Friday, February 25, 2011

Tricks, Dirty Tricks, and Gutless Cowards: Four Quick Ruminations on the 1 AM Massacre


Providing what certain wags designate High Quality Child Care means political events often move too quickly to provide the in-depth ruminating that's called for. But this doesn't mean there's nothing to say when you're pressed for time. In the wake of the still-evolving but it-don't-look-good struggle to preserve labor rights going down in Wisconsin, a few ideas pop out.

1) A consistent trope I've come across in the many pages, posts and tweets dedicated to the Wisconsin showdown has been the notion that the fourteen Democratic senators who decamped across the border to Illinois represent some kind of cowardly capitulation - "gutless wonders," as one particularly stirred-up individual put it, who need to be dismissed by their constituents on "the grounds of cowardice" for not staying put and fighting for what they "believe" (with "believe" in scare quotes in the original, suggesting, I suppose, a lack of belief). One could debate the merits of crossing state lines to block legislation, but I'm more fascinated by the unchecked desire for heroes and men of action implicit in the charge of "cowardice". Have we reached a point in our cultural narrative when only face-to-face combat and metaphoric violence is considered acceptable? Do we no longer subscribe to a general belief in the merits and power of non-action, protest votes, and peaceful resistance? Would observers be more likely to throw support behind Wisconsin Democrats if they barricaded themselves inside offices brandishing swords, or took schoolchildren hostage while the tinny cacophony of Rage Against The Machine blared from their iPhones? Might there still be a recognition that the actions of the Wisconsin 14, albeit perhaps more than a little self-serving and media-savvy, are in the grand tradition of Henry David Thoreau refusing the poll tax or Abraham Lincoln leaping from a second-story window in the Illinois House of Representatives in 1840 to prevent a quorum (look it up, it's a little-noted event)?

2) Out of the many justifications for the smoke-and-mirrors trick employed by wily GOPers early this morning, in which a vote was called for and closed before all present Democrats could participate, is the forcefully-argued suggestion that it simply one-upped the opposition in the dirty trick department. You dashed across state lines to block the vote, we'll slide the vote past you if you're not paying attention. Fair enough. Except I insist there remains a large and insidious difference between the two methods employed. Fleeing and holding up legislation undeniably denies others their right to vote - but it also removes the fleeing individual's vote from the equation. Neither individual gets to vote. Unfair, yet, fair. The 1 AM quick-vote, on the other hand, denies one group the right to vote (the Democratic senators present) while managing to get one's own vote in regardless. Hence, only one individual gets to vote. I don't believe this is an example of splitting hairs - and moreover, the act of suppressing votes in any capacity is emerging as a key strategy for the rightward-leaning. Put simply: I get to vote, and you don't.

3) One of the more unpleasant exchanges I witnessed (well, read) over the past week involved a vote on Wednesday by the Joint Committee on Legislative Organization in Madison to "restrict access to meeting rooms and legislative offices after normal business hours" in the Capitol - a move designed to move along the many protesters who have clogged the hallowed halls of government. A perennial thorn in the side of one progressive friend wondered aloud why this was a big deal or even troubling - after all, people do not ordinarily get to sleep in other state buildings after business hours. In addition, it was pointed out, even the homeless people sleep outside of the library, not in and among the stacks. You'll note that this is not exactly conflating the protesters with the homeless, but you get the sense the author wouldn't exactly mind if you made that conclusion. Given my own experiences in libraries w/r/t homeless individuals (have I ever related the time I found a guy eating chicken wings, smoking a cigar, and drinking vodka straight from the Seagram's bottle? remind me to), and the sort of mind that recalls how often protesters of any stripe are dubbed "bums" by opposition forces, I spoke out. The response noted that homeless people were actually taking advantage of the situation involving the protesters to sleep inside the capitol. I believe this nugget was supposed to scandalize me. In a way, it did. I don't often practice the slimy art of self-congratulation, but here, in this exchange, lies perhaps as clear a distillation possible of the wide gulf separating us progressives from more reactionary types. On the one hand, outrage at a bold power grab meant to wrest bargaining power away from the last vestiges of the American middle class. On the other, equal outrage that a handful of homeless people ("handful" is not my invention, by the way - straight from the article cited) are escaping the brutal Wisconsin February night to sleep inside. Being right doesn't help advance any cause, big or small. But once in a while, it feels good to remind oneself that one is, in fact, on the right side.

4) Song lyric enjoyed ironically this morning : "So many people / have their problems/ I'm not interested / in their problems. / I guess I've / experienced some problems / But now I've / made some decisions. / Other people's problems / they overwhelm my mind / They say compassion is a virtue / but I don't have the time." - Talking Heads, "No Compassion"

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Paging Fightin' Bob: A Few Words In Defense of Organized Labor



An old acquaintance from high school, now a machine operator back in the Fox Valley of Wisconsin and a proud member of United Steelworkers, recently distributed a photograph of the outlined image of Wisconsin tattooed into his forearm. "Anyone know how I can get this removed?" he asked. A friend sardonically suggested that he "declare it a member of a public sector union and send it to Scott Walker. He'll get rid of it for you." Yet another friend, less sympathetically inclined towards the protesters, wryly noted "Thank God we live in the land of cheese. There's so much whine to go around".

From a vantage point some two thousand miles away and ten years distant from my old home, the budget battle and financial woes that have stricken the supposedly mild-mannered Badger State seemingly differ very little from those embroiling other locations, including my adopted home of California. Yet in one essential way, and perhaps prophetically, Gov. Scott Walker's approach to his state's financial shortfall is unique - he is refusing to adopt half-measures, rely on future projections, or display a flair for creative number-shuffling. Put simply, he's made the argument that the time is now, no more excuses, duck and cover while I slash and burn.

It might be tempting to admire such strong principles and Walker's refusal to bow before the beckoning yawn of budgetary illusions. After all, what is Walker's proposal to inflict historic change upon the political landscape but a welcome slice of Midwestern sensibility in the face of sleazy New York machinations or air-headed Californian delusions? Yet beneath the corn-fed and well-scrubbed face of the all-american boy often lies darker, less innocent urges. And in truth, Walker's actions and claims reveal themselves as deeply partisan grabs - a golden opportunity to take the ax to broader political movements that were never as widely popular with the wider populace as the state's blue hue tended to suggest. The forces hostile to organized labor see in Walker's arguments the opportunity for a new alliance, one that has very little to do with balancing any kind of budget and everything to do with settling scores.

I've watched the unfolding events through a combination of news outlets and social media, and while such experiences can't replace on-the-ground reporting, a few obvious points leap out. First, there are legitimate philosophical and/or economic arguments to be made in opposition to the labor movement. I don't happen to agree with them or find them persuasive, but the fact remains that several effective counter-arguments exist, from the devastating impact of strike actions to the observation that trade unions benefit insider workers to the reality of union-influenced inflation. Plenty of those hostile to the idea of organized labor make calm, reasoned, economically-informed attacks that at least emphasize the competing power struggles at work. One can take issue with their conclusions and reject their reasoning, but one cannot dismiss their broader points.

However, such reasoned judgments are not the arguments most often deployed by both policy makers and the general public. Rather, what we most often come into contact with are a vague, spiteful, knee-jerk response to the very concept of organized labor. Reflexive and divisive, it's the kind of closely-held but poorly-considered opinion that can rear its head without warning, as was the case several years ago during an otherwise lovely dinner in which an acquaintance offered up, quite apropos of nothing, that he "despised unions". When pressed why (and why he brought it up during an otherwise unrelated conversation), he simply mused, "I just hate 'em."

Not everybody is quite so unreflective when it comes to detailing their disdain. The key to general opposition to unions in this country would seem to be the generally unfounded (or at the very least circumstantial) notion that labor unions result in lazy workers - the mirage that organized workforces are forever stroking themselves, launching score-settling grievances or walking off the job to enjoy paid vacation and the beeps of horns from supporters. All the while, decent, non-unionized American workers slog on, bending their back towards the untarnished demigod of the workweek and the coveted coffee break, uncomplaining, respectful, goal-oriented, team-centered and, above all, efficient.

These are deeply ludicrous assumptions. I've heard this complaint concerning the mythical lazy and ineffectual unionized worker from many a cubicle-dwelling commuter who, no doubt, spend not one second of their high-speed-and-filterless-internet-fueled days distracted by anything other than the pursuit of capital. In addition, an equally large contingent of union-bashing seems to come from comfortably situated stay-at-home-moms (SAHMs, I believe they've labeled themselves, which sounds vaguely unionized to me) who rail against the greed and laziness inherent in the thousands of steelworkers and automakers who "get paid to not work". As a stay at home parent myself, I can attest that, yes, this job is a lot of work. And the foreman can be a real monster sometimes. But to confuse - let alone conflate - having the luxury (and the financial security) to stay home with one's child all day with punching holes into sheet metal for eight hours at a time is delusional.

(Incidentally, this notion of union members "not working" carries over into nearly every aspect of the counter-union argument, most notably when it comes to striking. Time and again, one consistently hears angry variations on the notion that workers strike because they have "nothing else to do." Simultaneously attacking and dismissing strikers and protesters as "not having real jobs" or having "too much free time on their hands" is an old trick designed to diminish the real sacrifices assumed by anybody willing to assume long hours and hostile forces in support of a cause they feel strongly about. I might add that all political persuasions are guilty of such dismissals - witness the constant progressive refrain that Tea Party rallies attract large numbers of participants simply because they are predominantly made up of retired or financially secure individuals, as if the opinions or voting actions of, say, senior citizens don't count because they needn't arrange for a long lunch hour to cast their vote.)

This assumption that organized labor is somehow cheating and exploiting the hard work of non-unionized American workers runs deep. I come from what might be labeled an anti-union family, although I can't recall any specific arguments or points of disagreements on the matter. While never explained, the animosity was always present, especially from my mother, a one-time teacher who, when pressed, admitted that she found the notion of going on strike "unladylike". Any deeper discussions on the matter and indeed my own opinions would have to wait until years later when, armed with an already sympathetic attitude towards worker's rights, I found myself to be a unionized employee at a New York library. My feelings were mixed, initially, especially when I contemplated the hefty bite this organization took out of my paycheck. I attended meetings voluntarily, and concluded that, yes, some of my fellow union members were indeed fools and bores. I never got over how much our union representative sounded like an unholy cross between Barney Frank and Silvio from The Sopranos.

What did I learn from my experiences as a union member? Yeah, abuses exist, and people are willing to exploit the system to protect themselves when in reality they'd serve a better purpose elsewhere. I can think of one malignant individual in particular who served up grievances at a moment's notice, monopolized meeting times and local resources for their own pathetic causes, and did a stellar job at claiming discrimination when they should have been prosecuted for incompetence. In addition, I can think of a few others who had nothing but their own selfish and petty interests in mind, who launched spurious complaints on behalf of themselves and others (including a grievance filed on my behalf that stunned me, especially since I wasn't even aware it was being filed and had literally no idea what they talking about). And yet, to remark that such examples were anomalies doesn't do justice to the reality. These were isolated and minority examples of fools, not a broader indictment of our organization. The truth of the matter, beyond anecdotes and shaggy dog stories, is that our collective interests were well served by our representatives, and that our benefits and wages were protected and argued for in a manner that improved our lives.

No doubt, some readers will exclusively focus on the preceding examples given of union abuses rather than the larger argument, and this again holds true for the overall narrative utilized by anti-labor forces - namely, to isolate and explode examples of bad behavior protected by union rules. To my mind, this is an odd and reductive type of reasoning indeed that castigates an entire system due to handfuls of individual cases. If our nation took such an unforgiving approach to other aspects of American life, culture, or capital, how many services or activities would continue to be accepted or patronized? If the millions of Americans streaming through fast food drive-thru lanes were to paint the entire industry using the brush of a few mixed-up orders or a surly attendant, how much thinner our waistlines and free-flowing our arteries? If the tedium or disappointment of an overly-hyped bad movie were to lead the nation's consumers to boycott all movie theaters, how much more well-versed in literature might we all be? The reality of human imperfection and the flawed nature of individuals leads us to fairly balance most aspects of functioning civic life. Why organized labor remains impervious to such generosity is a mystery.

Moreover, the attacks on organized labor defiantly prop up its failings while studiously ignoring its successes and gains, among them the not-inconsiderable role unions had in helping to create the now endangered American middle class and the many beneficial changes made to workplace safety. I read with some amusement a naive comment from a well-meaning individual giving a friend a talking-to over the matter. Labeling unions a "thing of the past," she noted that "working conditions are not bad" as Item 1 in her dismissal of the need for organized labor. Leaving aside the possibility that this no doubt very nice individual is completely unaware of the conditions inside, say, slaughterhouses employed with non-unionized recent immigrants, one struggles to contain the rejoinder that if, indeed, working conditions are "not bad" today, they are so because of the struggles undertaken by organized labor. Remove these unions from the equation, and the vast majority of companies and the individuals who run them would quickly revert to the bad old days of underpaid, overworked employees in unsafe conditions. And while my fellow leftists might take issue with me, I'd argue that such a return would not necessarily be due to the fact that such company executives are moral monsters or even bad people. They would do so because it is in the very nature of capitalism to get the most out of one's workers at the lowest possible cost. Safety measures, benefits, and wages are hindrances to this goal. Labor unions serve as a corrective to this existing situation.

Time and space limitations prevent me from venturing into the depressing and truly odd reasons for the disdain being heaped upon teachers during the current debate. From the taunting of individuals frightened of losing their jobs on Twitter to the glee with which New Jersey Governor Chris Christie suggested a teacher would have little difficulty finding a new job if she was as highly qualified as she claimed, the animosity with which union members are accustomed to dealing with is being shifted towards educators. Whether or not this suggests a larger, darker antagonism towards the very notion of education in this country, it is of a piece with the larger debate, which is quickly veering far afield of budgetary battles and closer to the arena of class warfare. Requesting across the board cuts to a wide variety of services in a time of fiscal emergency is one thing, and perhaps necessary in our post-recession landscape. But to harangue teachers as if their coffers alone had plunged the nation from the heights of world dominance to our current housing-crash miasma is absurd and deeply disingenuous. Unfortunately, this movement to dismantle any and all impediments to the dream of unfettered individuality and property is growing.

I don't know enough about Scott Walker to cast a final judgment, but if he's anything like the current crop of newly elected officials across this land, his approach to the budgetary crisis is meant to be divisive, swift, destructive, and fleeting. A recent article highlighted the disdain with which many of the Republican freshman hold their office and title. "We're not enamored of this place," noted Rep. Steve Southerland of Florida, before oddly adding that, in addition to coming out of the private sector (which, by contrast, he loved), he "sleeps in a bed every night with a woman I went to first grade with". Rep. Trey Gowdy of South Carolina proudly informed a reporter that he was unconcerned with getting re-elected, as he had "a better job back home anyway". Far be it from me or any political observer to attack individuals for eschewing cronyism, lifer status, or the hurdles necessary to be continually re-elected. In a sense, politicians more concerned with accomplishments and less with the carousel of election cycles are to be applauded. But the comments by Rep's. Southerland and Gowdy are simply juvenile - empty boasts of their own hatred for a job and an office they were elected to. Where else might such a disdainful and cavalier attitude towards one's own profession be thinkable, let alone tolerated and applauded? Rather than any political mavericks, they give off the impression of a frat house taking out their aggression on the walls and interiors of a beach rental home, the more wanton and destructive because they know they're heading back to Michigan next week anyway.

This cavalier attitude towards country, constituency, community - this unfiltered hostility towards anything other than making a splashy display of political reckoning and taking down a few sacred cows - was in many ways accurately predicted in an article by Ken Silverstein appearing in Harper's magazine this past July. Other predictions made by Harper's have since come to pass, such as their November 2006 cover story, "Barack Obama Inc: The Birth of a Washington Machine," which focused on the intense hype rapidly coalescing around the young Senator, to the May 2006 cover story "The New Road to Serfdom: An Illustrated Guide to the Coming Real Estate Collapse," which uncannily laid out the events which were to take place only a few years later. At the risk of arousing the ire of Harper's editors and publisher, I've offered screenshots below (click on individual shots to magnify for better reading) of Silverstein's article - "Tea Party in Sonora: For the Future of G.O.P Governance, Look To Arizona". Although the article deserves a close read, even a cursory scan reveals a glimpse of what happens and will happen when the role of governing is left up to those utterly non-serious types who claim fiscal warrior status while betraying an utter lack of interest in the actual business of running a state, city, or country. The fiasco on display in Arizona is not that of the fiscally-conservative Republican hoping to attack excessive spending and tweak the welfare state, or that of the principled Libertarian set on dismantling governmental regulation and oversight. Rather, it is a kind of anti-government, anarchism with a decidedly small a that derives satisfaction only through the demonization of others and the abolition of taxation. Watch as our collective municipal quality of life plummets - as schools drift into limbo, libraries remain shuttered, parks become overgrown with weeds. No matter, they'll say. A few of us have increased our take-home pay, I rarely leave my house anymore these days, and besides, I have a better job waiting for me back home.

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Thursday, February 10, 2011

A Poet Explains: Giacomo Leopardi on Memory and the Present ("L'Infinito" and Canti)


The disconnect between what artists express through their work and how they explain their art through regular discourse is often startling, if not disappointing. There have been many visionaries and creative minds who seem easily able to highlight their opinions and methods to curious admirers, helping place their work in the proper context, and even dissecting deeper, more obscure meanings not obvious to the outsider. However, I can think of just as many examples of great artists who have little or nothing to say about their work and the process by which it reveals itself. Some choose to take a contrarian position and refuse to take apart their work, while others seem simply incapable of standing outside themselves and honestly reflecting on their talents or ideas.

So it always comes as a welcome surprise when a great artistic mind allows him or herself the opportunity to welcome the reader or observer into their closed circle, and a recent essay by Robert Pogue Harrison on the sad life and astonishing output of Italian poet Giacomo Leopardi (1798 - 1837) offers a stellar example. The name Leopardi may not resonate with non-Italian readers in the same manner as other early-nineteenth century poets, and this is no doubt partly due to the original and idiosyncratic approach to the Italian language Leopardi chose - a method which resulted in unique poetry that has proven difficult to translate even by the tough standards of verse.

A large part of Leopardi's legend (and he remains legendary in his native Italy to this day) is due to the tragic circumstances surrounding his short life - a life impacted from youth onward with countless health complications, including asthma, dropsy, scoliosis and chronic insomnia. From his late teens, he was aware that he would die young and in pain. While this morbid realization certainly shaped his worldview and notably modern outlook on life (ie, the non-existence of God, the random character of life, and the unredemptive qualities of the human condition), some readers and critics place far too much emphasis on the role played by his own suffering in helping to create the visionary mind and critical thinker behind his poetry. Leopardi's acceptance of the chaos of a non-spiritual world is one he arrived at through intellectual means, not simply as a result of his own misfortune. And this worldview is notable because it shades and indeed drives nearly all of Leopardi's writings, especially his insistence that progress was a myth and that his contemporaries looked unhesitatingly and enthusiastically towards the future at their peril. The past, in his mind and work, weighs heavily.

But Leopardi explains in a journal entry that his concern with the past and memory is much more than the backwards glance of the sentimentalist. By insisting on the need for memory and experience to influence observation, Leopardi is arguing that one can view the immediate landscape and world through a much richer prism than so many of his (and our) hurrying and distracted contemporaries. He writes :


To the sensitive and imaginative man, who lives, as I have lived for a long time, feeling and imagining continuously, the world and its objects are in a certain sense double. He will see with his eyes a tower, a countryside; he will hear with his ears the sound of a bell; and at the same time he will see another tower, another countryside, he will hear another sound. In this second sort of object lies all the beauty and pleasure of things. Sad is the life (and yet such is life for the most part) that sees, hears, senses only simple objects, namely those of which eyes, ears, and the other senses receive a mere sensation.


To move from this journal entry to Leopardi's poem "L'Infinito," as Harrison points out, is to see his beliefs put into poetic action - a poem celebrating the ability of the mind to gaze upon an inert landscape and travel freely in both time and space, an ability sorely lacking in the many rushing hordes around him.


This lonely hill was always dear
to me,
and this hedgerow, which cuts off
the view
of so much of the last horizon.
But sitting here and gazing, I can
see
beyond, in my mind's eye,
unending spaces,
and superhuman silences, and
depthless calm,
till what I feel
is almost fear. And when I hear
the wind stir in these branches, I
begin
comparing that endless stillness
with this noise:
and the eternal comes to mind,
and the dead seasons, and the
present
living one, and how it sounds.
So my mind sinks in this
immensity:
and foundering is sweet in such
a sea.

(translation taken from the new Farrar, Straus and Giroux edition, translated by Jonathan Galassi)

Thursday, January 20, 2011

A Checklist of Civility From One Who Knew: What American Politicians Could Learn From Andrei Sakharov




I gave the recent, expected and largely symbolic vote in the House to repeal the Affordable Health Care For America Act - also known as (let me check my notes here), "The Job-Killing Health Care Law Act" - the same amount of attention I tend to give any act of political theater - skeptical disinterest. Not because I believe the current act is a flawless piece of legislature, and not because I suspect all those in favor of repeal to be cold-hearted ignoramuses (I don't). My disinterest stems from a larger recognition that when the cameras roll and the speeches drip out in our hallowed halls of government, the partisan blather from both sides of the aisle is mostly notable for its abuse of rhetorical flourishes and heavy dependence upon creative use of the facts.

If this most recent vote represented a flashy bow to maddened constituents and the rote fulfillment of a specific campaign promise, so be it. Many new members of Congress and the Senate ran explicitly on the issue of repealing health care legislation, and whatever one's feelings on the subject, one would need to be suffering from an extreme case of cynicism to believe at least a few of these individuals weren't going to follow through on their threats. And if this symbolic vote serves merely to fire off an opening salvo before getting down to brass tacks - or, as David Frum opined, "real work" - again, so be it. It would neither be the first not the last time that vote tallies were used as simple marking points of officeholder opinion.

But I suspect that we haven't heard the last of repeal efforts, and I suspect we shall see more political grandstanding and empty rhetoric in the days, weeks and months to come. The vast majority of our disagreements and arguments will have very little to do with tangible political operations and almost everything to do with an upcoming election and a jockeying for position - any position, doesn't matter which. Most will be abandoned and forgotten come mid-November 2012.

The nonsense has already started, and of course it has never gone away. Yes, there was a queasy "truce" offered in the aftermath of the bloodbath in Tucson - a bloodbath where a disgruntled citizen exercised multiple State-of-Arizona-protected-rights up until the very second before he fired a bullet directly into the head of Gabby Giffords - and an earnest suggestion to break up seating arrangements during the upcoming State of the Union address (as if the halls of government are high school cafeterias, with the jocks ordered to make room at their table for the transfer student or the swing choir lead).

But addicts must struggle to control their jones, and to deny the dimmer lights of our ruling class the ability to spread hysteria and confusion is to witness the ugly twitchings of an enforced cold turkey cleanse.

Sarah Palin made a typically graceless and tone-deaf intrusion into a day set aside to honor the Tucson dead by comparing her treatment at the hands of a few bloggers and media types to the plight of the Jewish diaspora and the wicked lie of blood-laced matzo. Congressman Steve Cohen, Democrat from Tennessee, granted Palin her blood libel and raised her a Holocaust, exclaiming from the floor of the House, "A government takeover of health care [is a] big lie, just like Goebbels. You say it enough, you repeat the lie, you repeat the lie, you repeat the lie, and eventually people believe it. The Germans said enough about the Jews and the people believed it and you had the Holocaust". Virginia Freshman Morgan Griffith similarly glanced backwards to showcase his impressive grasp of history when he declaimed, "No Virginian should be required to buy health care insurance. As a Virginian, we did not accept the chains of George III, and we will not accept the chains of Obamacare." California Republican Devin Nunes helpfully noted that all democrats were guilty of "anti-capitalist hate speech," Michigan Democrat Sander Levin countered that his party was "an American truth squad," and the always entertaining Michelle Bachman upped the ante by labeling our fairly mild health care bill the "crown jewel of socialism" and promised to repeal the president himself, which would admittedly require quite a bit of paperwork.

As impressive as all this posturing may come across on C-SPAN, this is empty-headed and feeble. Playing to the base and utilizing shameless campaign rhetoric during an off-election year, the American public is no doubt getting an earful of the talking points cable news viewers will be battered with during the next year and a half. "Truth". "Hate" And "Socialism," mustn't forget "Socialism".

Since we're all participating in the grand tradition of making broad and unjustified Nazi comparisons to undesirable tax laws or civic betterment projects, I'm going to allow myself the rare detour into Nazi paraphrasing. Namely, whenever I hear the word socialism, I reach for my remote. Or, even better, I reach for the life and example of Russian dissident and intellectual Andrei Sakharov, who knew better than most the real effects of actual state control, and who used his position in Soviet society to call for reforms, criticize abuses of power, and always championed a restrained and emotionally controlled form of protest.

As the Polish writer Adam Michnik recently pointed out, Sakharov avoided party loyalties, ethnic nationalism and easy populism. "He is proof of the rationality of democratic protest," Michnik argues, "never call[ing] for revolution or violence...uncompromising when that was necessary, but ready to compromise when that seemed desirable." The result of his labors for justice should not be surprising - tight Soviet police surveillance, campaigns of slander and character assassination, banishment from Moscow and exile to the isolation of Gorky (now Nizhny Novgorod, and at that time closed to foreigners). Here is an individual operating within the confines of real socialism, not the sprinkling of services Michele Bachmann isolates and paints broadly with a red brush. And yet to compare his calm, reasoned dissents with the ham fisted TV spots of our junior representatives is to ponder the conversational differences between toddlers and adults.

So reprinted below is what Adam Michnik recently highlighted as the political legacy and philosophy of Andrei Sakharov - a seven-point argument for the kinds of stances and civility our leaders offer empty talk of but never once deign to touch. While it would make for much less entertaining C-SPAN sequences and might not land you a spot with Keith Olbermann or Sean Hannity, there's no reason on earth it shouldn't be reprinted and mounted above the desk of each and every one of our elected leaders. One suspects more than a few would balk at having the words of any Russian, dissident or not, anywhere near their office.

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Andrei Sakharov's Seven Points of Civil Society (via Adam Michnik)

- Patience and fidelity to principle

- Pluralism and willingness to compromise - we must accept that honest disagreements will occur

- Tolerance

- "The better -- the better" (exactly unlike Lenin's "the worse -- the better")

- The patriotism of free peoples: a nation that persecutes another nation cannot itself be free

- Fidelity to historic truth

- Renunciation of violence

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Two Historical Perspectives on the Repeal of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell"



"I'm aware that this vote will probably pass today in a lame duck session. And there will be high fives all over the liberal bastions of America, and we'll see [on] the talk shows tomorrow, a bunch of people talking about how great it is. Most of them have never served in the military or maybe not even known someone in the military. And you know? We'll repeal it. And all over America, there'll be gold stars put up in windows in the rural towns and communities all over America that don't partake in the elite schools that bar military recruiters from campus, that don't partake of the salons of Georgetown and the other liberal bastions here around the country. But there'll be additional sacrifice. I hear that from master sergeants. I hear that from junior officers. I hear that from leaders. So, I am confident that with this repeal that our military, the best in the world, will salute and do the best they can to carry out the orders of the commander in chief.[....]. But don't think that it won't be at great cost.[....]. I hope that when we pass this legislation that we will understand that we are doing great damage. And we could possibly, and probably, harm the battle effectiveness which is so vital to the survival of our young men and women in the military."

- Sen. John McCain (R-AZ), Dec. 18 2010, speaking in opposition to the repeal of Don't Ask, Don't Tell.

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PRES HARRY S TRUMAN

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YOU AND YOUR CIVIL RIGHTS HAS COST YOU THE ELECTION. I HAVE ALWAYS VOTED FOR A DEMOCRAT, NOW I AM VOTING FOR THURMOND. WHY DON'T YOU KNOW THAT THE SOUTHERN MAN WILL NOT TOLERATE A NEGRO LOVER? HARRY YOU'RE THROUGH. YOU'VE DONE NOTHING SINCE YOU'VE BEEN IN THERE BUT TRY TO PUT MY DAUGHTER IN THE SAME CATEGORY AS A SOUTHERN NEGRO. I'LL BE GLAD WHEN NOVEMBER FOURTH COMES SO I CAN PROTEST YOU OUT OF THE WHITE HOUSE. YOU'LL NEVER NEVER AGAIN BE RESPECTED IN THE SOUTH. WE SOUTHERN MEN ARE VERY EASY TO GET ALONG WITH WHEN WE LIKE. I'LL CONTINUE VOTING DEMOCRAT BUT I'LL VOTE FOR THURMOND TO PROTEST. YOU WON'T BE BACK IN WASHINGTON AFTER JANUARY. YOU SHOULD READ THE HISTORY ABOUT THE SOUTHERN PEOPLE. IF YOU HAVEN'T READ ABOUT THEM, WELL. IF YOU GO ANY FURTHER SOUTH, YOU'LL HELP DEWEY. I REPEAT, WE SOUTHERN MEN DON'T LIKE YOUR CIVIL RIGHTS. PERSONALLY I AM VERY BROADMINDED BUT I HAVE SOME DECENCY.

=

HOWARD URIAH OMOHUNDRO

- telegraph from citizen Howard Henry Omohundro to President Harry S. Truman, following Truman's release of Executive Order 9981, which ended racial segregation in the U.S. Military, Sept. 30, 1948


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There are, of course, many differences between these two expressions of discontent. But despite variations in language and sentence structure, the overriding philosophy is the same - attacking imagined liberal enclaves for dragging the pure minds of decent small-town citizenry into the muck and mire of anti-American machinations.

Such similarities shouldn't be surprising, though. Bigots never go away and never die. They only attempt to explain away their voting record when the past finally condemns them.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

The Offal Truth: A Chicken Liver Bruschetta Recipe To Convert The Skeptical

My interest in (and eventual love for) what has been dubbed "variety meats" has somewhat murky origins. No doubt, it helped having one parent born on European shores and therefore unapologetically fond of the more gristly and funky cuts of meat - my father's enthusiasm for old-world liverwurst and "blood/tongue" cold cuts from the German and Polish butcher shops easily found in our Wisconsin town must have rubbed off in some small way (I still find myself hungering for a liverwurst sandwich now and again, and when the small deli a few blocks from our apartment in Albany began offering kosher liverwurst with hot mustard as a lunch special, the man behind the counter remarked that I was one of the few people under sixty to regularly order it, and probably the only goyim). Of secondary and perhaps only symbolic importance is my possible 1/32 Native American heritage, or at least my inherent sympathy when reading of the horror experienced by prairie tribes after witnessing the waste of buffalo-slaughtering white men, leaving full carcasses to rot under the Kansas sun. Wasting perfectly good cuts of meat, I guess, has always seemed a tad barbaric.

But of utmost importance, I suspect, was the careful consideration I gave the option of vegetarianism or veganism once upon a time. While I ultimately ended up rejecting either option as a life doctrine, the impulses behind such choices are sensible and worthy of consideration. In an odd way, one does some sort of honor to the concepts behind adopting a vegetarian lifestyle by refusing to indulge in carnivorous activities while pretending what one is eating was not the result of an act of violence against a living creature. Put another way, saying it is perfectly acceptable to slaughter a chicken or murder a cow but please don't hurt that lamb or touch that rabbit is an odd act of moral relativism. Feasting hungrily on a plate of fish sticks but gagging at the sight of a head-on oven roasted trout is assuming a sort of willful ignorance. And tucking into a thick steak while turning up one's nose at a bowl of tripe or sauteed liver is to suggest that perhaps one would be better off attacking leeks or potatoes, rather than sacrificing an entire life so as to better pick daintily around the edges.

This is controversial ground, I'm aware, so time to back off the soapbox. But what never ceases to be surprising is how many supposed meat-lovers can't bring themselves to sample the rich variety and flavorful sections of those easily affordable cast-offs that butcher shops tend to refer to as offal. Perhaps it is our knowledge of anatomy that keeps so many from enjoying stewed kidneys or fried sweetbreads ("Enjoying your filter?" is how my wife tends to comment during the rare occasions I've been allowed to sample kidneys). One might suggest that if a hungry audience was simply not told what part of the body they were about to enjoy - if a variety meat-heavy stew was served up as simply consisting of "beef" - wary carnivores might clean their plates and ask for more. Tempting though such an approach is, I remain of the opinion that it's cruel and unfair to trick people into eating something they remain morally or digestively opposed to (except in the case of young children, of course - what they don't know can't hurt them).

So in the spirit of full disclosure, what follows is a recipe I whipped together after coming across a small container of organic chicken livers (one pound total) for sale at Whole Foods for $2.35. Any habitue of Whole Foods knows that there are very few items to be found on their shelves for $2 a pound, let alone anything of the meat variety. In the back of my mind, some sort of rich, onion-heavy, alcohol-laced dish began to assume formation, but the livers were purchased without a full mental inventory of what existed back home to help turn these cold lumps of chicken innards into something my lovely wife might sample. Call it a challenge.

The result was something I've named, for the sake of convenience, a Chicken Liver Pate, but don't think of this as an example of the traditional creamy, whipped terrine often found in better French restaurants. Rather, this "pate" was of the coarsely-ground variety, and rather than spreading it onto bread with a knife, toasted slices were instead topped with the crumbly mixture. It is a rustic yet elegant variation on bruschetta that incorporates diced scallions, drained capers, brandy, garlic and pancetta. The second most enjoyable part of making this dish was taking the cooked mixture from the pan, heaping it into a warm pile on the cutting board, and chopping the rich pyramid into coarseness, with glugs of olive oil added periodically. This was primal kitchen time. The most enjoyable part of making this dish was consuming it, and beaming with pride as my initially extremely-wary wife asked for seconds.

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Chicken Liver Pate Bruschetta (or, if this sounds too gauche for you, try something like Terrine de Foies de Volaille)

1 pound chicken livers
3/4 cup olive oil
2 oz. pancetta
salt and pepper
3 garlic cloves, chopped
3 tablespoons brandy / Cognac
2 tablespoons chopped parsley
3 tablespoons chopped onions
2 tablespoons capers (rinsed and drained)
1 lemon, zest grated (and 1 1/2 tablespoons of lemon juice)
toasted bread slices

1) First, clean the livers - an easy task. I used a small knife to disconnect the connecting veins, as these aren't necessary for the completed dish. After lining a plate with paper towels, place the chicken livers onto the plate and pat them with paper towels to remove extra moisture (this will really help the sauteing go smoothly). Season both sides with salt and pepper, rubbing in.

2) Heat one-fourth cup of olive oil in a large saute pan over high heat. One by one, add the chicken livers until the pan is full. Cook the livers until they turn a deep brown, 2-3 minutes per side. It may be helpful to cover the pan with a lid if the oil begins to spurt.

3) Add pancetta to the pan, reduce heat to low. Cook until pancetta fat renders, 2-3 minutes. Stir in garlic, cook for a few minutes.

4) Stir in the brandy (hopefully good Cognac), stir to deglaze pan, and cook briefly. Add onions, stir several times until softened, and remove pan from heat.

5) Dump the contents of the pan onto a large cutting board, and scrape the bottom of the pan for additional flavorful scraps. Add parsley, capers and lemon zest to the mound, and drizzle with lemon juice and 1/4 cup olive oil.



6) Chop coarsely. Drizzle more olive oil, and continue chopping, gathering up ingredients into a mound periodically. Chop till you drop. Add olive oil as needed.
7) Serve immediately over toasted bread, maybe scattering diced parsley over the top. We ate our bruschetta warm, but one could also refrigerate it and serve it cold.

The leftover pate was very tasty a few mornings later served alongside scrambled egg whites and warmed tortilla, as seen below. Coffee mug from Sacramento's best record store The Beat not included.

Friday, November 12, 2010

15 Great Authors Who Just Happen To Be Female


I do my very best to dodge, ignore and otherwise avoid the social media games that surreptitiously appear in my daily Facebook feed, choosing not to sow seeds in imaginary farms or ponder my autistic tendencies on a gliding scale. But it’s hard for a lifelong reader and bibliophile to pass up a chance to list and/or rank the authors or works that have stubbornly lodged themselves into my skull and to compare my choices with those of equally enthusiastic friends boasting long lists of their own.

So when the following challenge appeared in the status updates of several acquaintances -

The Rules: Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen authors (poets included) who've influenced you and that will always stick with you. List the first fifteen you can recall in no more than fifteen minutes. Tag at least fifteen friends, including me, because I'm interested in seeing what authors my friends choose. (To do this, go to your Notes tab on your profile page, paste rules in a new note, list your fifteen picks, and tag people in the note.)

- I had to play along, and not just because I had earlier in the week posted a photographic spread of unapologetic bookporn to my photo blog. It was an interesting exercise, because it forces one to set aside authors one merely respects in favor of those one truly adores, which can make for some interesting company. I discovered, for example, that the sports/psychological breakdown semi-memoir A Fan’s Notes by one-shot writer Frederick Exley has continued to haunt and trouble me since I stumbled across it midway through college - more so than other obviously important cultural touchstones like Joyce’s Ulysses or Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow. And seeing how the decidedly ambiguous memories of reading A Fan’s Notes so easily and insistently entered my mind, Exley went on the list while Joyce and Pynchon did not. Crazy, I know.

I’ll stand by my fifteen choices, even as the lists compiled by friends reveals authors I skipped over that should have made the grade (how could I deny the impact made by Hunter S. Thompson or Franz Kafka on my literary sensibilities?). But more interesting to me than any list was the comment made by a friend as an addendum to her own list of fifteen favorites – “I need to read more female authors,” following a not-at-all-exclusively-male list (although still pretty male-dominated with 11 male vs. 4 female authors represented). I was struck by this because of similar thoughts I’ve been having about the role played by gender when evaluating works of art. The recent fracas over Jonathan Franzen’s Freedom brought this into sharp relief, especially when the fracas had less to do with Franzen himself and more to do with the critical accolades and reviewing attention bestowed upon Freedom while the works of other equally notable yet female authors went, so the argument went, unnoticed.

This debate seemed more than a little disingenuous, for several reasons, almost none of which have anything to do with the very real fact that female artists undoubtedly receive less attention and respect than their male counterparts. Had truly obscure or neglected authors stepped forward to point out the egregious double standards at play in the world of literary reviewing, the grievance might have proved easier to swallow. But when the put-upon wordsmiths inveighing against “white male literary darlings” arrive in the guise of Jodi Picoult and Jennifer Weiner, one must take a step back. While neither Picoult nor Weiner could be easily dismissed as purveyors of tripe, to confuse them with engaged, committed, and challenging authors is to degrade the profession. With Picoult having sold 14 million copies of her books and Weiner an estimated 11 million, it’s difficult to conjure much sympathy for their tales of woe in a landscape where a small-press poetry publication is considered “respectable” if it breaks 500 copies in sales. And finally, while the argument is certainly worth having, Franzen seems an odd choice to attack when discussing the relative dearth of female authors in the canon, as he has repeatedly gone on record expressing the same concerns, has written several lovely essays or reviews filled with fulsome praise for neglected female authors (his lengthy June 2010 essay in the New York Times on the relatively forgotten Christina Stead and her unique 1940 novel The Man Who Loved Children is an impassioned rave), and tends to fill his novels with extremely remarkable and sympathetically crafted female characters – far more so than the vast majority of his male contemporaries.

I recognize that Picoult and Weiner were taking aim primarily at the fact that Franzen was reviewed twice by the same publication in the span of a few weeks, but again, I fail to see the outrage in this – after all, Franzen tends to publish large, multifaceted novels once every decade, while both Picoult and Weiner seem to deliver relatively slimmer novels every twelve months or so. Again, absolutely nothing wrong with that – Philip Roth does the same thing, as does Joyce Carol Oates (although her yearly efforts are far from slim). But to sit atop yearly successful releases and accuse a writer as thoughtful as Franzen of nefarious deeds in support of cultural patriarchy is pretty ridiculous. And upon further reflection, I was wrong about Weiner, at least (not so sure about Picoult). Her oeuvre actually does look pretty tripe-like.

And yet. To ponder how the literary establishment and critical gatekeepers evaluate the literary landscape – to examine who and what they corral off into “great works of art” and “admirable examples of craft” – is to observe a clear line of demarcation that tends to separate, shall we say, the boys from the girls. That is, the very notion of what certain critics and reviewers (and readers, it must be noted) deem as the hallmarks of a literary masterpiece are those very qualities that one might define, however imperfectly, as “male”. It goes without saying that many male authors and their heartiest backers maintain an obsession with length and girth that would seem to be little removed from their early encounters in the locker room. While female writers undoubtedly appreciate length and girth as much as the next woman, they also seem to have developed a healthier approach to winnowing out its limitations – how a hefty volume can sometimes obscure the relative emptiness inside, or the way an author may pad out two or three interesting ideas with hundreds of pages of extraneous and often less-than-enthralling detail. To glance over the handful of tightly-sprung, perfectly selected paragraphs of a Lydia Davis short story, say, is to marvel at the work of a master unafraid to pare subjects down to the bone. To flip through the one thousand and thirty pages of Adam Levin’s new McSweeney’s release The Instructions is to be impressed and also to wonder what Maxwell Perkins is doing these days.

I have no desire to venture any further into a topic as fraught with misstep as the perennial “how are male writers different from female writers,” and not only because I suspect it’s a useless discussion. It would be far more productive to instead list fifteen authors of the last century that have indeed been unfairly overlooked by the literary establishment and who all are amazing and talented writers who just happen to have the good fortune of being female. “Historical” authors have been left out of the list, which explains the lack of Jane Austen and George Eliot. I’ve also chosen to ignore those writers which have broken through the glass ceiling and regularly get tossed about with any number of male greats – Joyce Carol Oates, Virginia Woolf, Margaret Atwood. The list is in no way exhaustive or complete or anything other than introductory. However, all fifteen authors display stunning erudition and emotional complexity, possess unique and wonderfully composed prose styles, and tackle subjects ranging from personal psychology to ancient myth. They will all add immeasurably to your life. And they are all much, much better than Jodi Picoult or Jennifer Weiner (and Jonathan Safran Foer).

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(ranked alphabetically, to avoid any sense of relative comparison)

1) Anne Carson

A professor of classics with equal interest in the world of graphic arts, anthropology, and literature, Carson is less a traditional poet than a translator who decodes existing texts into an artful whole, and less a traditional translator than a poet eager to dissect the imperfection of words into a messy yet enthralling cross-section of tradition. Her careful resurrection of the scattered fragments of the Ancient Greek poet Sappho is something to lose yourself in. Her accordion-fold collage-poem NOX, released earlier this year, is a facsimile of an art piece she created following the death of her estranged brother. She could be icy cool, with an intellectual sheen painful to contemplate. But she remains earthbound, generous, always mindful of the reader.

Recommended works: The Beauty of the Husband (2001); If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho (2002); NOX (2010).



2) Kathryn Davis

An American far more likely to channel Danish folk tales or the court of Marie Antoinette than contemporary yankee landscapes, Davis is a decidedly quirky – no, make that bizarre – chronicler of the uncanny and the just-slightly absurd. But her novels never devolve into mere whimsy. Think of her as having the heart of a Celtic balladeer who just happens to be working in prose and once taught at Skidmore.

Recommended works: The Girl Who Trod On A Loaf (1993); The Thin Place (2006).


3) Lydia Davis

One could spend most of this space extolling the virtues of Davis’ eye-opening translations of Proust and Flaubert, but to ignore her equally great achievements in the realm of short stories would be obscene. Perhaps astonishingly, Davis seems to effortlessly straddle the world of unique, scholarly translation (in French) and unique, postmodern prose (her short stories). Blasting the tradition of 80s minimalism clear out of the water, her stories at times are less than three sentences long – “some of them among the shortest ever written,” as admirer Dan Chiasson noted. But never glib. Think John Cage, think Samuel Beckett, and hope that someday she easily coexists with those giants. With her entire short story output now available in one volume, there’s no reason she can’t.

Recommended works: Swann’s Way (2004), trans.; The Collected Stories of Lydia Davis (2009).




4) Joan Didion

Another uncategorizable writer, whose output has veered contentedly between journalistic essays and piercing fiction, we have no better voice on the contradictory nature of the state that is California than Didion. Her political essays are impressionistic pieces nevertheless immersed in detail and detached outrage. And her exploration of death and mourning in The Year of Magical Thinking has few equals. Long after the metafictional experiments of the big boys from the 1960s have faded away, Didion’s work stands as some of the finest prose put to paper during that heated decade. And in many ways, she’s only gotten better.



Recommended works: Slouching Towards Bethlehem (1968); Play It As It Lays (1970); The White Album (1979); Where I Was From (2003); The Year Of Magical Thinking (2005).



5) Elaine Dundy

Given her tumultuous childhood and lifelong struggles against domineering men, Dundy could be forgiven had she chosen an output of morbid observations. Lucky for her and lucky for us, she chose morbid wit, instead, and her cult 1958 novel of an American girl abroad, The Dud Avocado, seems to trickle back into the mainstream every generation or so. She wrote other equally admirable books, including a 1985 mock-bio of Elvis that ranks up there with the best, but it’s her creation of Sally Jay Gorce that she’ll be remembered for. This charming novel is the unacknowledged genesis of Sex And The City, and while that might not sound like much of a recommendation, it stands as one nonetheless.

Recommended works: The Dud Avocado (1958); The Old Man and Me (1964); Elvis and Gladys (1985).



6) Deborah Eisenberg

While Raymond Carver casts a deep shadow across the short story landscape, I suspect the form would be in much healthier straits if writers swapped out Carver’s easily-copied brand of minimalism for the unique approach of either the aforementioned Lydia Davis or Deborah Eisenberg. For the past twenty-five years, Eisenberg has been calmly releasing masterful collections of stories brimming with novelistic detail and utterly believable character studies. Her work celebrates the individual nature of people and families while always acknowledging the darkness and pain that comes along with such individuality. Her eye for the emptiness of American landscapes and the ways in which Americans hope to fill them places her obviously in the contemporary literary scene, but she has set an equally large number of stories in South America – an “exotic” setting that never feels strained. The recent collection of her entire output into one affordable volume is cause for celebration.

Recommended works: The Collected Stories (2010).


7) Mary Gaitskill

Try to forget that one of Gaitskill’s characters was the inspiration for the 2002 sado-lite film Secretary, starring Maggie Gyllenhall – if only because the film timidly approached then scurried away from topics Gaitskill fearlessly tears into. Quite frankly, she’s a writer who says things other writers won’t, unless those other writers are Michel Houellebecq or, um, Michel Houellebecq. She disdains the prettified metaphor, draws unforgivably brutal portraits of scarred young women, and thinks sex is dirty and really fun (and at times really awful) because it is dirty. She is not for everybody. She is one of my favorites.

Recommended works: Bad Behavior (1988); Two Girls, Fat And Thin (1991); Veronica (2005); Don’t Cry (2009).



8) Tove Jansson

Damion Searls recently attempted to explain to American readers how remarkable the career of Swedish / Finnish novelist Tove Jansson really was. She was not only one of the most gifted and beloved illustrators and composers of children’s stories from the last hundred years, but an equally legendary master of adult fiction. Searles writes, “It is as though Jonathan Franzen not only admired Charles Schulz but was Charles Schulz, retired from comic strips and deciding to try his hand at a family novel”. Perhaps you’re already familiar with the magical world of the Moomin books, perhaps not. At the very least, readers suddenly enthralled by Swedish fiction in the Year Of Stieg Larssen would do well to seek out Jansson’s novels – Scandinavian prose of a far calmer yet equally unforgiving bent.

Recommended works: The Summer Book (1972); The True Deceiver (1982); Fair Play (1989).


9) Pauline Kael

As the tradition of film criticism slowly slumps off to the great beyond, it can be hard to imagine a time when an idiosyncratic writer was allowed to explore at great length opinions running sharply counter to the grand narrative of the day. Here was a feisty and disarmingly witty woman capable of catching the whiff of bullshit emanating from the artiste and exploitation salesman alike – she gagged at both The Sound of Music and Michelangelo Antonioni. She embraced onscreen brutality when she found it to be earned (some Peckinpah), denounced it when she found it contrived (Dirty Harry). Her colorful curses were edited out by William Shawn, her celebration of feminine carnality tsk-tsked by New Yorker readers. If you only watched the films she praised, you’d be missing out on some great cinema. And yet there’s more honesty, passion, and insight (not to mention wonderful writing) in her criticism than can be found in the efforts of Clement Greenberg and Theodore Adorno combined.

Recommended works: For Keeps (1994)



10) Lorrie Moore

Leaven your writings with too little wit, and you stand in danger of being dismissed as mirthless. Become too fond of the bon mot or the witty aside, and you stand the equal danger of being damned with faint praise as a humorist. Moore has managed to walk the tightrope of comedy and tragedy through a small yet impressive body of work that stands alone in American fiction for its self-deprecation and an almost tourette’s-like inability to avoid a good pun. Her latest novel suffers only when Moore tries too hard to sweep current American history along with her mannered oddities. But the short stories remain sublime.

Recommended works: Who Will Run The Frog Hospital? (1994); Birds Of America (1998); A Gate At The Stairs (2009).




11) Iris Murdoch

A philosopher who deigned to write fiction, or a fiction writer eerily adept at philosophy? Dame Murdoch was perhaps both, and one would be hard pressed to nominate fellow writers equally capable of composing luminous, thoughtful fiction while pondering the weighty matters of 20th century philosophy. Sartre, maybe? Camus? At any rate, it’s not a long list. Where to begin with a writer with over twenty-five novels to her name, novels that both parody and celebrate such matters as religious faith, erotic obsession, poverty, domination, and intellectual wonderings. Why not start at the beginning, and work forward?

Recommended works: The Bell (1958); A Severed Head (1961); The Black Prince (1973); The Sea, The Sea (1978).


12) Flannery O’Connor

You can keep Stephenie Meyer and her young-adult vampiric concerns. If I want a jolt of Gothic horror, I’ll take Flannery, thanks. If Edward and Bella romantically swoon to the rhythms of the undead, O’Connor’s doomed characters crawl out of a fetid mixture equal parts southern backwoods and Catholic guilt. Prosthetic limbs get stolen post-coitus, bulls gore hapless victims among blades of grass, and oversize statues of racist iconography loom out of the kudzu. It’s wrong to focus on the grotesque nature of O’Connor’s stories and novels at the expense of her very real concerns of the possibility of achieving divine grace, yet even these aspects are colored with a unique and deeply morbid sense of humor. In the end, she towers above both regionalism and southern gothic. She belongs to literature, full stop.

Recommended works: Wise Blood (1952); A Good Man Is Hard To Find (1955); The Violent Bear It Away (1960); Everything That Rises Must Coverge (1965).



13) Cathleen Schine

Yet another example of the lengths to which the literary establishment will go to shut out those authors daring to tread in the semi-bastard zone of comedy and farce, the comic novels of Cathleen Schine deserve wider acceptance and adulation. Who but a comic writer would think to pen a novel of a nineteen-year-old girl’s lengthy stay in a hospital and rehabilitation center’s bed, and actually make it funny? Without a dose of self-pity? And entitle it Alice In Bed? Likewise, a story like Rameau’s Niece, in which a historian translating Diderot becomes overtaken by the manuscript and begins to view life through sex-obsessed lenses, might only be conjured up by a writer willing to embrace farcical convention and unafraid of the so-called “happy ending”. One races enjoyably through her books, only later stopping to consider Schine’s powers of craft and storytelling.

Recommended works: Alice In Bed (1983); Rameau’s Niece (1993); She Is Me (2003).



14) Muriel Spark

Standing proof that a-new-book-each-year need not imply endless chaff or gristle, Spark’s releases flew fast and furious, and her mid-life religious conversion led her to embrace an odd and unique worldview – a worldview that seemed ever mindful of the spiritual goings-on in a world not quite unlike our own, yet far more interested in the upheavals of the Final Judgment than any paradise in the hereafter. Which is not to say she was completely nihilistic. Call her cruelly refined, or just a little warped. Throughout her long career, she never ceased marveling at the indignities humans heap upon one another, and it would take an obnoxious little Pollyanna indeed to fend off the accuracy of Spark’s barbs.

Recommended works: Memento Mori (1959); The Public Image (1968); The Driver’s Seat (1970); The Abbess Of Crewe (1974); The Takeover (1976).



15) Christa Wolf

If a reinterpretation of the Battle of Troy as a decisive shift away from matriarchal tradition sounds to you like the keynote speech at a literary critic’s conference, I wouldn’t disagree too strenuously. But seeing how the former East German writer Christa Wolf is not only a literary critic but a gifted novelist, you’d be wrong to dismiss it as a dull conceit. One might describe her as rather ponderously aware of history, until one notes that anybody spied on by the Stasi for over thirty years would do well to remember the more ponderous lessons of history. Yet she never despairs, and she never condescends. Among the corpses of East German literature lies her warmly beating heart.

Recommended works: Divided Heaven (1963); Cassandra (1984); What Remains (1990).