This is a reading pile
A three-story sculpture “tower of books” representing over 15,000 titles that have been written about Abraham Lincoln, are part of an exhibit at the Ford’s Theatre Center for Education and Leadership in Washington on Wednesday. The new museum, located across from Ford’s Theatre and next door to the house where Lincoln died, will open in time for President’s Day.
(Via MSNBC.)
The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire: Abridged Edition
There is, perhaps, very little point in reviewing this book. Where would I even start? Edward Gibbon’s The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, written between 1776–89, is a monumental work of literature. Distilled: it is a monstrous explanation of the reasons Gibbon believed the Roman Empire fell from the giddy heights of the Republic, notably the period of the Caesars, to just after Constantinople being taken by the Ottoman Empire. Whether or not much of this period, pretty much from the 1st to the 16th Century, was entirely spent in decline, or simply how reliable and judgemental many of the accounts are, remains to be debated by proper scholars. So, instead of struggling to review this monster – which, even abridged, approaches 800 pages – here are 5 very casual observations:
Here be stories. In fact, some of the most stimulating and phenomenal stories a writer could possibly hope to exploit. From the towering and brutal Emperor Maximinus and his march on Rome, to the spread of Christianity and its possible role in the downfall of the Empire, to the sheer brutality of Atilla the Hun and his sharp shock to civilisation. Simply breathtaking exploits – and all of them real(ish). I don’t know why more fantasy writers don’t read history books.
Christianity again – fascinating to see its spread in the context of, and with an equal treatment to, the Roman pagan religions, Jupiter, Bacchus, and so on. I can only imagine how provocative this book was at the time of publication, to treat Christianity as any other religion and not something special, but without being disrespectful. This was all the more poignant for me, as I was casually watching the Christmas services on TV: to think that, with history going a different way, I could have been viewing blood sacrifices instead. Or even just observing the rituals of Christianity for what they were: rituals. This is a useless explanation for what I’m trying to say, but Gibbon’s treatment certainly left a lasting impression.
Belisarius. Why, why is there not more about this general in popular culture? And by more, I mean huge amounts of fiction, art, film, music, books, whatever. That entire age of Emperor Justinian, his wife Theodora, and his remarkable general, Belisarius who, after much of the Western Empire was lost over the decades, rolled his sleeves up and marched back to reclaim half of it. Gibbon paints a remarkable portrait of him, and I’ll certainly be reading more of this period. (Procopius’ Secret History; even the fiction of Robert Graves’ Count Belisarius.)
Power dynamics. There’s something awfully comforting reading about the ebb and flow of territories and empires. Nationalism seems pretty silly, ultimately. The power dynamics of various religions was impressive, too, as Gibbon writes about their origins and spread, and their ultimate importance as different rulers absorbed them into their own national fabric.
Civilisation is nothing new. While Britons were still scratching around in the dirt with their arses painted blue, Roman society had done things that would take us another thousand years to get close to (and even most of that was copied). Much of the contents of Gibbon’s book dealt with events that occurred well over a thousand years old. He depicted a society that, even in its decline, was far more advanced than we could imagine, and from them we’ve inherited nearly everything: from city plans to stadium design to political set-up. Yes, times were different. Yes, the concept of what was civilised is probably different. Yes, people were treated fairly brutally; not to mention appalling women’s rights – though we’ve taken thousands of years just to get to our own barely adequate state of equality. But the presence of such culture, and in such staggering quantities, is (and forgive the cliché) rather humbling, to say the least. We can understand this on a cerebral level, but it’s truly felt here.
So there we go. I’ve not done the book any justice whatsoever. The events, people, places all kind of wash over you. It’s a beautiful reading experience. It’s also a slow reading experience, because what Gibbon talks about requires attention. (Also, I wanted to keep googling what he was talking about, which led to twenty minute interludes while you looked up the various emperors or tribes.)
Second-hand Bookstore Finds
I went back to the second-hand bookstore, where I previously spotted a huge number of Folio Society editions sitting on the shelf, most of them in pristine condition. I bought two books: Lives of the Later Caesars and Ovid’s The Art of Love, both of which were marvellously illustrated. (I’m not sure the latter is the kind of thing you’d want to leave open when your mother visits.)
These are wonderfully constructed books. You won’t find that sort of quality or craftsmanship on (or even in) your Kindle.
Holiday Reading
I’m halfway through this, which though abridged, is still a huge book. Not an easy read and one you’ll benefit from by Googling bits and pieces throughout, but it is remarkable – not only in its historical achievements, but that it offers a treasure trove of inspiration for writers. I’ve already a dozen ideas for good stories. Quite a nice time of year for reading – I don’t think I’d ever have as much free time to really tackle something major as this.
I’m also listening to the unabridged audiobook of Cleopatra: A Life, by Stacy Schiff, a vibrant and detailed biography, and a fascinating glimpse into a ruling woman of the ancient world (a nice contrast to the male-dominated histories I’ve come across so far).
Random book purchase – Cities of the Classical World
This is a splendid hardcover book, an illustrated guide focussing on the great centres of classical civilisation:
…120 specially drawn maps tracing each city’s thoroughfares and defences, monuments and places of worship. Every map is to the same scale, allowing readers for the first time to appreciate visually the relative sizes of Babylon and Paris, London and Constantinople. There is also a clear, incisive commentary on each city’s development, strategic importance, rulers and ordinary inhabitants.
Just thought I’d share it.
Recent Reads – G.I. Bones & The Twelve Caesars
Martin Limón’s G.I. Bones is an immensely enjoyable and smart novel. Set in 1970s Korea, it follows two military police investigators, Sergeants Sueño and Bascom; they’re on the trail of a deceased US soldier in order to locate his bones. This is to help a Korean fortune teller, so she will not be haunted by the dead man’s ghost any longer. It’s a pretty cool set-up to a novel, with the right amount of mumbo-jumbo versus logic. Soon enough our investigators – guided by the first person narrative of Latino soldier Sueño – are plunged into the dark and exotic world of 70s South Korea, from the local gangs to the red light district, to the US military camp and the tropical villages. The world and culture is brought to life with phenomenal eye for detail. I often think that the crime is rarely central to the success of a crime novel – it’s merely what binds the rest together. The rest comes down to location, character, narrative skill, prose and so on.
So I don’t want to linger too much on the plot – though it is indeed nicely sophisticated. But I do want to mention the what makes Sueño particularly interesting as a character: he is a lead who manages to be respectful to women, different races, local culture and so on, in a world and period (and, we’re led to believe, of a type of soldier), where this sort of thing just isn’t the norm. Sueño’s non-mysogenistic and tolerant presence is a really interesting contradiction to those detective novels for whom women are simply plot points or wet dreams for the author or detective in question. And that makes Limón a very interesting writer. For a really good review of this novel, go here. I thought this was an excellent novel, full of style, acute observations and possesses a wonderful understanding of people.
What can really be said about one of the defining books of the classical age that hasn’t been said already? For those of you who don’t know, Suetonius’ The Twelve Caesars is a collection of biographies of some of the defining figures of Ancient Rome, and arguably one the most famous families in history. Beginning with the conquests of Julius Caesar and ending with Domitian, second son of Vespasian, it offers commentary on the qualities of these emperors (and dictator), their legacy, and their performance on the world stage – as well as in the bedroom.
It is, as you would expect, a lively old book, but surprisingly readable for something that was published in AD 121. It’s rather sensational at times, particularly when Suetonius discusses the antics of Caligula and Nero. It is, of course, hard to say what was real or what was gossip – and some of it does seem rather outrageous (but when you’re one of the most powerful men the world has ever known, pretty much anything goes…). Whether or not you believe much of what Suetonius writes about, it’s clear from reading other contemporary authors that his influence on our knowledge of the period is profound.
Nightfall by David Goodis
David Goodis’ 1947 novel, Nightfall, is a surprisingly psychological noir thriller. It follows James (Jimmy) Vanning, who’s laying low in NYC, all paranoid and edgy, trying to pass as a freelance artist. It turns out people are after him – a bunch of crooks think he’s got their $300,000 dollars from a bank job across the country.
Meanwhile Detective Fraser, a detective who has recently become interested in psychology, is observing Vanning from a distance, watching his every move, following him about the city, knowing full well who the man is, but isn’t utterly convinced he’s a guilty man. He doesn’t seem the sort to kill a guy and steal hundreds of thousands of dollars.
There’s not much more to it than that. We basically have a short novel that consists entirely of chase scenes, conversations in the shadows, and flashbacks. There’s a blonde involved and a seemingly innocent/guilty guy – it could be anyone at the centre of this novel – trying to cling on to his life and his own inner reality.
But! It’s good. The dialogue is superb. The descriptions are deeply poetic without straying from the the convention of minimalist noir prose. Here we’ve got everything that seems typical of genre, yet there’s fascinating, complex psychology at the heart of it – those shadows and backstreets heighten the sense of alienation – and it is all very well orchestrated. Goodis also has a habit of making his characters have profound conversations in bars or apartments.
What makes something so rich in suspense, I think, is not the immediate situation and what might happen on the other side of the page, but what’s at stake for every character involved, and that’s what strikes me as important about Nightfall. From Fraser to Vanning, to the crooks and the blonde, we’re constantly informed of what they’re doing what they’re doing, what could transpire should all the events in the book work out in their favour: prison, life on a yacht spending money, or simply settling down with a family. They’re big life-changing events and they have significance.
And that’s why Nightfall is a great novel: everything means something.
Counterpower Review
Rather than becoming a taxonomy of political movements, Counterpower focuses its arguments on the key, shared characteristics that unite political movements. By adopting this approach, he neatly provides a framework for the morass of loose and imprecise rhetoric that so often surrounds political debate. To do this, Gee examines the notion of what power actually is, both in the linguistic and physical senses – in other words, how governments and elite groups exercise their power over people. In response, people and movements have ‘counterpower’ at their disposal, which Gee splits into three main categories: Idea Counterpower, Economic Counterpower, and Physical Counterpower.
Loeb Classical Library
This. This has got my inner bibliophile excited once again.
I’ve been a bit of a late-starter on really getting to grips with the classical world. My education went down the scientific route for the most part and, aside from your usual Homer and Ovid, never really dabbled much with classical writings.
This has all changed with my recent obsession with classical history, of course, and it’s been a very nice experience in choosing a new section of a bookstore to get my teeth into.
So, when perusing such a section in Blackwells in London, I stumbled across the Loeb Classical Library, which:
gives access to all that is important in Greek and Latin literature. Epic and lyric poetry; tragedy and comedy; history, travel, philosophy, and oratory; the great medical writers and mathematicians; those Church fathers who made particular use of pagan culture—in short, our entire classical heritage is represented here in convenient and well-printed pocket volumes in which an up-to-date text and accurate and literate English translation face each other page by page
I’ve bought number 58, Marcus Aurelius, and there are quite a few texts to go, too. I don’t think anyone outside of an academic institution would ever have a full set. The books are a little on the pricey side for a classic: the cheapest I’ve found them is at Blackwells, where they retail at £12.50 each (or, bizarrely, 2 for £25). So these books are the sort where you can add a couple now and then, one a month, or perhaps binge on your birthday.
Still, it’s nice to dream that one day I will have a library full of them.
Reading Pile
Lots being read at the moment, but little time to actually give a meaty review of anything on the blog. Counter Power is being read for a review at the Ecologist, and is a splendid book. The Goldsworthy biography of Caesar is immense and as in-depth as you could possibly require, right down to tactics used in particular battles. Reading Persian Fire at the moment – it’s as wonderful as Rubicon. Flicking through the others and hope to get to the David Goodis novels within the next couple of weeks.
As you can see, lots of classical history and crime being consumed at the moment – all research (and enjoyment) for a future writing project (knee-deep in edits of Red Sun book 4 at the moment).
Little time for reading for just pleasure, such is the way of things…
On Deception – Houdini
Houdini’s On Deception is a rather interesting little book (and it is indeed a slim volume). He doesn’t give away any trade secrets – as you’d expect – but is a collection of essays on different ways in which deception occurs, from stagecraft, mediums, to more serious deceptions against the public, including theft and ways of relieving people of money.
It was originally published in 1906 and caused a bit of a stir. No doubt criminals weren’t too happy on many of their ways being exposed and there are some classic techniques exposed here that have manifested novels and films (and indeed, that was one of the reasons I wanted to read this myself). It’s not just an exposition of the criminal underworld, though – Houdini goes to great lengths to explain some tricks of the trade of getting out of handcuffs, picking locks, through to sword swallowing and coping with being bitten by a poisonous snake as part of a show. What it doesn’t do is give you much of an investigation of the nature of deception, of the psychology behind such trickery.
Houdini does enjoy giving a bit of a kicking to his rivals – mostly because they’re a bit crap compared to him – and his ego isn’t constrained much. Something else that comes to mind is that only relentless practice and remarkable dedication to the craft made him what he was: you don’t get the skills (and an ego) like his without painstaking effort.
Inspector Imanishi Investigates – Seicho Matsumoto
Crime novels fascinate me. The mechanisms are far more interesting than in other genres, I have to admit, even fantasy fiction, perhaps because the mechanisms are vital to the success of the novel. Within reasonably limited conventions – a murder, someone must solve it – comes a huge number of subtleties, approaches, deceptions, which keep the reader on his or her toes. The frustration to solve the puzzle within is a great narrative engine. It also requires a huge amount of complex planning on the author’s part; this isn’t something that can be churned out, James Patterson aside.
Inspector Imanishi Investigates is set in 1960s Tokyo, where the post-war young find themselves entranced by young musicians, actors and writers. The assiduous middle-aged Inspector Imanishi, someone not in tune with the affairs of the young, finds himself trying to solve a case in which a man in his 50s is found bludgeoned to death on the railway tracks. There are next to no clues other than that a few witnesses state the victim was thought to be talking to a man with a strange regional dialect. Imanishi needs to discover the identity of both the victim as well as the murderer, which seems practically impossible at the start.
He ends up trekking to various parts of Japan, obscure districts that require long, late train journeys, following leads that turn out, at first, to be futile. But it is the act of investigation that maps out the difficult case: the process of elimination starts to carve a possible reality from the confusion. Presently Imanishi discovers that the victim was a popular policeman, now retired, from a distant province, and he then becomes drawn to the Nouveau Group, an enigmatic, popular and influential group of writers, musicians and artists.
Imanishi’s investigations become something of a personal quest. Though drawn out over some time, and occasionally – due to frustrations with the case and the nature of police work – fading from priority, it is clear that he’s on to something. There are a spectacular number of what you initially think are red-herrings, but which turn out to be crucial clues and plot-points, and the further Imanishi explores the narrative, the more complex and subtle – and thrilling – it becomes. The novel continues at a relaxed pace, the prose – self-consciously minimalist, understated, noir - is an effective vehicle in permitting the plot’s complexities to stand out. Imanishi’s family life is again kept to the bare minimum, perhaps testament to his assiduousness and diligence in dealing with the case.
As with all my favourite crime novels, the investigations spotlight the concerns of a particular country, and Matsumoto does a splendid job in controlling the mood and atmosphere, both from city to rural locations. It’s a great book; subtle, under-stated and smart, however, it’s probably not for everyone.