Selected Reading Reviews: 2015-16

A friend mentioned the use of vanity to motivate himself to read. The idea being that he regularly posts a list of books he has read, with short reviews accompanying them, in order to impress the internet and incentivise reading. It seems a perfectly good idea, so I thought I'd copy it. Fortunately I have been keeping a list of the books I have read, along with mini-reviews, for just over two years  now. Accordingly this post is an assortment of reviews for some of the good, bad and ugly books that I have read over the last two years. So, in no particular order...

Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain

A ground-breaking book in so far as it detailed the world of cheffing in juxtaposition to that of fine dining. Very honest but not entirely un-pretentious. Bourdain clearly revels in his mastery of the nomenclature of cooking and takes a childlike glee in revealing the seedy, crude and bleakly comical world of professional cookery to his presumably upper-middle-class clientele. It's as funny as it is insightful and for anyone wondering, as an ex-cook, I can confirm that it is mostly true.

Ariel by Sylvia Plath

Cutting and personal to the point of being cryptographic: such is modern verse libre. Lots of wonderful images and lovely mouth sounds: "the yew's black fingers wag" and "fat, gold watch". Initially intimidating on account of its obscurity but by the end I salvaged a few nuggets of poetic black gold.

One Hundred Years of Protest by Christopher Catherwood

A warning against what will happen to those who write about contentious subjects while trying not to upset anyone: in this case Catherwood ends up comparing Palestinians throwing rocks to rifle-fire from professional soldiers. This is done purely so that the author can preach the refrain "senseless violence on both sides".

Gandhi here is portrayed as an anti-racist (he wasn't) and a hard-line pacifist (again, nope) and the psychology of militant activism is boiled down to an expression of unreasonable outrage - despite the author holding Nelson Mandela (the leader of a terrorist organisation) in high regard. 

 

Why Fonts Matter by Sarah Hyndman

Interesting, accessible but about twice as long as it needs to be. Fonts influence us: they communicate as well as construct content and they have evolved alongside advances in culture and printing. I fully support Hyndman's goal in getting people to think about font more and her book makes for an adequate introduction to the subject - it's just a shame that this book isn't much more.  

 

Liberalism: A Counter History by Domenico Losurdo

The freedoms of the liberal world were hard won; universal suffrage and the abolishment of slavery were both contentious issues among the architects of the modern world. Losurdo's counter history reminds us of the theoretic possibility that was liberal freedom as the reserve of the privileged. Focusing primarily on the Atlantic slave trade, and also touching on the labour struggles of the developed west, Losurdo examines the philosophic acrobatics that were required to champion freedom during a time of great subjugation.  

The books thesis is rooted in an examination of the history of political struggle in early liberal society, its rhetoric and emergent conceptions of freedom. Of particular note is the idea that we could have freedom without equality and the small triumph of egalitarian struggle in helping correct that mistake.

The Philosophical Life by James Miller

The blurb of this book argues that it "confirms the continuing relevance of philosophy today". I have always been sceptical of such projects; especially when the philosophers the book points to are no more recent than Nietzsche. It would be much more prudent to prove the relevance of philosophy by pointing to the myriad of fascinating works published in recent years.

Perhaps what is meant by proving the relevance of philosophy, is its defence of philosophy as self-help - ala Alain de Botton. This is another project for which I have limited sympathy. Philosophy hasn't really operated with spiritual goals in mind for quite some time and I'm not entirely convinced that that is a problem. Even if enlightenment and happiness was the goal of philosophy I'm not sure this collection of mini-biographies makes a good case for the discipline. Seneca and Socrates were both murdered; Aristotle and Plato were widely ignored by the people they sought to tutor and Nietzsche and Kant died as pair of mad, tormented bastards. 

The book is still readable and informative, even if it doesn't achieve what it set out to do. Though there is one remark in the books conclusion worth expounding on: philosophers may face despair and madness ahead of them but they reason nonetheless. And we are all philosophers, by the very dint of being capable of thought.

 

4.48 Psychosis by Sarah Kane

A play that utilises an almost vers libre monologue to flit between moments of psychotic dread and sparkling gallows humour. Clearly written from a very honest emotional place, the clichés of mental health are steam-rolled into oblivion by Kane's candid and confused narrator. Intense, raw - must read again.

Hatred of Democracy by Jacques Ranciere

Ranciere explores the tensions of a secular republic and presents an understanding of democratic struggle as an expansion of public space in the face of technocratic elites. Modern political leaders must ape the values of democracy while simultaneously attempting to keep the populist masses at bay.

French, continental and as poorly written as it sounds. Like much of the post-modern canon it's 5% good ideas couched in post-modern verbage; an insightful analysis buried under a landslide of badly composed sentences with too many indexicals, needless ambiguity and a weird fetish for turning adjectives into proper nouns. Left me in many places feeling "the confused" and had me re-reading many passages two or three times over.

 

The Tinder Box by Hans Christian Anderson 

 Absurdly amoral fairytales seems to be HCA's thing. The Tinder Box is about a soldier who murders an old woman to steal her magic Tinder Box which gives him command of three magic dogs who help him commit regicide and marry the resulting orphaned princess. There are moments of humour here and there that make me think Hans Christian Anderson had adults in mind while also writing for children: the Deacon visiting the housewife in Little/Big Claus seems to be a wink and a nod towards more adult content.

Reconciliations: An Apology to Poetry

Just over a year ago I published a piece venting my frustration with the medium of poetry. I would like to announce a change of heart. After spending the last 12 months reading and writing poetry, in an effort to force myself to understand it, I have come to accept it as a necessary, even if sometimes dull, artform.

The aforementioned blog post is no longer available but its core contention can be distilled down to "poetry is too obtuse to be of any real value and we would lose little by jettisoning it from our culture". In hindsight it was foolish of me to even suggest that poetry could be done away with. It's musicality and rhythm come naturally to the human ear and the directness of vers libre would demand inventing, if it weren't already in existence. Indeed, although I was blind to it at the time, it was the giants of vers libre with which I took umbrage.

 Free verse is most notably what people refer to when they say they hate poetry; after-all few, my former self included, would begrudge the charm of conventional rhyme. And the vox-pop criticisms of free-verse are pretty close to the criticisms I wielded against it a year ago. Even Stephen Fry, a private poetry aficionado, shares my worries:

I think that much of poetry written today suffers from anaemia. There is no iron in its blood, no energy, no drive. It flow gently, sometimes persuasively, but often in a lifeless trickle of the inwardly personal and the rhetorically listless. This lack of anima does not strike me as anything like the achieved and fruitful lassitude of true decadence; it is much more as if the volume had been turned down., as if poets are frightened of boldness. - Fry, The Ode Less Travelled p.g. 325.

It is important to note that elsewhere in "The Ode Less Travelled", Fry expresses his love of T.S. Eliot: the grand-daddy of modern poetic crypticism. Fry doesn't fail to "get" modern poetry but he does worry for the effect of obscurantism on poetry's ability to say what is important.

Yet free-verse seems unusually predisposed to the introverted meanderings that Fry criticises. Such introspection is a by-product of free verses' directness which facilitates unmediated outpouring. This intense need to take what is inside and place it on paper is what makes the work of Plathe, or even the later plays of Sarah Kane, incomprehensible to someone with little biographical knowledge of the author. Such authors use free-verse techniques to encapsulate intensely intimate sentiments which most modern readers will struggle to unpack without the aid of contextualising references.

This particular style of free verse reflects the artist qua artist, which is why it is worth defending. It represents the legacy of conceptualism: art as a mode of expression and experimentation rather than as commodity or product of patronage. There are those who bemoan entitled art students who refuse to master their field and instead churn out conceptualist guff;  but perhaps it is the other way round. Perhaps the real entitlement lies with the on-looker who cries fraud when encountering art which doesn't speak to his interests or function within a familiar frame of reference. Defending this particular exercise in solipsistic free-verse by emphasising its artistic purity is to admit that while this kind of poetry has its place, it is far away from the limelight. But what of the more accessible, pleasing or otherwise extroverted poetry of Whitman, Shelley or Byron? Why are these forms of poetry not flourishing?

While I wish to avoid being dragged into the "Is poetry dead?" debate I think it's worth acknowledging how little poetry sales account for in the book trade. With this context in mind, poetry is often talked up as a much needed yet maligned hero fighting against a quick-fix culture. This seems somewhat rash. The contemporary era of the twitterati is one which is dominated by the succinctly written word. The memorableness, poignancy and sheer stick-ability of poetry should make it the perfect candidate to under-go a digital renaissance and yet it still remains a cultural outsider.

Perhaps the poetry industry has yet to recognise the potential of social media. Alternatively, the snobs might have a point. It may be that one of the joys of poetry is chewing over stanzas until they fall into place and its decline is due to a lack of slow-thinking engagement among modern readers. I hope for the sake of humanity that that is not the case and, whether poetry makes it to the centre stage or not, I wish it all the best.

Goals for the Second Quarter

You know the drill, I hate these as much as anyone else does but it's my blog hence you will suffer through.

 

Here are three sub-resolutions, corresponding with my previously posted annual resolutions, that are intended to direct my energy into self-betterment threby challenging the status quo of self-destruction.  

#1 All Late Modern Fiction Makes Jack A Dull Boy.


While I do appreciate the ever expanding vistas that have been offered to me by loosening the rather tight leash that I normally keep my reading schedule on, as ever, I want more.  More contemporary work will be added to my diet along with some more European literature, preferably predating the 20th century.

#2 Fighting Machine

My cardio has gotten a lot better since the beginning of the new year and my diet is similarly in a much improved state. What I need now is an activity to  challenge me and provide some motivation so taking my cue from Dizzy Rascal and his immortal line "All I care about is sex and violence" I will join the local judo club.

I have not participated in any form of combat athletics for over two years now, I'm looking forward to making a return. As for the sex part, I'll just have to hope to get lucky more often.

#3 Dropping the Bass, in Favour of Something More Refined.

Basically this part of my resolution has been the one I have capitalised on the least. I figure this is because there is no clear method of progression. The method I now propose is looking over the Albums that I do own, online or physical, tracking down the artists recent work and looking through the sound-tracks of other media that I like for new bands and musicians. You have got to start with that which you already love.  

First Quarterly Review of 2015

Many a blogger has in their time provided a list of New Years Resolutions; many a blogger has quickly forgotten of such Resolutions or pretended that they were never made.


This is the cynical and ritualistic mockery of self-help that takes place at the beginning of every year. January rolls around and we make a host of promises which we know we will never make good on and everyone else pretends that these promises were made sincerely and not as part of a perfunctory process of promise making and inevitable violation.


By contrast, being the edifying figure that I am, I have deemed it necessary to review my progress and show you "how it's done".


Here I will list the attempts I have made to improve the rather sorry state of affairs that I seem perpetually locked in and briefly muse on their efficacy. This will be a positive blog post focusing on my sucesses. What I will not mention is all the other promises, not made on this blog, which I have broken that would otherwise vitiate a perfectly good opportunity to wax so smugly.

#1 - All Non-Fiction Makes Jack a Dull Boy.


My reading schedule is quite eratic. Primarily because I am often left with the impression that I am not as well read as I should be. The crux of it is that there is a list of classic literature (both fictional and non-fictional) which one is sort of "expected" to have read and an ever expanding set of literature that comments on these classics. Upon encountering this ever-growing scholastic mountain I tend to adopt a rather sporadic style of reading that involves switching between wildely different time periods and genres. As a side note, I often fear that this denies me the benefits conferred by a specialised familiarity with a particular area or theme.


The catch being that the more time I take to read the extensive list of classics the less time I have to keep on top of the things written about the classics, or worse still I miss out on the birth of potential new classics.


Irrespective of this little quandry I have managed to branch out more. Franz Kafka, Albert Camu, William S. Burroughs have all been added to my list and completed in some small way and I have enjoyed it so far. The past couple of months of fiction reading has piqued my interest and I look forward to familiarising myself with and experiencing first hand the various waves and styles of literature that I have heard so much about.


Most of what I have read in terms of fiction has been "modern" rather than "contemporary" as at the moment that is where my interest is but I might start searching further afield. As with poetry I will probably need to ask some friendly afficionados for recomendations on contemporary work.

#2 - Get Up! Get on Up! Get on the Scene! Like Some Sort of Machine!


Started running regularly, drastically reduced my smoking habit to the point where it is almost non existant and re-vamped my diet. Things are going well in the health department. A couple of strategies have worked particularly well. Cooking healthy food in large quantities and freezing it in tupperware containers has made healthy eating a breeze. Also when quitting smoking do not make the common mistake of adopting an absolutist "never smoking again" purge style approach, the negative suggestion and accompanying psychological pressure will get you everytime.

#3 I Need to Get More Boom Ba Doom Doom Boom Ba Doom Doom Bass.


I have been listening to more swing music, mainly ripped straight from Fallout series, but also  I have been hunting out more electro-hip hop and rock stuff. Turns out the 90's were really good for alternative music. I also went back and listened to some of the stuff I used to listen to like Dimmu Borgir and Satyricon... it made me cringe with embarresment. Black metal is so pathetically camp at times and the worst part of it is that most of the musicians are completely oblivious to this fact. Still, it makes for good listening when travelling by Bus through the Highlands.

Defending Dionysus: Putting the Art in P"art"y.

Looking over interviews with comic book writers like Alan Moore and Grant Morrison one could be led to believe that there is an overlap between brilliant artists and practitioners of new-age "magick".

As a secular person I take Moore and Morrison's metaphysical ramblings with very little seriousness but both of them bring attention to an interesting analogy between art and magick*

According to the above authors, Magick is like art in that it is the practise of arranging symbols to produce profound emotional responses. Art at its root is just the manipualtion of the mind via our secular senses. When building a cathedral, a 15th century architect might install a high-roof to inflict a sense of awe onto onlookers. Songwriters likewise will scribe in a minor chord to match their dirge's lyrical content. We could spend all day discussing the various "cause, effect" relationships that underpin arts ability to move us: my point has been made..

There is something distinctly magical about any kind of creative endeavour that achieves its desired effect. Take for instance the preparation of a pepper-corn sauce. The chef burns off some whiskey, mixes in cream, adds gravy, allows the mix to reduce in the pan and finally chucks in a fistful of peppercorns. The result is a sauce that through the combination of its individual components, achieves a qualia greater than the sum of its parts.

I am quite fond of this definition of art and accordingly I will now use it to discuss party planning as a serious artistic medium.

While the act of enjoying a party is often a relatively dumb activity**, the act of designing a party has the potential to be a highly cognitive and artful process. As someone orchestrating a connoisseurs revel you control the refreshments,  the dress code, the music, the ambient noise, the spatial layout, the whole visual, gastronomic, social and auditory aesthetic is yours to act on, adjust and perfect.


What's more, you can design and select activities to take place at the party. You can use a party to play host to party games.

Indeed the prime contribution that video games have made to artistic understanding is the mediums emphasise on interactivity. Video games have helped us to think of active doing, as opposed to passive listening or watching, as a way to communicate with audiences and at the very least the principles at play in video games can be carried across to party games. Afterall they are both games, just with differing forms of simultion.

For anyone curious, I am thinking along lines less cliche than spin the bottle: though that might actually work as a sort of semi-ironic nostalgia peice. An alternate example would perhpas be a party with the theme "Intrigue" which includes a game where guests try to outwit eachother to accomplish their own competing clandestine objectives, perhaps with booze as an incentive.

If art is the arrangement of symbols to invoke experience then what medium offers the artist a more immersive and developed platform upon which to work their magic, than a party?***



*I use the "magick" spelling to specify it as a religious/spiritual practise distinct from "magic" which denotes the practise of deceiving small children and boring your family members at wedding receptions.

** In fairness the same is true for experiencing music, film or any other medium of creativity.

*** It goes without saying that there are many limiting facets at play here which I have not mentioned. Parties are generally held for fun and so one may struggle to justify a party that explores depression or the horrors of war. Unless a cultural revolution takes place and artists begin to orchestrate and direct parties in unusual ways we may not be able to progress past partying as having "a grande old time".

Poetry, You Have One Last Chance!

In many ways I feel somewhat foolish writing this. Not long ago I was happily harping away about the heady heights of ethical hedonism and why it does not require us to sacrifice intellectual pursuits. Now having been recently reminded of poetry, I'm beginning to have second thoughts.

Whenever I read an essay and see vagueness in the concepts being employed, my philosophical training assumes the worst. For the most part of my intellectual growth I have considered vagueness to be the antithesis of carefulness; it was drilled into me by lecturers and tutors alike that the only time you write vaguely is when you are talking nonsense.

Why am I telling you this? Because I'm trying to figure out exactly what it is about poetry that I don't get and I'm trying to provide poetry with a face-saving answer because the alternative isn't that nice. If I'm brutally honest, I just don't see the point in poetry. If you want to write with hidden meanings then go join MI6 because your fascination is with espionage, not art. 

The real irony here is that I love minimalism and poetry is supposed to be the monarch of the minimal. Unfortunatly I find that poetry, due to its coy attempts at brevity, often ends up achieving the very opposite effect of minimalism. Instead of saying what needs to be said simply it says what it wants to say shortly and in turn becomes obscurantist, defeating the whole point of minimalism which is to cut through pomp.


However....

I generally intend to approach most activities with the attitude that if someone else can enjoy X then so can I.  

 Accordingly, and in corroboration with my previous resolutions regarding the expansion of my cultural vistas, I will spend some more time reading poetry. I will dutifully force myself to explore the possibility of finding joy in a hitherto un-tapped pleasure and succesfully disrupt the treadmill.

Hopefully with some discipline and effort I will break through to the other side where I can love poetry, care for it or at least think it worthwhile. Maybe Stockholm syndrome will win out or maybe I'll be left in the cold wondering why everyone keeps changing the line they are on mid-word....

Poetry is a dying medium, so far I have been staunchly in favour of putting it out of its misery by shooting it in the face with a cannon filled with manure... it has one last chance to convince me otherwise.