Book Notes: "Symposium/Phaedrus" by Plato

Symposium/Phaedrus by Plato

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Reading ancient classics in their entirety is an interesting exercise. Not reading them from start to finish, and instead gaining one's classical education purely from secondary sources, is a sure way to reinforce modern prejudices. The standard "folk-style" (re)interpretations render one's thoughts on the classics, the Renaissance, ethics, and sexuality recast in modern fashions of morality. This is no laughing matter, and as recent as 2005, pointing out the obvious was less an exercise in self-flagellation (pardon the pun), and more an exercise in publicly shooting oneself in the foot. For example, the book Same-Sex Desire and Love in Greco-Roman Antiquity and in the Classical Tradition of the West was not going to be published (according to the Chronicle of Higher Education, 12 October 2005) following objections by "conservative activists". This is what leaves me shaking my head - if being a conservative is all about respect for the traditions of the past, where "Western" thought and the Hellenic tradition are one and the same (especially in opposition to "others"), then the veritable chink in the conservative armour is undoubtedly amour homosexuel. That is not to say that one shouldn't take the best bits of the past and reject those practices that were not simply actions between consenting adults (specifically pederasty, but bestiality and cannibalism probably count, for that matter), but to whitewash history so thoroughly dishonours George Santayana's legacy no end. In Symposium, it was a real treat to hear from Alcibiades (even if he did mention how he tried to seduce Socrates). Undoubtedly, Steven Pressfield's depiction of Alcibiades' character in Tides of War was magnificently rendered. It is a challenge to deliberately reconfigure my "knowledge", which was invariably based on abridged and whitewashed versions of history, and taught by well-meaning but oppressive moral crusaders. As I write this I am experiencing waves of liberal education that are making me feel truly free. I will have to find all of the sources that have stated time and again that if you do not read, you are not free. This is true. I am fortunate to have read History of the Peloponnesian War and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry Into Values (Vale Robert Pirsig) beforehand, but whether a proper reading of Homer is better before or after I shall not know until I get through that tome. While Baz Luhrmann innocuously advises one to wear sunscreen, I would advise one to read. But don't blame me if taking the red pill destroys the prefabricated foundations to your intellectual existence.

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Book Notes: "O Pioneers!" by Willa Cather

O Pioneers! by Willa Cather

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

So far, every one of the Penguin Pocket Classics is worthy of five stars. These are, after all, classics, and as such, one would expect their rating to be nothing less than the best. But what makes a classic? Sometimes, there are certain quotes that stick. For example (p. 73):

Isn't it queer: there are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before; like the larks in this country, that have been singing the same five notes over for thousands of years.

I wonder if Annie Proulx's work, The Shipping News, will be regarded as a classic in 80 years' time? I cannot recall a single quote from that book, and, although I enjoyed reading it immensely, I don't recall much of the story. Willa Cather's work, however, will haunt me for some time, just as John Steinbeck's book The Red Pony did from the 1970s to the present, just as anything by Alexander Dumas does, and so on. I suppose I should now read the rest of Cather's trilogy. The idea of bringing one's family to the end of the earth for a better life, then finding only misery and death so that one's children might prosper, reminds me of tree planting. At a recent visit to Retford Park, I wondered at the forethought of Samuel Hordern and later James Fairfax in creating such a wonderful garden. Two days ago we planted some trees, and we have no idea whether we will enjoy the fruits of our labours in the distant future, or move away or even die imminently. One can only hope for the first outcome, but without ever really knowing. It would seem, then, that being a pioneer, whether it be carving a new life out of new land (which has its own inherent assumptions that usually involve displacing the traditional owners), is neither selfless nor selfish. The two would seem to balance each other out. Selfish, in that carving a life for one's own offspring at the expense of the "other"; and selfless, in that one may well die and not enjoy what cost one so much, but leave a legacy (which one won't know about if one is dead) for others to enjoy. I am talking about the earlier pioneers, and our protagonist, Alexandra, picks up her dead father's dream, amid many of her Swedish colleagues who decide to leave during the hard times and return to the cities, while those who remain keep doing the same old thing. I recall in the 1980s on the Atherton Tablelands, young farmers would obtain grants or subsidies and all plant onions. At harvest time, with onions everywhere and the market price dropping like houseflies facing-off Mortein, it was cheaper to plough the onions back into the ground rather than harvest them. And then the cycle would repeat with the next grant or subsidy. Any sane person would wonder at the strangely conservative nature of farmers, supported by an insanely conservative and stupid grant and subsidy system (which is now rather different since deregulation). But our protagonist, Alexandra, shows initiative that earns her the label "pioneer" in various ways, including carving a life out of the land, experimenting with new agricultural ideas, and doing all of this as an unmarried woman. There is much more to the story, and while I do not wish to give too much away, the reader will experience the "two or three human stories [lived] fiercely" and marvel at the inter-generational viewpoint that will no doubt haunt the mature reader. One might also learn a thing or two about peer pressure and jealousy and how stupid these things can be. And all from a measly 189 pages!

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Book Notes: "The House of Ulloa" by Emilia Pardo Bazán

The House of Ulloa by Emilia Pardo Bazán

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This book was hard to put down. Unlike Charlotte Brontë and Mary Shelley (even though I admire their work); not to mention era, translation, and social-construction-of-gender issues, Bazán writes of a socially-constructed man better than any biologically-female woman from the nineteenth century I have read to date (to mention but a few qualifications, if indeed, I could possibly know what a socially-constructed man of the nineteenth century was like, but I doubt it could be anything like The Professor or the annoying, whingey, whiney Frankenstein). Given that George Eliot and Miles Franklin and many others had to pretend to be men to be published, even in the early 1900s, it makes me wonder if Spain was not considerably more advanced than Anglo countries in Bazán's time? Or maybe her feudal titles helped? I can only imagine what is lost in translation - and if the use of the good old "Mrs Grundy" was true to Bazán's words - but there is much to this novel that I lost due to my lack of historical knowledge of the Spain of these times. I would not have read this novel other than it was there to be read, so this was fortunate. What is unfortunate is that the book has given me a glimpse of Spanish literature that will probably remain beyond my reach for some time to come. But it is pleasing to discover classic works by female authors that is so very good, but at the same time, sad that such talent lies buried in the biases of history.

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