Bibliography, 2012

End of the year time. Here were my books of the month:

January - A. Burgess, Earthly Powers* 
February - J. Le Carre, The honourable schoolboy
March - D.L. Sayers, Gaudy night 
April - M. Lewis, Moneyball 
May - Duflo & Bannerjee, Poor economics 
June - T.Penn, Winter King 
July - P.G. Wodehouse, Uncle Fred in the Springtime
August - P. Krugman, End this depression Now
September - C. McCullers, The Heart is a lonely hunter
October - L. Strachey, Eminent Victorians 
November - P.G. Wodehouse, Service with a smile
December - A. Spiegelman, Maus

It almost doesn't need saying that this has been a terrible year for reading. In the previous seven years, I've chalked up an average of 127 books; this year it was 85, and while I don't have a lightweight percentage to hand, it would be higher than ever before. There's certainly more fiction - 64/85 or 75% - though this hasn't really shown up in the BOTMs, which fell 50:50. One minor upside, it did make Books of the Year easier to pick. Too many months had only good rather than great books as their best.

In fact, if you'd shown me the list in advance I could probably have guessed fiction this time last year. I loved Earthy Powers eight years ago, and I loved it again this time. Like other monumental works, it repays rereading as while the shape remains constant, one's engagement with the characters and the issues changes over time - Carlo seems much more fragile, and more flawed than he did in 2004. Regardless, it's a magnificent book, and I'm already looking forward to rereading it in about 2020.

Non-fiction was a surprise, though it shouldn't have been. Non-fiction was better as a whole than fiction despite its low numbers. But, excellent though Penn was, nothing could touch Eminent Victorians. I suspect if I'd read it at 18, I'd have taken more modern papers at university. And, by implication, fewer Byzantine ones. I can think of no greater praise than that.

Bibliography, December 2012

BOTM: A. Spiegelman, Maus

A. Christie, Crooked House*
A. Christie, Hallowe'en Party
A. Christie, Sad Cypress
P. O'Donnell, Modesty Blaize
S. Maconie, Pies and prejudice
S. Richardson, Clarissa (vol 1)

Some years ago, someone told me that Clarissa revolutionised their view of English Literature (they either went on to do or were doing a English Literature degree at the time, which may have been a warning sign). Given it's free on the Kindle I thought I'd try it. I have failed - it is turgid in the extreme and I only got to end of volume one (of four) and that took serious effort. Perhaps as a result, everything else has been a bit lightweight. I almost gave BOTM to Modesty Blaize, which I read on the strength of listening to it serialised on Woman's Hour when I was ill the week before Christmas. but it was flimsy, if great fun. Maus however was a cut above. In some ways it's a bit flimsy too. There are certainly better Holocaust books (and there the obvious ones), but there's an immediacy that the comic form brings that works well. 

How to use averages

We've had a baby; he's coming up for eight months now & I'm very fond of him. So far he seems to be be doing the things he should. He's nailed rolling over, is pretty good at sitting up and picking things up and while he hasn't quite got round to crawling, he's pretty close. I was apparently pretty retarded at those things, so he's up on me. He's a bit below average weight, and he's well below average for sleeping.

At least, I think he's below average for sleeping - neither standard baby books nor doctors tell you what the average is. I'm a big fan of averages, properly used of course - for example you really need standard deviation to understand cricket averages properly. In other areas, the baby profession is also keen on averages. They have very detailed tables of weight, height, and even head circumference and how it will change over time. It's therefore possible to worry, in detail, about the trajectory of your baby's weight gain, yet it's impossible to worry about his ability to sleep through the night (or rather, to worry about it with data). At the moment, I know which one I am more concerned about.

Depressingly, I think they do it deliberately. Weight is a lead indicator for health, so they have to track it, and they might as well get parents to do it. However, everything else may well be held back to avoid parental panic about how their baby is below average (we're guilty of this too; worrying the doctor about his changing weight position). Of course, just under half of babies are below average so, to put it another way, I have a horrible feeling we limit information to parents because we assume for they will fail to understand statistics properly.

On one level, I suppose this doesn't really matter, but what it means is that those of us who can understand stats don't get some useful information. For example, my boss has a baby about five months younger than JR, who already sleeps better. Good for him, but he needs to know that's better than average to calibrate his expectations of me (and others) who may not have such obliging offspring. On the other hand, A is of the opinion that being able to work out that you're in receipt of a baby that's in the lower deciles for sleeping is mostly depressing - there's not much you can do about it after all.

For me though, if there are numbers to be had, I'd like them. This of course isn't limited to babies, but with babies I think I'm right. It would certainly make conversations with parents on this subject less frustrating.

The eighteenth century

Were you listening to Today on Monday (which you should be every day save the Sabbath) and you'd kept listening to the end, you'd have heard an extraordinary debate about British history between Chris Skidmore MP and Trevor Fisher. Actually, it was a fairly mediocre debate about a suggestion in a report from an all party parliamentary group that we should teach history in a more narrative fashion (written up here, not easy to actually find the report).

I don't know Mr Skidmore, though I should, we were at the same college at the same time doing the same subject, though I was rescuing my degree when he came up not meeting first years - my mistake perhaps. He seems like a good egg, and although I don't agree entirely with his proposals, the opposition was extraordinarily weak. Specifically, his opponent proceeded to argue that narrative history would be 'boring' as if that's something an effective curriculum and effective teaching couldn't stop, and then - amazingly - that he didn't know anything about the eighteenth century despite having taught for thirty-odd years.* And somehow he didn't see any problem with this. 

I'm not surprised he's never needed to know about it; but I'm surprised he thought it was acceptable not to. Personally, I'm not a massive fan of the eighteenth century, but it's pretty important period. Immediately, and in rough order of importance at the time, I'd go for:

• The French Revolution (1789)
• The American revolution (1775)
• Walpole and the formation of the Prime Ministerial office (1721-42)
• The Act of Settlement (1701) & The Hanoverian Succession (1714) 
• Union between England and Scotland (1707)
• Union between England and Ireland (1800)
• Plassey and the entry of Britain into India (1757)
• The '45 (1745)

It's noteworthy that most of these fall outside the 'short' eighteenth century, 1715-1789, usually dated with reference to France and dominated by the dreary ineffective years of Louis XV, but that wasn't being discussed and if I were doing the continent, I'd mention - amongst others - the War of Spanish Succession, Peter the Great's modernisation of Russia and Frederick the Great of Prussia. Nonetheless, this is pretty strong list, and I've probably missed a few off. I rather think this therefore gives weight to the view that we should teach more eighteenth century history and history teachers (and others) should certainly be ashamed of not knowing much about it.

*Oddly enough, this was lie. Mr Fisher does know about the Eighteenth century, or at least enough to write about it. Curious.

Bibliography, November 2012

BOTM: P.G. Wodehouse, Service with a Smile

A. Christie, Sparkling Cyanide
P. Kimmage, Rough Ride
D. Lynskey, 33 Revolutions per minute
A. Trollope, The Three Clerks

I wasn't expecting this. At various stages, I was expecting Lynskey, Trollope and Kimmage to be BOTM. But they tailed off, leaving it open for another Wodehouse, with another starring role for  Uncle Fred. It's really by default though because I've read so little this month and the others were flawed. I've because I am stuck on Clarissa, which goes on for ever (and so far) is pretty tedious. The others were flawed, respectively  because Sparkling Cyanide is silly, Kimmage only really comes to life in the final sections and then meanders, Lynskey can't tell the difference between a protest song and people just being angry, and Trollope, well, it's not one of his better plots, given it hinges on the setting of competitive exams for entry to the civil service. A shame.

War. What is it good for?

As there's no news I can think of that relates to me, so I thought it would be a good time to talk about pacifism, given it's poppy time (though this has started far too early). Specifically, I'd like to talk about why it's rubbish.

Now, it's worth doing some definitional work here. I am, like everyone should be, of the belief that war and death are, in general, bad. Anyone who has studied the Pax Romana and lived in postwar Europe knows the power of peace to deliver prosperity and long life. I am also not advocating hawkish solutions to any number of outstanding issues, because I don't think they work. Nor am I denying the efficacy of some pacific movements. And I am not even arguing with the right of individuals to opt out of a draft as conscientious objectors, though I don't really like it as a position (NB I did read a wonderful letter on this yesterday). I am simply saying as a general position it is wrong, muddleheaded and selfish. In political discourse, it's also quite dangerous because its adherents won't debate real decisions.

The substantive argument is actually pretty easy: essentially, pacifists don't have an answer to Hitler. Most contemporary pacifists didn't bother and made him an exception. But that won't wash: if your political theory doesn't include the biggest example then it's probably a bad theory. I'd also argue on historical grounds that there shouldn't be a thick line round the Nazis. In an attempt to get round this, modern pacifists then tend to argue that's it's the wrong discussion to start with Hitler, rather we need to go back and posit a pacifist policy earlier (here's an example - he refers to the church, but it could be anything). This is just silly. It rather implies that modern pacifists wouldn't support pacifist policies now because of bellicosity in the past. And we know they do.

To me, that line of argument is indicative of the problem with pacifism, in that it wants the world to be other than it is. It's undoubtedly unpleasant that people seek to resolve things by force, but they do. Sometimes they benefit hugely from doing so; sometimes they have nothing to lose. Pacifism seems to ignore this reality. More irritatingly, it also allows its adherent to avoid thinking about difficult decisions. For example, for right-thinking people in the west, foreign policy decisions around are complex. Militarily, to intervene or not is a vexed question, especially in the light of huge suffering. It is right that we should approach intervention with deep caution, but it may be worthwhile. To the pacifist this agonising never occurs.  The answer is always 'no.' And in the west this is an easy and cheap luxury afforded by our own peace, and the knowledge that foreigners will be doing the dying.

It's right there is a bias against war, but to oppose it on principle is simply wrong. Next time we debate this , don't oppose 'war,' oppose 'this war,' and make sure you know why.

Bibliography, October 2012

BOTM: L. Strachey, Eminent Victorians

J. Barnes, Flaubert's Parrot

J.L. Borges, Labyrinths

A. Burgess, Time for a Tiger
A. Burgess, The Enemy in the Blanket
A. Burgess, Beds in the East

B. Chatwin, The viceroy of Ouidah
G. Garcia Marquez, No-one writes to the Colonel
L.P. Hartley, The Go Between
G.M. Fraser, Flash for Freedom
P. Levi, If this is a man*

How have I not read Eminent Victorians before?

The last few years reading have been for me a lesson in the Socratic principle (actually that's slightly different, but you get the point) of greater knowledge simply bringing a greater awareness of your own ignorance. A few years ago, I wrote this slightly pompous blog about all the reading I had done in my 20s and how happy I was about it. I still am, but looking back, I'm astonished by the things I've read since that simply weren't on the horizon. Some of those I already owned (and I noted those here), but many were stunningly obvious ones I'd not even thought about. I started reading Wodehouse on a recommendation only two years ago; I have more books by him than any author save the great Elinor M. Brent Dyer, author of the Chalet School stories (I have them all). 

Strachey's book is clearly in the same category. I've known about it for years: my parents had it; we've had it for a while, and yet I only read it now because I felt I'd read too much fiction these last few months and it looked short. But it's magnificent, albeit eclectic (who now would start their account of the Victorian era with a long section about the second archbishop of Westminster?). It's perceptive, peeling away some of the layers of Victorian legend from its heroes. It's also tart, funny and brilliantly written. The passages on the Oxford movement are probably the most enjoyable ones I've read on the subject. It's a monument to a singular mind and essentially reading for anyone who is even slightly interested in the period. JR will be reading it well before he's 33.