The Australian War Memorial is not a political football

Gunning Chapter of the RSL, ANZAC Day 2022. Photo by Eliza Markert [CC BY-ND 4.0] 

Here is my latest article in The Spectator's Flat White, The Australian War Memorial is not a political football.

The one place that activism does not belong is the Australian War Memorial.https://t.co/j9eyTx7XEi

— The Spectator Australia (@SpectatorOz) October 9, 2022

We must align our university research with Australia’s strategic intent

 

Publish or Perish? (Photo: Whiskey Monday via Flickr CC BY-NC-SA 2.0)

Academics often have lofty ideals about passion-driven curiosity in designing research projects. But these ideals are rarely practical. Changing times demand a changing focus in our approach to publicly funded research.

The ‘publish or perish’ metric drives many researchers to trendy topics that have little consequence in terms of Australia’s place in the world. In fact, the Excellence in Research for Australia (ERA) program has had the opposite effect, with Australian research journals rarely meeting the desired first quartile rankings that are essential for promotion in the academy.

The Prime Minister recently stated that the ‘publish or perish’ metric must give way to the commercialisation imperative. While this may be possible in some disciplines like the industrial sciences, this too is a flawed metric. And the potential for commercialisation in our current public-funded research system is a nightmare of bureaucratic red tape that will take more than good intentions to overcome.

Take the national Science and Research Priorities administered by the Department of Industry as a case in point. Third on the list is transport, which includes policy and other areas that are related to the social rather than the industrial or natural sciences. 

Health is the ninth priority. If the pandemic has taught us anything, it is that the science is fine. But the social and political issues have caused more problems than the natural sciences can explain in any meaningful way.

To be sure, energy and other policies are underpinned by science, but the practical approaches to deploying the science are beset by politics to ‘satisfice’ rather than deliver the most efficient or effective solution.

To take the national research priorities seriously, universities need to be incentivised to align research centres that establish collaborative networks focused on publishing research not only in the best journals but in Australian journals that are open access and available for anyone to use for free. It is rather strange that publicly funded Australian research outputs are hidden behind a commercial paywall and often in overseas journals.

When I was in Canada in 2007 a Harvard professor suggested that the best way to commercialise research is for companies to hire the best PhD graduates in the relevant field and to pay them to develop the company’s own intellectual property. Partnering with universities is such a barrier to commercialisation that it is hardly worth the effort.

Australia’s track record with commercialising our own competitive advantages leaves much to be desired. Take for instance the native macadamia nut. The US produced the most of this native crop until Australia gained ground up until 2015, only to lose the title to South Africa recently.

Consider also the CSIRO’s development of ‘fast wifi’ technology. Our world-leading research organisation had to fight its way through US courts to claim fees from their 1996 patent. If a government research agency has problems commercialising, what hope have our lumbering universities?

We are entering a stage in our strategic situation that will rely heavily on the higher education system if we are to address the challenges of the future. Our submariners need PhDs in nuclear engineering or physics. We need social and political approaches to effectively deploy scientific solutions. We need a cadre of educators sympathetic to our national priorities. And we need to provide incentives to keep the best educators in the sector.

Changing trade and security relations in the post-pandemic world order stress the importance of commercialising research. But so too is the necessity for language skills in Japanese, Hindi, Chinese, and Indonesian. Australians are notoriously monolingual, and this remains a barrier to commercialisation in the region.

There is scope for passion-driven research and academic freedom, and such ideals do not have to be at odds with the national research priorities. But if we are to ensure our future prosperity and security, commercialisation is one of many approaches to address the end of free market globalisation.

Rather than force all academic disciplines to commercialise, the key to integrating our research outputs is to align universities with our national research priorities. Such research must also prioritise open access publication in Australian journals if the outputs are to be useful.

NSW ICAC Model: 'Shame culture' institution not suited to Australian democracy

Poor timing of the announcement into the investigation of Gladys Berejiklian aside, the NSW ICAC model represents a 'shame culture' institution that is not suited to Australian democracy.

The announcement by the NSW Independent Commission Against Corruption (ICAC) of an investigation into the NSW Premier's alleged "breach of public trust" the week before lockdown ends was inherently political, despite it being within the institution’s powers.

The many people who voted for the NSW Government can be justifiably upset by the timing and the fact that unelected bodies like ICAC can influence political leadership in times of crisis. What system of redress do voters have toward this unelected body? 

Citizens do not vote for ICAC, but ICAC has created a situation that has toppled the leader of the party the majority of voters in NSW wanted to be in government. 

In the context of the current crisis, NSW citizens may be justifiably confused by the over-reach of power given to ICAC. Adam Smith's ‘impartial and well-informed spectator’ would be right to question whether ICAC’s actions were politically motivated.

In addition to preventing corruption, the model for ICAC in NSW has created a situation where an unelected body can ruin a state premier's reputation by doing little more than raising a suspicion. Simply put, the model for the NSW ICAC, originally designed to root out endemic corruption in 1980s NSW, has more recently focused on a process of ‘naming and shaming’.

To be sure, ICAC has had its successes in fighting corruption, but since its founding in 1988, three NSW premiers have now been named and shamed. The first two premiers lost their positions but were subsequently found not to have broken the law.

And a third premier has been shamed initially through collateral damage from a public hearing into another person, and subsequently through a public announcement of an investigation. This resulted in her resignation.

ICAC's powers need to be reviewed. Its current model can disrupt political leadership at the whim of an announcement. Three unelected bureaucrats, one full-time and two part-time commissioners, effectively hold the power of veto over state premiers in NSW.

A similar anti-corruption body has been debated at the federal level. But rather than the NSW model, the proposed federal model would not have public hearings. Some say that this is wrong - if it is good enough for others then it is good enough for the political elite.

But imagine if a prime minister was wrongly named and shamed and the federal government imploded like the NSW government is imploding this week? There is a clear incentive for enemies of the Australian state to use this system to destabilise our national government. Arguably, a federal anti-corruption body in the same mould as NSW represents a national security risk.

The NSW ICAC requires reform. Unelected bodies that have such power over our liberal democratic system are a destabilising force. That a third NSW premier has fallen from the 'shame culture' response created by ICAC suggests the efficacy of ICAC has been compromised by this capability.

But even if ICAC finds that the NSW Premier acted unethically (as opposed to illegally), is the political instability worth the finding? Voters are best able to decide who should lead them. Finding political solutions to political problems is a basic principle of liberal democracies.

The key issue is prosecuting something versus publicly naming and shaming. ‘Naming and shaming’ creates collateral damage that cannot be undone. Public hearings that destabilise our political system do not make politicians more accountable. They distract our political leaders from doing their jobs, especially in times of crisis. 

The concept of the rule of law provides for the rights of individuals and the inherent principle of innocence until proven guilty. Nevertheless, in cases such as those relating to national security, the burden of proof can be reversed. But the point is that the 'accused' engages with the legal process.

NSW ICAC investigations, when announced, do not facilitate the concepts of 'innocent until proven guilty' or rely on the reversal of the burden of proof. ICAC announcements are a form of naming and shaming that reinforces the perception of guilt.

The NSW ICAC model represents a 'shame culture' institution that is not suited to Australian democracy. Any federal anti-corruption body would benefit from closer adherence to the accepted norms of the rule of law and avoid the naming and shaming model adopted in NSW.

Exploring Cultural References in "Mad Men"

Mad Men: Pete Campbell, Don Draper, and Roger Sterling. Photo: MCC Current [CC BY-SA 2.0] via Flickr.

The Ultimate Guide to Mad Men: The Guardian Companion to the Slickest Show on Television by Will Dean

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

Recent period-drama television series closely resemble soap operas but with a twist: there is much to learn from deliberate literary, cultural, and historical references. 

I first became aware of Mad Men while reading a post on The Art of Manliness about Don Draper's haircut. Much has been written about the series on respected media websites, including the Wall Street Journal, The Conversation, and The Guardian. (Another of my favourite period-dramas, Downton Abbey, has a similar following in terms of literary, cultural and historical references.) 

I purchased this book to delve deeper into some of the cultural references appearing in the series. I have been pleasantly surprised by some of the more obvious references, such as Frank O'Hara's Meditations in an Emergency, Palisades Amusement Park, the story of Park Avenue Armory, Penn Station, and other historical sites. The New York Public Library has also compiled a Mad Men reading list and a series of 1960's fashion illustrations. 

What I didn't know was that most of this book is available on The Guardian's website. The book itself is formulaic, and only covers the first three seasons. Aside from some interesting essays on the various sociological aspects of the show, the general format is a description of each episode, commentary on the social and cultural references, and comments by a number of the participants on the original blog. 

It wasn't riveting stuff, and at times I felt that almost anyone with the right institutional backing could produce such an easy (lazy?) book. Having said that, I discovered much that I had missed on my several viewings of the series. 

Like Downton Abbey, so much of the background research that went into writing the drama is far from self-evident, and there is much to be gained from lifting the lid on the research. Even the anachronisms and historical errors (usually stemming from poetic licence) are sources of fascinating knowledge. 

Matthew Weiner's work is first-class, and I must admit to a tinge of envy that someone could know so much and write for the screen. Of course, this is no ordinary person, but it was interesting that one of the blog commentators noticed in the credits that a mental health expert had been employed in the making of one episode. I took some solace in the fact that such big productions are the work of many people. (Until I discovered that Matthew Weiner has written a novella, too. Now I will have to read it - and that's how my reading process works!) 

I have often struggled with the idea of not finishing books that I do not like, but then I often end up discovering something interesting in even the worst of books. Not that this book is so bad, but when the formula for the final episode of the book ends, so does the book. It is followed by a list of the music featured in each episode. (Check out Spotify's Mad Men playlist - the soundtrack is great!) 

I often get a bit snobbish about the value of a television series in comparison to literature. But the same could be said of my favourite computer game, Sid Meier's Civilization, which has been referred to as a form of "edutainment". 

In many ways, I find television series, particularly period-dramas, a useful form of Netflix bingeing with a mild excuse of having some educational value. For example, after finishing both Mad Men and Downton Abbey, I looked for the "best" television series to start on next. Consistently, Breaking Bad rated as the best television series of all time. But after a few episodes, I found the show rather empty and I abandoned it soon after. 

Recently, Grimm had me hooked, and it has sent me off to learn all about the Black Forest and the Grimm brothers. I daresay learning from Breaking Bad would not lead to the type of education I am seeking! But I digress. 

I learnt much from this book, but it is obviously dated, and I am in no rush to read up more about Mad Men any time soon. But I will continue to delve into the many literary, cultural, and historical references from the series (and this book), but I really must be a little more critical with my reading choices and not rely on a brand name (no pun intended) when going off the beaten track.

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Learning Italo Calvino's Literary Oeuvre

Il Duce. Mussolini in Mailand, May 1930. Photo [CC-BY-SA 3.0] via Wikimedia.

Into the War by Italo Calvino

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Calvino wrote these three short autobiographical stories despite his criticism of autobiographies. The works were written in Italian in 1954, and only translated into English in 2011. 

The stories tell the tale of Calvino's youth in Mussolini's Italy at the beginning of the Second World War. Calvino was too young to serve when war broke out, and by the time he was of age to serve, he avoided the Fascist draft and become a partisan. 

A few things stand out for me. Life in the early period of the war seems to have been quite mundane, especially for a teenager. The usual goings-on of teenage life seem to fit, relatively unchanged, into the backdrop of war. Even a trip to the newly conquered French town of Menton provides mostly a backdrop for what a teenage boy might do. 

At the same time, a subtext of the Fascist movement is ever-present, and subtle hints at the Fascist's glorying in their conquering as if re-imagining a Roman past appear in the actions and words of the adults who direct the boys in their guard and sentry duties. 

In his translator's introduction, Martin McLaughlin mentions Calvino's relationship with his father, and how the father concludes the three short stories by walking off with his dog to do his normal duties as if nothing else was going on. While the likes of Mortimer Adler have suggested not reading introductions before embarking on a new book, I find it increasingly useful when I am in the early stages of reading an author's works. 

This is only my fourth Calvino work, and I am yet to grasp the nature of his oeuvre. I found the same when first reading Hemingway, but after learning more about his life and other non-literary background readings, I came to better appreciate his work as I read it. 

I found the introduction useful with Calvino and I was able to follow the subtle hints to the backstory of his father that I may have otherwise missed. The translation seems to work well, and if anything is lost in translation I can only imagine how brilliant Calvino's work must be in the original (if I could read Italian, that is). 

Already, I am surprised by the diversity of Calvino's work, especially when compared with Hemingway, where almost all of his work (except perhaps Garden of Eden, although it is somewhat the antithesis) is a variation on a theme. I am intrigued by Calvino. 

Whether it is reading someone other than an Anglophone I am not sure, but I have the same experience of reading Walter Benjamin or even Harold Bloom. This makes me think that Calvino's literary work is brilliant. And that's it.

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On Taste, Sound, and Smell: Calvino's unfinished business

Skunks rayé ou mouffette. Photo by Tomfriedel [CC BY 3.0] via Wikimedia.

Under The Jaguar Sun by Italo Calvino

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

My experience of Calvino is quite limited, but after reading his Why Read the Classics, learning more about Calvino's influence from Harold Bloom, and more recently purchasing The Cambridge Companion to the Italian Novel, I have decided to immerse myself in Calvino's work. 

In Under the Jaguar Sun, Calvino begins what was planned to be a novel on the five senses. Unfortunately, Calvino died before he was able to complete sight and touch, but the three short stories on taste, sound, and smell survive and work as stand alone pieces, or pieces on a theme. 

The first story (the title piece) covers taste and tells the story of a couple of gastro-tourists discovering the link between taste and ancient Central American human sacrifice and cannibalism. 

The second piece, "A King Listens", had me shivering with imagery so vivid as to be on the edge of surreal. 

The third piece, "The Name, the Nose", was my favourite, although I can barely work out what was meant to have happened. This is, so far, the most gritty of Calvino's work I have read. 

It reminded me of Bukowski crossed with Thomas Mann. The language seems suited to the 1980s (when it was written), but after mostly reviews of classic works and Marcovaldo, I wasn't ready for Calvino to be so grunge. 

Cynthia Ozock's review in the New York Times of 23 October 1988 suggests "The Name, the Nose" was not a success. 

But I found it interesting in the way it echoes Arthur Schnitzler's Dream Story. Or rather, having previously thought of Calvino as a late-nineteenth early-twentieth century writer, "The Name, the Nose" is more like Stanley Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut, where you get the sense that the characters and setting are of another time, but not as in the "on steroids" Baz Luhrmann version of Romeo and Juliet. 

I am often amazed at how good short stories can fire up the imagination in such a way that the work takes some time to digest. "The Name, the Nose" has left its residue, and while it may not be regarded as one of Calvino's best, I am pleased to discover that his range is not as limited as I first thought.

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You were in a Big City and there were Bright Lights

West 42nd Street between 7th and 8th Avenues (1984). Photo by TedQuackenbush [CC BY SA 3.0] via Wikimedia.

Bright Lights, Big City by Jay McInerney

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I "discovered" Jay McInerney when I watched the BBC2 documentary Sincerely, F. Scott Fitzgerald. McInerney's first novel remains a winner. 

Set in Mahattan in 1984, the story covers how almost everyone felt in the 1980s. That time when you were done with nightclubs, but there was nothing else to do. You kept going back, but all you wanted to do was something else. 

This is the first novel I have ever read in the second person. McInerney makes it work. Apparently it was turned into a film starring Michael J. Fox (I never saw it) and also an Off-Broadway rock musical from 1999. 

I often listen to music while reading and writing, usually minimalism and John Adams in particular. The trouble is I have been listening to the same music over and over for more than ten years and sometimes I have to change. 

Lately I have been in the habit of listening to music from the time the book was written or from the country of origin of the author. Most of the books I read tend to be older, so listening to 1984 was never going to happen. 

I typed "bright lights big city" into Spotify, and hey presto! There was the rock musical version of the book. This was the funniest experience I have had with music and reading. 

Many of the songs use the exact words from the book and I had to change the music when I found myself reading the exact words of the book while listening to them at the same time in the musical's soundtrack. 

The song "Coma Baby" had me cacking myself. 

Part of the story reminds me of Guy de Maupassant's Bel Ami sans the cocaine. But it finishes a bit like Tom Cruise's Risky Business or Matthew Broderick's Ferris Bueller's Day Off. It reads like a young person's novel but there is certainly genius there. 

I am yet to read another McInerney, but it is worth exploring more of his work. But the most memorable thing for me was the incident with the music and the book. Not to take away from the book, but the experience fitted right in with the tone of the novel. 

What it must have been like to be so young and write so well.

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Lenny: Mahler, Pedagogy, Leonard Bernstein, and My Cat

Leonard Bernstein rehearsing with Benny Goodman, 1940s. [Photo: Public Domain via Wikimedia]

Dinner with Lenny: The Last Long Interview with Leonard Bernstein by Jonathan Cott

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

A brief look at Jonathan Cott's profile at Rolling Stone magazine reveals a long list of interviews (including dinners) with some of the greats of music, literature, and film, including Bob Dylan, Susan Sontag, John Lennon, Mick Jagger, Henry Miller, Richard Gere, and Francis Ford Coppola. I found this book, which was originally meant to be an article for Rolling Stone, refreshing. During the course of some twelve hours, Jonathan Cott interviews the conductor and composer most famous for West Side Story, but is not allowed to ask questions such as "What is your favourite book/composer/music (etc)?" The interview was conducted in 1989, and within a year, Bernstein, a heavy drinker and smoker, was dead. There are some great reviews that cover the basics of the work, including Amanda Mark's review in the New York Journal of Books. I agree with Mark's criticism of the interviewer injecting a little too much of himself into the interview, but it is clear that "Lenny" was taken with him. Suzy Klein's interview in the New Republic captures more of Lenny's sassiness.

But for me, two things stand out most. First, Leonard Bernstein was a great conductor. And not just because others say so, but now I am armed with more knowledge of his work as a conductor, I have been able to compare the works conudcted by Bernstein with that of others. For example, I have taken a keen interest in Mahler. This interest stems from a number of coinciding interests. I first "discovered" Mahler after reading Thomas Mann's Death in Venice. This led me to watching the movie starring Dirk Bogarde, where Mahler's music forms a major part of the soundtrack. (This led me to discover the literary work of Dirk Bogarde.) Around the same time, I was fortunate enough to attend the inaugural performance of John Adam's Saxophone Concerto at the Sydney Opera House, where John Adams conducted the work. Despite a non-existent microphone, Adams held the audience captive as he spoke to the audience about Mahler (among other things). I have never heeard such silence from such a large crowd. John Adams is easily my most favourite composer (of any genre), but there is clearly a connection here with Mahler. So I was surprised to learn that Bernstein fits into the theme of things I enjoy, and I have been comparing recordings of Mahler's work conducted by Lenny with other conductors. There are clearly interesting differences that I would otherwise have missed.

Second, I had no idea that Bernstein had a clear pedagogy. He is credited with teaching a new generation about classical music with the 1950s television series Omnibus. Suffice it to say that Bernstein had a way to lift the lid on education, to inspire, entertain, and really teach. I like West Side Story, but I was never really enamoured with it, as many others seem to be. But reading this book has given me a glimpse of the great man. Finally, and despite my initial reservations about the interviewer, I have a new appreciation for Jonathan Cott's work, and will investigate some of his other published works. I am not sure how I stumbled upon this book, but I have a suspicion it was from Maria Popova's wonderful blog, Brain Pickings, which is easily one of my favourite blogs. And by way of an aside, we named our cats Karl and Lenny (of The Simpsons fame), but interchangeably refer to them as Karl Marx and Lenny Lenin. But now I can only think of my cheeky cat as Lenny Bernstein. And, based on Cott's interview, reincarnation was not something that Lenny took lightly.

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There is no time like the present to cultivate your own garden

Woman with bound feet reclining on chaise lounge, China [Public Domain via Wikimedia].

Waiting by Ha Jin

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This is a lovely story that has all of the drama of Candide without the travel. If the theme is anything, it is that, rather than "good things come to those who wait", we might often wait for something that was never good, and then regret what we deliberately left behind. I don't think the theme comparison with Candide's "cultivate your own garden" is too far from the author's intention. 

Set in a period that encompasses the Cultural Revolution, this novel captures what it may have been like to live during this period of history in China. Ha Jin's work is brilliant. I saw this book in the bookstore and I was drawn to it. 

After reading Eileen Chang's Lust, Caution, I have decided to investigate a variety of literary works outside of my Anglophone comfort zone. While Chang's work was translated, Ha Jin is a Professor of English at Boston University, so this work was written in English. 

His style is engaging and I found it hard to turn the light out to sleep for two nights as I wanted to finish it in one go. This novel had me reflecting on my own life and the choices I have made. 

Not that I regret the past - or at least I inspire to live in the spirit of amor fati - but I couldn't help think that there are many lessons of the past that I hadn't really embedded in my psyche. After sharing the journey with the protagonist, Lin Kong, I am still returning to memories to mop up the remnants of lessons long forgotten or ignored. 

I think a great novel allows the reader to learn from the experiences of the characters. In effect, to learn from the mistakes of fools rather than make the same mistake. This novel won the 1999 US National Book Award, and no wonder. While I do not pretend that a book award is the be-all and end-all of great books, it provides some reassurance. And I wasn't disappointed. 

Ha Jin has written many other novels, and I hope to be reading another of his works very soon. It was helpful to have a working knowledge of Chinese modern history, and especially Chairman Mao's philosophy, but it is not necessary to enjoy the story. 

At the beginning here I wrote that it is a lovely story, and it is, but in a way that one sits and thinks for an eternity before putting the book down. It is also a very sad story. If I were to sum up the story in one of Poor Richard's (Benjamin Franklin's) maxims, it would be thus:

Would you live with ease, do what you ought, and not what you please.

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On the Origins of Folk Wisdom with Poor Richard

Benjamin Franklin Henley House. Photo by Valis55 [CC BY-SA 3.0] via Wikimedia.

Wit and Wisdom from Poor Richard's Almanack by Benjamin Franklin

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This book includes hundreds of quotes from Poor Richard's Almanack, published annually by Benjamin Franklin and lasting some 25 years. Franklin admitted that he had "borrowed" some of the maxims, but the Almanack seems to have created many a household saying. It is always interesting to find one of the sources of "folk wisdom" and familiar sayings for which we take the origin for granted. I have been using La Rochefoucauld's Maxims for some time as a prompt for my daily journalling, and as I near the end of his maxims, I anticipate substituting Franklin's maxims once I am done with La Rochefoucauld. What is surprising about Franklin's maxims is the sheer breadth of topics - and of course, this volume is but a few of the best from the many issues of the Almanack. Some have a Christian bent, for example:

When you taste Honey, remember Gall.

Some recall Arabic sayings:

Fish and visitors stink after three days.

Others consider the "no contest" between science and religion:

The way to see by Faith is to shut the Eye of Reason; The Morning Daylight appears plainer when you put out your Candle

And even some leadership lessons:

He that cannot obey, cannot command.

This work is part of the Dover Thrift Series and I have others including Oscar Wilde and Abraham Lincoln to read. While technically not a "book", I find such lists of maxims easiest to digest if one reads through the list first, and then takes each in turn as a trigger for reflection. One of the most interesting quotes makes me wonder whether Franklin's self-teaching (minus the social capital of those who win the birth lottery) had similar limitations to my own:

Write with the learned, pronounce with the vulgar.

I found the after-effects of these maxims long lasting. There is so much in such a short book. That Franklin thought long and hard about his personal philosophy is obvious. If I were to sum up this philosophy in one maxim, it would be this:

A long Life may not be good enough, but a good life is long enough.

The strangest thing for me was that I read this while taking a break from reading St Teresa's Interior Castle. That much folk wisdom emanates from St Teresa's masterpiece is obvious, albeit more readily digestible when written by Poor Richard.

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Human Nature and Waugh's Phoney War

Waugh's Phoney War scammers become heroes because they are all in it together. [Images: Public Domain via Wikimedia]

Put Out More Flags by Evelyn Waugh

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Waugh begins with two quotes from Lin Yutang's The Importance of Living. Interestingly, Washington Post columnist Dana Milbank used the epigraph as a critique of President Trump's February 2018 plans to hold a "grand military parade" in Washington. Yutang's epigraph provides Waugh's title:

A man getting drunk at a farewell party should strike a musical tone, in order to strengthen his spirit . . . and a drunk military man should order gallons and put out more flags in order to increase his military splendor.

A second quote from Yutang applies equally to the work of Waugh and Trump:

A little injustice in the heart can be drowned by wine; but a great injustice in the world can be drowned only by the sword.

Yet Milbank's critique of Trump refers to the Classical Roman triumphal parades, sans the ego check:

There’s only one problem with this plan, as I see it. In the Roman triumph, a slave would ride with the general in his chariot and repeatedly whisper into his ear, “Memento mori”: Remember, you are mortal. For our parading president, this could be a dealbreaker.

The Evelyn Waugh Society was chuffed that Put Out More Flags got a guernsey. But here is the "dealbreaker" for comparing the theme of Waugh's story with contemporary conflicts: Waugh's characters all act like petty scammers and nepotists during the Phoney War, but by the time the conflict begins, and reality hits the first casualty, we see a change of heart as the characters step up and do their duty. Nonetheless, the period before the evacuation of Dunkirk and the ensuing Battle of Britain was remarkably un-warlike. Waugh captures this time satirically. I was confused about the theme of this work and so I turned to John Chamberlain's 1942 review in The New York Times. Chamberlain wrote:

[The story] starts out as a wicked satire in the well-known Waugh manner and ends up as a morality play.

I rather thought it otherwise - that Waugh was looking at human nature when there was nothing to lose, versus once the first blood is spilt. Once our first war casualty appears, everyone except the author rushes to become a commando or refuses a commission so they can serve as private soldiers. Otherwise, they are all silver-tails who try to gain obscure roles in safe office jobs. There is one scene, however, where the author is exiled to Ireland, that reminds me of the present. Basil Seal, in his attempt to increase his tenuous status in the bureaucracy, accuses the author of being a Nazi (a situation which Basil himself orchestrated). This results in the author's exile and I watched the movie Trumbo immediately after finishing the book. To be un-American (or indeed, un-Australian) seems to be a timeless farce. Chamberlain thought the change in attitude of the elites rather absurd, that it was not "good Waugh". Yet the book remains a classic, with Bridey Heing writing for Pank Magazine in 2015 claiming that:

...telling a story that is humorous without making a joke of war itself can be extremely difficult [and] Put Out More Flags is laugh-out-loud funny, and the humor being at the expense of the war industry makes that laughter cathartic.

I certainly didn't laugh out loud, but I intend to read more of Waugh's work. Once I started, I barely put this book down. This is the first Evelyn Waugh novel I have read, and I have A Handful of Dust to read next.

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The Four Seasons of Village Life

Spring

To these modest landholders the rural character of the neighbourhood was a matter of particular jealousy...

(Evelyn Waugh, Put Out More Flags, p. 108).

 

Everyone agreed that the day was just right for the picnic...

(Joan Lindsay, Picnic at Hanging Rock, p. 7).

Sundance draws his Colt, takes careful aim, and fires. He misses.

(Steven Pressfield,The Authentic Swing, p. 55).

Summer

Listen to the pounding old jalopy with all your senses, for a change of tone, a variation of rhythm may mean – a week here?

(John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath).

Time crumbles things; everything grows old under the power of Time and is forgotten through the lapse of Time.

(Aristotle).

The only thing the road cares about is that you pay it a visit once in a while.

(Mel Gibson, What Women Want, 2000).

Autumn

It was a mistake to think of houses, old houses, as being empty. They were filled with memories, with the faded echoes of voices.

(Nora Roberts, Key of Knowledge).

No, of course. It's just the name. There is no fog in London. There is no London fog.

(Lane Pryce, Mad Men).

A tree is known by its fruit; a man by his deeds. A good deed is never lost; he who sows courtesy reaps friendship, and he who plants kindness gathers love.

(Saint Basil).

Winter

I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion.

(Alexander the Great).

No other game combines the wonder of nature with the discipline of sport in such carefully planned ways. A great golf course both frees and challenges a golfer's mind.

(Tom Watson).

Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read.

(Groucho Marx).

Spivak: What's in a name?

Michael Bacall as Wally Spivak, in the movie Spivak (2018).

As if to confirm my experience of the inter-relatedness of events across time and space (as depicted in Nowhere Man), I recently watched Michael Bacall's latest movie, Spivak. If Bacall can continue in this vein, he is bound to be the next Woody Allen.

Although there appear to be no reviews from critics just yet, IMDb reviewers of Spivak are divided. I thought it was rather charming, and for a movie about a writer trying to write, it is somewhat inspiring.

Not so much the unlikely situations Wally Spivak (played by Michael Bacall) finds himself in, but that people can and do write novels, and they can and do give book readings and signings in Los Angeles, and the grind of it all looks no different than it would if one were doing the same thing at the Paperchain Bookstore in Manuka, Canberra.

But what is the connection between this movie and Nowhere Man? 

"Spivak" is a family name of Ukrainian-language origin, and it means "singer". There is more to this name than at first appears. Many Ashkenazic Jews in Eastern Europe, for example. did not have last names until in some cases the early 19th century. "Singer" and its variants was one of the common names adopted.

Interestingly, the family name "Singer" is one that most Anglophones will immediately recognise as the name of the popular sewing machines. But whether Isaac Merritt Singer was Jewish appears to be a hotly debated topic. Apparently, his father was a German-Jew, but Isaac's mother had Isaac christened as a Lutheran. The name was not adopted from "singer" as in a choir, but from the German/Bavarian name "Reisinger".

Nonetheless, the family name "Singer" is a common Jewish family name, for example Yiddish author and Nobel Laureate Isaac Bashevis Singer.

Many families, during Alexander III's policy of "Russification" of the empire's national minorities, including Jews and Muslims, adopted Slavic name endings. 

As a consequence, Muslims in countries such as Uzbekistan might have the Slavic suffix -ov added to what would otherwise be a Turkic or Arabic name. Further, members of the Mongol's Golden Horde did not use surnames, later adopting surnames which were Slavicized by adding the various Slavic suffixes to Mongolian names.

The question of adapting names to suit host countries continues to this day. In Nowhere Man, we never learn whether Jozef Pronek is Muslim, and he avoids the question each time he is asked.

Similarly, in Spivak, we do not learn about Wally's background. But I found the title of the film intriguing, and there is clearly more to Slavicized names in the former Soviet Union than I ever imagined.

Eyes Wide Shut: The book is better than the movie

Mask from the film Eyes Wide Shut by Stanley Kubrick. Exhibit at EYE Filminstitut Netherlands, Amsterdam. Photo by FaceMePLS via Wikimedia[CC BY 2.0].

Dream Story by Arthur Schnitzler

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

While reading St Theresa's Interior Castle, I needed a diversion to bring some interest back to my reading. A simple way to ensure I have a steady supply of novels to read is to buy all of the Penguin Classics series. This international series brings to the reader authors and stories that would otherwise be neglected by we Antipodean Anglophones of little news from the Otherphones. Unless the story was the plot of a movie. 

I knew nothing of Austrian author Arthur Schnitzler, nor of his novella Dream Story. As I read it, I couldn't help but think of Stanley Kubrick's final movie, Eyes Wide Shut. When I looked up Arthur Schnitzler just now, I discovered that the movie was indeed an adaptation of this very novella.

Such discoveries are pleasing and bring an undeserved sense of achievement, much like becoming a grandfather. 

But I recall hating the movie when it first came out. Bearing in mind, of course, that at that time I thought Starship Troopers was the greatest movie ever made. But long since my late 20s, I have revisited many of Kubrick's movies (as I have done with Woody Allen), and there is certainly something of the genius there. 

(I still struggle with Clockwork Orange, but will read the book and see if that helps. After reading this novella, I intend to watch Eyes Wide Shut again and see if my opinion changes.)

But as for this novella, I read the lofty dream-like scenes before sleeping rather late, and then awoke to finish off the last few pages where reality hits Fridolin, our protagonist. My state of being suited the plot rather well. 

One scene in the Kubrick movie had Tom and Nicole smoking a joint, and this must have been where Fridolin's wife, Albertine, tells him of her desire to have an affair with a young naval officer. I recall being annoyed by that scene - Kidman didn't have the innocence that Albertine portrays in the novella.

The innocence brings out the stupidity of Fridolin's jealousy in sharp relief, whereas Kidman's character, I recall, was really trying to stir things up. This means some of the key themes of courage and class-based morality are lost in the movie.

The movie, too, seems to direct the audience too much, whereas the novella doesn't answer all reader's questions; it is left to the imagination. Schnitzler does this well.

This is a very quick read, but of course, the book is better than the movie.

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Vance the Brave: or, Re-imagining My Poor White Life

Publicity photo of Buddy Ebsen and Phil Silvers from The Beverly Hillbillies. [Public Domain] via Wikimedia. 

Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis by J.D. Vance

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I have had this book on my notifications list from Book Depository for some time now, and then I stumbled (or bumbled!) upon it in the tiny English section of the bookstore at Shanghai's Pudong International Airport. 

At the time of writing, I understand Vance was 31 years old. He mocked himself for daring to call a book by someone so young a "memoir". Having read it, he had no reason to mock himself. 

This is the story of a smart kid who grew up with little social capital, but because of a sympathetic grandmother, was able to finish school then join the Marines then finish college and then practise law after graduating from Yale. Change a few place names, sans the drugs and the guns, and I could re-publish this as the story of my own life. 

Even though I would be lying because I didn't experience the familial breakdown Vance experienced, but his ability to get the hell out of a small town by joining the military, getting through university despite himself, and learning the importance of social capital, was as important for a boy from Western Sydney and later Far North Queensland as it was for this ex-Kentucky hillbilly. 

I cannot bring myself to be as honest here as Vance is in the book. Given nobody would bother to read this but thousands must have read Vance, he is certainly brave. I can imagine he must have upset many members of his family to write about such private and personal matters but I am glad he did. 

Assuming, of course, that a kid lacking in social capital would bother to read it. 

For those who have survived, reading the book is eminently cathartic. I found myself nodding in agreement as I read of the trials and travails. At other times, I was screaming at Vance with things like: "You still don't get it!" then remembering that at 31, I didn't get anything at all. 

If I were to sum up this work, I would say it was courageously honest. I cannot remember where I first stumbled upon this book, but it was probably in early 2017 in The New Yorker. It provides a glimpse into the gaining of social capital through constant struggle, being mentored by someone who can see where one is at (even when one's ego wouldn't allow one to be mentored), stumbling from class conscious faux pas to class unconscious faux pas, only to arrive at what Rousseau would have said was buying an experience that was hardly worth the cost. 

We are fortunate that writers such as Vance have the courage to do what most of us will never. The work provides a glimpse into explanations for the intolerant world we are living in at present, while also providing hope that there is a way out of this mess, even our personal messes.

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Oscar Wilde on Contradiction: Learning Unintended Lessons Through Art

Cartoon depicting Oscar Wilde's 1882 visit to San Francisco, from The Wasp, 31 March 1882. Public Domain via Wikimedia.

Intentions: The Decay of Lying, Pen, Pencil and Poison, the Critic as Artist, the Truth of Masks by Oscar Wilde

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This collection of dialogues and essays demonstrates Oscar Wilde's aesthetic, but also his vast knowledge of the classics, Shakespeare, and other great things in nineteenth-century Anglo art, literature, architecture, and theatre. Three pages into The Decay of Lying and one has been exposed to Aristotle, William Morris, and Ralph Waldo Emerson. He uses a form of the "iceberg" principle (later perfected by Hemingway) that demonstrates his knowledge without appearing to be name dropping. It is one thing to mention Aristotle, Morris, and Emerson as part of Vivian's critique of nature; quite another to append one's own aesthetic to the name dropping that leaves no doubt as to the author's learning. For instance, William Morris once said:

Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.

Wilde, in discussing nature versus art, mentions Aristotle (p. 3):

Nature has good intentions, of course, but as Aristotle once said, she cannot carry them out.

Vivian is discussing his preference for the indoors, and says (p. 4):

Why, even Morris' poorest workman could make you a more comfortable seat then the whole of Nature can... If Nature had been comfortable, mankind would never have invented architecture, and I prefer houses to open air.

This first part of the introduction is then neatly wrapped up with reference to Vivian (p. 5) writing the word "Whim" over the door of his library, echoing Emerson doing similar in his famous essay Self-Reliance. What does this all mean? It sets out several themes that thread through these five dialogues and essays. First is the interaction of art and nature in the human spirit. Second is contradiction. Vivian doesn't want to go outside, until he does. Vivian thinks writing is a waste of effort. But he is writing an article. In the final paragraph of the collection, Wilde writes:

Not that I agree with everything I have said in this essay. There is much with which I entirely disagree. The essay simply represents an artistic standpoint, and in aesthetic criticism, attitude is everything. For in art there is no such thing as a universal truth. A Truth in art is that whose contradictory is also true.

Third is the rhythm of life and the pursuit of human excellence. Wilde's characters in the dialogues go from contradictory point to contradictory point. In the essays we learn how ill-discipline and ignoring our intuition can lead to trouble (for instance, the poisoner leaves his ground-floor curtain open and is instantly recognised from the street); how Shakespeare used architecture and costume to make a point (as opposed to the theatrical archaeologists who point out Shakespeare's character's anachronistic raiment); how one moment we are focused, the next bored, even depressed, but we can be humorous, witty, intelligent, and dull. The dialogues read like a moment of intense thought that begins out of boredom and ends in boredom with thought. An indoor conversation is the scene of energy, but after talking "long enough", the outdoors beckons:

Egotism itself, which is so necessary to a proper sense of human dignity, is entirely the result of indoor life.

It is unsurprising that Oscar Wilde is so well-read and witty. After all, he was a graduate of Oxford at a time when only the elite or those with elite patronage could dream of studying there. Yet there is an intense use of Plato's form of dialogue, an interesting blend of self-reliance and pompousness, intensity appearing indoors (even within Shakespeare's Globe Theatre), and the outdoors being a place of leisure (for the well-to-do, at least!). Yet the point of contradiction is not to be dishonest, but, through art, to bring to Nature the human experience:

The final revelation is that Lying, the telling of beautiful untrue things, is the proper aim of Art.

I recall in high school, when studying English literature, the teacher would ask: "What does the author mean by this or that?" to which I would say, "How should I know? And how do you know if you didn't ask them?" Logical to an egotistical teenager, to be sure, but hardly intelligent. And now? It would take several re-readings of these dialogues and essays and some intense study into Wilde's life at the point in time of writing these works to discover more. Yet, armed with the knowledge of reading given to me by Harold Bloom, Mortimer Adler, Italo Calvino, and Theodore Roosevelt (to name but a few), I think I can safely tell my teenage self that, contradictory to what I thought then, one can interpret and learn from the writings of others, even if the lessons learnt were never intended. And if Art cannot deliver such lessons, what other medium can?

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Mad Men: Poem Unlimited!

Learning to enjoy poetry with Don Draper

Meditations in an Emergency by Frank O'Hara

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This collection of poems made an appearance in Season 2, Episode 1 of Mad Men, and concludes with the eponymous title for the final episode of the season. Don Draper (Jon Hamm) sees a guy reading this book in a bar, and asks, "Is it good?". The guy says, “I don’t think you’d like it". Later, Don is reading the book.

I enjoy "discovering" literature through other books and media. One of my favourite discoveries was Lady Rose's Daughter by Mrs Humphry Ward, where a journalist visiting my home town in Gunning in 1905 tells of reading the book while waiting for a delayed train. I have since read numerous references to Mrs Humphry Ward, including in Downton Abbey. Both Downton Abbey and Mad Men include numerous cultural references that are worth pursuing.

Indeed, my fascination with the work of Hemingway and Fitzgerald began with Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris, which I first watched while finalising the submission of my PhD thesis. Since casting that monkey off my back, I have been reading great literature as often as I can in an effort to "catch up" (as Harold Bloom said, we often end up reading "against the clock").

It has taken me some time to come to enjoy reading poetry; my earlier hard work in reading Homer and Virgil stood me in good stead. Yet I recall a quote from The Big Short:

Truth is like poetry. And most people fucking hate poetry.

At the time, I might have agreed. But after reading O'Hara's work, I had to think why, as someone who randomly writes poetry, that I would shy away from reading it. And then it all flooded back.

It was in 1981. There was a monsoonal storm outside the old Queenslander classroom in Cairns, Far North Queensland. I was sitting next to the window on the verandah and it was our Year 6 English exam. We had to write a poem. I looked out the window and I wrote a poem about the storm, as if it were a group of demons "playing their game of bedlam" and then moving on. (Bedlam was a rough game all the boys in the school used to play. It was invariably banned as we cycled through new variants of rough games that often ended in bloodied noses.) Debussy would have been proud (the memory makes me think of one of my favourite pieces - the "symphonic poem" Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune).

I was quite happy about the poem, went home, and thought nothing of it. The next day, Mum was called to the school, and I was accused of plagiarism. No child could write such a poem. After what I remember as the longest time, it was decided that my poem was indeed original, and I was awarded 100% for the exam.

But then it got worse. They made me read it out to the entire class - a combined class of about 60 eleven-year-old children. My reference to the game of "Bedlam" wasn't a hit. Kids today would have said that this reference was "lame". What I didn't know then was that the other kids were jealous. But after the whole experience, my thoughts were simple. Fuck poetry. Until I read O'Hara.

I hope the reader will forgive my indulgence in my pitiful primary school memories (channelling Turgenev here), but O'Hara's work brought all this back to me. But not just childhood memories. O'Hara refers to Greek mythology, botany, music, composers, artists (many I had to look up), but I could recognise O'Hara channelling Walt Whitman when I read a line in "Mayakovsky", the final poem in the book:

I leap into the leaves, green like the sea.

So now I find myself wanting to read poetry again. The first thing I did today was to renew my subscription to The Paris Review. (Today I received the last edition of my subscription.) I don't want to miss out on any more new poems, and I will go back and read my old editions. I might even start writing poetry again. All this from buying a book based on a cultural reference in Mad Men.

But one thing that struck me while reading Meditations was what voice would the author use if he were to read his own poems? Would it be lyrical and sweet? How would he pause, where would he place his emphasis? I was shocked to watch a few of Frank O'Hara's readings on YouTube. It was a bit like listening to Ernest Hemingway's voice in his Nobel Prize speech after listening to Corey Stoll speak the way we wished Hemingway spoke (in Midnight in Paris). Yet it gives me confidence that ordinary people can do extraordinary things. Magazine and movie people might provide us with perfect images of the literary greats, but great literature is written by real people who live real lives and have foibles like the rest of us.

Why read poetry? I will need to buy Harold Bloom's book to find out in more detail. But for me, at least, reading O'Hara has opened up a whole new world of inner experience, sentiment, and beauty. His work makes me feel exactly as I do when listening to the work of Claude Debussy or my favourite American composer John Adams. It isn't sublime, it's magical. It makes sense of the term that up until now has vexed me: Poem Unlimited.

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