Tag Archives: Non-fiction

July 28, 2011 · 5:24 pm

Library: An Unquiet History

     Matthew Battle’s book about libraries took me ages to read because for the first time in months I had to read a book and somehow the requirement made the reading feel like a burden. It ought not to have, Library considers topics I find fascinating: the institutionalization of knowledge; the determination of how best to represent, preserve and promote culture/cultural artifacts; the violence inherent in the control of information; the political power attained and wielded through public institutions (of knowledge).

Granted Battle’s focus on particular figures in the history of the library from Alexander the Great through Melville Dewey casts an unnecessary focus on biographies of great men and distracts from the much more interesting questions about social and political use of spaces/places designed and used for the (at different times and to varying degrees) organization, preservation and dissemination of information. I found myself losing interest in the long sections on the influential role of x or y figure and rallying my focus for the conclusion to these lengthy biographies when Battles returned to analysis, critique and commentary on the various movements in history of the library, rather than in descriptions of them.

I know a little more about the ways libraries have been used – both literally and ideologically – but the more important outcome of reading the book might be that I am much more cognizant of the kinds of questions we might ask of public institutions, in particular those institutions purported to allow access to information and resources.

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May 30, 2011 · 2:32 pm

Mourning Diary: Self-Indulgent

                 For the first time since beginning 10-10-12, the book I chose for my “short” category was actually… short. Roland Barthes’ diary of his mourning of his mother spanned 250 pages, but each page includes only one or two sentences, reflecting on his grief and sense of loss.

I found the diary self-indulgent, which shouldn’t be surprising given that it’s a diary a genre necessarily preoccupied with the self, but somehow the book read as grotesquely self-indulgent. It sets up as its premise the affective consequence of losing someone else and then begins an outpouring of the effects on the self: sense of impending mortality, dissociation from time, incorporation of affect into writing and work, newly discovered freedom of living a life untethered from a mother. Had the book abjured the claim of being about Barthes’ mother I might find no complaint – the snap sentences are moving, painful and above all, thoughtful – but as it is, I could not reconcile the distance between purported purpose – mourning a mother – and given text – meditation on the mourning self.

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May 30, 2011 · 2:25 pm

Tiger, A True Story of Vengenace and Surival: Incredible

         Nearly everything about Tiger is “incredible,” in the sense of hard to believe, remarkable, and extraordinary. The book perfectly matches form to content, as the subject, the Amur (or Siberian) tiger defies easy understanding, and the form, a meandering blend of history, geography, biography and anthropology, likewise resists categorization.

I found myself captivated by the narrative through-line, the story of a particular tiger and the people he eats. A story that probes why this tiger hunts the people he does, and whether and how to assign blame for the attacks that take place (both person on tiger and tiger on person). Indeed John Vaillant (the author) castigates humans and their rapacious greed for meat and fur, while nevertheless addressing the systemic economic and social factors that make poaching not only viable, but necessary for (some) poachers survival. I was no less captivated by the meandering side plots of Russian-Chinese relations, Russian settlement, taiga geography (the Boreal-Jungle! how rich a descriptor), and eco-animal history. And perhaps most taken with the poetic descriptions of the tiger and his habitat, descriptions that truly “captured” the tiger in his size, majesty and awe.

That the titular Tiger in this story is a protagonist might strike some readers as a stretch, he receives no internal or focalized narrative voice, and yet, the reader has little doubt about his motivations, his affective responses to situations, we feel – emphatically in my case – for this tiger. I mourned his death, if not in an of itself, than for its necessity. 

The epilogue to the book, too, is remarkable. Affecting again in its description of current conservation efforts and the impediments they encounter, in particular, the admission of tiger ‘farms’ a notion made deeply disturbing precisely because Vaillant has done such tremendous work in exploring the majesty, beauty and indeed the humanity of the tiger.

So this part ought to be troubling – that I feel so deeply for the tiger because Vaillant makes him out to be human – so let me nuance that by pointing out that the text similarly confuses the border between the human and the animal, arguing for the animality of humans, to the point that the biology of the species matters far less than the actions it takes: both humans and animals can claim humanity in the sense of generosity, empathy and remorse, while both humans and animals can also animalistic in their appetites, instinctual reactions, and callous disregard for the existence of others.

Truly a remarkable work, and one that I think I’m ready to name the best so far in 2011. Strongly urge you to get to the library to get a copy of this book.

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March 10, 2011 · 10:03 pm

Paris 1919: Excellent

               Even if I wasn’t predisposed to an enjoyment of WWI history, I suspect I’d have enjoyed Margaret MacMillian’s (epic 500 page) account of the drafting of the Treaty of Versailles in Paris 1919. Elegant sentences and a keen sense of characterization make this history intensely readable. A decision to withhold judgment on the particular historical characters lends it credibility, in that no one person or country is blamed; rather, the combined effect of a complicated and contingent set of treaties, weak characters (either too ambitious or too reticent), illnesses, and miscommunications, resulted in a treaty that, as MacMillan argues, cannot on its own be blamed for anything (re: not for WWII), but must be recognized in historical hindsight (and by many at the time) as an abject failure in a project of promoting peace.

I particularly enjoyed the characterization of the members of the Supreme Council (aptly named, I suppose): Wilson, Clemenceau, Orlando and Lloyd George. Each received ample introduction, which allowed the later discussion of their mistakes, and subsequent political downfalls, to read as poignant. The measured attention to the contradictory enforcement of “self-determination” as dependent on political and economic expedients for those with political power, and the arrogance and self-righteousness of the policy makers, came with an appropriate connection to circumstances in the present that resonated, without badgering.

The organization of the book is excellent. Characters, countries and their different aims and outcomes, geographic determinations and overlaps, unfold according to geography, but also read as seamlessly plotted, such that a subsequent chapter relies on necessary information introduced in a former. That said, there are a few occasions where I wondered whether an editor might have missed a line where information is given twice — perhaps a later section written independently without regard for the chapter that came earlier? or perhaps a purposeful reminder to the reader of what appears to be a rather insignificant point? I’m not sure, and it probably doesn’t matter, as these infrequent repetitions take nothing away from the well crafted plot.

If you’re at all interested in imperialism, border-making, diplomacy, or Europe in the inter-war period I cannot recommend this book enough. Should you find European history to be the least engaging, you will be – without overstatement, I think – riveted at many points by this account. Perchance you dislike history books, Europeans, witty asides, and sarcastic comments about historical attire and comportment, you best look elsewhere.

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