“They may break our bodies (a microbe can do that) but they need not dominate our minds”: C.S. Lewis on living in a time of terror

March 12th, 2020
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A few days ago I wrote about the wildfires, earthquakes, mudslides, and drought of California. It hasn’t gotten better since. So here I sit, “social distancing” myself (the new advice for contagious disease), as the coronavirus numbers climb in Santa Clara County, one of the  hotspots in our afflicted nation. I wasn’t expecting to turn to C.S. Lewis for advice, but this excerpt turned up in an four-year-old Reddit post, offering some seminal thoughts for today.  The excerpt is taken from his essay, written three years after the bombing on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, “On Living In An Atomic Age”:

C.S. Lewis, minding his business.

In one way we think a great deal too much of the atomic bomb. “How are we to live in an atomic age?” I am tempted to reply: “Why, as you would have lived in the sixteenth century when the plague visited London almost every year, or as you would have lived in a Viking age when raiders from Scandinavia might land and cut your throat any night; or indeed, as you are already living in an age of cancer, an age of syphilis, an age of paralysis, an age of air raids, an age of railway accidents, an age of motor accidents.”

In other words, do not let us begin by exaggerating the novelty of our situation. Believe me, dear sir or madam, you and all whom you love were already sentenced to death before the atomic bomb was invented: and quite a high percentage of us were going to die in unpleasant ways. We had, indeed, one very great advantage over our ancestors – anaesthetics; but we have that still. It is perfectly ridiculous to go about whimpering and drawing long faces because the scientists have added one more chance of painful and premature death to a world which already bristled with such chances and in which death itself was not a chance at all, but a certainty.

This is the first point to be made: and the first action to be taken is to pull ourselves together. If we are all going to be destroyed by an atomic bomb, let that bomb when it comes find us doing sensible and human things – praying, working, teaching, reading, listening to music, bathing the children, playing tennis, chatting to our friends over a pint and a game of darts – not huddled together like frightened sheep and thinking about bombs. They may break our bodies (a microbe can do that) but they need not dominate our minds.

A new poetry anthology for the fires, floods, earthquakes, tsunamis, and hurricanes that shape California life

March 8th, 2020
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On Friday, a slim book arrived at my Stanford mailbox in a brown envelope with a neat, small, handwritten address written on it. I wasn’t expecting Molly Fisk‘s California Fire & Water: A Climate Crisis Anthology to be such a trim endeavor, but here it is, weighing in at a compact 190 pages for $15. It’s a reminder that an “anthology” need not always be a staggering door-stopper to make its point. The book was supported by a Poets Laureate Fellowship from the Academy of American Poets, funded by the Mellon Foundation, and packs 143 poets into, including some heavy hitters – Gary Snyder, Brenda Hillman, Jane Hirshfield, Kim Addonizio, Juan Felipe Herrera, and even a page for my humble self, as well as poet-teachers, poet laureates from all over, and students of all ages.

Editor Molly Fisk, an American Poets Laureate Fellow, explains the rationale behind the volume in the preface: “If you don’t experience a disaster yourself, it can be hard to imagine it. Photos and video are shocking, but they don’t hijack your nervous system the way reality does. And they only last a few minutes. One thing I’ve learned about disasters is how far-reaching the consequences are and how long the effects last.”

So when Molly was Nevada County’s poet laureate in the Sierra foothills, she took matters into her own hands: “When I saw a new grant that asked me to address something important to my community, of course I thought of wildfire.” So did most of the contributors, it appears – fire seems to dominate the table of contents. But not only.

Fisk: honored poet of the Sierra foothills

She continues: “Fire is not the only trouble we’re up against, so I broadened the lesson plan scope to include any kind of climate crisis our state has seen: floods, mudslides, smoke, drought, coastal erosion and sea level rise, refugee populations.”

UCLA’s SA Smythe in the foreword wrote that the book is a compendium of voices “working to make meaning of their lives and futures amid ongoing climate crisis … this book is a soothing gesture of solidarity, an outstretched arm in the wake of helplessness that can befall those of us confronting the harsh reality of a planet engulfed in flames. How can we continue to navigate a life in extremis? We bring together our memories and cobble together our defenses – ancestral and contemporary, coalitional and creative – to ward off the fires, floods, earthquakes, tsunamis, and hurricanes that persist and shape our lives today.”

I was very pleasantly surprised to see a poem by a longtime friend, Kate Dwyer – not a narrow escape from catastrophe, but a rueful take on a wet springtime in Nevada County:

 

Spring as Adversary

Mid-month it rained so hard
the daffodils lay down and did not get up again.
The apple trees pelted us with blossoms,
death by wet confetti.
I emptied the rain gauge 6 times in 3 weeks.
And a sinkhole the size of a battleship
swallowed the parking lot at the tire store.
It took no prisoners.
Still, after 5 years of drought,
we dared not complain.
I put on my rain suit for the 64th day in a row
and tried to be grateful that
I would be soaked through before
the dog walk was over.

                                        – Kate Dwyer

Leon Trotsky @Stanford: it’s a long story of love, murder, and archival records

March 4th, 2020
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A guest post from Elena Danielson, director emerita of the Hoover Library and Archives:

The Times Literary Supplement recently republished the late Francis Wyndham‘s review of Jean van Heijenoort‘s 1978 book on Leon Trotsky, With Trotsky in Exile: From Prinkipo to Coyoacan. (It’s in the February 7, 2020, issue with the title “Love thy neighbour, Trotsky’s exile as a Feydeau farce.” )

A Frenchman with a Dutch last name, Van Heijenoort was Trotsky’s secretary and bodyguard in exile. Van, as everyone called him, observed Trotsky’s life first hand, and wrote his book to correct the many errors that were circulating in the vast literature on Trotsky and Stalin.

Van was a mathematician and compulsively accurate. Wyndham was surprised and appalled by Van’s factual description of Trotsky’s blithe bed-hopping all while the old Bolshevik and his long suffering wife Natalia were being hunted down by Stalin’s assassins all over Europe and Mexico. In 1937, Diego Rivera befriended Trotsky, often referred to as “The Old Man,” whom Frida Kahlo called “el Viejo” or “Piochitas.” Trotsky was soon initiating an affair with Frida, who eventually decided it was too dangerous. Wyndham apparently not aware of Van’s own entanglement with Frida. The “Feydeau farce,” as Wyndham styles it, only came to an end when the assassination was finally successful in 1940 in Mexico. In 1978, Van tried to correct all the accumulating errors in the historical narrative at a time when some leftists saw Trotsky as the true heir of Marx.

Meanwhile in California in 1978, I started working in the Hoover Archives at Stanford, where there is original correspondence from figures such as Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo in the papers of Bertram and Ella Wolfe. These affectionate and exuberant letters from Frida to Ella, whom she calls Ella, Linda, and Ellochka, are sometimes sealed with lipstick kisses. The archives also hold a rare home movie of Trotsky, Diego, and Frida – donated by a former Trotskyist named Alex Buchman. The film and the papers helped fuel a kind of frenzied interest in Diego and Frida. Bertram Wolfe died in 1977, but Ella carried on his legacy and generously helped scholars such as Hayden Herrara, then writing her famous biography of Frida. All of this was great fun for me, and I looked forward to the publication of Bert’s (“Boit,” as Frida called him, imitating his Brooklyn pronunciation) posthumous memoirs, A Life in Two Centuries.

Archivist extraordinaire: Elena Danielson

By 1982, Van, as everyone called him, became a presence on the Stanford campus where he was working in the Math Department on the history of logic (primarily the work of Kurt Gödel) with the department chair Solomon Feferman. While Van had mostly left his political life behind, he attended Ella’s 1982 talk about her late husband’s Life in Two Centuries (New York: Stein and Day, 1981). Van made a public comment during Q&A that drew my attention.

Van had presence: Tall, thin, precise in his speech, and unexpectedly charismatic. Van had helped with the opening of the Trotsky papers at Harvard in 1980. There were no Trotsky papers at Stanford, he knew, because he had made inquiries. I did not expect to see him again.

In 1983, in the Hoover Archives reading room, I was helping a researcher, a professor of cultural studies from York in Canada, Marlene Kadar, who was an expert on André Breton, who had ties with the Trotsky circle in both France and Mexico. I showed Marlene the Buchman film, and she got quite animated: on the flickering gray screen, behind the massive figure of Diego, the intense Trotsky, and the flamboyant Frida, was a tall, thin, strikingly handsome figure of a man in the background. “I know that man! He is here.”

She had met Van at Harvard in 1980 at the opening for the Trotsky papers. He went on to participate in her doctoral defense, so she gave him a copy of her dissertation while they were both on the Stanford campus. Marlene dashed off and brought Van to see the home movie, which much amused him: there he was himself in his earlier political life, more than four decades before. Both in 1937 and still in 1983, he was courtly and quiet, but with an intensity you could not miss.

Trotsky, Kahlo, Heijenoort, and friends

Marlene encouraged me to look for more Trotsky materials to show him, that sent me to the index of the massive Nicolaevsky papers. Nicolaevsky’s widow, who had tightly controlled access to the papers, had recently passed away. Looking through the typed list of the contents, I noticed recent handwritten additions to the index: Sedov and Trotsky in section 231. So I brought out a sample box from Fond 231. Van and Marlene were elated….these were indeed papers of the Old Man, some typed by Van himself decades earlier.

From then on for the next three years, he was often in the archives, helping us process the Hoover set of Trotsky papers. Most notably, he compiled a detailed list of all of the pseudonyms used by the Trotskyists. Van himself had operated under quite a few false names. Solomon Feferman and his remarkable wife Anita created a kind of salon, and generously included me in some of the dinners and discussions with Van and other Trotsky historians, notably Pierre Broué. Sometimes when I was supervising the reading room, it took a while to notice that Van had come in to work. He was preternaturally quiet, and wore very soft, soundless, rubber-soled shoes. He came of age evading the attention of the police and spies, and just knew how to move quietly. Old habits die hard.

From conversations with Anita, I was aware of Van’s colorful personal life, which initially seemed at odds with his reserve. However, it was not ordinary reserve, it was more like oceans of emotion held in check by a sea wall. His affair with Frida became public with Hayden Herrera‘s biography, but it was definitely not something we would talk about. He would periodically disappear without explanation, then quietly show up later, without any mention of where he had been. I would assume maybe a trip to France or Mexico.

After one of his puzzling absences, the telephone rang. Van had been murdered in Mexico. His fourth wife shot him, and then killed herself. It was chilling. He had survived Stalin, but not his wife.

It had always seemed best not to ask too many questions. Fortunately, the witty and vivacious Anita won his confidence, and she did ask questions and put the information he told her in her biography with the enchanting title Politics, Logic, and Love: the Life of Jean van Heijenoort (Boston: Jones and Bartlett, 1993). Here it is February 2020 as I’m writing out these memories, as I get email that the de Young Museum in San Francisco is opening a new exhibition on Frida Kahlo. The mystique around these flamboyant people lives on.

Read the article, “Love Thy Neighbour,” over at the Times Literary Supplement. It’s here.

Biographer recalls the last days of Roger Scruton: “when not writing, he was reading”

March 1st, 2020
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His last chance to “chat about the future.” (Photo: Pete Helme)

My post on Sir Roger Scrutons death on January 12 tapped into an unexpected amount of interest. I didn’t know the writer and philosopher’s work before his death, so it’s odd I find myself writing the third post in less than two months, but here we are. (The other earlier post  was here.)

The new occasion: over at The Critic, his Irish biographer Mark Dooley recounts his last visits with his friend and subject. The piece might serve as an introduction to those who are as new to his thought as I am.

He begins:

“It was just before Christmas last year when I travelled to Sunday Hill Farm in Wiltshire, the fabled home of my dear friend Sir Roger Scruton. I was there to chat about his health and some future collaborations that we had planned.  When he was diagnosed with cancer at the end of last summer, he had written asking me to visit so that we could, as he put it, ‘chat about the future’.

As I entered the farmhouse – what he liked to call ‘Scrutopia’ – Roger sat alone in the evening gloom tapping away on his laptop.  Even in his weakened state, he felt compelled to write.  Back in 2015, when we recorded the discussions for my book Conversations with Roger Scruton, he told me that, ‘I wrote from the moment I had the calling to be a writer, which I got when I was sixteen.  I didn’t know how to do it, but I wrote every day and I always have done’.  This was a truth I discovered first-hand whenever I visited him at home, or when he came to Ireland, or even when we were at conferences elsewhere.  The first thing he did each morning was go to his desk and write.  For him, it was a daily vocation that simply had to answered.  That day was no different.  ‘What are you writing?’ I asked.  ‘The Scrutopia newsletter,’ he replied without taking his eyes off the screen.  He then proceeded to tell me how he had just finished a condensed summary of the Building Better, Building Beautiful Commission’s report.  The furore surrounding his sacking and subsequent reinstatement as chair of that body, had done nothing to diminish his passion for it.  ‘I wrote a synopsis of the full report in 500 words.  But they are good words,’ he added with pride.

Roger could barely walk and was in great discomfort, and yet, as his beloved wife Sophie told me, ‘He hasn’t spent a single day in bed’.  When not writing, he was reading, amongst others, a book on Irish poet Seamus Heaney.  ‘For whatever reason, I always ignored him.  But now I see that he was a truly great poet.’

A few excerpts:

England, he once wrote, is an ‘imagined community’, by which he meant that it derives its personality from its customs, institutions, literature, music and religion. It, too, has a personality and character that invites love, respect and loyalty. But, as with all persons, it is no less susceptible to desecration. Love, morality, culture and sacred values are all fragile things that take many generations to build up, but only a day to tear down. If our common home consists of such things, it is because it is also a thing of intrinsic value. For Scruton, England was less a place than a matrix of meaning from which people could ‘stand, as it were, at the window of our empirical world and gaze out towards the transcendental’. Radicals of all stripes attempt to smash that window, but, in the way that he lives and loves, the conservationist shows that we human beings ‘have an innate need to conceptualise our world in terms of the transcendental’, and, in so doing, ‘to live out the distinction between the sacred and the profane’.

***

In a poignant essay from 2005, entitled ‘Dying Quietly’, Scruton wrote that ‘My death is not simply, for me, the death of RS, the event about which you might read in an obituary. It is a vast crisis, standing athwart my life and commanding me to prepare for it…Every death prompts the search for meaning – especially the death of someone loved. But my death challenges me in another way; its inevitability is like a command – namely, live your life so that this will be part of it and not just an end to it. St. Paul reminds us that “in the midst of life we are in death” meaning that our normal ways of living forbid us to plan either the time or the manner of our extinction. Yet we need to live in such a way that death, when it comes, is not a catastrophe but (if possible) a culmination – a conclusion to our actions that can be read back into all that preceded it and show it to be worthwhile’.

In the quiet and dignified way in which he died Roger Scruton testified to the truth of his own words. For many people, his death was, indeed, a catastrophe – the loss of someone who had given them hope in dark times. And yet, as I glanced at him for the last time, I saw a smiling man whose end was the conclusion he had always hoped for and richly deserved. It was a fitting conclusion that rendered his brave and beautiful life profoundly worthwhile.

Read the whole thing here.

Hagia Sophia: excavating an echo – with the pop of a balloon.

February 25th, 2020
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“The Byzantine Empire was married to water. Jutting out at the tip of a peninsula, ancient Constantinople was embraced by the Bosporus on one side and the Marmara Sea on the other. And at its heart, the magnificent Hagia Sophia. At once a bulwark against the sea and an apotheosis of its marvels, the basilica sparkles like the glints on the restless waters outside its walls as natural light roams the surfaces of marble and gold mosaic. ‘All of these elements are optical: the glitter, the marble …’ says Stanford art historian Bissera Pentcheva. ‘They have an auditory dimension as well. When you speak or chant in that space, your breath is extended and attenuated by surfaces of marble and gold.'”

So begins “Excavating an Echo,” my 2012 Stanford Magazine story on Stanford’s attempt to recreate the sound of the Byzantine Empire through high-tech offices of Stanford’s Center for Computer Research in Music and Acoustics, otherwise known as CCRMA (pronounced “Karma”).

It’s an important effort. As I explain:

Hagia Sophia (HAH-yuh soh-FEE-uh) was a massive display of imperial power and majesty for the civilization that endured as one of the most powerful economic, cultural and military forces in Europe for a thousand years. When emissaries of Prince Vladimir of Kiev arrived in the 10th century, they wrote to their liege: “We knew not whether we were in heaven or on earth. For on earth there is no such splendor or beauty, and we are at a loss how to describe it. We know only that God dwells there among men, and their service is fairer than the ceremonies of other nations. For we cannot forget that beauty.”

Yet, today, much of that beauty has been lost to memory. Many of the mosaics are gone. Electric lights have replaced the hundreds of candles that once undulated with sound and breath. Incense no longer perfumes the air. And the ancient chanting that once reverberated in the domed chamber—a sound that influenced the nature of music throughout the medieval world—has been banished from the basilica, now a museum in the adamantly secular nation of Turkey.

The Hagia Sophia vaulting (Creative Commons)

NPR told an abbreviated version of the story over the weekend, with Pentcheva and the hero who did the technical work, Jonathan Abel (“I study the analysis, synthesis and processing of sound”) of CCRMA. The Turkish government was so sensitive about keeping the secular nature of the building, that it was impossible to record anyone singing anything– literally anything – there. Only one solution: bring Hagia Sophia to Stanford University. And they did it with the pop of a balloon, and special permission from the Turkish government.

NPR features the “before and after” sound, with the sound in a room with everyday acoustics, with CCRMA’s adjustments for the architecture of the Hagia Sophia. You can listen to the four-minute broadcast here.  The sound of the music, as someone a millennia ago would have heard it, is literally out of this world: “It’s actually something that is beyond humanity that the sound is trying to communicate,” says Pentcheva.

The sound of the basilica would have been unique:

The reason for this, says Abel, is that “the building is super-reflective of acoustic energy. Sound is smeared out, each note bleeding into the next, rendering speech less intelligible.” In a modern concert hall, he notes, the reverberation time is often less than two seconds. In the recreated space of Hagia Sophia, it was an astonishing 11 seconds. Hence, one note would layer upon another, the sound lingering and harmonizing with the new notes. The reverberation is so dense, Abel says, that a chant of three lines takes more than three minutes to sing.

“It calls into question the text in a sung form, how those words would be understood,” says Cappella Romana executive director Mark Powell. “It was a kind of elevated style where words were elongated so they might be understood in a large crowd. In the ancient world, with no amplification, how would a speech or sermon be delivered?”

Pentcheva wondered if the theology of the words could ever be intelligible in such a place. But, perhaps, it didn’t need to be. The reverberant acoustics transform the human voice into the “bodiless voice of sound reflections,” forcing the listener to abandon the everyday word for the great word, Logos.

For the citizens of Byzantium it was the usual miracle. They would fill the courtyard outside the basilica at night so they could pour into the building for services at dawn.

If the NPR clip has whetted your appetite for more of the sound, try the youtube clip below:

“We were very tired, we were very merry”: Happy birthday to Edna St. Vincent Millay!

February 22nd, 2020
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Today is the 128th birthday of poet Edna St. Vincent Millay But this year, I am the one who received the birthday present, courtesy a friend. She is still, I think, one of America’s most underrated poets.

The gift is connected with a story: before I left Ann Arbor for the charms of London, a longtime university friend, the poet Marnie Heyn, gave me a Greek drachma for safekeeping on my travels, with the owl of Minerva on it – a wish for wisdom for the years ahead. I needed it – and all the drachmas I could find. The drachma was kept in my wallet … and so stolen with it from my home in Islington during a break-in.

A few months ago, when Marnie asked me to sign her copy of Evolution of Desire: A Life of René GirardI sent a drachma back to her, with the same owl. She said she was sending me a shekel in return – but it was much more than that.

To my surprise, she sent me a very early edition of A Few Figs from Thistles, the poet’s first 1920 collection, published by Frank Shay. It was the poet’s second collection of poems, famous for establishing her as the very essence of cool in the jazz baby era. I adored her in my misspent youth, and memorized her poems.

Here’s why I was puzzled, however: the copyright page simply lists a 1922 date, implying that this is a first edition. But a little digging around suggested that the 39-page edition I have, basically chapbook size, is actually an expanded edition. Goodness, how many pages could the earlier edition have been? World Cat doesn’t tell me.

Happy birthday to her.

Are you jealous yet? Don’t be! You, too, can celebrate the poet’s birthday. A quick visit to abebooks.com and even Amazon shows that some of these editions are going for a few dollars. So you, too, can own a small chunk of American literary history. And memorize a few poems, too, while you’re at it.

Anyway, below the most famous poem of the collection, in three stanzas of six lines each, couplets, rich with rhymes and assonance and recurring lines, in an unusual pattern of AA BB CC, AA DD EE, AA FF GG. Enjoy. Below that, you can listen to her reading the same poem in her plummy voice. And go here if you want to see her shoes, or here for a letter begging her publisher for cash, and here and here for previous posts.

Happy birthday, Edna!

Recuerdo

We were very tired, we were very merry—
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable—
But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,
We lay on a hill-top underneath the moon;
And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon.

We were very tired, we were very merry—
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry;
And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,
From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;
And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold,
And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.

We were very tired, we were very merry,
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
We hailed, “Good morrow, mother!” to a shawl-covered head,
And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;
And she wept, “God bless you!” for the apples and pears,
And we gave her all our money but our subway fares.

Mary McCarthy’s “Memories of a Catholic Girlhood” TONIGHT!

February 19th, 2020
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Schoolgirl days (Vassar Library & Archives)

“If I could not win fame by goodness, I was ready to do it by badness.”

It’s tonight! Another Look takes on Mary McCarthy‘s Memories of a Catholic Girlhood, a 1958 National Book Awards finalist for nonfiction. The discussion will take place at 7:30 p.m. on TONIGHT, February 19, in the Bechtel Conference Center of Encina Hall. Directions and parking for the event are here.

An excerpt from Charles Poore‘s 1957 review in The New York Times:

In Memories of a Catholic Girlhood Mary McCarthy plays a splendid trick on her future biographers by anticipating their researches and confounding their zeal. The book is a collection of stories she has written about her early years. Among them, for example, is “Yonder Peasant, Who Is He?” – one of the most stinging, brilliant and disturbing memoirs ever written by an American.

The autobiographical stories are marinated in italic commentaries that tell how much commonplace veracity or creative mendacity they contain. We are given background and interpretation, amplification and variorum readings on Miss McCarthy’s nomadic childhood from the West Coast to the Midlands, from convent schools to Vassar. And probably the sharpest criticism of her work you can find anywhere.

Now, many an author has done this sort of thing in the past. One thinks, at random, of Henry James‘ wonderfully revisionist prefaces to the New York edition of his works, or the glow of Conrad’s notes for his Canterbury Edition. Didn’t Ring Lardner write a series of brief, confidential overtures to his tales, one of which said: “The story is an example of what can be done with a stub pen”? Miss McCarthy is more generous with her revelations and interpretations. She goes at considerable length into her young religious faith and the agonizing reappraisals that accompanied her loss of it. She traces endlessly the ramifications of a family that contained Roman Catholic and Jewish members, Protestants and agnostics.

The conversation will be led by author Tobias Wolff, National Medal of Arts winner and founding director of Another Look. Panelists include author Catherine Wolff and Another Look regular Inga Pierson, who is also an English teacher at Sacred Heart Preparatory.

We are aware there is a televised Democratic Presidential Debate airing from 6-8 p.m. the same evening. However, we hope you will choose us! (And catch up with the debate or debate highlights afterward. Isn’t that what Youtube is for?) More information on the poster below.

 

My new book (briefly) tops Ross Douthat’s latest – if you blinked, you missed it.

February 16th, 2020
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My moment in the sun was brief, but at least one voter gave me a thumbs up over the New York Times‘s Ross Douthat, whose book The Decadent Society: How We Became the Victims of Our Own Success (Simon & Schuster), is currently making waves. (See tweets below.)

The triumph couldn’t be smaller, nevertheless … not bad, considering my book, Conversations with René Girard: Prophet of Envy (Bloomsbury) won’t be out till May 14. You can preorder at discount via the Bloomsbury website here.

From the flap:

French theorist René Girard was one of the major thinkers of the twentieth century. Read by international leaders, quoted by the French media, Girard influenced such writers as J.M. Coetzee and Milan Kundera. Dubbed “the new Darwin of the human sciences” and one of the most compelling thinkers of the age, Girard spent nearly four decades at Stanford exploring what it means to be human and making major contributions to philosophy, literary criticism, psychology and theology with his mimetic theory.

This is the first collection of interviews with Girard, one that brings together discussions on Cervantes, Dostoevsky, and Proust alongside the causes of conflict and violence and the role of imitation in human behavior. Granting important insights into Girard’s life and thought, these provocative and lively conversations underline Girard’s place as leading public intellectual and profound theorist.

And the blurbs:

“’A vital book. It gave me René Girard as I’ve never before encountered him in a text: like looking at a diamond from eighteen different sides. Each interview reveals the fecundity of his thought and the brilliance of a mind that was able to probe the human condition in a singular way. It’s full of fire.’” – Luke Burgis, author of Wanting: Our Secret Economy of Desire (St. Martin’s Press)

“Rene Girard was one of the most influential and important thinkers of the 20th century, much of his wisdom was dialogic in nature, and this volume brings together an excellent collection of conversations with him.” – Tyler Cowen, economist, blogs at Marginal Revolution.

““Covering the full scope of his thinking, from his reflections on desire and rivalry, right through to his final thoughts about modern warfare this really is a singularly valuable collection.”” – Chris Fleming, essayist and author of On Drugs 

“Conversations with René Girard is sure to become an indispensable reference for readers interested in Girard’s views on a wide range of topics, including such hot button issues as abortion, eugenics, same-sex marriage, anorexia, Islam, and Europe’s demographic crisis. Cynthia Haven deserves tremendous credit for bringing these interviews, some of them hard to find, together in one volume.” – George A. Dunn, Centre for Globalizing Civilization, Hangzhou, China

 

“We are the world’s rubbish, the scum of the earth”: A.E. Stallings’s “Letter from the Corinthians”

February 12th, 2020
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We’ve written about Athens-based poet A.E. Stallings and her community’s work with refugees here and here and here. She had been working with the squats in the Greek capital, until the refugees were transported en masse to a makeshift army camp in Corinth, about an hour outside Athens. “Isn’t a camp better than a squat? The government must have thought, out of sight, out of mind. Maybe there was, in the dismay of the eviction, a feeling even within myself that some part of my life was now over, that a responsibility had been lifted.” Time passed, however, and “the news from the families in Corinth was grim, about flimsy tents and inedible food. Families were supposed to be there only a few days before being sent to one of the properly organized camps, but days turned into weeks, and weeks would turn into months. There is a saying in Greek, ‘nothing is more permanent than the temporary.'”

She made the trip to Corinth, and reports back in “Letter from the Corinthians” in  The Times Literary Supplement:

I was surprised to see one Syrian family with several children (and now a new baby) that had long ago made it to Sweden. Deported back to their country of arrival, it turned out. I recognized one of the little boys, Malak, who has Down’s syndrome. I remembered his name because the father had once made a point of explaining his name to me: “Malak is Arabic for Angel”.

The children witness.

The place is at once devastatingly familiar in its squalor (bringing back memories of the tent city that sprang up in Piraeus in 2016), its impoverishment, the almost tangible miasma of waiting (like the invisible toxic chemicals in Elefsina), children in no shoes or ill-fitting ones, playing such games as can be contrived out of gravel and sticks – hopscotch is universal; we also witnessed a lively game of Afghan rock paper scissors – washing hung to dry on the wire fence, an oilcan being used as a stove in the corner. A quotation from Paul hovers at the edge of my consciousness: “Even unto this present hour we both hunger, and thirst, and are naked, and are buffeted, and have no certain dwelling-place … we are the world’s rubbish, the scum of the earth”.

On our way out, some of the families accompanied us, one teenaged girl on the point of tears (being a teenaged girl in such a place must indeed be terrifying), squeezing my hand. She pointed out the food delivery, as a Greek army jeep jolted up to the back entrance, and meals of rice and tomato sauce were delivered in black plastic. It did not look or smell appetizing: the same meal over and over again, and this the sixth week. There was also a piece of feta cheese and an apple. With nothing else to present to us, the families sent us off with the apples. Faith, hope and love abide. The greatest might be love, but hope is startlingly resilient.

Read the whole thing here. 

Take heart! Even Nobel prizewinners get rejection letters. The New Yorker to Gabriel Garcia Marquez

February 10th, 2020
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Okay, okay … it’s still a few months before he gets the Nobel, but still… it’s heartening to know that even world-famous writers get “no thanks” letters, and on New Yorker letterhead no less. Roger Angell‘s 1981 letter to Gabriel García Márquez comes to us courtesy the University of Texas’s Ransome Center and is making the rounds on Twitter.


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