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Entries categorized as ‘history’

Where Wealth Accumulates, and Men Decay

March 18, 2010 · Leave a Comment

I love Tony Judt. This man is an absolutely brilliant brilliant brilliant historian with an unabashed lefty bent. (Have you read Postwar: A History of Europe Since 1945? No? Please do, soon.) He also happens to be slowly dying of A.L.S. He’s written about that, too, movingly, winningly, wonderfully.

So I knew I wanted to read his new book, Ill Fares the Land, regardless of subject matter. As soon as I heard the title, borrowed from Oliver Goldsmith, I knew this book would be spot-on in timing. And now that I’ve read this review in the NYT, I want to read the book more than ever.  Consider this:

Mr. Judt’s new book, “Ill Fares the Land,” is a slim and penetrating work, a dying man’s sense of a dying idea: the notion that the state can play a significant role in its citizens’ lives without imperiling their liberties. It makes sense that this book arrives now, not merely during the hideous endgame of the national health-care debate but during mud season; this book’s bleak assessment of the selfishness and materialism that have taken root in Western societies will stick to your feet and muddy your floors. But “Ill Fares the Land” is also optimistic, raw and patriotic in its sense of what countries like the United States and Britain have meant — and can continue to mean — to their people and to the world.

This is one of the reasons I like Judt so much. I feel like his worldview, his views on the role of the state, are so close to my own. I like that although he sticks like anything to the wall of hard pragmatism, he continues to feel and espouse a sense of immense optimism about the world we live in. I mean, “the notion that the state can play a significant role in its citizens’ lives without imperiling their liberties”–this is YES. This is the way I feel about my country and my government.  YES YES YES.

I feel uplifted. I feel enlightened. I feel like I really, really need this book.

Categories: Books · history · smart people

Shen Congwen’s Letters in A Public Space

March 8, 2010 · Leave a Comment

From Lu Xun's house in Beijing.

This is why I love A Public Space. They’ve been doing some wonderful things with international literature lately, and this is yet another.

Interest in early to mid twentieth century Chinese writers is low here in the West, and with some reason; it’s very difficult to find translations of any but the most well-known writers from this period, like Lu Xun or Lao She. Writers like Shen Congwen, sort of the Asian Faulkner, are virtually unknown here.  When I was in Beijing, it was heartbreaking to see how many writers’ works were available at bookstores there, in Chinese, of course.

A Public Space has published translations of Chinese writer Shen Congwen’s letters in its latest issue.  I’m hoping that more translations like these, along with articles, books, etc, will engender more Western interest in (and more translations of) Chinese writers both past and present.

If anyone’s interested in learning more about Shen Congwen and other Chinese writers, activists, revolutionaries, and dissidents throughout the twentieth century,  a great place to start is Jonathan Spence’s The Gate of Heavenly Peace: The Chinese and Their Revolution 1895-1980.

Categories: Writing · history · literary mags · translations

This is just crazy.

March 2, 2010 · Comments Off

Remember that fascinating-sounding book about Hiroshima?

Well, apparently the author just made a bunch of it up. And also possibly his other books. And also possibly his education.

How do people get away with stuff like this for so long?

Categories: Books · WTF? · history

Some Things

February 24, 2010 · 2 Comments

On this day in 1978, I was born. This is monumental only to myself, and yet perhaps someday citizens worldwide will celebrate my birthday. Hopefully this is when I am dead, or too old to care that I am old. For the record, I am not old now. I consider 32 young, and so do political campaigns, in which “young voters” are those under 35. So there, world. I will be celebrating my birthday by eating at a delicious Indian restaurant and potentially, some sort of ice cream product as well. I may watch a few episodes of the original Star Trek series, which my husband and I are working through courtesy of Flickr.  I’ll probably read a bit, and then go to bed since I have to work tomorrow.

Children, this is what happens when you are 32. Don’t be scared. It’s actually quite a relief, after all those years of  “what bar are we going to hit tonight and who with and what are the social implications of this and is there any possibility of seeing any action and is there a show happening tonight and is it within walking distance and am I going to freeze in this downtown and so-and-so’s creepy friend better not come and what if so-and-so is there and do I have to talk to her?” It really is.

Also, Jessa Crispin at Bookslut makes me laugh quite often, aloud in my office. And this was no exception. So, so true. I wish I knew what book she meant.

Sometimes when an author comes up with a really great idea, and with it creates a monster of disappointment and despair, destroying every good thing that could have been, I wish it was okay for another author to do a cover version. Like all those Leonard Cohen songs with the weird women’s backing vocals, which are always so much better when someone else sings them.

Also, John Cole is being very emo about the Senate today. Which is perfectly appropriate, I think.

Finally, a summary of reconciliation’s recent history, over at NPR. Just in case you were curious.

Categories: cool stuff · history · politics · smart people

It’s Not Our History; It’s How We Present It

February 24, 2010 · Comments Off

Visiting archeological and historical sites in China is a humbling, strange experience. As an American, you’re used to having ancient societies exhaustively explained through placards and signs, and houses, temples, tombs reconstructed and recreated,  in a “this is what life would have been like” spirit.

In China, with few exceptions, there is little explanation and no recreation.  You visit famous historical houses and palaces and wander through them bewildered, as they are almost entirely empty of furniture or of explanation. Who lived there? How did they live? What did they eat? What kind of furniture did they have? What kind of people were they? What did they wear? We had no idea. The soldiers at Xi’an stand as they have been dug up, with a few in glass cases. It’s a monumental and massive sight, but there’s not much explanation unless you’ve already researched the Qin Dynasty and the emperor who united China and commissioned these soldiers to guard his tomb. (Luckily, we knew this history already and had made the ten-hour train trip especially to see the soldiers.)  At Banpo, an ancient dig site, there was no explanation of who these people were, what this lost civilization was. “A girl died here,” our guide helpfully explained as we looked at a grave.There was a small museum with some tools these ancient people used, but not much else.

And it’s not the language barrier. We both knew enough Chinese to know that. It’s the culture–it’s the way in which a civilization views the past, the things it values and the things it wants explained. It’s mysteries and reshaping and reevaluating, politics and money and interest. And it’s fascinating how much it reveals. The only museum in China that offered extensive information and displays, in English as well as Chinese, was the Military Museum  in Beijing. There was a reason. As foreigners, we didn’t even have to pay to enter the museum. With explicitly political exhibits and propaganda galore, it was clear all the explanation was done in order to reshape the past, to offer a “right” version of history to counteract any “wrong” version we may have heard. (The museum is new-ish, but the fact that we were pretty much the only people there also added to the creepy factor.)

All this is preface (long preface, sorry) to my own explanation of why I’m obsessed with this book. From TNR’s review:

…Gere’s stimulating study repeatedly reminds us is that archeology can be not only a recovery of the past, not only a reflection of the present, but also a projection about our own culture and its ideals. ”There is no escaping the fact,” as she concludes, “that we read the human past to understand the present, and then interpret it in the light of the future that we fear or desire.”

Our archeology, our recovery of the past, says so much about our cultures.  This book sounds like a fascinating exploration of that idea.

Plus, the TNR review has “minotaur” in the title. I mean, how can I resist a book with “minotaur” in the title? My nerdy former self rises up in want, in need, to purchase.

Categories: Books · history

What’s Wrong with the Voting Rights Act?

February 16, 2010 · Comments Off

In Abigail Thernstrom’s new book, “Voting Rights–And Wrongs: The Elusive Quest for Racially Fair Elections,” she suggests several grave problems with the VRA. There’s an interesting review of the book over at TNR’s The Book, including this summary of Thernstrom’s argument:

The Voting Rights Act of 1965 “was one of the great moments in the history of American democracy” and “the death knell of the Jim Crow South.” Over the years, however, it has been twisted into an engine of racial rigging and polarization. This has been accomplished by misguided judges, unwise and self-serving congressional Republicans (as well as Democrats), and liberal ideologues in civil rights groups and the Civil Rights Division of the Department of Justice. Indeed, those forces have transformed the Voting Rights Act into “a brake on true racial progress today.”

I disagree that the Voting Rights Act’s usefulness or uses are over and done, but I do think that Thernstrom’s point that the act has led to some major problems with gerrymandering  impeding racial integration is a valid one. The book sounds like an interesting, well-thought-out one, albeit one I may not fully agree with.

Categories: Books · history · politics

The NYT’s Bob Herbert on Howard Zinn

January 31, 2010 · Comments Off

This is a great piece. Especially this:

He was a treasure and an inspiration. That he was considered radical says way more about this society than it does about him.

Absolutely.

Categories: doing good · history · smart people

Two Literary Giants are Dead

January 28, 2010 · Comments Off

RIP Howard Zinn and J.D. Salinger. They lived long lives, but they will still be greatly missed and mourned. Two writers who had a huge influence on me in very different ways.

What a depressing couple of days.

By the way, the New Yorker has made all Salinger’s  stories published there available here. I’ll probably spend some time there tonight, reading and rereading.

Categories: great books · history · smart people

Fiction as a Vessel for Historical Memory, Part II

January 25, 2010 · Comments Off

So last week, in this post, I wrote about the seeming lack of new or emerging writers on the indie scene tackling history in any meaningful way. Not as an indictment, but more an observation and perhaps a warning, since I worry about our society’s ability to learn from history if we lose our collective memory.

Then I read an excellent essay by Jeff Porter in the latest issue of Redivider and it made me think. I wonder if some readers avoid the past because they don’t know how to write about it without sounding like a history textbook. In light of that thought, I highly recommend Jeff Porter’s essay “Style and the Subjunctive.”  Porter is writing about literary nonfiction and particularly memoir, but I found myself agreeing with his advice as someone who typically writes fiction around historical events:

The problem…is that the indicative, especially as it is deployed by historians, produces a premature sense of finality, as if the knowing of something were finished before you even got out of bed.

It’s true. It’s boring. It’s why kids hate reading history books. And it’s why, when I write around history, I write the piece in the present tense. Present tense means the reader can be part of the story, whether it took place forty-five minutes or forty-five decades ago. It means the reader can feel the excitement, the danger, the fear, the uncertainty–most of all the uncertainty. It turns history into  an alternate universe, where maybe anything could, and might, happen. It makes the story compelling and breathes life into historical facts on a page.

Porter has a sort of  similar idea for creating fascinating history, and he adds the writer to the list of those who benefit from this approach:

One way to open up the past to the writerly imagination is to switch the indicative mood to the subjunctive. Framing things in a conditional or hypothetical way has the useful result of exposing the text to contingency and possibility. A mood swing would seem like a small thing, but it is surprising to what extent meaning is modified when writing shifts modalities. It’s as if the entire discourse was transcoded.

Of course, we all know we’re not supposed to use the subjunctive in our writing–it’s nearly as bad as the use of passive voice, yes? Porter notes that Strunk and White omitted it from the Elements of Style alt0gether. There may be reason, as Porter writes:

…the spirit of the subjunctive releases writers from the laws of history, setting us free to move without restraint across the modalities of time. That freedom is dangerous, of course, to the extent that it exposes us to what postmodern science calls the inherent disorder of time.

But, as Porter points out, the risk is worth the reward for many writers looking to expand the possibilities in history.  It’s the kind of risk in craft that gets me up every morning excited beyond belief just to write.

Categories: Writing · history · literary mags

Fiction as a Vessel For Historical Memory

January 22, 2010 · 4 Comments

As I become more familiar with the best and brightest emerging writers and writing on the indie lit scene, I notice that an astonishing percent of fiction takes place in the present. And not just the present, but the immediate present (Right now, in my apartment, in my head, in the moment.) There’s nothing wrong with this, and the immediacy of the writing tends to provoke an intense emotional response, no doubt. Much of it is brilliant and vivid.

But at the same time, I worry that not enough new writers are remembering our history for us. Yes, we have more than our share of hacks writing historical fiction, but that’s not what I mean. I’m thinking specifically of writers like Jim Shepard, who often write literary fiction about the past, about historical moments that evoke a sense of continuity and shared history, a timeline we know and can learn from as well as the commonality of human experience. I know as a writer I find it almost morally necessary to write about history, and as a reader I seek it out hungrily but can find very little of it.

I think this might be a problem for my generation. After all, Huxley said years ago that “that men do not learn very much from the lessons of history is the most important of all the lessons of history.” And more recently, historian Tony Judt wrote that “we live in an age of forgetting.” It’s important that we remember, and that we learn from the lessons of history. So, what if they weren’t lessons? What if fiction, in its subtle, entertaining way, could preserve memory and help us learn from it in a way history lessons could not? Look at works like Slaughterhouse Five–if not for Vonnegut’s classic, how many readers would be aware of the Dresden firebombings? Few enough people can recall our last ten presidents, let alone the less recent or even far flung past.

Fiction is a witness, is a vessel for our collective, historical memory. It’s just one of many, and needn’t shoulder that responsibility by itself. And some writers’ genius lends itself much more to writing of contemporary times and troubles than of the past, for certain. And hey, maybe I’m missing a whole bunch of amazing writers who’ve done fiction on history. I hope so. I want to read more of them. Because in an “age of forgetting,” when we forget what happened four years ago, let alone four decades ago, we desperately need to learn to remember. And to remember to learn.

Categories: Writing · history