name of beating the previous year's total. So, I've set this blog up with the intention of posting something (be it a single paragraph, a lengthy analysis, or the single word "Shit") about each and every book I read. Hopefully, this will help me to remember the books I've read a little better, as well as forcing me to engage more with my own opinions about them. And even more hopefully, there just might be other people out there who are interested in my views.
And the title, you ask? The "Macondo" part comes from one of my favourite books of all time, Gabriel Garcia Marquez's Cien anos de soledad, which is of course set in the town of Macondo. As for "Public Library", I don't really know - maybe it's just the updated version of the old Catala's bookshop, though I'm unlikely to be posting too much about medieval chivalric romances. (I'll leave those to Don Quijote).
Thought not.
At any rate, before I start throwing around my disjointed thoughts for others to put together, a few words about what I'm doing here. Basically, I read a lot of books. Novels, short stories, scifi, fantasy, history, current affairs, travel literature, politics, popular science...To paraphrase the hymn: each little book that's published, I love to read them all. My idea of a great day out is a trip to Hay-on-Wye. Whenever I visit London, I invariably end up going both to Charing Cross Road and the giant Waterstones at Piccadilly Circus. There are 17 books on my desk right now, on everything from McCarthyism and Chinese foreign policy to the creation of the published "Silmarillion". I even have a little journal in which I make a note of each and every book I read cover-to-cover so that in later years I can look back and roll my eyes at my youthful pretension. (Last year's total was 75, for the record).
Like most sentient beings, I also have my own opinions about everything I read. Sometimes these are fairly profound, sometimes shallow. However, whatever I think about a book while I'm reading it, I am invariably remiss when it comes to recording it. This means that most of my thoughts never evolve into anything more sophisticated than inchoate thoughts that flap briefly around my brain before being displaced by thoughts of dinner and next week's essay. Then, in a year or two, all that book is to me is a title on a page, on more tome ploughed through in the name of beating the previous year's total. So, I've set this blog up with the intention of posting something (be it a single paragraph, a lengthy analysis, or the single word "Shit") about each and every book I read. Hopefully, this will help me to remember the books I've read a little better, as well as forcing me to engage more with my own opinions about them. And even more hopefully, there just might be other people out there who are interested in my views.
And the title, you ask? The "Macondo" part comes from one of my favourite books of all time, Gabriel Garcia Marquez's Cien anos de soledad, which is of course set in the town of Macondo. As for "Public Library", I don't really know - maybe it's just the updated version of the old Catala's bookshop, though I'm unlikely to be posting too much about medieval chivalric romances. (I'll leave those to Don Quijote).
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