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aegagrus's reviews
66 reviews
Insistent Life: Principles for Bioethics in the Jain Tradition by Brianne Donaldson, Ana Bajzelj
3.25
Insistent Life consists of two distinct sections. In the first, Donaldson and Bajzelj give an overview of Jain philosophy and cosmology, paying special attention to the ethical reasoning present in canonical texts. In the second, Donaldson and Bajzelj present and discuss data gathered from a survey of Jain medical professionals who were asked about various controversial issues in contemporary bioethics.
Section I is generally successful. The philosophical systems in question are described in considerable detail, but always thoroughly explained and clearly tied to their textual sources. One aspect of this discussion was especially resonant: because Jain cosmology describes a universe teeming with many different types of lifeforms (humans, plants, animals, water-bodied, air-bodied, fire-bodied, and earth-bodied, seeds and particles, heavenly beings, hell beings, and so on), it is deemed impossible to live in the day-to-day world without committing violence and thereby accruing karma (believed to be a physical substance). Ultimately, this means that Jain mendicants on the path towards escaping samsara should gradually withdraw from this world and eventually from purposeful action itself. However, for lay Jains, the impossibility of fully practicing the value of ahimsa (nonviolence) means that careful decisions must be made to minimize and restrain one's violence in the present lifetime, while retaining ahimsa as an aspirational principle undergirding lives of admitted imperfection. Notably, different commitments may be taken by different laypeople (or different mendicants!) based on what is reasonable in each person's position. I feel quite similarly about the harm that is done in the course of human life and consumption, and the need to maintain an ethically-exacting awareness of these harms while also accommodating lived imperfection and diverging capacities for action.
Section II was interesting but somewhat less useful, in my judgement. Donaldson and Bajzelj are to be commended for bringing these two distinct methodologies together. However, because contemporary western bioethical frameworks and concerns don't neatly map to the Jain frameworks described in Section I, it is not always clear what to make of the survey responses presented. Gathering these responses was surely of some usefulness to the field, but for generalist readers, a greater emphasis on qualitative reflections from these respondents may have yielded more insight and driven more productive conversation. In short, I was dissatisfied with the methodology of Section II, and found myself wishing that respondents had been interviewed, rather than surveyed.
Section I is generally successful. The philosophical systems in question are described in considerable detail, but always thoroughly explained and clearly tied to their textual sources. One aspect of this discussion was especially resonant: because Jain cosmology describes a universe teeming with many different types of lifeforms (humans, plants, animals, water-bodied, air-bodied, fire-bodied, and earth-bodied, seeds and particles, heavenly beings, hell beings, and so on), it is deemed impossible to live in the day-to-day world without committing violence and thereby accruing karma (believed to be a physical substance). Ultimately, this means that Jain mendicants on the path towards escaping samsara should gradually withdraw from this world and eventually from purposeful action itself. However, for lay Jains, the impossibility of fully practicing the value of ahimsa (nonviolence) means that careful decisions must be made to minimize and restrain one's violence in the present lifetime, while retaining ahimsa as an aspirational principle undergirding lives of admitted imperfection. Notably, different commitments may be taken by different laypeople (or different mendicants!) based on what is reasonable in each person's position. I feel quite similarly about the harm that is done in the course of human life and consumption, and the need to maintain an ethically-exacting awareness of these harms while also accommodating lived imperfection and diverging capacities for action.
Section II was interesting but somewhat less useful, in my judgement. Donaldson and Bajzelj are to be commended for bringing these two distinct methodologies together. However, because contemporary western bioethical frameworks and concerns don't neatly map to the Jain frameworks described in Section I, it is not always clear what to make of the survey responses presented. Gathering these responses was surely of some usefulness to the field, but for generalist readers, a greater emphasis on qualitative reflections from these respondents may have yielded more insight and driven more productive conversation. In short, I was dissatisfied with the methodology of Section II, and found myself wishing that respondents had been interviewed, rather than surveyed.
The Facemaker: A Visionary Surgeon's Battle to Mend the Disfigured Soldiers of World War I by Lindsey Fitzharris
2.75
In researching for this book, Lindsey Fitzharris certainly uncovered many interesting stories and anecdotes relating to the surgical work of Harold Gillies during WWI. Fitzharris is a good writer, and her enthusiasm for sharing these stories with the reader is obvious. Sometimes, however, her enthusiasm seems to get the better of her, and the details she chooses to include seem rather arbitrary or extraneous; as a whole, The Facemaker suffers from the lack of any clear vision of what kind of a history it is to be.
The book's most notable throughline is an emphasis on the collaborative nature of Gillies' work -- how he actively sought out mentors, collaborators, and subordinates from fields including medicine, dentistry, anesthetics, sculpture/metalwork, visual art, photography, and so on. Fitzharris makes a persuasive case that this interdisciplinary approach was necessary in the context of a newly emergent discipline -- plastic surgery -- and shows how the collaborative atmosphere Gillies fostered at the Queen's Hospital in Sidcup was responsible for fundamental and lasting advancements in the field. The Facemaker also effectively conveys something of the atmosphere at Sidcup -- sometimes eerie and quiet (the patients generally being unable to speak due to jaw injuries), sometimes marked by great camaraderie among wounded men who were stigmatized outcasts to the outside world but not to one another. Fitzharris demonstrates the extent to which society was unwilling to accommodate facial deformity, providing important context to her accounts of the wounded mens' struggles with their senses of self, and the ways in which Gillies took this into account when dealing with them. The inclusion of several plates of photographic progressions before, during, and after treatment is key -- Fitzharris is to be commended for her choice to include these images, and the thoughtful way in which she addresses the matter in an author's note.
I personally would have preferred a history which focused more attention on these questions of disability and stigma. However, this book could also have been successful as a focused work of medical history, guiding the reader through the necessary medical background to understand the clinical importance of the innovations being made. Or, this could have been a more straightforward work of biography, attempting to capture Gillies' motivation in undertaking this work and expanding upon the epilogue in which we learn of his continued involvement in the development of plastic surgery until his death in 1960 (including performing the first known phalloplasty). As it was, I'm not sure The Facemaker was any of these things. Digressions into medical history, military history, social history, and Gillies' personal history were all present, but did not feel systematic or purposeful enough to make this book a truly useful resource in any of these categories. My frustration with the book's haphazard overall construction and its lack of a clear motive or thesis may not be a frustration shared by all readers -- if one were simply looking for an interesting assortment of historical info, one could certainly find that here -- but it did, in my mind, lead to a less incisive, less memorable project.
The book's most notable throughline is an emphasis on the collaborative nature of Gillies' work -- how he actively sought out mentors, collaborators, and subordinates from fields including medicine, dentistry, anesthetics, sculpture/metalwork, visual art, photography, and so on. Fitzharris makes a persuasive case that this interdisciplinary approach was necessary in the context of a newly emergent discipline -- plastic surgery -- and shows how the collaborative atmosphere Gillies fostered at the Queen's Hospital in Sidcup was responsible for fundamental and lasting advancements in the field. The Facemaker also effectively conveys something of the atmosphere at Sidcup -- sometimes eerie and quiet (the patients generally being unable to speak due to jaw injuries), sometimes marked by great camaraderie among wounded men who were stigmatized outcasts to the outside world but not to one another. Fitzharris demonstrates the extent to which society was unwilling to accommodate facial deformity, providing important context to her accounts of the wounded mens' struggles with their senses of self, and the ways in which Gillies took this into account when dealing with them. The inclusion of several plates of photographic progressions before, during, and after treatment is key -- Fitzharris is to be commended for her choice to include these images, and the thoughtful way in which she addresses the matter in an author's note.
I personally would have preferred a history which focused more attention on these questions of disability and stigma. However, this book could also have been successful as a focused work of medical history, guiding the reader through the necessary medical background to understand the clinical importance of the innovations being made. Or, this could have been a more straightforward work of biography, attempting to capture Gillies' motivation in undertaking this work and expanding upon the epilogue in which we learn of his continued involvement in the development of plastic surgery until his death in 1960 (including performing the first known phalloplasty). As it was, I'm not sure The Facemaker was any of these things. Digressions into medical history, military history, social history, and Gillies' personal history were all present, but did not feel systematic or purposeful enough to make this book a truly useful resource in any of these categories. My frustration with the book's haphazard overall construction and its lack of a clear motive or thesis may not be a frustration shared by all readers -- if one were simply looking for an interesting assortment of historical info, one could certainly find that here -- but it did, in my mind, lead to a less incisive, less memorable project.
Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead by Olga Tokarczuk
4.25
Tokarczuk's narrator, an eccentric woman of advancing years named Janina Duszejko, is a delight. As a narrator she is both very charming and very interesting, and much of the book's appeal lies in seeing the world through the prism of her rather idiosyncratic assumptions and beliefs. Mrs. Duszejko (for she abhors her first name) makes for a doubly sympathetic figure in that she is continually distraught by the wider world's obliviousness to what she considers a grave injustice (the killing of animals) and in that she is acutely conscious of the extent to which her convictions are brushed aside on account of her identity (her age and her gender) -- both are experiences with which many can relate. Placed in the hands of such a strong narrator, I was extremely ready to forgive the slow-to-develop story, as well as to grant an unusual level of credence to her sometimes off-kilter perspectives.
The Guardian praised the novel for its "anarchic sensibility". For me, this anarchic sensibility comes across in an exploration of ad-hoc, transient communities. Mrs. Duszejko seems to draw in "the sort of people whom the world regards as useless", finding joy and companionship in these awkward, makeshift, impermanent "families". The formal institutions of police and government are not objects of outright hostility, but seem almost irrelevant; a curious afterthought far removed from the daily worlds of those they ostensibly oversee. I appreciated this treatment of community and kinship, and its political implications, while remaining far from certain about other features of the novel's moral vision -- to what extent, ultimately, are we supposed to pass judgement on Mrs. Duszejko's actions, whether to exonerate or to condemn?
Misc thoughts:
- I'm of two minds on some of the astrological concepts on which Mrs. Duszejko muses. On the one hand, I did feel that some of her reflections were somewhat opaque to readers (such as myself) without a solid grasp on western astrological tradition. On the other hand, her belief in astrology is so central to her worldview that I do think her unique voice would have been watered down or made to feel less authentic if things were changed.
- This book contains some very lovely nature writing, including descriptions of seasons/flora/fauna in rural Poland. Also, some quite humorous observational writing about the people.
- While "mystery" and "crime/thriller" and so on are accurate labels for this book, be aware that it reads much more like litfic (it goes without saying that this was one of the things I liked about it)
The Guardian praised the novel for its "anarchic sensibility". For me, this anarchic sensibility comes across in an exploration of ad-hoc, transient communities. Mrs. Duszejko seems to draw in "the sort of people whom the world regards as useless", finding joy and companionship in these awkward, makeshift, impermanent "families". The formal institutions of police and government are not objects of outright hostility, but seem almost irrelevant; a curious afterthought far removed from the daily worlds of those they ostensibly oversee. I appreciated this treatment of community and kinship, and its political implications, while remaining far from certain about other features of the novel's moral vision --
Misc thoughts:
- I'm of two minds on some of the astrological concepts on which Mrs. Duszejko muses. On the one hand, I did feel that some of her reflections were somewhat opaque to readers (such as myself) without a solid grasp on western astrological tradition. On the other hand, her belief in astrology is so central to her worldview that I do think her unique voice would have been watered down or made to feel less authentic if things were changed.
- This book contains some very lovely nature writing, including descriptions of seasons/flora/fauna in rural Poland. Also, some quite humorous observational writing about the people.
- While "mystery" and "crime/thriller" and so on are accurate labels for this book, be aware that it reads much more like litfic (it goes without saying that this was one of the things I liked about it)
Quilting: Poems 1987-1990 by Lucille Clifton
3.75
Lucille Clifton's use of language has incredible rhythm; her lines are measured, purposeful, and incisive; thematically complex but generally only employing a handful of images at any one time. She very successfully uses repetition to create an almost liturgical gravity, especially when invoking specific names. She is also very good at letting language fail when words can take us no farther, as in the last day.
Structurally, my favorite works in this collection were those in which Clifton literally "quilts" newspaper clippings, quotes, or specific events or people into her own voice.
In terms of content, some of these poems feel more "current" than others. Some of the explicitly feminist poems feel dated because the ways in which feminist discourse today tends to relate to female physiology are less straightforward than they were in the late 1980s (it's probably worth interrogating to what extent this is because the straightforward reclamation Clifton is doing here is less urgently needed today, and to what extent this is simply due to a more complex understanding of gender and of social movements' relations to one another. But I digress).
I also wasn't entirely feeling the grouping of poems inspired by the different heavenly beings' perspectives on the fall of Lucifer, which was an interesting concept but felt less sharply focused in execution. In contrast, I found other biblically-inspired poems in this collection highly effective, as well as those dealing with animals, news/public affairs, and race (that the poems regarding race seem not to have aged in the same way that the poems regarding gender have is, of course, an indictment of the lack of cultural progress which seems to have been made in some respects since publication).
Structurally, my favorite works in this collection were those in which Clifton literally "quilts" newspaper clippings, quotes, or specific events or people into her own voice.
In terms of content, some of these poems feel more "current" than others. Some of the explicitly feminist poems feel dated because the ways in which feminist discourse today tends to relate to female physiology are less straightforward than they were in the late 1980s (it's probably worth interrogating to what extent this is because the straightforward reclamation Clifton is doing here is less urgently needed today, and to what extent this is simply due to a more complex understanding of gender and of social movements' relations to one another. But I digress).
I also wasn't entirely feeling the grouping of poems inspired by the different heavenly beings' perspectives on the fall of Lucifer, which was an interesting concept but felt less sharply focused in execution. In contrast, I found other biblically-inspired poems in this collection highly effective, as well as those dealing with animals, news/public affairs, and race (that the poems regarding race seem not to have aged in the same way that the poems regarding gender have is, of course, an indictment of the lack of cultural progress which seems to have been made in some respects since publication).
A Prison in the Woods: Environment and Incarceration in New York's North Country by Clarence Jefferson Hall
3.25
A Prison in the Woods is not a stridently ideological work, and does not make a serious effort to draw from its subject matter a critical thesis that might inform current-day movements against mass incarceration. There are positives and negatives to this approach.
While subtitled "environment and incarceration", this is primarily a work about local politics and local economics. The chapters on Ray Brook, Gabriels, Lyon Mountain, and Tupper Lake each present a detailed, well-researched account of the local controversies surrounding the construction of new prisons in these communities between the late 1970s and the early 1990s. One useful takeaway is the degree to which locals' bargaining power when dealing with state or federal institutions is highly variable and fluctuates according to regional, political, and historical context. The most useful takeaway, though, is the throughline that opposition to prison expansion in each case was dominated by affluent/seasonal residents of the North Country who view the Adirondacks as an area for outdoor recreation and leisure activities, and worried (in obviously racist terms) about the degree to which new prisons would make these communities more like the downstate communities they were trying to get away from. While the working class year-round residents of these communities did share some concerns relating to local input/control and environmental damage/resource management, ultimately they tended to view prisons as sources of employment in a struggling region that had lost the mining and logging industries it once relied upon. While this form of prison NIMBYism did win some victories in the North Country, it has enormous drawbacks: treating environmental concerns as an instrument for social ends rather than as important issues in and of themself, and fracturing the movement by weakening any long-term effort to link local environmental concerns with the broader concerns about mass incarceration and racial disparity being articulated by anti-penal activists. Further, Jefferson Hall notes that once prisons were established in these communities, seasonal and more affluent residents tended to soften their stance when the free or cheap labor performed by incarcerated men became more integral to the area's infrastructure, local services, and commerce -- further ensuring that opposition to prison construction remained localized and unsustained.
By contrast, the first chapter, about the 19th century construction of Clinton State Prison in Dannemora, does provide some useful background about New York's role in the development of US penal norms and the North Country's role in the development of New York's correctional system, but ultimately feels fairly inconclusive and disconnected from the much-later case studies that make up the bulk of the book. Jefferson Hall concludes with a brief plea for public memorials and education campaigns to remind North Country residents to what extent their region and its infrastructure today was created by incarcerated labor (even if many of the prisons in question have since closed) -- a point which is well-taken, but also somewhat extraneous and underdeveloped.
While subtitled "environment and incarceration", this is primarily a work about local politics and local economics. The chapters on Ray Brook, Gabriels, Lyon Mountain, and Tupper Lake each present a detailed, well-researched account of the local controversies surrounding the construction of new prisons in these communities between the late 1970s and the early 1990s. One useful takeaway is the degree to which locals' bargaining power when dealing with state or federal institutions is highly variable and fluctuates according to regional, political, and historical context. The most useful takeaway, though, is the throughline that opposition to prison expansion in each case was dominated by affluent/seasonal residents of the North Country who view the Adirondacks as an area for outdoor recreation and leisure activities, and worried (in obviously racist terms) about the degree to which new prisons would make these communities more like the downstate communities they were trying to get away from. While the working class year-round residents of these communities did share some concerns relating to local input/control and environmental damage/resource management, ultimately they tended to view prisons as sources of employment in a struggling region that had lost the mining and logging industries it once relied upon. While this form of prison NIMBYism did win some victories in the North Country, it has enormous drawbacks: treating environmental concerns as an instrument for social ends rather than as important issues in and of themself, and fracturing the movement by weakening any long-term effort to link local environmental concerns with the broader concerns about mass incarceration and racial disparity being articulated by anti-penal activists. Further, Jefferson Hall notes that once prisons were established in these communities, seasonal and more affluent residents tended to soften their stance when the free or cheap labor performed by incarcerated men became more integral to the area's infrastructure, local services, and commerce -- further ensuring that opposition to prison construction remained localized and unsustained.
By contrast, the first chapter, about the 19th century construction of Clinton State Prison in Dannemora, does provide some useful background about New York's role in the development of US penal norms and the North Country's role in the development of New York's correctional system, but ultimately feels fairly inconclusive and disconnected from the much-later case studies that make up the bulk of the book. Jefferson Hall concludes with a brief plea for public memorials and education campaigns to remind North Country residents to what extent their region and its infrastructure today was created by incarcerated labor (even if many of the prisons in question have since closed) -- a point which is well-taken, but also somewhat extraneous and underdeveloped.
How High We Go in the Dark by Sequoia Nagamatsu
4.5
Moving and inventive. Though the circumstances Nagamatsu imagines are extremely grim, this is not a book about apocalyptic events eroding our moral compasses. Rather, this is a book about caring for one another in the midst of unsolvable crisis. Nagamatsu's various narrators navigate their grim world with a great deal of compassion and decency. Many of their stories include severed or strained connections to family or loved ones; often they are unable to care for certain people or to care in certain ways. However, each of them, in their own way, cares for others. This is a book about compassionately attending to those to whom you can attend, and making peace with the memories of those to whom you could not.
Nagamatsu's plague-stricken world sees death reassert its often-hidden presence in the public square, and imagines creative ways in which society might address this change. Not all of these mortuary or palliative practices are ultimately helpful or sustainable, but Nagamatsu makes sure that we notice the compassion, mourning, and hope behind each one.
Nagamatsu ties these stories together using a framing device from science fiction, which mostly becomes relevant late in the novel. I did not think this aspect of the novel added very much, but I didn't think it detracted much either. Framing mechanisms aside, this is ultimately (and self-consciously) a book about climate change, about environmental catastrophes, and about the imperfect but essential ways we are called to care for one another, now and in the years to come.
Nagamatsu's plague-stricken world sees death reassert its often-hidden presence in the public square, and imagines creative ways in which society might address this change. Not all of these mortuary or palliative practices are ultimately helpful or sustainable, but Nagamatsu makes sure that we notice the compassion, mourning, and hope behind each one.
Man Is Not Alone: A Philosophy of Religion by Abraham Joshua Heschel
3.0
In Man is Not Alone, Abraham Joshua Heschel avoids the sterile functionalism he sees in anthropological or psychological accounts of religion by reasoning from direct experience. However, in so doing, he becomes quite presumptuous about the content of human experience. William James' treatment of the subject is certainly narrower in scope, but at least James engages with first-hand narratives and accounts from other people. R. Heschel, writing in a self-assured tone of pastoral explication, doesn't -- at least not in these pages. His writing is sometimes quite compelling, but sometimes grating in its tone and generalizing certitude.
I resonated most with R. Heschel's understanding of the imperative nature of religion. "Religion...begins with a consciousness that something is asked of us". He identifies the power and presence of the Ineffable, but most importantly sees in the Ineffable the beginning of an obligation. I was also struck by his insistence that our sense of the Ineffable is an "authentic insight". Meaningfulness is not the product of our own cognition: "to assume that reality is chaotic, bare of significance, as long as man does not approach it with the magic touch of his mind" is a position "too sophisticated to be reasonable". While nothing R. Heschel says here will persuade an arch-existentialist who disagrees with this assertion, I find in it a deeply insightful and important bedrock for any theological discussion. Developing this notion of compulsion, R. Heschel describes piety in terms of being attuned to what is asked of us; to the meaningfulness of life and to the weight of our responsibilities. As in C. S. Lewis' The Weight of Glory, this notion of seriousness of spiritual intent is extremely compelling to me.
R. Heschel's description of Jewish religion in terms of covenant as an instrument of reciprocal concern & need, and in terms of a constant and historical yearning -- for a more complete closeness to God and for a better world -- is also valuable. I also like his image of humanity as "the knot in which heaven and earth are interlaced" -- an argument that our nature as both spiritual and material beings leads us to fill this necessary role as a point of ontological contact between realms (I would object to the anthropocentrism here, but am nonetheless compelled by the cosmology). His other forays into moral theology strike me somewhat dubiously. He writes that dogmas are merely allusive, but seems to hold dogmatic positions about unity being the root of all healthy ethical thought (a claim he makes to disparage polytheism), and about magic/"primitive spirituality" being a foe to true religion for its orientation around human ends. Again, he is not obviously drawing from sources other than his own understandings of human life and human nature, and at these and other points he makes wide leaps in assuming that certain feelings are more "authentic" or credible than others, that certain thought processes and patterns are universal, and/or that an honest encounter with the spiritual world will invariably lead towards moral-theological conclusions mirroring his own. This was somewhat tiresome and grating. Interestingly, I don't think I would have been as put-off if he had simply phrased these universals as originating from a doctrinal stance (which may be worth interrogating). As it was, by positioning himself as departing from a experiential universals, but not seeming to be very willing to believe or engage with alternate experiential accounts, R. Heschel ended up testing my patience somewhat.
I resonated most with R. Heschel's understanding of the imperative nature of religion. "Religion...begins with a consciousness that something is asked of us". He identifies the power and presence of the Ineffable, but most importantly sees in the Ineffable the beginning of an obligation. I was also struck by his insistence that our sense of the Ineffable is an "authentic insight". Meaningfulness is not the product of our own cognition: "to assume that reality is chaotic, bare of significance, as long as man does not approach it with the magic touch of his mind" is a position "too sophisticated to be reasonable". While nothing R. Heschel says here will persuade an arch-existentialist who disagrees with this assertion, I find in it a deeply insightful and important bedrock for any theological discussion. Developing this notion of compulsion, R. Heschel describes piety in terms of being attuned to what is asked of us; to the meaningfulness of life and to the weight of our responsibilities. As in C. S. Lewis' The Weight of Glory, this notion of seriousness of spiritual intent is extremely compelling to me.
R. Heschel's description of Jewish religion in terms of covenant as an instrument of reciprocal concern & need, and in terms of a constant and historical yearning -- for a more complete closeness to God and for a better world -- is also valuable. I also like his image of humanity as "the knot in which heaven and earth are interlaced" -- an argument that our nature as both spiritual and material beings leads us to fill this necessary role as a point of ontological contact between realms (I would object to the anthropocentrism here, but am nonetheless compelled by the cosmology). His other forays into moral theology strike me somewhat dubiously. He writes that dogmas are merely allusive, but seems to hold dogmatic positions about unity being the root of all healthy ethical thought (a claim he makes to disparage polytheism), and about magic/"primitive spirituality" being a foe to true religion for its orientation around human ends. Again, he is not obviously drawing from sources other than his own understandings of human life and human nature, and at these and other points he makes wide leaps in assuming that certain feelings are more "authentic" or credible than others, that certain thought processes and patterns are universal, and/or that an honest encounter with the spiritual world will invariably lead towards moral-theological conclusions mirroring his own. This was somewhat tiresome and grating. Interestingly, I don't think I would have been as put-off if he had simply phrased these universals as originating from a doctrinal stance (which may be worth interrogating). As it was, by positioning himself as departing from a experiential universals, but not seeming to be very willing to believe or engage with alternate experiential accounts, R. Heschel ended up testing my patience somewhat.
The Promise of Multispecies Justice by Karin Bolender, Sophie Chao, Eben Kirksey
5.0
Stunning. So much to sit with and to consider. Includes meditations on the fraught-but-necessady rhetorical assertion of species difference (e.g. in the chapter discussing activism against aerial pesticide application in Mindanao), and on non-reciprocal but intimate relationships and encounters (e.g. in the chapter on the ambivalent comradeship between displaced humans and stray dogs in post-extractive Baku). There are no easy answers here, and there is much that I found challenging in an extremely useful way -- most especially in the chapter profiling a maker of artisinal rodent traps in Tanzania, situating his livelihood (which necessarily entails killing) as embodying much of the generative ethos of multispecies negotiation. Ultimately, this volume is a ringing endorsement of thoughtfulness -- of viewing justice from multiple frames, and of "slowing down" before making ethical judgements which flatten and smooth over the rough edges of the multispecies world in which we live.
Certainly an academic book, and won't be everyone's speed. But it was definitely mine.
Certainly an academic book, and won't be everyone's speed. But it was definitely mine.
Cathedral by Ben Hopkins
3.75
Cathedral is a strong example of historical fiction which finds credibility not in meticulously-documented particulars (a la Hilary Mantel) but in a well-rounded understanding of its milieu -- in this case, 13th century Alsace. Hopkins' world-building is evidently rooted in an engagement with rigorous academic histories, making his depiction of the medieval world much richer and more compelling than many authors'. Over the course of a sprawling and interwoven saga, he effectively develops themes including the gradual shift in power from the agrarian aristocracy to the urban mercantile elite and the subtly pernicious ways in which Western European Jews were dispossessed of their livelihoods (at times without personal malice) and forced to migrate eastward, especially to modern-day Poland. The crass, insouciant Baron Volmar von Kronthal and the brooding, disillusioned cleric Eugenius von Zabern are particularly strong characters, respectively revealing much about the mindsets and habits of petty noblemen and clerical administrators. There were only a few points at which I doubted the historical vision on which the story was based. One early sequence involved a historically contentious depiction of Catharism . More notably, characters occasionally gave voice to sentiments which seemed a little on the nose in an anachronistic way. Unfortunately, this was most often true of Grete Gerber, the only woman among our principal characters, a dynamic which weakened the book somewhat.
Hopkins' writing is dramatic and fluid, belying his history as a filmmaker. He is especially good at montage-like scenes depicting complex social machinery -- I was quite moved by his description of the elaborate ecosystem of stonework and other architectural craft involved in the building of the Cathedral, and again by his description of the ever-changing world of merchants and pilgrims and those claiming sanctuary and priests and schoolboys and tradesmen and countless others who flow through the cathedral or congregate in its courtyards.
I did find most of the epilogue/flash-forward sections somewhat unnecessary and emotionally cheap (excepting theflash-forward interludes describing a 14th century pogrom , which make an important point about the long-term ramifications of the some of what occurs in the main story). On the whole, though, the emotional note on which the book ends is perfect -- we are reminded of the extraordinary long process of building and establishing a great cathedral, a process which drags on over many generations and comprises the life's work of many who knew that neither they nor their children nor their children's children would see the work's fruition. In the end, all of our characters exit the tale in an emotionally ambivalent fashion, leaving behind unfinished business. The only sense of resolution and finality is provided by the iconic structure itself -- the monumental, enduring cathedral.
Hopkins' writing is dramatic and fluid, belying his history as a filmmaker. He is especially good at montage-like scenes depicting complex social machinery -- I was quite moved by his description of the elaborate ecosystem of stonework and other architectural craft involved in the building of the Cathedral, and again by his description of the ever-changing world of merchants and pilgrims and those claiming sanctuary and priests and schoolboys and tradesmen and countless others who flow through the cathedral or congregate in its courtyards.
I did find most of the epilogue/flash-forward sections somewhat unnecessary and emotionally cheap (excepting the
The Girls of Slender Means by Muriel Spark
4.0
Describing the schemes and exploits of various residents of a women's hostel in London in 1945, Spark writes with much humor but little malice. Although the young womens' plans and self-images are all somewhat fanciful -- the male characters' intellectual and political pretensions are equally so -- Spark is not satirizing the pettiness of their concerns but observing their lives with amusement and compassion. Alongside the author, we become interested in the ambiguous lives they lead as wartime draws to a close and Britain prepares for what is to come next.
Spark's trademark time-jumping is mostly used as an elegant frame-narrative and as a way to add flavor (and some retrospective sense of proportion) to a concise central narrative. When we eventually come to this narrative's tragic conclusion, further poignancy is added to the characters being depicted. We close with a quite compelling look at a kind of sincere but businesslike mourning which feels insightfully appropriate to the specific time and the specific place being depicted (that is, England in the year 1945).
The clever biblical allegory at play is thoughtfully done, although not heavy-handed enough to force itself upon the reader.
Spark's trademark time-jumping is mostly used as an elegant frame-narrative and as a way to add flavor (and some retrospective sense of proportion) to a concise central narrative. When we eventually come to this narrative's tragic conclusion, further poignancy is added to the characters being depicted. We close with a quite compelling look at a kind of sincere but businesslike mourning which feels insightfully appropriate to the specific time and the specific place being depicted (that is, England in the year 1945).
The clever biblical allegory at play is thoughtfully done, although not heavy-handed enough to force itself upon the reader.